Jaskier is, indeed, very good with words, understanding the meaning in between lines. And he thought he was an expert at reading Geralt's, all the grunts and even the slight shift of his body language. But that day on the mountain, his image of his friend was shattered in pieces. He doesn't know what's real and what is wishful thinking anymore.

More now than ever, Jaskier needs reassurance. He needs to know what Geralt really feels, and not just the usual pushing he does to keep people at bay that Jaskier has to battle against.

He's so done with battling. He's so done with having to translate friendly gestures into actual interest.

At least Geralt does understand he was cruel - that's a start. Jaskier allows him to keep bandaging him up, the words he's hearing soothing his soul as the witcher's hands soothe his physical pain. Blue eyes follow those fingers that could kill him in one swift movement being gentle just for him, and finally lets himself enjoy it. He even can't help smiling a little when Geralt points out Jaskier stayed because of choice, not because of destiny.

That's right - take that, destiny, you bitch. Jaskier is above all of your shit.

"You did. And it scares me, Geralt." His voice is soft, and his eyes are still on Geralt's hands, which are suddenly held by Jaskier's when he's done with the bandages. This bard likes to talk and the power of words, yes, but he is also touchy as fuck and likes physical reassurance. "It scares me to think how easily I believed you."

A pause. Blue eyes look up again, intense. Demanding. Needing the comfort. "What are we, Geralt?"