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Geralt leans forward over the steering wheel to peer out of his windshield at the dark storefront, the illuminated sign announcing that this is the Buttercup Bakery in elegant script. The night sky is dark and peppered with stars and the moon is but a sliver as it wanes, preparing to begin its cycle anew. He parks and leans back in the driver's seat with a sigh, drumming his fingers on the warm leather of the steering wheel as he glowers at nothing in specific, arguing pointlessly against going around to the side door that he knows is unlocked and waiting for him as the email says it will be. He picks up his phone off the passenger seat and unlocks it, reading the email for the twelfth time in two days.
Dear Mr. Rivia,
Thank you again for applying to volunteer with Buttercup Bakery! As you discussed over the phone with my assistant, your volunteer hours will be 4:00AM-9:00AM Mondays and Thursdays, and 4:00AM-11:00AM on Saturdays. Please make sure you are dressed in clothing that you do not mind getting dirty and you’re wearing non-slip, close-toed shoes. If you do not have any, please let me know your size and I can provide you some. Long hair must be tied back, away from the face, and the only jewelry allowed is a waterproof wristwatch to tell time, plain band type rings, simple chains for necklaces that can be tucked under clothing, and stud piercings or small hoops. The only policies I have on tattoos and clothing is your pants must be floor length and have no holes in them for your safety, there is no profanity on your clothing, and any offensive tattoos are able to be covered. When you arrive on Monday, park anywhere you like in front of the bakery and come around the alley on the right, the side door will be unlocked and waiting for you.
I look forward to making your acquaintance!
Chef Julian Pankratz
Owner and Head Baker of Buttercup Bakery
Geralt’s eyes linger on the name and then he glances at the time at the top of his phone. 3:57AM. He sighs and closes his eyes briefly before getting out of his dark brown sedan, lovingly dubbed Roach since originally it was brown with rust and not paint, and Roach chirps at him with flashing headlights as he locks her before sticking his hands deep in his pockets and dragging his feet towards the alley to the right of the store.
As much as he didn’t want to be here, it was a requirement of his custody appeal to perform 200 hours of community service after a small brush with the law. It wasn’t entirely his fault, he was trying to help a woman whose purse was stolen by a mugger, but good samaritan laws don’t cover accidental breaking and entering into a Hallmark store when tackling said mugger and he was lucky that Yennefer was able to get the courts to agree to purge this from his record if he completed the community service. He supposes he should thank his lucky stars that his ex-girlfriend turned best friend is an ace in the hole lawyer, but the scathing look she gave him when he went to ask for her help, pro bono no less, still burns him slightly.
Geralt realizes he’s standing in front of the side door to the bakery and glaring at the “employees only” sign as though hoping it will come to life and tell him to leave. He has no one to blame but himself for this, really, he could have taken other community service but he’s a morning person and his shifts at the ranch are in the afternoon anyway so this one worked best. It also didn’t help that Ciri begged him to apply for the bakery in the off chance he’ll be allowed to bring sweets home every now and again, despite him warning her that that’s not a possibility.
He can hear the clattering of pans behind the door and music playing on a radio as Chef Julian, he assumes, begins work for the day. Geralt’s been to the Buttercup Bakery a handful of times, and always with Ciri in tow because it’s her favorite bakery in Cintra. However he’s never met the owner before and he lets his hand hang back as he takes one last long breath of cold night air with his eyes cast to the sky. He can appreciate the deep royal blue of the night sky, especially since he doesn’t get to see the color of it during the day, the sky instead turns a boring shade of gray that white clouds float across. He presses his lips together as he pushes away the thoughts of his soulmate, the chances of them meeting are slim to nothing anyway. Most people never meet their soulmate out of the seven billion people on the planet, it’s easier to just fall in love the regular way. Unfortunately, for Geralt though, without meeting his soulmate he’ll never know the exact color of the daytime sky and that little tidbit annoys him to no end.
His phone beeps as it turns to 4:00AM and he looks at the door again. 200 hours of community service, 11 weeks of this three day schedule. He can do this. He steels himself before pulling on the handle to open the door and steps inside.
The first thing he notices inside the kitchen of the bakery is that it’s much smaller than he thought it would be. He anticipated the space being larger, more like the kitchens he sees on the baking programs he watches and will never admit to anyone he enjoys. This space is maybe twenty feet long by fifteen feet wide, the far wall taken up by two huge ovens the size of refrigerators with what looks like a walk-in freezer next to them that stretches from the ovens to the wall, larger than a freezer would be. Against the brick wall adjacent to the ovens is a row of metal racks on wheels, half of them already filled with empty trays, two enormous stand mixers, and the actual walk-in freezer and pantry as well as a tiny desk shoved into the corner between a machine that Geralt has no idea the purpose of and a large trash can that’s also on wheels. The fire extinguisher is on the wall by the door he’s just stepped through and to his left is the swinging door that no doubt leads to the front end of the bakery. Beside the door is the small sink for handwashing and the large three basin sink for dishwashing and next to that is a door to a storage room. The center of the kitchen is taken up by a wooden topped island counter, things like cling wrap, gloves, buckets, rags, parchment paper, more trays, and the radio playing music stored underneath.
The door to the storage room opens and a man with dark brown hair emerges carrying a thick stack of metal trays on his shoulder. He’s nearly as tall as Geralt but is quite a bit thinner and is wearing black skinny jeans and a well fit white chef’s coat. The man sweeps past Geralt, not noticing him at first as he moves quickly and whistles along with the song, depositing the trays onto the metal racks as he works. Geralt waits until he’s finished with the trays before clearing his throat loudly to try and get the man’s attention.
It works and the man startles, spinning around to face Geralt with a shocked expression as his hair flops over his eyes, “Oh! You’re here! I almost thought you might not come,” he has a thick English accent and Geralt glances at the breast of the chef’s coat to confirm that, yep, this is Chef Julian, it’s embroidered in black in the same font as the bakery name that sits above it on the jacket. Julian pushes his hair back off of his face and grins a blinding smile and Geralt blinks, has he ever seen that shade of blue before? The chef’s eyes are a striking color that pops against his pale and freckled skin.
“A man of few words I see,” Chef Julian laughs and walks back to the storage room, “Come on, I’ll give you a tour. You never replied to my email by the way, are your shoes non-slip? They have to be for legal and safety reasons. OSHA will have my neck if they found out I was employing someone without giving them proper PPE.” Geralt follows and can already feel like this is going to be a long day. The man hasn’t shut up since he started talking. “You’ll also need aprons of course, I’m afraid we’ll have to go with an extra large, not that you’re extra large but you’re rather tall. It’s better to have too much coverage than not enough anyway, the gel dye stains like nothing.” His voice becomes muffled as the door to the storage room swings shut behind him and Geralt waits for him to either notice or just return.
Apparently it’s the latter as Julian is still talking as he comes back out with a small stack of white aprons, “Here you go, Mr. Rivia. Your very own. I recommend you tie the laces before washing them as you don’t want them tangling with each other or your other laundry.” Geralt’s brows lower slightly in confusion and Julian seems to understand what this means immediately, “I don’t wash employee uniforms, I apologize. If something needs replacing I can certainly do that though so don’t hesitate to let me know if any of them tear or get too badly stained. I’d rather replace an apron than have you walking around in something that looks like somebody threw up on it.”
“Hmm,” Geralt hums and takes the aprons, tucking them under his arm so he can keep following Julian around the kitchen.
“Let’s start with the ovens, they’re a little on the older side but they work quite well. I’ve fixed them myself a few times so if they break just let me know and I’ll get to work on that. The first thing to be done in the morning is to turn the ovens on to 350 degrees fahrenheit. I assume you’re American, Mr. Rivia?” Julian glances back at him and Geralt nods, “Next to the ovens, this is the proofing chamber.” He opens the sealed door to what Geralt thought was a walk-in freezer, revealing a damp and warm brick room beyond, “How’s your knowledge on bread making?”
“So-so,” Geralt waves his hand slightly, “I’ve seen some… TV shows.”
Julian’s eyes light up and his grin returns, “Excellent! Then I’m sure you’re fully aware what proofing is. But in case you aren’t, it’s when we put the bread doughs into this nice warm nest so the yeast may munch on the sugar and blow gas into the dough, making it rise and creating the wonderfully soft texture of bread that we all know and love.” He closes the door to the proofing chamber and continues on, explaining the baking racks and industrial size stand mixers. Geralt’s mind lingers on how just knowing a little bit about Julian’s profession made the baker’s eyes fill with joy and he determines he’d like to make that happen again. For no particular reason.
“What’s that?” Geralt asks, accidentally cutting off Julian’s explanation of a three basin sink as he points to the machine by the tiny desk. Julian looks over and smiles, allowing the interruption.
“This is a dough cutter,” he informs as they walk over, “Which is a fun way of saying it’s an extremely fancy knife. Bread dough goes in up here,” he indicates the large funnel-like shape at the top, “and inside there’s a corkscrew that cuts the dough into exact amounts and moves it down here to the belt. The belt then can either leave it be if I’m making buns or I can adjust it so the belt stretches the dough into rolls.” Julian looks very proud to own a machine like this as he puts his hands on his narrow hips, “it’s a pain and a half to clean and oil every night, I’ll tell you, but when you’re the only person back here it cuts the workload in half.”
“You’re the only person who works back here?” Geralt raises an eyebrow at Julian curiously.
“Yep! I tried hiring other bakers once but it was such a disaster,” Julian shakes his head, “everything kept getting put back in the wrong places, things weren’t being done to my standards, I was feeling like I was being pushed out of my own kitchen. So I changed it back to being just me and the front end staff.” He then smiles up at Geralt, “and I guess now you too, huh? You should get one of those on, we need to get cracking. I made most of the pastries last night but the bread still needs to be made.” Julian indicates the aprons under Geralt’s arm before walking away to go into the pantry next to the freezer and Geralt hums, putting an apron over his head and tying the laces behind his back.
He’s seen the sheer number of baked goods that are in the display cases every single day, and the bakery boasts that all of its products are baked in house and made fresh every night. It must take a miracle for Julian to do it all by himself and it leaves Geralt wondering how exactly the chef does it as he watches the man in question emerge from the pantry carrying an enormous bag of flour.
“Do you need help with that? It looks heavy,” Geralt offers and Julian glances over with wide blue eyes and a surprised smile.
“Oh, uh no thank you. Sorry, I’m a bit out of practice at having a second set of hands back here,” he laughs a bit sheepishly as he sets the bag on the floor by one of the stand mixers. Geralt catches sight of a print on the bag that says it’s 100 pounds and he’s careful to make sure his surprise that this man, who looks like he could be a model, can carry that without any signs of duress is hidden. “Hmm, oh! I know what you can do. Come with me.” Julian opens the door to the walk-in freezer and wheels out a rack of metal trays with frozen croissants on it, “These need to warm up. Anyway, in the meantime you can make pineapple upside-down cakes!”
“Pineapple whats?” Geralt asks in confusion as he watches Julian grab a metal tray before going back into the freezer and piling ingredients on it, balancing the precarious stack on one hand with ease.
“Pineapple upside-down cakes. Hold this if you please,” Julian hands Geralt the tray of ingredients before closing the freezer door and going back into the pantry. On the tray is a tub of maraschino cherries, an open can of pineapple rings, milk, butter, and a container labeled “cake batter” with yesterday’s date on it.
Julian comes out of the pantry with a bag labeled “cake mix” and a bag of brown sugar a moment later and he sets them on the island counter, “bring those over, Mr. Rivia. Do you want me calling you that, by the way?”
“Geralt is fine.”
“Right then, Geralt, bring your ingredients here,” Julian pats the countertop and walks around to the other side, crouching down so only the top of his head is visible as he retrieves things from under the counter, “I know I signed my email Chef Julian, and that is my name and it’s obviously what’s embroidered on my jacket, but that’s all just for professional purposes. You can call me Jaskier if you’d like.” He sets some heavy cupcake trays on the counter along with paper liners and moves to a different part of the counter and crouches down again.
“Jaskier?” Geralt asks, mildly amused by the unusual name.
“That’s my name, don’t wear it out,” Jaskier quips before standing up with another stand mixer in his arms, one hand beneath the base of it and the other wrapped around the neck. This mixer is also bigger than the one he remembers being in Yennefer’s kitchen and Jaskier sets it down heavily on the counter, plugging it into a hidden outlet beneath the countertop.
“Right then,” he leans across the counter and pulls the cupcake trays closer and Geralt can’t stop himself from stealing a look at Jaskier’s rear end in his tight jeans as he lays across the counter top. Geralt then flushes slightly and quickly looks away, that’s grossly inappropriate of him to be peeking at his boss’s ass. And on the first day no less! “I’ve got a scoop here, it’s measured already so every cupcake gets one scoop. Oh wait, but before that you put a sprinkle of brown sugar down in a lined tin and then a ring of pineapple with a cherry in the center. Then the scoop. When you run out of mix from yesterday, let me know and I’ll come over to show you where measuring cups are and the like for making more batter, okay?”
Jaskier looks up at Geralt who nods silently and the baker claps him on the shoulder before walking over to the sink, “Don’t forget to wash your hands frequently too, another food safety thing. Oh I guess I should have asked if you have a food handler’s license, huh? Wait, did I ever find out if your shoes are non-slip?” He glances over his shoulder at Geralt as he washes his hands.
“They are, and I don’t have one,” Geralt replies gruffly. This man is so odd, able to flit from topic to topic and then remember questions he didn’t actually get answers to so he can re-ask them.
“No worries, we’ll get you one later. For now, just make sure you’re washing your hands in hot water for twenty seconds with soap and dry them with a paper towel,” Jaskier finishes washing up and turns off the sink with the same paper towel he just washed his hands with, “Tada, very exciting I know. I should be a competitive hand washer. I wonder if that’s a thing?” He throws away his paper towel as he walks back to the flour he had set on the floor and Geralt watches him for a moment with a bemused smile before washing his own hands and getting to work on the cakes.
It’s slow work and Geralt suspects Jaskier is much faster at this which he confirms when he interrupts Jaskier’s mindless chatter to ask him. Jaskier mentions it took him a long time to be able to get through doing the pineapple cakes in ten minutes though so don’t be discouraged and he gives Geralt such an encouraging and genuine smile that Geralt doesn’t have the heart to be annoyed by his own slowness. He instead finds himself watching Jaskier move around, the man either singing along with the radio or carrying on conversations that he assumes Geralt is participating in despite them being definitively one-sided as he prepares bread dough in one of the huge stand mixers and a basic cookie dough in the other. When Geralt runs out of batter it’s right when Jaskier is checking his bread dough after letting it rest so it’s the perfect time to whip up more cake batter, which the chef is more than happy to show Geralt how to do.
Geralt’s quickly back to making more cakes as Jaskier removes the bread dough from the mixer, warning Geralt for noise before slamming the dough down on the counter. Geralt winces at the bang anyway and Jaskier gives him an apologetic look, “Sorry, it knocks the air out of the dough if you whack it down like that and slows the rising process. Otherwise I won’t have as much time to work with it before proofing.” Geralt nods in understanding though and Jaskier pulls the dough cutting machine away from the tiny desk and over to the counter, unfolding the conveyor belt and dusting it liberally with flour.
“I’ve finished with the cakes,” Geralt says a few minutes later, “What should I do with the extra batter?”
“Get one of the clean containers in the storage room and the correct lid for it. You’ll label the container using painter’s tape and a Sharpie with what’s inside the container and today’s date before putting it in the freezer. The rest can go in the sink. You can either wash now or leave it to be washed later,” Jaskier says as he heaves the dough up into the funnel of the dough cutter and makes some adjustments to the machine before turning it on and grabbing one of the racks while the machine moves the dough into position. Geralt decides to wash the dishes after he’s cleaned up the leftover ingredients and then looks at the cupcake tins.
“What do I do with these?” He asks over the din of the dough cutter. Jaskier is moving quickly, his long fingers deftly picking up and tucking away any imperfections in the buns before dropping them on the trays that he pulls out of the rack and replaces one by one. Geralt finds himself fixated on Jaskier’s hands and misses the response to his question, blinking and looking back up at Jaskier’s concentrated face, “What?”
“Put them on one of the empty racks. It’ll become our cake rack for the day,” Jaskier glances up at Geralt to make sure he was heard that time and Geralt nods, picking up the trays and finding an empty baking rack to slide the trays onto. He glances at the clock on the wall and is surprised that it’s already been an hour since he’s arrived, leaving him wondering again how Jaskier gets everything done by himself every day.
Geralt feels bad talking to Jaskier when the chef is clearly trying to focus on his task at hand but he doesn’t want to be standing around doing nothing either, “What should I do now?”
“The croissants should be warm enough now to be pinched shut,” Jaskier jerks his head at the rack he pulled out of the freezer and left by the closed ovens, “pinch the open ends together so they’re completed circles and then put them in the proofing chamber.”
Geralt nods and the rest of the morning goes on like that, Jaskier doing his own work and giving Geralt work when Geralt asks for it after he completes each of his assigned tasks. The front end employees come in at 7:30 to get the storefront ready for opening at 8, Jaskier greeting each one happily and introducing Geralt, and Geralt can hear the bell over the door start jingling as customers enter the store for their breakfast. Geralt is finishing washing the cooled cake pans he got to use to help Jaskier begin a custom order when the clock ticks to 9:00AM and his phone beeps in his pocket, alerting him to his volunteer hours being over. Geralt glances at Jaskier, who is deeply engrossed in cookie decorating and doesn’t seem to have noticed the time, and decides to gently mention it. This isn’t a job, after all, he doesn’t need to stay until he’s dismissed by his manager.
“It’s, uh, nine,” is what he eloquently manages to say. Jaskier doesn’t answer at first, his blue eyes focused on the golden coin he’s decorating the round cookie with. Geralt isn’t sure Jaskier heard him and after a few moments he opens his mouth to speak again.
“Okay, thank you for your time today, Geralt,” he pauses in decorating to glance up with a grateful smile and Geralt’s mouth snaps shut with an audible click of his teeth, “I’ll see you Thursday, yeah?”
“Hmm, Thursday,” Geralt nods before turning and promptly leaving, his eyes lowered to his phone as he pulls it out of his pocket. He squints from the brightness of the morning sun while he checks for notifications but there’s nothing new except for a text from Ciri reminding him he needs to pick her up from school today as Summer break is over. He sighs and removes his apron before walking out of the alley and looking up.
He stops dead in his tracks.
The sky is a brilliant blue, clearer than the ocean that it’s constantly being compared to when he asks what it looks like. The color is softer than the blue of latex gloves, brighter than the blue of cotton candy, fuller than the shifting blue of pool water. And it’s the same exact shade of blue as Jaskier’s eyes.
“Fuck.”
Ciri’s mouth is moving a mile a minute the moment she gets into the passenger seat of Roach, tossing her book bag to the floor and buckling up. Geralt half listens as she chatters on about cheer practice and the debate team and student body which she’s probably gonna run for president of again. He hums vaguely to indicate his attention and Ciri gives him a sideways glance, watching him as he leans forward slightly to glance upwards at the sky for the fourth time in the ten minutes since he’s picked her up.
“Yeah and I was thinking of moving out with this guy, Brian, who I met on Omegle and hooked up with. I’m pregnant by the way,” She says and he nods, making a left turn at a stop sign.
“That’s great, honey,” he murmurs distractedly and Ciri shakes her head with a scoff.
“Dad, you haven’t been listening to a word I said this entire drive.”
“Huh?” He blinks and looks over at her then before turning his attention back to the road, “Of course I have. You said something about a boyfriend? And uh… student body president?”
Ciri rolls her eyes and crosses her arms, throwing herself back with a huff, “Why do I even bother? What’s on your mind, Dad? You’re never this distracted.”
“Nothing, Ciri,” he shakes his head and pulls Roach into the garage of their modest home, turning off the engine and getting out of the car, “don’t you have homework to do?”
“Trying to change the subject?” She skips up to him with a smile, watching as he pauses just for a moment to glance skywards again during the walk from the garage to the front door, “Homework’s already done. Did it during study hall.”
Damn, he forgot she decided to take study hall this semester. He grumbles incoherently as he stomps up to the front door, unlocking it and going to the fridge to pull out a beer. Ciri’s smile grows into a grin as she spots flour behind his ear, dropping her bag on the ground by the door and grabbing an orange from the fruit basket on the counter, “So how did the volunteering go? Did you like the bakery?”
He scowls more, his shoulders tightening slightly, “It was okay.” He pops the cap off the beer bottle and goes to the sink to recycle the cap in the bin below it, glancing out the window over the sink.
She hops up on the counter to look at him, swinging her legs as she peels her orange with a twinkle in her pale eyes, “Did you meet the chef? Julian?”
“Hm,” Geralt hums as he takes a sip.
“I’ve met him,” Ciri says casually, “He has the most beautiful blue eyes, huh? Like the color of the sky.”
Geralt chokes on his beer, spitting out the sip in his mouth into the sink and coughing as Ciri wacks him on the back with a cackling laugh, “I knew it!” she crows and he glares at her through watery golden-brown eyes as he wipes his mouth on his sleeve. “So what’s he like? Do you like him? Does he like you? What are you going to do?”
He sighs heavily and leans against the counter, picking his beer back up and tossing back a long sip, “He’s loud and annoying. He talks too much and it’s like he’s talking to me but he answers his own questions. Or he’ll ask me a question, keep talking so I can’t answer, forget to get the answer, and then remember he asked me and never got an answer over an hour later.”
Ciri bites her lip and crosses her ankles, putting a slice of orange in her mouth, “So you don’t like him I take it?”
Geralt doesn’t answer and Ciri’s smile sneaks back onto her lips.
“What are you gonna do, Dad?” She asks quietly with a small smile, “Not everyone gets the chance to meet their soulmate.”
He sighs and lets his head hang down slightly, resting his forehead on the neck of the bottle, “I’m gonna keep going to do my volunteer work. You come first in my life, Ciri,” he looks up at her and her expression softens.
“I know that, Dad,” she rubs his shoulder and leans over, resting her head on it, “I want you to be happy, too. You haven’t been since mom left.” He opens his mouth to protest but she covers his mouth with her hand, the sharp tang of citrus on her fingers permeating his nose, “Don’t lie. You’re happy but not happy -happy. It’s okay.”
He presses his lips together and looks over at her, quirking an eyebrow up until she removes her hand, “How’d you get so wise, princess?”
Ciri shrugs with a pleased smile, “Dunno, definitely didn’t get it from you.” He gently smacks her upside the head and she laughs as he rolls his eyes.
“Are you gonna tell him?” She asks after a while, looking up from her phone curiously.
He shakes his head, “No. Not right away. Just because he’s my… doesn’t necessarily mean I’m his. It’s an extremely slim possibility but still a chance. He could also already have a partner. Or be straight. Or not be interested. There’s no reason for me to go into the bakery on Thursday professing my love where there is none.”
“Yet,” she teases and he rolls his eyes. For some reason, the thought of himself not being Jaskier’s soulmate either makes his chest tighten slightly.
On Wednesday night he finds himself lying awake in bed, staring at the shadows moving across his dark ceiling as he glances at the clock periodically, watching the green numbers of the digital face tick later and later and his eyes burn with fatigue but he doesn’t fall asleep when he closes them, eyes the color of the sky lingering behind closed lids.
The first six weeks of volunteering go as smoothly as Geralt can hope for, Jaskier teaching him different tricks and skills in his kitchen, the chef slowly relinquishing the death grip he has on his control over his bakery. Geralt gets put in charge of baking the pineapple cakes and pinching the croissants, of prepping any custom cake orders Jaskier may have to make for the day and he won’t admit it but when Jaskier designated to him the duties of making his famous cinnamon rolls Geralt felt weirdly proud about it, to have earned Jaskier’s trust like that.
Geralt learns a lot about Jaskier as well, and surprisingly it’s not from what the chef says, endlessly speaking as he does. Rather it’s what Jaskier doesn’t say that indicates to Geralt that they’re more alike than Geralt originally thought. Where Geralt doesn’t say much by not speaking much, Jaskier doesn’t say much by speaking excessively. Geralt hides his emotions with bland hums and grunts and Jaskier does it with jokes and bright smiles.
He also learns that Jaskier’s preferred form of dress is that of a walking fashion disaster. Clashing colors and patterns that are an affront to the eyes and make it difficult to understand how the man can decorate cakes and pastries so elegantly. He learns that Jaskier does have an apartment but does not have a car and that he walks to and from the bakery every day in the middle of the night which makes Geralt feel oddly worried for Jaskier’s safety. He learns that Jaskier does not talk about his family history but does talk extensively about his artistic history, being proficient in a number of instruments and art forms such as the violin, guitar, and piano as well as painting, pottery, sculpture, and literature. It makes him wonder, what it is about this smiling man of sunshine and bright colors and eyes the color of the sky, that made destiny choose Jaskier to be his soulmate.
If Jaskier knew Geralt was his soulmate, he hides it extremely well. He treats Geralt just the same as he did on the very first day, being personable and extremely friendly which starts to irritate Geralt since the chef has managed to, annoying enough, wiggle his way under Geralt’s thick skin and he finds himself caring about the chef more than he’d like to admit. He tried to find out once, how long Jaskier is actually at the bakery, by asking how early he can come in. Jaskier had looked surprised and said, “Oh, you want to start earlier? I suppose you can come in at 3:30 then, if you’d like. You can get off a little earlier then, too. Can’t have you staying later, sorry, it’s a legal thing.” With the earlier start time though he does get to see just how many energy drinks Jaskier consumes before Geralt was arriving, the first time he comes in at 3:30AM he sees two empty cans of Monster in the trash can and an open can of Redbull on Jaskier’s desk as the chef answered emails while the ovens preheated and the proofing chamber warmed.
Geralt pulls the door to the bakery open at 3:30 exactly, like he’s done every day for the past two weeks now, and is surprised to find the lights turned off. Jaskier normally is already here, seated at his tiny desk and doing some computer work before he gets started on the baking for the day. The door is unlocked, though, which makes him uneasy since there’s no clear signs of Jaskier being here which makes him think of a break in.
Geralt reaches for the fire extinguisher on the wall next to the door and leaves the lights off as he looks around, trying to see if there is an intruder still in the building. His fingers wrap around the top of the extinguisher and he lifts it out of its holder, the hefty weight a comfort as he narrows his eyes and reaches for the lights, flicking them on. The fluorescents hum overhead as they turn on and there’s a sound from his right so he turns and lifts the extinguisher menacingly.
A soft snore answers his silent threat and Geralt sighs in relief, setting the extinguisher back in the holder as his eyes land on Jaskier asleep at his desk, still wearing his clothes from the day before. Geralt walks over to him and puts his hand on Jaskier’s shoulder, shaking him gently and Geralt’s nose wrinkles slightly at the strong scent of alcohol, spotting an empty vodka bottle in the trash can. Jaskier groans softly and waves his hand away, turning his face farther into his arm to shield his eyes from the light.
“Come on, Jask,” Geralt tries to speak softly but it comes out sounding gruff and vaguely annoyed, “Gotta get to work.”
“Work,” he echoes, his voice muffled by his arm. He nods though and sits up slowly, his chestnut hair sticking up like a birds nest perched on top of his head. Jaskier rubs his eyes and carefully gets to his feet and Geralt frowns at how pale and awful the chef looks, with dark stubble on his jaw and bruised shadows beneath his red rimmed eyes.
Geralt hesitates before asking, “Are you… okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, just a bit of a rough night,” Jaskier smooths a hand over his hair and glances down at himself, wincing at how disheveled his clothes are.
“You never went home.” It isn’t a question and Jaskier looks up at him quickly before wincing slightly from the action.
“I don’t most nights,” he shrugs slightly and covers his mouth as he yawns, “I mean, I do but only to shower and change before I come back here. Speaking of, will you be okay getting started on your own today while I run home and do just that?”
Geralt frowns but doesn’t say anything, just nodding with a hum as he puts his apron on. Jaskier claps him on the shoulder with a weak smile that Geralt doesn’t like to see on his face before leaving.
He returns forty-five minutes later looking, and smelling, much better; dressed in a clean short-sleeved chef’s jacket and bright green skinny jeans today, his wet hair combed back off of his tired face. Geralt has turned the radio on and started the ovens and proofing chamber and is working on the pineapple cakes when Jaskier comes in and quietly gets what he needs to get started on bread.
“Don’t you need to check emails?” Geralt asks in surprise, glancing over at the silent baker.
“Yes but they’ll have to wait,” Jaskier sighs and pours the bag of flour into the stand mixer and Geralt finds his eyes glued to Jaskier’s exposed forearms, a detailed tattoo of a dandelion on the inside of his left one, as he lifts the heavy ingredients, “It’s my own fault.”
“Can I ask why?”
Jaskier glances over at him briefly, his usually bright eyes dull and listless right now, “My mother passed away,” he says flatly.
Geralt frowns, his brow furrowing in concern, “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Jaskier sets the flour down and adds yeast, “she was a real witch of a woman. I should be making like a munchkin right now, ding dong and all that.”
“How come you aren’t?”
Jaskier is quiet as he thinks about whether he wants to answer or not and Geralt is certain he’s not going to get a reply when Jaskier finally speaks, “As her next of kin, she left me with two million pounds of debt.”
Geralt balks at that, his eyes blowing wide and his neck cracks as his head whips over to look at Jaskier, “ What ?”
Jaskier snorts humorlessly, “Quite the parting gift, I know. She apparently even detailed it in her fucking will. I’m going to contest it, of course, I haven’t been in contact with my mother in nearly a decade. But every lawyer I’ve spoken to has said I’m still going to end up with some portion of her debt to pay off, not to mention any court fees and lawyer expenses… no matter which way I look at this I’m up to my neck in bills I can’t afford. This place does well but not well enough for that .”
Geralt looks down at the half filled cupcake tray in front of him before looking back up at Jaskier again, “I know somebody who can help you.”
Which is how Geralt introduced Jaskier to Yennefer who leaped on the case. After all, pro bono work for a bakery that runs volunteer work and hires ex-cons? It’ll look amazing on her website. Geralt hadn’t known that all the front end staff were ex-convicts and the knowledge brings a smile to his face and his respect for Jaskier only grows.
Yennefer is able to successfully get the Will to be annulled, freeing Jaskier of all of his inherited debt, and as a show of gratitude Geralt and Ciri throw a party for Yennefer and Jaskier, inviting their many friends. Jaskier asks if he should bring anything and before Geralt can say no Ciri tells him to bring macarons, to which he laughs and agrees and they’re just as delicious as Geralt thought they would be.
And getting to see Jaskier out of his kitchen uniform was an added bonus as apparently the chef dresses down very fashionably, having arrived in a pair of battered rainbow converse, navy blue skin tight jeans, and a white short-sleeve button down shirt with little pineapples on it that must be tailored for the way it stretched across Jaskier’s shoulders and pinched at his waist. Geralt had been nearly unable to take his eyes off of Jaskier, a fact which Ciri and Yennefer teased him endlessly about later.
“It’s okay, Dad, he could hardly keep his eyes off of you either,” Ciri consoles him with a pat to the back as Geralt hides his bright red face in his hands.
Yennefer laughs and swirls the remaining wine in her glass, “Shoulda seen his face when you picked up Eskel to throw him in the pool. I thought he was gonna faint right then. That or jump your bones, wolf.” Geralt glares at Yennefer for the nickname and the crude discussion with Ciri present.
“I heard him when he was on the phone with somebody say something about ‘climbing Geralt like a tree’,” Ciri says innocently but her mischievous eyes betray her, “I wonder what all that was about.” Yennefer laughs so hard she nearly falls over and Geralt groans again.
“You did not hear that, Cirilla,” he says sternly, his cheeks still flushed bright red, “I don’t need all this shit to be thinking about when I see him in six hours.”
Yennefer wipes tears from her eyes and straightens up again, holding the counter for support as she grins, “So Ciri mentioned something to me about you being able to see the color of the sky now?”
Geralt glares at his daughter who grins sheepishly and shrugs, throwing her hands up in a what-could-I-do sort of way.
“You should ask him about his soulmate color,” she continues, sipping her wine, “Don’t need to be obvious about it, but it’s a way to find out if you’re his soulmate, too. She mentioned you being worried about that.”
He hums and lets his hands drop to the edge of the kitchen table behind him that he’s leaning on, “I’ll think about it.”
“That’s all we ask, dearest,” Yennefer teases and Ciri giggles. He sighs and glances at the clock on the wall, what has he gotten himself into?
Geralt’s arrival to the bakery the following morning is normal at first, that is, until he steps inside and sees the mess of plastic jars filled with gel dye spread out over the entire island counter with Jaskier leaning over them and lifting them one by one and squinting at the contents before setting it down and moving on to the next one. It looks like Jaskier has got them sorted into color groups, various shades of blue clustered together beside yellows and oranges and there’s a group of green on the far end of the counter. There’s also random colors mixed in with the sorting though so Geralt’s not sure that that’s exactly what Jaskier was going for after all.
“Morning,” Geralt greets both warmly and in confusion as he looks at the mess, “Uh, what are you doing?”
“I made a mess yesterday and foolishly thought it wouldn’t come back to bite me in the arse,” Jaskier says heatedly, picking up a jar of bright pink and frowning at it. He squints and tilts it this way and that before shaking his head, “What color is this?”
“Pink?” Geralt walks closer, with a frown, “What happened?”
“I pulled out all of my gel dyes to find the right set since I wanted my collection of beach pastels for the macarons yesterday but those were at the very very back since I don’t use them very frequently and I got impatient since I was in a bit of a rush and dumped all of the dyes out and they fell out of their boxes and most of the jar’s labels have rubbed off over time or gotten stained with the dye so I can’t read it anymore and now I have to clean up my own mess and it’s a disaster and what kind of pink is it, Geralt, because honestly I know I have at least four different shades,” Jaskier takes a deep gasping breath as he brandishes the little jar of pink gel dye.
“Hot pink. Nearly neon,” he clarifies and Jaskier nods, setting the jar over by the reds, “Why do you need to have the boxes or be able to read the labels?” Geralt feels stupid for asking the moment the question leaves his mouth.
“I have achromatopsia,” Jaskier shrugs and picks up another color, “Can’t see a single color aside from shades of gray, black, and sometimes white if it’s really bright. I’ve got most shades of gray memorized as to what color they’re supposed to be so I can sort them,” he gestures to the clusters of approximations, “but the hues colors come in are difficult. I’m certain there’s probably some purples in with the blues and some reds and greens mixed together.”
Geralt nods as he soaks all this in. Jaskier wouldn’t know if Geralt was his soulmate or not, it’s no wonder he never said anything despite being such a romantic sap. If Jaskier can’t see any color, then of course he wouldn’t notice if he can suddenly see a new shade of light gray. Geralt might have a chance after all, especially if Ciri and Yennefer weren’t just teasing him and Jaskier truly was interested in him. He doesn’t notice the dopey smile spreading slowly over his face or that Jaskier is asking him another question until Jaskier’s hand is waving in his face.
“He- llo ? Geralt? Anybody home?” Jaskier has his eyebrows raised and his sky blue eyes are so close that Geralt can feel the soft puff of Jaskier’s warm breath against his face when he huffs, “Can you tell me what color this one is? I think it’s orange but maybe it’s coral? Or perhaps a shade of yellow, honestly I can’t tell the pastels apart, they’re the hardest to differentiate from one--”
“You’re my soulmate,” Geralt blurts out, cutting Jaskier off.
Jaskier startles, his hand holding the jar of coral dye aloft jerking slightly, “I beg your pardon?”
“You… you’re my soulmate,” Geralt tries again, carefully speaking so he doesn’t lose his nerve, “When we met… before we met on the first day the sky was always gray for me, even on sunny days. But after I met you it was bright blue, the same color as your eyes.” Jaskier blinks but doesn’t speak, allowing Geralt to talk. “I thought, at first, maybe I wasn’t yours, too. Since you’re a romantic and talk about that stuff a lot and wishing you could find your soulmate. I didn’t realize…”
“That I meant it in that I’d never truly know if I met them or not,” Jaskier finishes quietly and Geralt nods. Jaskier glances at the dye in his hand and sets it down on the table before looking back up at Geralt, “So, I’m your soulmate, and you could very well be mine. What do you want to do about it?”
Geralt swallows slightly, his mouth suddenly very dry. He doesn’t want to deny how he’s been feeling about Jaskier anymore, but he’s still afraid of the baker’s rejection. Something tells him to go for it though and Geralt speaks softly, “I’d like to kiss you. If you’d like that, too.”
Jaskier’s eyes dart quickly down to Geralt’s lips and then back up again and he nods, a slow grin spreading across his face, “Yeah, I’d like that a lot.”
Geralt gingerly puts his hands on Jaskier’s hips as he pulls the baker towards him, leaning down just a little to press his lips against Jaskier’s soft ones in a feather light kiss. Jaskier smiles into it and winds his arms around Geralt’s shoulders, the jar of gel dye forgotten for the time being as their locked lips become more confident and their touches more bold.
It’s not like a fairy tale of course, real life rarely is. Jaskier and Geralt have their spats, their differences almost as numerous as their similarities. Geralt tries to throw a birthday party for Jaskier but doesn’t know that Jaskier doesn’t celebrate his birthday and the attention he so normally craves was completely unwanted and resulted in Jaskier not speaking to him for three days before he calmed down enough to explain that his mother used his birthday parties as a reason to get wasted and have Jaskier perform for her and her friends until his fingers would split and whichever instrument he was playing on was slick with blood. Geralt had felt awful once Jaskier explained and apologized profusely, to which Jaskier had apologized as well for not opening up sooner about his past and they both promised to try to do better.
Then Jaskier takes Ciri shopping without telling Geralt, intending it to be a surprise lazy afternoon and meaning to inform his partner that he was doing so but forgetting as he is wont to do, which made Geralt stressed and worried and caused an argument since Jaskier tends to yell when feeling guilty and Geralt tends to yell when anxious and this time it was Geralt giving Jaskier the silent treatment. But they resolve it again and promise to do better.
And they do. They work hard to be conscious of each other’s needs and care for each other and when Geralt suggests Jaskier see a psychiatrist because of how forgetful he can be and how much he can hyperfocus on the bakery for days at a time, Jaskier does so without an argument, but not without a lot of grumbling and complaining. And when the diagnosis comes back that he has ADHD and he doesn’t tell Geralt right away for fear of Geralt leaving him, since everyone always does, Geralt doesn’t get mad and just explains that he wouldn’t leave Jaskier for having a name for his behaviors now. And when Jaskier prompts Geralt to speak more after bad days at the ranch Geralt does, slinking into the bakery if Jaskier is still there and hiding his face in the crook of his baker’s neck and smelling the familiar scent of sugar and salt before quietly telling Jaskier about his bad day so that the man can comfort him.
And they love each other, wholly and completely. Because love is a little like sugar and salt.