Hearing Geralt laugh always puts a smile on Jaskier's face. It's not a sound he gets to hear often, and he cherishes every time he does. This particular occasion is extra special because Jaskier knows Geralt (or at least he thought he did), he is a master translator of grunts, he can tell the little differences in nuance in witcher speech. And this laugh... it may be huffed, sure, but it's still different from huffed laughs at home.

It's the laugh of a happy man.

And one of the many reasons for that happiness apparently is the fact he's getting regularly and thoroughly fucked. Bollocks. How could he forget? How can he have mixed emotions one second, then easily fall into chatting with Geralt and forgetting about all the rest? He hadn't lied to Geralt, it doesn't make him uncomfortable to hear about it, it just keeps sneaking on him and catching with his heart open and-- well. His hand holding Geralt's.

When he woke up, he decided he would enjoy this little break while he could, but he needs to control himself before he goes in too deep.

"No," He replies as he shakes his head and takes his hand back. It already feels cold. "You've been nothing but good to me."

Good, and kind, and welcoming and understanding, and simply a better friend in a few hours than Geralt has been in twenty years. So Jaskier drinks to that, because his heart is stuck in his throat again. He finishes his glass and pours so more wine as he snorts at New Geralt's observation - that's what he used to think as well. He used to think Old Geralt needed more than whores, he needed someone that cared, that helped him with his wounds and showed him he mattered.

Oh, what a fool had he been.

"Yeah. Twenty horses and 'blessed silence'." The bitterness is loosening up in his tongue thanks to the wine. "He's got one wish down now, I guess."