Jaskier's fingers touch his hair and Geralt lets him, and the sensation is familiar. Not unlike what it felt like when the bard washed his hair, a nice, vaguely comforting sort of thing. Between the soft bed and Jaskier's hands and the days he's gone without real sleep, Geralt could almost let himself relax enough to drift off.

Almost.

Though Oxenfurt is the safest place they've stopped since Geralt found Jaskier in that outpost, it's still not Kaer Morhen. It's not really safe, Jaskier won't really be truly secure until they're up behind those old stone walls and snowed in until spring. Complete isolation, both coming and going. No one up, no one down.

There are a few little tugs on his hair that eventually stop. Geralt pays it no mind, whatever Jaskier has done to him is probably fine. He's finished anyway, and the witcher feels the bed dip and shift as Jaskier moves towards him, then the weight of his hands and chin on his chest. The bard's body is a long line of warmth against his side where he lays.

He can feel Jaskier's breath brush against his neck with every exhale. It's far more distracting than Geralt assumed it would be.

"I can be back by mid-morning." There are some tasks that he wants to get done, but they'll be best accomplished in the very early morning. Far earlier than Jaskier would wake up; it would be worth it, though. "The less crowded, the better. I don't enjoy being gawked at."

He opens his eyes, then reaches up to feel along the braid that Jaskier wove into his hair. It's fine, he thinks. Of all the things that the bard could do, a few braids to keep his restless hands occupied is fine.

"You'll need warmer clothes, and not just for traveling. Your pretty silks will leave you very cold in Kaer Morhen." And Geralt couldn't keep him warm all the time, nor could he let the bard take all of his spare clothes. "And it wouldn't kill you to be a little understated while we're running from Nilfgaard."