"Are you ever gonna tell him?" Eskel asks under the cover of the din, sliding carefully into the seat next to him. Geralt turns and helps him into place, ignoring the tongue click of irritation and the hand trying to wave him off.
"What?" Geralt says once Eskel's sitting comfortably next to him.
Eskel rolls his eyes and tilts his head in Jaskier's direction. Geralt tenses up. "You think we can't see your face? You look like a lovelorn maiden every time he's within two miles of you."
"Fuck off," Geralt grumbles, letting their voice go deeper than humans can hear. He slumps his head down onto his hands, aware that it makes him look like a petulant child. "I don't look lovelorn. He's my friend."
"Ah," Eskel says mockingly.
"He's been on the Path with me for years. I'm bound to be more fond of him than everyone else."
"I value his company. I'm not risking losing it for a cheap fuck."
"A cheap fuck, yes, you're right, absolutely."
"Eskel, please tell me you've worked through the denial already," Lambert says as she slides into the empty space on Geralt's other side, beer bottles in hand. "I really am not in the mood for their shit."
"I just got here," Eskel says in amusement and Lambert groans and opens up the nearest bottle. "Haven't had time, no."
"I- is this a fucking intervention?" Geralt demands, lifting his head up to glare at both of them. "Did you plan this shit?"
"Of course we did," Remus says two tables away, angling a smirk his direction. "Like we'd pass up a chance to turn the tables on you."
Geralt scrunches up his face. "What? We?"
"Well, yes, everyone whose life you've intervened in, you busybody," Eskel says fondly, bumping their shoulders together with much more strength than one should possess while recovering from a bad leshy hunt. "Which is... All those who've been subjected to a lecture from Geralt, put your hands up, please?"
Every single wolf in the hall raises their hands- fucking eavesdropping pieces of shit- and Aiden and Coën and Svana discreetly do as well, shooting him amused looks.
"Fuck off," Geralt says, the bridge of his nose tingling in the way that means it's going to turn bright red in ten minutes or so. "I hope you all get chucked on by your horse."
"Ooh, threats from the horse whisperer," Everard teases. "How frightening."
Geralt bares his teeth at him.
"But no, Geralt, really," Vesemir says, ruffling his hair as he passes by with the empty plates. He meets Geralt's look of betrayal with a smile. "This is getting embarrassing for us all. Just go fucking tell him."
"See, even Vesemir agrees, that's how bad it's gotten," Lambert says as Geralt drops his head onto his arms with a groan. "What's holding you back, anyway? Apart from being a miserable coward."
"Lambert," Eskel chides. "Let the man pine in peace."
"We have! For five years now! How much fucking longer-"
"I am not pining," Geralt huffs as he jerks back upright. "It's just-" He deflates, staring at Jaskier across the room, laughing as he makes up worse and worse rhymes with Ciri and Dara. "He used to want me. He doesn't anymore. I missed my chance."
There's silence from everyone a moment.
"Aw, Ger," Eskel says sympathetically, dragging him into an embrace. Geralt chuffs into his gambeson miserably. "That sucks."
"I call bullshit," Lambert says, though not as harsh as before. "How do you know?"
"Scent," Geralt says shortly.
"You should ask him, still," Remus says thoughtfully. "I don't believe someone can follow your grumpy ass around for so many years without some form of attraction."
"Thanks, Remus," Geralt says sarcastically, Eskel and Lambert trying to smother their laughter above him.
"He's right, though," Svana puts in and Geralt turns to look at her- she would know more than the others, having worked with him for the two years Geralt wasn't there. "You should ask him."
"It's not that easy," Geralt sighs, "I don't want to lose his friendship."
Lambert snorts and shoves him lightly. "What are you, a twelve year old? The man has stuck with you through hell and back and you think he'll get awkward with you over you actually admitting you like him?"
Geralt twists his face up and shoves her back. "Fuck off."
"Man up, sourpuss," Merek says, bumping into him fondly as he walks past. "Just tell the bard and put the whole Continent out of the misery of watching you two dance around each other."
"It's not that simple," Geralt grumbles, but his intervention is seemingly over, everyone rolling their eyes at him and filing out slowly bit by bit.
Geralt huffs at them and stays there with his head on his hands, staring mindlessly at the fire, listening idly to the snowstorm outside as Jaskier's voice mellows out in peacefulness and blends in with it.
"Hey," Jaskier says a while later as he slides in next to Geralt and hooks his chin over his shoulder, voice deepened from overuse, cheeks flushed, eyes bright and familiar. Geralt blinks back to the present and looks down at the smile on Jaskier's face. "What did they say to you, hm? You've been brooding for an hour straight, dear heart."
Dear heart. Darling. Sweetheart. Pearl, beautiful, idiot, honey, partner, moonlight, asshole, cinnamon, nag, mitting, grump, culver, lykyng, fool, sweeting-
"Geralt?" Jaskier says, all of everything Geralt is and has been made into safe in his mouth. "You with me, love?"
"I'm here," Geralt rumbles with a smile, swaying into Jaskier once, twice, before leaning on him as well, head on Jaskier's head. He doesn't know what he was ever scared of anymore. It's just Jaskier. "I'll tell you tomorrow."
