Jaskier struggles underneath the pillow, which is to be expected, and swears expansively, which is also to be expected. It's muffled enough that it's hardly intelligible, though, even to a witcher's ears, so that's fine. If the bard would just stop kicking up a fuss, everything would be even more fine, but Geralt doesn't get to have nice things.

Eventually, Jaskier's pushing and thrashing gets Geralt to lift the pillow a bit, if only to make sure that the bard is still able to breathe. He is, and demonstrates this by using his lungs to their highest capacity to yell. And he also grabs a pillow and swings it at Geralt's shoulder, which functionally does nothing but it seems to be rapidly becoming his favored manner of scolding him.

Every time that Jaskier says that word, Geralt's chest squeezes up, like something's clawing up his chest and trying to choke him. Eskel's grin freezes on his face, his expression a little confused as though this is a joke that he doesn't quite get. Geralt doesn't quite know what to do about this, because if he tries to tell him to shut up again, he's sure that his voice won't be nearly as strong as he wants it to be.

Geralt puts the pillow back over Jaskier's face.

Eskel shakes his head, flopping down onto the bed. These antics? They just got weird. They got weird and he's too tired and cold and not liquored up enough to deal with this particular brand of Geralt's Shit.

"Just try to keep it down over there, okay? I'll wake you up in a few hours, Geralt."