Archive of Our Own

“So this is it,” said his prospective flatmate.

“Cool,” said Jaskier.

“I built it myself so it’s pretty sturdy.” His prospective new flatmate – who was significantly more buff and also more handsome than Jaskier had expected – swung open the door of the shed. “There’s a padlock for the door if you want it.”

“And the, um,” said Jaskier, pointing, “little external chest of drawers?”

“Yeah, that’d be yours.”

“Cool.” Jaskier rubbed his hands together. “So we have the, um, kitchen area over here,” he said, motioning at the stove just behind them, “and then over here,” he gestured at the other end of the room, “we have the living room. And, conveniently situated in between them, the shed.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I can’t complain about the location.” Jaskier clucked his tongue. “Three hundred a month.”

“We said four.”

“Listen,” said Jaskier. “Gerald, was it?”

“Geralt,” said the other man. “Hard G.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier echoed. “Look. It’s basically just a garden shed in your kitchen. Three twenty-five.”

“Three seventy-five.”

“Three forty,” said Jaskier, “and you install a little shelf,” he motioned, indicating the proportions of his desired shelf, “inside the shed for my personal effects. And we have a deal.”

Geralt shrugged. “Sure.”

“Great!” Jaskier said. “So can I move in whenever or?”

“You can move in tonight if you want.”

“Tomorrow’s fine,” Jaskier said. “Does the, ah, landlord know about this little arrangement?”

Geralt made an uncertain noise. “You’ll need to make yourself scarce during inspections.”

“Cool,” said Jaskier. “I can do that. And how long can I have it?”

“As long as you want,” said Geralt. “How long do you want to stay?”

“Indefinitely.” Jaskier shrugged. “I’m a musician. I work weird hours and I’m pretty much just looking for a place to crash. And this is, um.” He motioned at the shed and its accompanying chest of drawers. “A place to crash. I outstayed my welcome on all my bandmates’ sofas a while ago. So your flatmate – Jennifer?”

“Yennefer,” Geralt corrected.

“Ah,” said Jaskier. “With a Yuh. Is she nice?”

“I wouldn’t call her nice.” Geralt nodded at the fridge. “That’s her.”

Jaskier tilted his head to look at the photos decorating the fridge door – an array of pictures, mostly of Geralt and a, if he was going to be perfectly honest, stunningly beautiful woman. “Nice,” he concluded, and straightened up. “So, um. Are you two like a thing? Or are you just flatmates?”

There was a pause before Geralt answered – not a long pause but, long enough. “Just flatmates.”

“Right.”

“We’ll clear some space in the fridge for you but the kitchen cupboards are all full.”

“Oh, that’s fine, I can’t cook,” said Jaskier vaguely. “So I’ll be along tomorrow for the keys?”

“We said four hundred,” said Yennefer.

She was sitting at the coffee table, painting her toe nails, her hair still damp from the shower. Across the room Geralt lay in his recliner chair, his eyes closed. “It’s a fucking shed in our kitchen,” he said. “Everyone else who answered the ad took one look at it and left.”

“Yeah, that worries me,” said Yen. “What sort of a person would actually want to live in that thing? What if he’s some kind of weirdo?”

“Should have thought of that before renting it out,” said Geralt. “He seemed normal.”

“You spoke to him for, what, ten minutes?” Yen started on her left foot. “If I get murdered I’m taking you down with me.”

“Fair,” said Geralt.

“Anyway, I’m having second thoughts about this whole business,” she went on. “That thing takes up half the kitchen and I don’t want to share my bathroom with another man.” She dipped the brush into the bottle. “I have things set up the way I like them,” she said. “What if he wants to, I don’t know. Use my good dishes. Or put up posters all over the living room. What if he’s loud?”

“He said he was just looking for a place to sleep,” said Geralt. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.” He opened his eyes. “You want to get pizza?”

“Please,” said Yen.

As it happened, for the first two months of their arrangement she was barely aware of the presence of their third flatmate. Outside of a singular lonely bottle of ketchup in the fridge and the sporadic appearances of a guitar case atop the drawers in the kitchen, the only sign that anyone else lived there was the increasingly concerning volume of grooming products in the bathroom that kept spilling over onto her half of the shelf.

Rent appeared in cash in an envelope on the table in the hall. She thought he and Geralt might have established some form of communication via post-it notes, but as it mainly took place during hours when she was working she was only dimly aware of it.

“Do we have to have him?” she said.

“He promised not to do it again,” said Geralt at the stove, cooking eggs.

Yen scoffed.

“He’s my brother,” Geralt said.

“Technically, no he isn’t,” said Yen. Geralt shot her a look and went back to scrambling. Yen scrolled a little way further down her Twitter feed. “Okay, so. I’m cooking. Triss said she’d bring you a cake.”

“Tell her not to bother,” said Geralt.

“It’s a birthday gift,” said Yen. “She’s being nice. Don’t be a dick about it.”

Geralt made an uncertain sound. “Do we have to have a party again?”

“It’s customary.”

“It’s not like it’s an important birthday.” He dumped his eggs onto a plate.

“Well, I want to have a dinner party,” she said. “Is that so wrong?”

“I guess not.” Geralt ground pepper onto his eggs.

Looking up from her phone, Yennefer’s gaze fell upon the shed. It had already begun to blend into the background. “Should we invite,” she said, ducking her head at in and dropping her voice, “him?”

Jaskier’s guitar wasn’t there so he probably wasn’t home, but she didn’t want to chance it. Sometimes she’d be in the kitchen in the middle of the day and he’d sneeze or something and give her a fright.

“Could do,” said Geralt. “He might be working.”

“Is he on Facebook?” said Yen.

“How should I know?”

“What sort of a name is Jaskier, anyway,” she said, opening up the search bar. “Does he have a last name?”

“Who’s to say.” Geralt put his toast down beside his eggs and took the plate over to his recliner. “Stick an invitation under his door.”

“You’re no help,” said Yen. “I’m not even sure I want to invite him. Do you want him there?”

“Up to you,” said Geralt around a mouthful of eggs. “Your party.”

She resisted the urge to throw her phone at him. “Ugh.”

She’d half made up her mind to just not bother inviting Jaskier – her attempts to track him down via Facebook having proved fruitless – when she stepped out into the hall one morning just as he blundered in the front door.

“Oh, hey!” He shot her a set of awkward finger guns. “Yennefer with a Yuh.”

“Yeah,” Yennefer agreed. She wasn’t sure what else to say. It was the first time she’d seen him in the flesh since he’d come to pick up the keys.

“You off to work?”

“Mm-hm,” said Yen. “You.”

He held up his hands. “Just home.”

“It’s seven o’clock in the morning.”

“Oh?” He dug his phone out of his pocket. “So it is. It was a long night.” He took a step further into the hall, holding the door for her. “I’ll let you get going and, um. Head back to my shed.”

“Cool,” said Yen. She ducked out under his arm into the stairwell. “Wait,” she said before he could close the door.

“Hm?”

“It’s Geralt’s birthday.”

“Oh, today?” he said.

“Tomorrow,” she said. “We’re having a party on Saturday. You can come, if you want.”

“Saturday.” He tilted his head, mulling it over. “Yeah, I’m free. What kind of party?”

“Dinner and drinks.”

“Cool,” he said. “Do I need to bring anything? Or just my beautiful self?”

“No need,” she said, and headed on down the stairs.

The door snicked closed. After a moment it opened again. “Hey,” he said, leaning out into the stairwell. “Can I invite my band?”

Pausing on the first landing, Yennefer considered the question. “Absolutely not.”

Jaskier clucked his tongue. “Fair,” he said. “I’ll see you Saturday.”

He shut the door.

“So he’ll probably be surly and unpleasant about this,” said Yen as she opened the door. “Again. But please know that I’m very appreciative.”

“I just like the opportunity to bake,” said Triss.

“Coffee?”

“Please.”

Triss shot a puzzled look at the shed as they went into the kitchen, but she was polite enough to say nothing about it. Geralt paused in the act of putting away dishes to grunt a hello.

“Triss has brought over your birthday cake,” said Yen.

“Oh,” said Geralt, mildly startled, as if he’d forgotten she’d even offered. “Thanks.”

“Any time,” said Triss.

Opening the fridge, Yen glowered at their food, squashed onto the two top shelves, and pondered just putting it on Jaskier’s, which still held nothing except ketchup.

“So who else is coming this weekend?” said Triss.

Fuck it, Yen said to herself. She shoved the ketchup aside and slid in the cake. “The usual crowd,” she said. “Geralt’s brothers. Our new flatmate will be there.”

“You guys have a flatmate?”

“Technically,” said Yen.

Geralt was hanging their coffee mugs on the mug tree. “Do you want to meet him?”

“Oh, sure!” said Triss.

Hanging up the last mug, Geralt took two steps across the kitchen and thumped on the door of the shed. There was a moment’s silence, in which Yen didn’t look Triss in the eye, and then from inside the shed a rustling and an answering mumble.

“We have company,” said Geralt. “Come say hello.”

There was a fumbling sound from inside the shed and a protracted squeak of mattress springs. The door swung open and out popped Jaskier’s head, his hair tousled. “Yo,” he said, then seeing Triss, “oh, hi!”

“This is Jaskier,” said Yen. “He lives with us now. Jaskier, this is our friend Triss.”

“Pleasure.” Jaskier flopped down on his stomach, resting his elbows on the kitchen floor.

“Nice to meet you.” To Yen, deeply concerned, Triss said, “does he… live in the shed?”

“Yeah, this is my abode,” said Jaskier, motioning at the shed around him.

“He just sleeps in there,” said Yen, ignoring him.

“How long have you been living here?” said Triss.

Jaskier shrugged. “Dunno,” he said. “Eight weeks, maybe?” Geralt grunted an affirmative.

“Eight weeks?” Triss turned to Yen. “You’ve had a man living in a shed in your kitchen for eight weeks?”

“It’s really not a big deal,” said Yen.

“It sounds illegal.”

“What, are you a narc?” said Jaskier.

“This is very weird,” said Triss.

“Yeah,” Jaskier agreed. “Hey, what time is it?”

“Three o’clock,” said Geralt.

Jaskier looked puzzled. “In the afternoon?”

“Yeah,” said Yen.

“Did we, um,” said Triss, “wake you?”

“Nah,” said Jaskier. “Geralt woke me, by rudely thumping on my door.”

“So do you work nights or something?” said Triss.

“Eh,” Jaskier said, “kind of.”

“By the way, we put Geralt’s cake on your fridge shelf,” said Yen.

“Whaaat?” said Jaskier. “But what if I want to use it for something?”

“Like what?”

Jaskier shrugged. “I dunno. More ketchup?”

“You disgust me,” said Yen. “Go back in your lair, worm.” She aimed a kick at him. “Go on. Go!”

“Sssss,” said Jaskier. “I will return to my slumber.”

“I’m making lunch in a bit, you want anything?” said Geralt.

“No, ta,” said Jaskier. “Actually, could you pass me my water bottle?”

Geralt grabbed it off the draining board and offered it to him.

“With water in it, you prick!” said Jaskier. “Honestly.” He accepted his filled water bottle and threw Triss a mock salute. “Great to meet you,” he said, sipping water. “See you later. I need to sleep.”

He wiggled back into the shed, tugging the door shut behind him. It bounced off the latch and reaching down Geralt closed it properly. “Thanks!” Jaskier called from inside, his voice muffled.

For a moment, none of them spoke. Then Triss said, “you know, actually, I’ve just remembered I need to get going.”

“I thought you were staying for coffee,” said Geralt.

“Sabrina’s waiting for me,” said Triss. To Yen, she said, “talk to you later?”

“I’ll walk you out,” said Yen.

In the hall, she folded her arms and said, “okay. Out with it.”

“What the fuck is going on?” said Triss. “Who is that man? Why’s he living in your kitchen?”

Yen shrugged. “He’s our flatmate.”

“Okay, but this is not a normal way to have a flatmate,” said Triss. “You know that, don’t you?”

“We’re trendsetters,” said Yen. “Look, he’s paying rent and we needed the money.”

“So you decided to sublet a garden shed in your kitchen?” Triss said. “Why didn’t you just tell us you were struggling? Were you struggling?”

Yen declined to answer the second question. “This seemed more expedient.”

“This is insane. How’d you even meet him?”

“Craigslist.”

“Craigslist?”

“We tried some other sites but no takers.”

“I think there might be a reason for that,” said Triss.

“Yeah,” said Yen. “It’s because it’s a garden shed in our kitchen. I’m not under any illusions here.”

“God!” Triss threw up her hands. “I’m going home.”

“Bye!” Yennefer called after her.

Five p.m. Saturday she stood by the stove, trying to decide how best to arrange her pans on the three functioning rings. Geralt would usually offer to help her cook, even though every year she reminded him that he shouldn’t be cooking his own birthday dinner, but he was out on a job. Fingers crossed he’d be back by seven.

She glowered at the broken ring as if she could furiously stare it back into working. Then, sighing to herself, she turned and knocked politely on the door of the shed.

“Uh-huh?” said Jaskier from inside.

“Are you awake?”

There was squeaking inside as he crawled along the mattress. The door opened. “I am now,” he said, poking his head out. “What’s up?”

“Feel like chopping some vegetables?” she said.

“Oh, sure.” Jaskier glanced down at himself. “Just give me two minutes. I should probably put on trousers for that.”

He stepped out of the shed, barefoot in a t-shirt and boxers, and pottered around the corner to his chest of drawers. Yen watched his long hairy legs go by with distaste. “Do you have to wander around the kitchen in your underwear?”

“I sleep in here,” he said, fetching a pair of jeans from the drawer. “What do you want me to do? Sleep in my clothes?”

“Maybe,” said Yen curtly.

He stepped into his jeans. “Rude.” Pulling them up he fastened his belt. “What do you want me to chop?”

“Stop eating bits!” she said a few minutes later.

“I’m hungry,” he protested around a mouthful of raw carrot. He swallowed and said, “I haven’t had breakfast.”

“It’s five o’clock in the evening.”

“So?” he said. “You woke me up.”

“You’d have to be up in an hour or so anyway for the party,” she said. “By the way, are you planning on getting changed?”

He struck a pose, hand on his hip. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

“You slept in it?”

“It’s grunge.”

“It’s gross. Put on a proper shirt.”

“Define proper shirt,” he said.

“A dress shirt?”

“What makes you think I own a dress shirt?”

“You don’t own a dress shirt?”

“I’m a freelance guitarist and I live in a shed in your kitchen,” he said. “Why would I own a dress shirt?”

“Weddings?”

“What are you on about?” He ate some more carrot. She smacked his hand with the spatula. “Ow! That’s hot.”

“Suck it up.”

“You’re mean,” he said. “You’re a mean lady, Yennefer with a Yuh.” He went back to chopping. “Is Geralt out?”

“He’s on a job.”

“Cool,” he said. “Cool cool cool. Um. What does he like. Do?”

“Carpentry.”

“Ohhh,” he said. “That checks out. Is he coming back for his party?”

“We’ll see.”

“I’m excited,” he said. “I had a peek at the cake and it looks so good.”

“Did you eat any?”

“What? No!” he said. “What kind of child do you think I am?”

“A large one.” She gestured at the chopped carrots with the spatula. “Into the pot.” He scraped the carrots into the soup, swiping another piece as he did so. “What did I just say?”

“I’m still hungry,” he whined.

“For fuck’s sake.” She reached for the wine. “Well. Now all the cooking’s done I’m going to start drinking. “She poured a glass. “Drink?”

“Um,” he said. “I should probably eat something first.”

She offered him the cream crackers.

He put his hand to his chest. “You’re my hero,” he said. “A goddess. A queen.”

“Eat your crackers,” she said. He shoved one whole into his mouth. Standing back from the stove she put her fists on her hips. “Okay. I’m going to get dressed.”

“Cool,” he said. “I’m going to eat more crackers.”

“Can you watch the pot?”

“I can try,” he said. “What am I watching for?”

“Never mind,” she said.

“I might leave at some point to get changed into a shirt I didn’t sleep in.”

“Leave?”

“To the bathroom?” he said. “There’s not a lot of space in the shed and I prefer not to get my balls out in the kitchen.” He looked moodily at the wine. “Can I have a drink?”

“Whatever,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”

She fussed over her appearance for the best part of forty-five minutes, trying to get that ‘I put no effort in, I’m just naturally this elegant’ look that Sabrina was so irritatingly good at. She wondered, as she generally did, why she was bothering. It wasn’t like she had anyone to get dressed up for. Geralt had complimented her unprompted maybe once in the decade they’d known each other.

There was no reason he should be complimenting her, she reminded herself as she put in her earrings. It wasn’t like he was her boyfriend or anything.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” she said, back in the kitchen.

Jaskier was lounging in Geralt’s recliner – an odd image in and of itself, as usually no-one but Geralt sat there – drinking wine and scrolling through his phone. He spread his hands and looked down at himself. “You said dress up.”

“Jesus Christ,” she said. “Is that a playsuit?”

“Closest thing I have to a dress shirt,” he protested.

“How?”

“It has a nice pattern on it and it fastens up the front,” he said. “I’m not getting changed again. I’m comfy.”

“It has parrots on it.”

“What’s wrong with parrots?”

“It’s disgusting,” she said. “You disgust me.”

He pulled a face at her. “You look very nice, by the way.”

“Naturally,” she said, stalking over to check the soup.

“You just hate parrots,” he said a few minutes later, leaning against the kitchen worktop.

“I don’t hate parrots,” she said, stirring the soup. “I hate looking at your calves.”

“Rude,” he said. “You just met my calves. You might like them if you got to know them.”

“They offend me,” she said. “You’re too young to have that much leg hair.” She tasted the soup.

He threw up his free hand, affronted. “I’ve had this much leg hair since I was fourteen years old.”

“Disgusting,” she said. “Unnatural. Taste this.”

“Tastes like soup,” he said. “What is it?”

“Soup.”

The front door slammed. “Geralt’s home!” Jaskier exclaimed, throwing out his arm. “Hey! Geralt! Geralt!”

Geralt put his head into the kitchen. “What?”

“Happy birthday!”

“It’s not my birthday.” Geralt came fully into the room.

Jaskier flapped his hand. “Happy birthday party day, or whatever,” he said. “Come and have some wine.”

“Later.” Geralt looked him up and down. “Is that a onesie?”

“Playsuit.”

“What?”

“That’s fashion, baby,” Jaskier said.

Geralt looked at the playsuit. He looked to Yennefer. “Is it?”

“No,” said Yen.

“Yes,” said Jaskier.

“Should I get one?” said Geralt.

“Oh, absolutely!” said Jaskier.

It was on the tip of Yen’s tongue to say absolutely not. Then she pictured Geralt in a playsuit and certain benefits occurred to her. “Why not.”

“I like the birds,” said Geralt.

“Thank you,” said Jaskier. “See, Geralt has taste. Geralt, tell Yennefer with a Yuh I don’t have too much hair on my calves.”

“Tell him he absolutely does,” said Yen.

Geralt tilted his head to look at Jaskier’s calves. “That is a lot,” he pronounced.

“Oh, don’t take her side!” said Jaskier.

“Why are you wearing a bird onesie?” said Geralt.

“Yen said to dress up.”

“You didn’t have to dress up.”

“Well, Yennefer said to, and I guess she’s my mum now or something.” Jaskier swigged wine.

“Arguably I’m your landlord,” said Yen.

“Arguably,” Jaskier agreed.

“You really didn’t have to dress up,” said Geralt.

“Didn’t I?” said Jaskier mildly.

“He’s just saying that because he doesn’t want to get changed,” said Yen. “Geralt, sweetheart, go and put on a proper shirt.”

“Fine.” Geralt slouched out of the kitchen.”

“He owns several dress shirts, you see,” said Yen.

“I’m a free spirit,” said Jaskier. “Get off my back.”

She was feeling pretty good about the soup. Less good about the nutroast, but she’d never made a nutroast she felt especially good about, so she wasn’t too bothered. She gave it a prod and put it back in the oven, just as their first guest rang the buzzer.

Geralt was comfortably relaxing on his recliner, and would probably stay there for the rest of the evening – until it was time to wash the dishes, which he would do, no matter how much she protested. Triss and Sabrina were squashed onto the smaller of the sofas. Jaskier was perched on top of the shed, his feet resting on the back of the big sofa, entirely at ease in spite of the precariousness of his position.

Triss and Sabrina were tactfully not commenting on the shed, and so far they were getting on with Jaskier like a house on fire. He was chatting with them like he’d known them for years. He’d been that way with her too, she realised. Amiable she supposed was the word. Far more amiable than her or Geralt, who’d taken months to start, cautiously, thinking of each other as friends.

The buzzer went again and putting down her oven gloves she went to answer it. “You remember Sabrina,” she said, ushering Eskel – by far, in her educated opinion, the more palatable of Geralt’s brothers – into the kitchen. “And this is Jaskier. He’s our flatmate.”

“Hi,” said Jaskier, waving cheerily from the roof of the shed. “We haven’t met.”

“This is Eskel,” said Yen. “he’s Geralt’s brother.”

“When did you get a flatmate?” said Eskel, stepping out of his shoes.

“Couple of months ago,” said Yen.

“Where do you sleep?” he said to Jaskier.

Jaskier pointed cheerfully at the shed beneath him. “Right here!”

“In the shed?” said Eskel.

“Oh, god,” moaned Sabrina. “I thought Triss was kidding.”

“This is what you did with dad’s shed?” said Eskel.

Geralt shrugged awkwardly in his recliner. “Yeah. And?”

“How did they find you?” he said.

“Craigslist,” said Jaskier.

“Craigslist?” said Eskel.

“Yes, that was my reaction,” said Triss.

“It’s working out so far,” Yen protested. “It’s not a big deal.”

“You have a stranger from Craigslist living in a shed in your kitchen,” said Eskel. “It’s a big deal. Not offence,” he said to Jaskier.

“None taken.”

“He’s not a stranger,” said Geralt. “He’s our flatmate.”

“Are you seriously alright with this?” Sabrina asked Jaskier.

Jaskier shrugged. “Beats couchsurfing.”

Yen offered Eskel the crisps, which he accepted. “You were couchsurfing?” she said.

“Yeahhh,” Jaskier sipped wine. “I outstayed my welcome with, um, basically all of my bandmates.”

“Oh, you’re in a band?” said Triss.

“Folk rock,” said Jaskier.

“Oh, god,” Sabrina moaned again.

“Don’t mind her,” said Triss.

“Nah, I get that all the time,” said Jaskier.

“I can’t believe you have a homeless kid living in a shed in your kitchen,” Eskel said to Geralt.

“Hey, now!” Jaskier protested. “Homeless is a strong word. And, I’m an adult.”

“How old are you?” said Eskel.

“I’m twenty-four,” said Jaskier.

“He’s a baby,” said Triss.

“A baby man,” sighed Sabrina.

Triss hummed in agreement. “Yen, why do you have this large child living in a shed in your kitchen?”

“I’m not a child,” said Jaskier.

“He’s paying rent,” said Yen.

“To live in a shed?”

“It’s like a hutch,” said Sabrina. “For a human.”

Triss barked out a laugh. “A hutch!”

“Are you allowed out of your hutch?” said Eskel. “Or do they keep you locked in?”

“Well –” Jaskier began.

“Are you allowed to use the facilities?” said Triss.

Jaskier gesture at the shed. “I actually have a litter tray in here.”

“Geralt empties it,” said Yen, mashing potatoes.

“No I don’t,” Geralt protested.

“He also takes me for walkies,” said Jaskier.

“No I don’t!” said Geralt. “Stop saying that.

Eskel produced a bottle of wine and proffered it to him. “Gift.”

“I said no gifts,” said Geralt.

“You say that every year.”

“Yeah, and I mean it every year!”

Eskel ignored him. “Do you have a corkscrew?”

Yen opened the cutlery drawer. “Theoretically.”

“Oh, I think I have one.” Jaskier swung his legs over the roof of the shed and scrambled down the other side. “Hang on,” he said, opening the door of his hutch and ducking inside.

“Does he seriously live in there?” said Sabrina in a low voice.

“It’s just where he sleeps,” said Geralt.

Jaskier crawled out of the shed, corkscrew in hand, and offered it up to Yen.

“You don’t have any dress shirts, but you have a corkscrew?” she said, snatching it.

“I fail to see what those two things have to do with each other,” he said, standing up and dusting off his playsuit. “I like wine. Fight me.”

“This cake is really good,” said Jaskier. Swallowing, he motioned at it with his fork. “You made this?”

“Mm-hm,” said Yen’s friend Triss.

“It’s amazing.”

He was perched on the arm of the sofa, his back pressed uncomfortably against the windowsill. The flat wasn’t really laid out for a dinner party, being as it didn’t have a dining table. They’d eaten their soup and nut roast off their laps and now they were at the more flexible cake and wine stage. Geralt and Yen and about half the guests had wandered off into the hall.

“So are we going to get to meet your band?” said Triss, trailing her fingers through her hair.

“Hm,” said Jaskier. “Love to introduce you but Yennefer expressly forbade me from inviting them. This is so good.”

“Do you bake?”

“Never in my life,” he said. “How long have you know Yennefer, by the way?”

“My whole adult life, essentially,” said Triss. “Why?”

“Why’s she spell her name with a Yuh?” said Jaskier.

“I don’t know,” said Triss. “Her parents named her that.”

“Why’s anyone called anything,” remarked Sabrina.

One of Geralt’s brothers – Jaskier was pretty sure his name was Lambert – wandered back into the kitchen and snagged a beer from the fridge. “Evening,” he said. “Bottle opener?”

“Here,” said Jaskier, passing it to him.

“Ta,” he said. “Who are you again?”

“I’m Jaskier,” said Jaskier. “I live in the shed.”

“Gotcha,” said Lambert. “How much are they charging you for that?”

“Three-forty a month.”

“Oof.”

“Can’t complain,” said Jaskier. “You’re Geralt’s brother, right?”

“Mm-hm,” said Lambert, opening his beer.

“You don’t look much like him,” said Jaskier.

“We’re adopted,” said Lambert, not looking him in the eye.

“Oh,” said Jaskier. “Hey, can I ask you something? About Geralt and Yennefer?”

“Sure.” Lambert plonked himself down on the sofa.

“So like,” said Jaskier, “what’s their deal?”

“How’d you mean?” said Triss.

“I mean,” said Jaskier. “They aren’t dating – are they?”

Before the words were even out of his mouth there was a chorus of groans. “They are not,” said Triss crisply.

“Cause I sort of got the feeling there was something –”

“Yeah, they’ve been not-dating for about a decade now,” said Lambert.

“Neither of them wants to make the first move,” said Triss.

“Don’t want to ruin their friendship, y’know?” said Lambert.

“Seriously?” said Jaskier. “For ten years? And they live together?” He pondered that. “How have they not killed each other by now?”

Lambert snorted. “The kicker is, so long as they’re stringing each other along, neither of them’ll date anyone else.”

“Jesus,” said Jaskier.

“As far as we can tell, they’re celibate,” said Sabrina.

“I think I would die,” Jaskier said.

“What’s the plan, then?” said Lambert. “Stay here till you find somewhere better?”

“I dunno,” said Jaskier. “I’m liking living here.”

Yennefer came back into the kitchen, going purposefully to the fridge as if she didn’t intend to linger. “Oi, Yennefer,” said Lambert. Once he had her attention, he gestured at Jaskier. “Who the fuck is this?”

“I told you, I’m their flatmate,” said Jaskier.

“That’s our pet guitarist.” Yennefer nodded at the shed. “And that’s his hutch. Problem?”

“What breed is he?” said Sabrina.

“Oh, I’m some kind of mutt,” said Jaskier.

“We don’t know – we got him from a shelter.” Yennefer took a bottle of wine from the fridge. “Ciao.”

Abandoning the last bites of his cake on the windowsill, Jaskier followed her out into the hall, not really sure why he was doing so. He’d had a few glasses of wine – a lot of glasses of wine – and he felt a comfortable urge to follow Yennefer wherever she went.

Yennefer was impressively, stunningly, unbelievably beautiful. He had the sense that she knew just exactly how beautiful she was and was fully prepared to weaponise it. He reflected tipsily that he’d probably go down on his knees for her.

On the flip side, he’d seen her sensible underwear hung up around the flat, he’d learned from inspecting the fridge contents that she drank a lot of almond milk, and there was a fifty per cent chance she was the owner of the rom-com DVD collection on the hall bookshelf.

He liked Yennefer. He wanted badly for her to like him. He had no intention of saying anything about it. “Sup,” he said.

Yen was pouring wine into two glasses balanced atop the bookcase. “Oh, hi,” she said, as if seeing him there was a surprise.

“Good party,” he said.

“It’s fine,” she said, drawing the word out. He was pretty sure she was drunk, but she was so poised all the time that it was hard to tell. She dripped the last dregs of the wine into the glass. “I was going to invite you on Facebook, but I couldn’t find you.”

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “I’m on there under my legal name.”

“As opposed to your illegal name?” She looked at him properly. “Your name isn’t Jaskier?”

He shrugged. “Technically it’s my stage name but everyone calls me that these days.”

“You’re ridiculous,” she said. “God. Can I have your Facebook, then?”

“Perk of this living arrangement is you don’t know my legal name,” he said. “So, no. I’ll give you my phone number if you like.”

“Sure.” She offered him one of the glasses. He took it, even though he already had one in the kitchen.

He put his number into her phone and handed it back. “No,” she said, deleting his string of heart and flower emojis.

“Aw,” he said, pouting vainly at her. She wasn’t even looking. He swigged his wine. “You’re no fun.”

One not insignificant issue with their living arrangement was that, having lived alone with Geralt for so long, it was hard for Yen to break her usual habits. Geralt was at work and wouldn’t be back for a good few hours, so she was going laundry.

Specifically, she was washing all her good bras, and since she hated the feeling of wearing a shirt with no bra she was going it topless, wandering back and forth between the laundry bin and the clothes horse, listening to her choice of music, not even considering that she might be interrupted.

Not considering it for a moment, until the front door slammed.

She froze in the act of turning up a bra, turning to look at the kitchen door just as it opened. “Hey,” said Jaskier, finagling his guitar case through the doorway. He raised his head and whatever he’d been going to say came out as, “– tits. Um.” Floundering, his mouth worked, speechless and completely unable to decide where to look. “Hi.”

While he’d been trying to figure out what to say, Yen had concluded that the best way to handle the situation was to play it off like being topless in front of her flatmates was something she did all the time and didn’t give a fuck about. “Hey,” she said coolly.

“Morning, Yennefer,” he said, though it was two o’clock in the afternoon. He gestured vaguely with a clenched fist, as if to say we’re all chums here, aren’t we. “You look nice. I, I mean,” he stammered, “your hair, it’s – um. Good.”

Yennefer turned and hung up the bra she was holding. “How’s your day going?”

“I’m not sure,” he said, coming further into the kitchen. “What day is it?”

“Saturday,” she said.

“Ah,” he said, “so it is,” which didn’t answer her question at all.

He edged past her, and then dropping into a crouch crawled into the hutch, kicking off his shoes as he went. He emerged a few moments later tousled and jacketless. “I’m making coffee.”

“I’m not stopping you,” said Yen, arranging her bras neatly.

Jaskier fetched a mug. “So is Geralt,” he said, “home?”

“He’s working.”

“Cool,” said Jaskier. “Cool, cool.” Out of the corner of her eye, as she diligently arranged her laundry, she could see him sneaking peeks at her, and she found she didn’t mind it as much as she’d expect. He didn’t see to be doing it on purpose. It was as if her breasts just kept drawing his eyes in, like a magnet. He had a look of befuddled awe about him.

“You want some coffee?” he said, pointedly looking into the cupboard.

“Sure.”

“I’ll just be two minutes,” Jaskier said, struggling with the lock on the front door. “This – fucking thing – there we go.”

“If you’ve lost it I’ll end you,” said Essi, who had been glowering at him all the way from the pub.

“I haven’t lost it.” He ushered her through into the kitchen. “Just two secs.” Dumping his back on the floor he crouched in front of the hutch.

“What the fuck is that?”

“Hm?” Jaskier gestured magnanimously at the hutch. “Oh, this? This is my abode.”

“You said you found a room,” she said.

“Um, it has four walls and a ceiling,” said Jaskier. “It’s a room.” He ducked inside.

“I’d like to re-iterate my what in the entire fuck,” said Essi.

Jaskier popped his head back out. “This was the only place I could find in my price range that didn’t want references, okay?” he said. “Get off my back.”

“Who are these people you’re living with?” she said. “Is this a crack house?”

“Not as far as I know,” said Jaskier from inside the hutch. “It’s in here somewhere.”

“How is your life such a disaster?”

“Beats me,” he said, groping through his bedsheets.

“You know.” The hutch creaked as she leaned on it. “Sometimes I lie awake at night and think wow, my life sucks. And then I say to myself, hey, at least I don’t have Jaskier’s life.”

“Ha,” he said.

“You need to get your shit together.”

“Um, it is together.” He scrambled out of the hutch. “See? It’s all located in this convenient shed. And the adjacent drawers. No more shit togethering needed.” He proffered her notebook. “Here.”

“Seriously,” said Essi. “Who are these people you’re living with? What kind of weirdos concocted this – arrangement?”

“See,” said Jaskier, kneeling before the hutch, “when I first met them I thought they seemed pretty much nice and normal, but then I got to know them a bit and it turns out they actually are very weird – but not like, dangerous weird,” he clarified hastily. “Just, collects horse memorabilia, deeply neurotic, spells their name with a Yuh. That sort of weird.”

“Puts a garden shed in their living room sort of weird?”

Jaskier patted the door. “We call it the hutch.”

“Oh my god,” she said. “You need to move out. This is a trainwreck.”

Easing himself to his feet, Jaskier leaned on the roof of the hutch. “Would it help if I told you they’re both very sexy?”

“It would not,” said Essi.

“Cause I really don’t think it’s possible to overstate how sexy these people are,” said Jaskier. “They’re phenomenally sexy. This, this otherworldly sort of sexiness. It’s amazing.”

“Are they a couple?”

“Nooo,” said Jaskier. “No. But!” He held up a finger. “They’re fantastically horny for each other. They just want to have sex so bad, but for some obscure reason they aren’t. So the sexual energy in this place is just off the shits. I’m soaking it all up. I’m absorbing the sexual longing like a sponge. It’s doing wonders for my music.”

“You’re a nightmare,” Essi said.

“Anyway,” said Jaskier. “Your curiosity is soon to be abated. They’re coming to our gig on Friday.”

“Nice,” said Essi cheerily. “I can ask them what their problem is.”

“Do not,” said Jaskier.

“No,” said Yen. She was lying on her side on the sofa, wrapped up in her woolliest cardigan, scrolling through Facebook.

“I promised we would,” said Geralt from the recliner.

“That sounds like a you problem,” said Yen. “I already have Friday night plans.”

“Binge-watching Drag Race isn’t a Friday night plan.”

“I wasn’t planning on binge-watching Drag Race,” she lied. “I have actual plans.”

“It’s been ages since we’ve been to a gig,” said Geralt.

“There’s a reason for that,” Yen reminded him.

It had to do with wildly diverging tastes in music, a growing preference for being in bed by ten, and that time someone threw up on her in a mosh pit.

“It might be fun.”

“Since when were you in favour of socialising?”

“You don’t socialise at a gig,” said Geralt. “It’s too loud.”

“Whatever,” said Yen. “Have fun. As I said, I already have plans.”

“Okay,” said Geralt. “You can tell him you’re not going.”

“Fine,” said Yen.

“He was very excited when I told him we’d go.”

“Okay.”

“His little face lit up.”

“Mm-hm.”

“He’ll be crushed.”

“You bastard.” She turned off the screen of her phone and tossed it angrily onto the coffee table. “We’d better be home by nine.”

Geralt said, “I guarantee it.”

It was a basement bar. The floor and ceiling were painted black. The tables were unvarnished. The walls were papered with film and concert posters. “Ugh,” said Yen in the doorway.

“Be nice,” said Geralt.

Jaskier was already on stage, setting up with the rest of his band. Seeing them he smiled sunnily and began to wave. Yen ignored him.

“You know how I feel about bars that use film posters as wallpaper,” she said.

Jaskier was still waving, more fervently, as if they might not have seen him. It wasn’t a very big bar. He went on waving, enthusiastic, and somehow, in spite of the fact that she was confident he was one of the least trustworthy people she’d ever met, completely guileless.

Geralt raised a hand in greeting and put him out of his misery. “You want a drink?”

“Only if you’re buying,” she said, shedding her coat. “Find out if they serve wine.”

“I wouldn’t count on it.” Geralt headed for the bar.

Geralt was good at getting served in bars. Crowds had a way of parting for him. Something about his build combined with his stony demeanour had that effort on people. Yen found a table – a tall one, with rickety bar stools – and settled in to wait for it to be over.

They weren’t that bad, considering. Jaskier could sing, at least, which was a pleasant relief. The material was strange and meandering and lost her attention almost immediately. She toyed with her wine glass and the dregs of her cheap, sour wine.

“What do you think?” said Geralt when the first half of their set finally ended.

“I’m not really a folk rock person.”

“I’m not sure what folk rock is,” said Geralt. “Is Hozier folk rock?”

“No.” Yen squinted at him. “How do you know about Hozier?”

“Hey!” Jaskier popped up beside their table and sprawled half across it, breathlessly excited. “I can’t believe you guys made it.”

“I said we would,” said Geralt.

“Well, you know.” Jaskier propped his elbows on the table, heedless of the sticky patches. “So what’d you guys think?”

“You sound like a knock-off Mumford and Sons,” said Yen.

Jaskier pouted. “Rude,” he said. “But fair.” He looked to Geralt.

“It was very good,” said Geralt. “Well done.”

“See?” said Jaskier. “Geralt’s nice.” He leaned across the table, fully into Yen’s space, and said in a conspiratorial tone, “that’s Essi.” He nodded at one of his bandmates, a girl at the bar with a cloud of blonde hair. “Essi’s great, you’ll like her. That’s Pris,” he nodded at the girl talking to Essi, “she plays keyboard and you’ll like her too. And that,” he jerked his head at the last member of the band, “is Val. Val is a cunt.”

“Why’s he in your band if he’s a cunt?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier tilted his head to the side in thought. “What he lacks in personality he makes up for in musical competence,” he said. “Well.” He pulled a face. “Mostly. Sort of. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find good musicians who are willing to join a folk rock band? In this economy?”

“He’s looking at us,” said Yen.

“Is he?” Jaskier glanced over his shoulder. “Ah, fuck, he’s coming over.” He bit his lip and said urgently, “do not tell him I said he was a cunt.”

“Evening,” said Val.

“Val!” said Jaskier, beaming. “Hi. These are my flatmates.”

Geralt grunted a greeting.

“Flatmates, this is Val,” said Jaskier.

“Hi!” said Yen. “Jaskier was just saying what a good musician you are.”

“Was he?” Val eyed Jaskier suspiciously.

Jaskier shot Yen a death glare. “I think the word I used was competent.”

“So you’re the people who’s shed Jaskier lives in?” said Val.

“Yeah,” said Geralt, at the same time as Yen said hastily, “it’s really not that weird. It’s a sort of a – privacy screen.”

“In the form of a shed,” said Jaskier.

“In the kitchen,” said Geralt.

“We call it the hutch,” said Jaskier. “Very convenient location for both the fridge and the microwave.”

Val swigged his beer. “I’m just glad he’s off my sofa.”

“Hey, now,” said Jaskier. “I’m a delightful flatmate. Yen, tell him.”

“He used up all my shower gel and put the bottle back in my shower caddy,” said Yen.

“Geralt, tell him,” said Jaskier.

Geralt shrugged. “He’s okay.”

“I will take it.” Jaskier motioned at the bar. “Hey, you guys should try the nachos here. They’re good.”

“We already ate,” said Yen. “Is anything else on the menu good?”

“Beer selection’s not bad,” said Val.

“They have energy drink on tap and I am buzzing,” said Jaskier, lounging on the table.

“How much did you have?” said Yen.

“I’m not sure,” said Jaskier. “Too much, probably.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Speaking of I should go and pee before we go back on stage. Ciao!”

He darted towards the gents – only to dart back a moment later. “If you don’t want me to use your shower gel then you shouldn’t buy shower gel that smells so good,” he said, and vanished into the crowd.

“Hey!” Yen called after him.

“This wasn’t so bad,” said Geralt as he held her coat for her.

“Yes, it was,” said Yen.

“You had a nice time,” said Geralt.

Yen shrugged on her coat and considered. “I had an adequate time,” she concluded.

“Close enough,” Geralt said.

Jaskier swung around the corner into the bar’s cramped foyer, sweaty and tousled. “Are you guys leaving already?”

“Yeah,” said Geralt.

“Do you have to?” said Jaskier. “C’mon. We’re going clubbing. You should come!”

Geralt and Yen exchanged glances. They hadn’t been clubbing in a long time, for similar reasons to why they hadn’t been to a gig. It was eight thirty. If they left now they could be home for nine very comfortably.

“I don’t know,” said Geralt.

“Aw, c’mon.” Jaskier pouted. “It’ll be fun. We’re going to the Lagoon.”

She could see Geralt wavering. It was a rare thing for Geralt to waver on anything, but he was wavering. Somehow, over the last few months, Jaskier and his baby blue eyes had got under Geralt’s skin. He was going to snap any moment.

The worst of it was, it was working on her too. Jaskier was like a puppy. It was frustratingly difficult to look into his eyes and say no to him.

“One drink,” she said.

Jaskier beamed so sunnily it lit up the dingy foyer. “You guys are the best,” he said. “We’ll be like five minutes.” He bobbed back into the bar.

“What happened to home by nine?” Geralt asked.

“One drink,” said Yen. “Then we’re going home.”

It was past three by the time she bundled Geralt into a taxi, deeply aware of how unreasonably heavy he was. He was the heaviest person she’d ever met. The heaviest person in the world, maybe.

Jaskier scrambled in behind them, wriggling into his seat. “Hi!” he said to the driver, battling with his seatbelt. “We’re going, um.” He turned to Yen. “What’s our street called?”

Geralt burst into giggles.

“You don’t know the name of our street?” she said.

Jaskier pursed his lips. “I want to stay it starts with an S.”

“It does not,” said Yen, which set Geralt off giggling again.

It was a long time since she’d seen him get giggly drunk. He didn’t often let his guard down sufficiently to get drunk enough to giggle. She scowled, and gave the driver their address.

Back at their flat, Geralt stumbled off in the general direction of his bedroom. Fortunately Yen was sober enough to make sure he didn’t get into bed with his shoes on or fall asleep on his stomach. She got him settled and went looking for Jaskier.

He found him in the kitchen, draped over the roof of the hutch. “Oh, god,” he moaned as she came in. “Oh god, Yen, I’m dying.”

“No you’re not,” she said. “You’re drunk.”

“I can be both,” he said. “Everything’s spinning but the hutch, Yen. The hutch is my pillar of support. Help.”

“Come on,” she said, dragging him away.

“Nooo!” he cried. “My pillar!”

“Bathroom,” Yen said firmly.

She switched on the bathroom light. Jaskier flopped down beside the toilet, resting his head comfortably on the seat. “Actually I feel okay now,” he slurred. “I think I’m good.”

“Really?” she said.

He threw up.

Yen sat on the rim of the bathtub, making soothing noises and making sure he didn’t choke on his own vomit or something disgusting like that. She fetched him a glass of water.

“You’re an angel,” he said, accepting it. “A goddess. I adore you.”

“Sure,” said Yen, settling him against the bathtub. “Listen,” she said, kneeling down in front of him as he scrunched his feet into the mat. “This is important.”

“Mmh?”

“Did you introduce Geralt to Hozier?”

Jaskier shrugged. Water threatened to spill everywhere. “Yeah.”

“Why?” Yen pleaded.

“We listen to music a lot,” he said. “I like Geralt. He cooks me eggs. Did you know he knows all the ways of cooking eggs?”

“Untrue,” said Yen. “He doesn’t know how to poach them.”

“You can poach eggs?” Jaskier lolled his head back against the edge of the bathtub. “What is poaching, anyway?”

“It’s when you put the eggs in water.”

“I thought that was boiling,” he remarked to the ceiling.

“Boiling and poaching are different,” said Yen.

Jaskier looked at her, puzzled. “How?”

“They just are,” she said. “We’ve got off track.” She put her hands on his shoulders. “The point is, you need to stop introducing Geralt to new music. He doesn’t like it.”

“Um, yes he does?” said Jaskier.

“No he doesn’t.”

“Does so.”

“He’s set in his ways,” said Yen. “Don’t confuse him.”

“You’re being really weird about this,” Jaskier slurred.

She probably was, but fortunately she was drunk enough not to care. And anyway, what if she was being weird? The whole situation was weird – the way Jaskier had, somehow, in a matter of months, managed to work his way past all Geralt’s carefully-constructed habits and boundaries, got him doing all sorts of things he never usually did, like being friends with people he’d known less than a year and going to clubs and being giggly-drunk and listening to music made after 1990. That was weird.

“Anyhow,” said Jaskier, sitting up straight. “I really am sorry about the shower gel.”

“I don’t actually care.”

“It’s just that you smell really good, all the time, and I thought hey, maybe if I use it I can smell like Yennefer.”

“Okay,” she said, not liking where he was going with this.

“I think I’m in love with you?” It wasn’t a question, per se, but it went up at the end like one.

“You aren’t.”

“I could be,” he said, affronted.

“But you’re not.”

“You’re mean,” he said. “One of the songs we did tonight was about Geralt. Do you think he noticed?”

“Probably not,” said Yen. After all, she hadn’t noticed. “He doesn’t really get music.”

“I was afraid of that,” said Jaskier, and yawned.

Sighing, she stood and hauled him up after her. “C’mon. I’m putting you back in your hutch, you big drunk rabbit.”

“Mmmno,” he said, leaning on her. “The bathroom is my home now. I live in the bathroom.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I shall sleep in the tub –”

“Drink your water.”

She manhandled him to the hutch and opened the door for him. Slipping down into a crouch he crawled inside. After a moment, he wriggled out of his jeans and kicked them down onto the kitchen floor.

“No,” said Yen.

His jeans were drawn back inside like a slow, sad denim worm. The door slung closed, catching on the edge of one leg. “Thank you,” his voice said muddily from inside.

Yennefer said, “never do this to me again.”

The post arrived. “Post’s here!” Yen called out as she scooped it off the mat.

“Okay,” Jaskier called from the kitchen.

Going through the letters, she ambled over to the kitchen and leaned in the doorway. At the stove Jaskier was attempting to fry an egg. He poked at it and frowned. “I think I’m doing something wrong here.”

Yen lingered on one letter in particular, squinting at it. It took a moment for it to dawn on her who it was for. “Is your name,” she said, “Julian?”

Jaskier’s eyes went big. “No.”

“What does the A stand for?”

“No!” Dropping the spatula he dashed towards her and grabbed for his letter. “Give me that.”

“Nope,” said Yen, holding it out of reach. “I don’t know if it’s yours. Are you Julian?”

“I refuse to confirm or deny anything,” he said, grabbing again for the letter. She swapped hands and scrambled away over the arm of the sofa. “Gimme!”

“Your eggs are burning,” she said.

“Fuck!” He clambered over the sofa to turn off the stove.” Ah, fuck. Fucking cock,” he said, poking miserably at his ruined eggs.

Sauntering over, Yen offered him the letter. “So are you Julian?”

“Legally,” he snatched it, “yeah.” He opened it up and pulled a face. “Ugh. That’s not good.”

“Bad news?”

“My bank letting me know I have no money,” he said.

“That’s unfortunate,” said Yen. “Are you good for rent?”

“Eh,” he said. “I might have to call my parents and beg. Can I borrow some more eggs?”

She’d been going to say they could waive it for the month if he was really broke, but since he evidently had parents to scrounge from she didn’t bother. “Are you going to ruin them?”

“Not on purpose,” he said.

Geralt wandered into the kitchen like a dog looking for a treat. “Post?”

“Did you parents never teach you how to cook?” said Yen.

“My parents had a chef,” he confessed. Yen considered that, and smacked him on the arm. “Ow! She hit me,” he said to Geralt. “Did you see that? She hit me.”

“I don’t care,” said Geralt. “Post?”

“Nothing for you.”

“Aw,” he said.

“Geralt, she hit me,” Jaskier reiterated.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Mr my-parents-pay-my-rent-for-me-if-I-ask-nicely,” she said.

“Hm.” Jaskier looked again at his bank statement, as if it might somehow have manifested more appealing figures while he wasn’t paying attention. “My parents don’t believe in hand outs. They let me borrow money and then every quarter my dad sends me a spreadsheet of all the debts I’m racking up that I have to pay back when I, I quote, get a real job.”

“In their defence,” said Yen, “you don’t have a real job.”

“Ah,” Jaskier raised a finger, “well. Yeah. I work very hard!” he protested. “It’s not my fault there’s no money in it.”

“I’ve never seen you working,” said Yen.

“Yeah, well, you’re out of the flat ten hours a day.”

“I’ve never seen you work either,” said Geralt.

“Fuck off,” said Jaskier.

“We got some spam,” said Yen, offering it to Geralt.

Geralt looked it over. “Hm.”

“Anything fun?” said Jaskier.

“Pizza Hut vouchers,” said Geralt. “You want?”

“Oh, fuck yes!” said Jaskier. Geralt handed them over and Jaskier clutched his brightly-coloured prize. “Ooh!” he said. “Free garlic bread.”

It was well past nine that Thursday night, when she came in from work. The flat wasn’t as quiet as she’d expected; there was a light on in the kitchen, and the sound of the TV carried through into the hall. She took her time taking off her coat and putting down her bag, not quite wanting to confront them on it yet.

She opened the kitchen door and put her head in. “Hey,” said Geralt. He wasn’t on his recliner but sitting on the sofa with Jaskier lounging beside him, one leg slung over his lap. “You’re back late.”

Jaskier was holding the popcorn. He raised a hand in greeting. They were watching one of Geralt’s stupid horse films that Yennefer had put her foot down on years ago. “You started without me?” she said, trying to make it sound like a neutral observation. Her voice came out more plaintive than she’d have liked

“You were running late,” Geralt said. Not taking his eyes off the screen, Jaskier handed him the popcorn.

He’d never started the Thursday night movie without her before, no matter how late she was. She’d never started it without him either – though come to think of it, she didn’t think he’d ever been late. She’d thought they’d had an agreement. Evidently it was just that he didn’t want to start the film by himself.

“You can join us if you want,” said Jaskier, his mouth full of popcorn, as if it wasn’t her flat and her sodding TV.

“I’m tired,” she said. “And you know how I feel about this film.”

“It’s not so bad,” said Jaskier.

“The horse dies at the end,” said Yen.

Jaskier pressed a hand to his chest, his mouth falling open. “Yennefer!” he said. “I was invested.”

“I’m going to bed,” she said.

She shut the door behind her. She went to her room, put her pyjamas on, and waited. She flopped down on the bed and scrolled through her phone, waiting. She waited half an hour. The kitchen door opened and she raised her head, but the footsteps went past her door, all the way down the hall to the bathroom.

“This is fucking stupid,” she said to the ceiling.

“It’s fucking stupid,” she said to Triss. “I’m so sick of his shit. Maybe I’ll move out.”

They were in the bathroom at work, tidying themselves up. Triss was going straight on out to dinner with Sabrina and so was doing her makeup. Yen was taking her time over brushing her hair.

“Hm,” said Triss.

“I mean it!”

Triss carefully applied her eyeliner. “Have you considered telling him how you feel?”

“We’ve lived together for years,” said Yen, scooping her hair back into a bun. “He should be able to tell when I’m upset by now.”

“That’s not how he is and you know it,” said Triss, switching to her other eye. “Anyway, that’s not what I meant.”

“No?”

Triss gave her a significant look. “Hmm?”

“No,” said Yen flatly.

“Just talk to him,” said Triss. “Honestly at this point it’s beyond stupid. You need to get your shit together.”

“I don’t want to date him.” Yen took her hair out of its bun and started again. “I’m fine with things as they are.”

“Patently untrue.”

“I’d just like him to be a little more,” Yen pulled her hair tight, “emotionally available. That’s all. It’s not like it’s beyond him. He and Jaskier are all cuddly.”

“So you want to get,” said Triss, “cuddly?”

Yen shot her a look. “Not physically.” She looked at her face in the mirror. She had hideous bags under her eyes. “I don’t want to have a big heart to heart with him or anything. I’d just like him to talk to me ever.” She put down her brush and checked her hair. “You know the whole time we’ve been living together I don’t think he’s asked about my day even once? It’d be nice to come home and have someone say hey, how are you? Did you have a nice day?”

“Again,” said Triss, “not his way. You can’t expect him to turn into something he’s not.”

“I don’t think it’s unreasonable to expect him to make an effort,” said Yen. “I bet Sabrina asks about your day.”

“Me and Sabrina have a no small talk agreement,” said Triss. “When we get in from work we just tell each other how hot we look.”

That wasn’t a bad arrangement, she had to admit. Out loud, she said, “I’m going home.” She grabbed her bag from beside the sink. “I’ll see you later.”

“Sure,” said Triss. “Hey, don’t forget me to send you that soup recipe.”

“I won’t,” said Yen on her way out the bathroom.

At home, the hallway was as dark as ever. She dumped her keys in the bowl and went into the kitchen to see if Geralt was about.

He wasn’t. Jaskier was in there, bundled up in his duvet, eating cereal at the worktop. “Oh, hey, you’re back,” he said, smiling at her mildly. “It’s titting freezing in here. I think there’s something wrong with the heating.” He put his spoon in his mouth and said around it, “how was your day?”

Yennefer stared at him, at the innocent, open smile on his face, his big blue eyes. Without answering his question, she turned on her heel and went into the bedroom. She dumped her bag on the floor. She kicked off her smart shoes. She took off her earrings.

She threw herself down on the bed and began to scream into the pillow.

“Fuck,” she chanted. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. No. Fuck this.” She screamed again, high and muffled.

There was a soft knock on her bedroom door. “Yen?” said Jaskier. “Are you okay in there?”

Yen didn’t answer. She glowered into the pillow.

“I don’t mean to intrude or anything,” said Jaskier, “it’s just I could hear you yelling from the kitchen. Is everything okay?” She heard the floor creak as he shifted his weight about. “Do you want some cereal? I got a multipack.”

The worst – the absolute fucking worst – thing was that it was sort of working. She sort of did want to go and eat cereal with him at six o’clock in the evening. She wanted to eat his stupid cereal and then kiss his stupid face.

“Fuck off,” she shouted.

“Did something happen?” he said. “Did I do something? If I did something you’re gonna have to tell me what it was cause I have no idea.”

“Fuck off and leave me alone.”

There was silence outside the door. After a long moment, she heard him shuffle away back to the kitchen.

Alone, she rolled onto her back and considered her predicament. She was, loathe as she might be to admit it, in love with Geralt, and had been for years. She had also – somehow – caught feelings for Jaskier, the guitarist who lived in a shed in her kitchen. Jaskier and Geralt were uncomfortably tight and cuddly in a way she had no idea what to make of.

She had no idea what to do about any of it. It wasn’t as if she could ask Jaskier out, for about a thousand different reasons ranging from how it would feel disloyal to Geralt to ask anyone out to the way he spent the best part of thirty minutes every day making his hair look like that on purpose. It was far too late to make a move on Geralt, even if she wanted to.

She wasn’t sure Geralt even loved her back. She didn’t know what she’d do if it turned out he didn’t. Die, maybe.

Pulling her pillow over her face she had another scream.

Yen came into the flat, awkwardly and with some difficulty, carrying the shopping. She dropped her keys in the bowl and lugged her Tesco bags through into the kitchen. “Hey, Yen!” said Jaskier from the stove. He showed her the contents of his frying pan. “Check it out.”

She set the bags down on the worktop. “Is Geralt in?”

“He went out.”

Opening up her cupboard she began to put away cans. “Where?”

“I’m not sure.” Jaskier showed her his fried egg again. “Huh? Huh?”

“Yes, very nice,” she said. “You now have the cooking skills of a tiny child. Congratulations.”

“You’re all bad-moody,” he said, unfazed.

“Uh-huh,” she said, opening the fridge.

“What’s got into you?” He put the end of the spatula in his mouth, licking the grease. She pulled a face.

“Absolutely nothing. Did Geralt say when he’d be back?”

Jaskier shrugged. “Nah. Are you upset with him?”

“No.”

“Are you upset with me?”

“No.”

“Cause it sort of seems like you’re upset with someone.”

“I’m not upset with anyone.”

“Suit yourself.” Jaskier scooped up some egg with the spatula and ate it. Yen sighed. “Alright, what’s with the angry sighing?”

“I’m not angry sighing.”

“Are too.”

She decided to leave the rest of her shopping for later. “I’m going to lie down,” she said. “I have a headache. If Geralt comes home tell him I want to talk to him.”

“Sure.”

She headed for the door.

“God,” said Jaskier, still eating his egg straight out the frying pan. “You two need to get your act together.”

Yen stopped walking. She pivoted on the spot. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” said Jaskier, his eyes all big and innocent.

“No, you meant something,” she said. “What did you mean?”

He put down the spatula decisively. “I just think,” he said, “you two would get on a lot better if you just boned down already.”

Yen stared at him. “Did you just say we need to bone down?”

“Yeah,” he said.

Yen lobbed a cushion at him.

“Ow!” he said. “Hey! Mind my eggs!”

“Fuck your eggs,” she said. “You take that back.”

“No!” Grabbing the nearest projective to hand – her unopened packet of pasta, sitting out beside her shopping bag – he threw it at her. She dodged. “You guys need to get over yourselves and have sex already.”

She snatched up the pasta from the floor and threw it back. “Stop being gross.”

“I’m not being gross, I’m just offering you some advice,” he said, slinging the pasta at her again.

“Stop throwing my pasta around, you’ll break it,” she said. “And I don’t need advice from a fuckup who lives in a garden shed in someone’s kitchen."

Jaskier’s mouth worked. He made a series of wordless, incandescently angry sounds, and gesturing expansively at the hutch said, “I live in a shed because YOU put a fucking shed in your fucking kitchen and rented it out! This, this is on you!”

“You didn’t have to rent it,” said Yen.

“I was homeless!” he protested.

“Get a real job!”

“Mean,” he said, jabbing a finger at her. “Mean, and rude.”

“Whatever,” she said. “I changed my mind. If you see Geralt tell him I don’t want to talk to him.”

“Um, no?” he said. “Tell him yourself.”

“I figured you might want to talk to him, since you two are all pally.”

“What’s that supposed to mean,” he said. “We live together. Why shouldn’t we be friends?”

“I don’t care.”

“It sounds like you do care.”

“I don’t care!” she said again. “You guys can snuggle and eat eggs and start the movie without me all you want. I don’t give a shit. You guys can do whatever you want.”

Jaskier pricked up his ears. “Is that what this is all about?”

“Is what what what’s all about?”

“Are you upset that we watched that horse film without you?”

“No,” said Yen.

“Cause you texted Geralt to say you’d be late and not to wait for you.”

“No I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did?”

“Yes, I did,” said Yen, remembering. “Well, I always say that and he always waits for me anyway. It’s our system.”

“Okay, but that’s fucking stupid,” said Jaskier. “It’s a stupid way to communicate. You know that, right?”

“It works for us!”

“Yeah, but you guys are weird,” said Jaskier.

“No we aren’t,” Yen protested.

“You have a garden shed in your kitchen!”

“You live in it!”

“Again!” Jaskier threw up his hands. “Homeless!”

“Oh, go and live with your stupid rich parents,” she said.

“I can’t go live with my parents,” he said. “The rent they’d charge me is frankly extortionate and also they live in Surrey, so.”

“God,” she said. “You’re obnoxious. I’m going to my room.”

Yeah, well,” he said. “I’m going in my hutch.”

“Have fun with that,” she said, making for the door.

“I will!”

From the hall, she heard the snap of the hutch door closing.

When she ventured out of her room an hour or two later, Geralt still wasn’t back and Jaskier was in the kitchen, moodily washing out the frying pan.

“Oh, hi,” he said, unamused by her presence.

“Hey,” she said.

He turned the water back on and began to rinse the pan.

Yen bit the bullet. “I’m sorry I made fun of you for living in a shed,” she said. “That wasn’t fair.”

“It’s okay,” he said.

“I’m just,” she said, “really pent up just now.”

He shot her a snide look over his shoulder. “Because of the horse movie?”

“If you're going to be a cock about this I’m leaving.”

Sighing heavily, Jaskier put the pan on the drying rack and turned off the water. “Step into my office,” he said, beckoning her.

“What?” she said.

“C’mon!” Stooping, he opened the door of the hutch.

Resigning herself to whatever this was, she crawled in after him. She hadn’t seen inside it since it was empty of anything except a bare mattress. Now it was crammed with pillows and blankets. There was a shelf with a little clock and a water bottle and a stack of books. Strewn amidst the blanket she glimpsed a notebook and a bottle of lotion.

It smelled like him.

“Close the door,” he said, flopping down on the bedding.

She tugged it closed behind herself, plunging them into semi-darkness. She lay down beside him, trying not to get too close. It was tricky. “Cosy,” she remarked at the pitched roof.

“Yeah,” he said. “Check this out.” Twisting, he reached down the side of the mattress. There was a click and a string of fairylights draped over his shelf and taped around the roof of the hutch lit up. “Oooh!” he said, motioning at them theatrically.

“Very nice.” She looked at him. “Did you just bring me in here to show me your fairylights?”

“Ah – no. Hang on.” Rolling onto his side he rummaged about. “Hold this,” he said, handing her a little baggie of weed. “And these.” His rolling papers.

“You smoke weed in here?” she said, sitting up as best she could.

He traded her the rolling papers for a lighter. “What are you, a cop?”

“Just seems like a fire hazard.”

“Oh yeah.” He looked at the walls around him as if only just registering that they were made of wood. “I never thought of that.” He finished rolling his joint and lit it.

He offered it to her. “Sure,” she said. “Why not.” It wasn’t as if she had anything better to do with her Sunday than smoke weed in a shed in her kitchen.

“So,” he said as she took a drag, “how long have you been in love with Geralt?”

“I’m not.” She passed the joint back.

“Mm-hmm,” he said knowingly.

“I’m not!” she protested. “I’m just – tired of it all.”

“Yeah?”

“I really like him,” she confessed.

“I know.”

“There,” she said. “I said it.”

“I already knew,” he said. “How long?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Most of the time I’ve known him, I guess. I don’t know if he likes me back.”

“He does,” said Jaskier confidently, handing her the joint.

“You don’t know that.”

He made another obnoxiously knowing noise. “He talks about you when you’re not around.”

“Really?” she said, honestly surprised. “He talks to you? I don’t remember the last time we had an actual conversation.”

He took a long, considering drag. “Alright,” he said, motioning at her. “Let’s go. Terrible taste in deodorant.”

“Ha,” said Yen. “It’s the only brand he can stand the smell of.”

“It smells gross, though,” said Jaskier.

“It does,” said Yen. “Do you know what else is gross?”

“Oh?”

“Eating raw eggs.”

“Yuck!” said Jaskier. “And he knows so many ways to cook them!”

“Right?”

“Okay. Okay,” said Jaskier, a while later, mildly and comfortably stoned. He took another hit. “The horse obsession.”

“Weird,” said Yen flatly.

“Weird,” Jaskier agreed. “Does that go all the way back?”

“All the way.”

“What’s with the little figurines no-one’s allowed to touch?”

“Oh, those,” said Yen. “They’re vintage, or something.” She took a hit. “Did he tell you their names?”

“They have names?”

“They all have names. God!” She took her head in her hands. “I don’t know why I like him so much.”

“You should talk to him,” said Jaskier.

“You can’t tell someone you like them when you’ve known them this long,” said Yen. “It’s ridiculous.”

“No it’s not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Okay, maybe it’s a bit ridiculous,” he conceded. He put his hand to his heart. “But if it’s eating you up inside you need to tell him. Or, I don’t know, move out.”

“I could move out,” she said. For a moment it didn’t sound like such a bad idea.

“Don’t move out,” he said. “Or, actually. If you move out do I get your room?”

“Don’t push your luck,” she said, passing him the joint. “I don’t know. I don’t know what to do.”

“Yen,” he said. “Yen. Yennefer. Can I offer you some advice?”

“No.”

“I have this totally mad thing I do when I like someone,” he said, “which is, I have sex with them. And then I usually feel better about it for like, at least a couple of hours.”

“Hm.” Yennefer thought that over.

“Do you catch my drift?”

Taking the joint out of his hand, she stubbed it out. “Hey,” he said as she climbed into his lap. “What – what are you doing?”

“Taking your advice,” she said, and kissed him.

He let out a muffled noise of surprise. Maybe it was the weed talking, but it was an adorable noise. She wanted to make him make a lot more adorable noises, she decided, and kissed him harder.

When she drew back he was wearing a stupefied expression. He blinked. “Yeah, alright,” he said.

She shoved him back against the mattress and straddled him, stripping off her cardigan and then her t-shirt. “Oh wow,” he said, wetting his lips. “Okay. Nice bra.”

“God, you’re annoying,” she said, and kissed him again. She was grinding down against his thigh like a teenager. She didn’t care. It was only Jaskier. It had been an embarrassingly long time since she’d had sex.

She looked down at him, rumpled and breathing hard, sort of fuzzy and golden around the edges in the low light. “You’re beautiful,” he said, sounding dazed.

“Yeah,” Yen agreed. Shifting her hips she ground down against his crotch and he gasped aloud. “We need a condom.”

“Hang on.” Wriggling beneath her he turned half on his side to root around under his pillow. “Here,” he said, producing an open packet.

“Why’d you have condoms in here,” she said, snatching them.

“Personal use,” he said, unzipping his jeans. “No questions. You sure about this?”

“Absolutely certain,” she said. “Take off your trousers.”

He was tense and squirming underneath her as she took off her leggings and knickers, and she was surprised at how badly she wanted him. Maybe it was the weed. Maybe it was the stress. But she wanted him, and she was going to have him.

She sank down onto him, his hips canting up to meet her. His eyes were big and he was looking up at her like she was a fucking goddess and she wanted to ride him till he burst.

“Ohh, wow,” he said. “Can I put this in a song?”

Yen didn’t dignify that with a response. “You’re obnoxious,” she said as she began to ride him. “I can’t believe I’m having sex with you.”

“Me neither.” His head thumped back against the pillows. “God that feels good –”

“Uh-huh,” Yen breathed.

When it was over, an embarrassingly short and sticky few minutes later, she looked at him. He was sweaty and out of it, his hair clinging to his forehead, still breathing hard. She wanted to kiss him. She kissed him.

Satisfied, she lay down beside him, content to enjoy the afterglow.

Jaskier breathed out next to her. “This may have been a mistake,” he said to the roof of the hutch.

Not opening her eyes, Yen said, “don’t think about it too hard.”

In the morning, she got up as soon as her alarm went off. She showered, taking her time over it, savouring the warm water and the scent of her conditioner. She picked out one of her favourite work outfits.

Outside it was raining, but the prospect of the walk to the bus stop didn’t dampen her mood even a little. Her morning routine had a special zing to it and she planned on enjoying it as long as she could.

She went into the kitchen to fill up her water bottle and was startled to find Geralt there, searching through the fridge. “Oh, hi,” she said, going to the sink. “You’re up early.”

He grunted, and closed the fridge. She unscrewed her water bottle.

“So you and Jaskier,” he said.

“What about us?” Yen turned on the tap.

“I heard you last night,” he said. “Sounded like you were having fun.”

Icy cold water splashed on her hand. She fumbled the lid back onto her water bottle. “Yeah,” she said, looking at him over her shoulder. “And?”

He shrugged.

“That’s what I thought.” She grabbed her back from the worktop and stalked out. “Mind your own business,” she snapped as she passed him.

But by the time she was on the bus her flare of anger had already died away. By the time she was at work her guts had begun to squirm. It nagged at her.

It wasn’t as if she’d cheated. You couldn’t cheat on someone you weren’t in a relationship with. They weren’t dating and they’d never been dating. If Geralt was interested in her he’d had over a decade to make his feelings known. There was no reason she shouldn’t have some fun if she wanted.

She went to the bathroom. “For fuck’s sake,” she muttered to herself as she washed her hands. “For fuck’s sake.”

What was she supposed to do? Apologise? She had nothing to apologise for. If anything he should apologise to her for being so – so Geralt about it.

Looking at herself in the mirror, it crossed her min that he hadn’t really been like anything about it. He’d just come out and said he’d overhead. That could mean anything from I’m furious to congrats on finally getting some. He was like that sometimes.

When she got back to her desk, there was a text waiting for her from Jaskier.

Lunch? x.

“You know, the vegan meatball sub here’s actually pretty good,” said Jaskier, twisted around in his seat to look at the menu.

“Whatever,” said Yen, distracted. “Geralt knows we had sex last night.”

Jaskier met her gaze. He had dark shadows under his eyes. He looked sort of strung out. It occurred to her that it was unusual for him to be up as early as one o’clock in the afternoon. “Yeah, I. Thought maybe he might.”

“Oh?” said Yen. “How come?”

“On account of he looked me in the eye and said I heard you and Yen fucking in the hutch last night.”

“Oh, god,” Yen moaned, wishing the artistically distressed floorboards would swallow her up.

“It has a nice assonance to it, doesn’t it?” He motioned vaguely. “Fucking in the hutch. I like it.”

“Do you think he minds?” said Yen, ignoring him.

“Couldn’t say,” said Jaskier. “He was sort of grumpy but that might have been unrelated.”

Yen took her head in her hands and said to the table, “I feel so fucking awful. That’s stupid, right? It’s so stupid. We aren’t even dating.” She looked out the window. “I don’t know what to say to him. I don’t know how I’m going to look him in the eye after this.”

It wasn’t just that she’d slept with someone else – it was that she’d done it in their flat – in their kitchen, technically – with Jaskier, who for better or for worse was a mutual friend. Of course he was upset. She’d be upset.

“Right.” Jaskier scooted his chair closer to the table. “See. That’s actually sort of what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“What is?” said Yen.

“I just think,” said Jaskier, “that, um. Before you get all morose and guilty about cheating on your not-relationship there’s something you should know about.”

She felt a heavy sense of realisation in her stomach – a realisation she wasn’t willing, yet, to put words to, even inside her head. “What should I know about.”

“Okay, so,” said Jaskier. “You remember Geralt’s birthday party?”

“Yes,” she said.

“You remember how,” he said, “after all the guests left you went to bed and Geralt and I said we were going to stay up for a bit and have another drink?”

“Yeah,” she said, not liking where this was going.

“Well,” he said, “we might have stayed up for quite a while and we might have gotten, quite drunk, and I may have offered Geralt a blowjob, um, in lieu of a birthday gift, and he may have, accepted. And I may have sucked him off in the bathroom."

He rested his elbows on the table and studied Yen’s face, waiting for her reaction. Yen sat still, and did likewise. She wasn’t sure just what her reaction was yet. “Did he,” she said, “reciprocate?”

“Noooot on that occasion,” he said. “No.”

“On other occasions?”

He jerked his head to the side. “There may have been other occasions.”

“How many?”

“Ehh,” he said. “Several. Well. More than several. A fair few. Well –”

“Are you trying to tell me you’ve been sucking each other’s dicks on a regular basis?”

“To put it crudely, yes. Just blowjobs, though,” he hastened to add. “Nothing else.”

Yen thought of how weirdly close they’d got, in such a short span of time. She thought of them snuggled up together on the sofa, watching Geralt’s preferred guilty pleasure film. She thought of how Jaskier was familiar with Geralt’s horse models, which meant he must have been in Geralt’s bedroom.

She knew Geralt well enough to know that he didn’t do casual sex. If he was willing to open up to someone enough to have sex with them then it meant something.

She said, “do you have feelings for him?”

Jaskier opened his mouth, and shut it. He sat back in his chair. After a moment, he said, “I don’t want to get in the way of what you guys have. You know? I don’t want to mess things up for you.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Should I move out?” he said. “Would that help?”

“Still not what I asked.”

He turned on the screen of his phone, glancing vaguely at the clock. “Oh hey it’s like, one twenty-six,” he said, getting up. “I should go. I have to be – at the place –”

“Jaskier,” she said, and he sank back into his seat. “Do you or don’t you?”

“You guy are great,” he said. “And Geralt is super in love with you, and if I’ve made things weird, or, or difficult, I am so sorry, and.” He bit his lip. “If you need me gone, I’m gone.”

She was pretty sure all of that amounted to a roundabout ‘yes’. “So,” she said, mulling it over, “assuming he’s jealous. Is he jealous of you or jealous of me?”

“Um,” said Jaskier. “I’m not sure which way around it would go but if you’re asking which of us he has feelings for it’s definitely you. He’s been in love with you for like a decade. I pretty much just blew him a few times. You can’t just suck someone’s dick so good they fall in love with you. Well.” He tilted his head to the side, thinking about it. “Maybe you can. I can’t.”

“For fuck’s sake,” said Yen.

“I think I’m going to go,” said Jaskier, “somewhere that isn’t here. I’m probably gonna go stay with one of my bandmate’s for a couple of days.”

“You don’t need to do that.”

“No no, it’s cool,” he said. “we’re working on a new set, so, lots of practice to do.” He held up his phone. “Text me if you need me. And, I’m serious about the vegan sub, it’s pretty tasty. And, um. See you later.”

He waved at he awkwardly from the door, the slunk out onto the street. Yen watched him go, her chin resting on her hand, thinking.

That evening, when she came into the flat, Jaskier’s keys were conspicuously absent from their usual spot by the door. She put her keys in the bowl and dumped her bag by her bedroom door. Shedding her blazer, she went into the kitchen.

Geralt was on his knees, rubber gloved, cleaning the cover. That clinched it, then. He only cleaned the oven when he was in a truly foul mood. Ergo, he really was upset with her – or upset with Jaskier – he was upset with someone.

“Hey,” he grunted.

“Hi,” said Yen.

He got to his feet and thunked the oven cleaner down on the worktop.

“So,” said Yen, “I had lunch with Jaskier today.”

“Yeah?”

“I gather you two have been exchanging – oral favours – for a while now.”

He looked at her from behind his hair. “Yeah,” he said. “So?”

“So I think it’s a bit hypocritical for you to be angry with me right now,” she said, “being as you got there first.”

“I’m not angry with you.”

“Geralt, you’re cleaning the oven.”

“It was dirty.”

“Okay, look,” she said. “I know we don’t really talk about – stuff. And I know we’re just friends and that’s fine. But I cannot believe you’d do this and then have the gall to get angry with me.”

“I’m not angry,” he said. “Nothing to be angry about. Like you said. We’re just friends.”

“Well, I am,” she said. “I’m sodding angry! I’m fucking incandescent right now. You’re unbelievable.”

“Fuck off,” he said. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You’ve been sucking his cock for months,” said Yen.

“You fucked him in the hutch,” Geralt shot back.

Yen stared at him. He stared at her. After a long and silent moment, she said, “call it even?”

Geralt looked her in the eye. Then he began to laugh. Leaning heavily on the stove, he laughed still harder.

“Stop laughing!” Yen said – but then she was laughing too. She leaned against the worktop, laughing, Geralt wheezing away beside her, because it was all so stupidly funny.

“Is this what you guys do all day when I’m not around?” she said. “Suck each other’s dicks?”

“Not the only thing,” said Geralt. “We listen to music sometimes. I can’t believe you two did it in the kitchen.”

“In his bedroom,” said Yen, “technically.”

That set them off again, laughing still harder. She slumped over the worktop, trying to collect herself, her blazer forgotten on the floor. She said, muffled into her arms, “do you have feelings for him?”

“Do you have feelings for him?”

“I asked first.”

He didn’t say anything.

She raised her head and looked at him. “Well?”

“If I say yes are you gonna be angry?”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” she said. “Okay. Me too.”

Geralt took that in. “Huh.” At length, the oven cleaner fizzing away, he said, “what are we going to do?”

“I don’t know.” Yen straightened up. She brushed some crumbs off her blouse. She looked at him properly, and said, “do you want to have dinner some time?”

“Yen, we have dinner together every night,” he said.

“No, you dumb fuck, I mean like a date.”

“Oh,” said Geralt. Then he said, “Sure.”

There were a lot of things, probably, that they ought to talk about. Most of it could wait till their date. She said, “Jaskier wants to know if he should move out.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Geralt. “He texted me five times.”

“What did you say?”

“Didn’t answer.”

“Of course you didn’t,” said Yen. “I don’t want him to move out.”

“Me neither,” said Geralt.

Yen considered. She said, “we can work this out.”

They were wrapped up in each other on the living room sofa, Yen half in Geralt’s lap, kissing softly. They’d been at it a while. They had some lost time to make up for.

When the front door slammed, they didn’t break the kiss.

“Hi,” said Jaskier, coming into the kitchen. “I just – ah. Okay. Okay, then.”

Pulling away, Yen looked up at him, edging around the sofa, his hands raised as if in surrender. “I just came to, um, grab a few things – then I’ll be out of your hair. I have stuff to do – band stuff.”

Geralt was nuzzled at her neck, entirely unbothered by Jaskier’s presence. He dropped to his knees and crawled into the hutch.

“What are we going to do with him?” Yen said softly into Geralt’s ear. Geralt chuckled.

Jaskier came out of the hutch. “I’ll be off, then.”

“You don’t have to leave,” said Yen, slipping out of Geralt’s lap.

“No, it’s cool,” he said.

Geralt caught his wrist as he passed the sofa. “Do you actually have somewhere to be or are you just getting out of our way?”

“I’m pretty much just making myself scarce,” Jaskier confessed.

“Okay, then,” said Geralt. He wrapped an arm around Jaskier’s waist and hauled him bodily into his lap.

“Whoa – hey!” Jaskier cried, limbs flailing. “What are you doing?”

“You’re not going anywhere.” Yen tugged the strap of his bag down his shoulder and dumped it on the floor.

“I’m not?” said Jaskier.

Cupping his chin in his hand, Geralt proceeded to kiss him breathless. Yen made herself comfortable on the sofa, enjoying the view.

“Okay,” said Jaskier when Geralt broke the kiss. Yen ran her hand up his back, toying with the hairs at the nape of his neck. “Okay, this is happening now.”

Twisting her fingers in his hair, Yen tugged him around for a kiss. He came easily, putty in her hands.

“We’ve had a good talk,” she said, “and we don’t want you to move out.”

“Ohh my,” he said.

There were twin thumps from the other end of the sofa as Geralt divested him of his shoes.

“We’ve agreed that we’d like to keep you,” Yen went on. “If you’d be amenable to that.”

“Oh, fuck me,” said Jaskier.

He looked completely dumbfounded. He looked rather as if Christmas had come early. Geralt was stroking his thigh steadily, in firm, contented circles.

“Would you be amenable to that?” said Yen, toying with his hair.

“I think I’m losing my mind,” said Jaskier faintly.

“We need a yes,” said Yen.

“Oh, fuck, yes please,” he said, and went in for another kiss, almost falling out of Geralt’s lap in his eagerness to get to her.

She leaned in to meet him halfway, hooking her leg over Geralt’s thigh. After a moment Geralt’s arm slipped around her shoulders, holding them both.

Later that night, they lay together in Geralt’s bed, Jaskier squished up between them on his side, dozing. Geralt was holding his hand, pensively kissing his knuckles.

“So we were thinking,” said Yen.

“Hm?” said Jaskier.

“We were thinking we might give sharing a room a go.”

“Yeah?” said Jaskier, still not opening his eyes. “Sounds nice.”

“It would free up one of the bedrooms for you,” she said. “If you want it.”

“Hm,” he murmured. “No, ta.”

Yen raised her head. “No?”

“I’ve got the hutch set up the way I like it,” he said. “S’cozy.”

“You’re ridiculous,” said Yen.

“Mmm,” he said, a smile spreading across his face. “You love it.”

“We’re both so happy for you,” said Triss.

They were sitting in a trendy brunch restaurant with deeply unflattering lighting, drinking mimosas. Yen was holding Geralt’s hand on the tabletop.

“You guys make a great couple and this has been a long time coming,” Triss said. “Or, I mean. I know you’ve both wanted this for a long time – not that I would presume to know what you want, but. I’m very happy for you.”

“What Triss is trying to say is that we’re glad you finally got over yourselves and shagged,” said Sabrina.

“Sabrina!” said Triss, scandalised.

“Well, was that not what you were trying to say?” said Sabrina.

“No!” said Triss. “I was just –”

“It’s fine,” said Yen. “It’s a fair assessment.”

“Hm,” Geralt agreed.

Yen squeezed his hand. “Listen,” she said. “There was actually something else we wanted to tell you.”

Sabrina perked up. “Oh?”

“Everything okay?” said Triss.

“Of course,” said Yen. “We just have some news.”

The café door rattled. “Hey guys!” said Jaskier, ambling over to their table. “Sorry I’m late – I don’t have an excuse.” He kissed Yen’s cheek and slid into the chair beside her.

Yen put her free hand on his knee. “You guys remember Jaskier, right?”

Triss looked at Jaskier. She looked at Yen. She blurted out, “both of them?”

“And what of it?” said Yen.

“Before you ask,” said Jaskier, scooting his chair forward. “Yes, they do still make me sleep in the hutch.”

As Yen sputtered out a protest, Geralt’s head thumped against the table, his shoulders shaking with laughter.