Humans have always been inscrutable creatures, but Jaskier even more so than the average one-- there are so many different emotions that mix into his scent that it's almost impossible to discern what any of them mean. There's anger and misery and the awful salt tinge of potential tears, and somehow also the undertone of how Jaskier smells when he's pleased with Geralt, and he doesn't understand how that combination is supposed to make any sort of sense to him. Without his nose to guide him, the vast spectrum of human emotion becomes almost unfathomable.

Then the bard insults and compliments him in the same breath-- though he's fairly used to that, Jaskier does that almost on a regular basis-- and throws himself into his arms, and he's lucky that Geralt has the good reaction time to catch him even when he's slippery and wet. There are a lot of reasons why Geralt would like to have Jaskier warm and wet in his arms, but right now that's overshadowed by his own confusion.

Jaskier catches his face between his hands and presses their foreheads together, a gentle and intimate gesture. Geralt is still terribly confused.

"I'm in far worse pain after almost every hunt," he says. "This is minor and does no permanent harm. It doesn't matter."

He's always been overly concerned about Geralt's well-being, but this seems like an overabundance of caution-- fussing over minor hurts. Just as unnecessary as fussing over children when they scrape their knees or fall out of trees. If it wouldn't leave him with a permanent injury or a scar, than there's no reason for him not to go ahead with it, if it would get Jaskier what he wants.