Words like I don't want to tell you too much usually don't go well with bards, especially this one. There's so much to unpack there - a good story, obviously, but also a warning about the future. Jaskier doesn't think he should go back to his realm without having learned anything that can help making the Continent a better place for witchers and general not-humans.

Those are rational thoughts, though, something Jaskier isn't having at the moment. Because Geralt is fucking holding his hand.

Melitele please have mercy.

It's not easy to make Jaskier blush - it's not that he isn't capable of it, he just happens to be a shameless bastard. There's simply nothing left in the world for him to blush at. Yet here comes Geralt, being an exception in his life as always, no matter the world. Holding his hand like the soft bastard he secretly is, making his cheeks pink and his heart stop for a minute.

Oh gods, he's so pathetic.

"R-right." He mumbles with a nod. "You're welcome."

It's what friends do, he wants to say, but even everything they've shared and discussed, he isn't sure where they stand. It's still confusing to sort his feelings for the golden eyes in front of him - they are not the ones that hurt him, and for that he likes them, but it'd be naive to think he's managed to completely separate them from the ones at home. There's a reason why the hand holding has shaken him so much - it wouldn't have happened if a maid had done the same.

Riding out and finding a witcher is hard, even for a fellow witcher, so Jaskier understands the hesitation. The name that follows, however, isn't one he recognizes. Lambert and Eskel he knows, even if he hasn't met them, but-

"Keira?" He asks with a tilted head. "Has your brother found someone in his life as well?"