"Yeah, well..." He huffs. Damn, he's been caught. Is he pouting? Yep, definitely pouting. "You haven't even allowed me to ride with you on Roach. So I learned to pick my battles when it comes to you. And I know you're probably thinking that's utter horseshit, but trust me, I bother you a lot about hundred of other things to make up for the five or so I know I mustn't push for." A pause. "Like the one scar I'm not allowed to sing about."

It's about Blaviken, he knows. Geralt hasn't said so explicitly, but it's not hard to put two and two together. And that's one topic Jaskier knows to stay away from, even if he's dying to know the true story for many reasons: his own curiosity, to know more about Geralt, and because it would be the best tactic to fight the Butcher reputation - fighting the lies with the truth.

And now he's remembering the punch to his stomach that he received all those years ago. He truly should know better.

"...but sorry. For assuming things too."

All his moving undid his lovely cocoon, so Jaskier wraps the cloak around himself properly again, feeling the tiredness, soreness and alcohol setting in. It's amazing how he's been able to ignored them, but that's how his emotions work, they fuel him and keep him going on pure adrenaline.

Whatever you want. No more assumptions about what we want or not. Welp, if that's what Geralt claims... then he won't mind Jaskier wanting something better than a (now wonky) pillow, right? After pushing the tray away, Jaskier curls in on himself and lowers his body until it's resting on Geralt's lap. A daring move, he knows, he's nervous about it and Geralt probably can tell from the beating of his heart or the tension of his muscles. But damn if it isn't warm, comfortable and soothing. This has to be his new favorite place to nap at.

"Winter together at Kaher Morhen it is then."

And that's final.