Geralt had known he'd regret accompanying Jaskier all the way to Oxenfurt when he would have preferred parting ways and heading east from Mettina, going through Toussaint, Lyria, Aedirn on his way to winter in Kaer Morhen. He may have even met up with Eskel if he had, as his brother liked to spend time in Toussaint to "practice his Toussainti with the locals", or so he said, but Jaskier was nothing if not obnoxiously persistent and, bafflingly, Geralt had a deeply hidden and publicly unacknowledged soft spot for the man who had been faithfully travelling with him for eight years now.

So they'd remained together another league until they crossed the Pontar and entered Oxenfurt's southern gate around noon. The city was bustling and smelly, and so many people all at once aggravated both Geralt's enhanced senses and his paranoia, on high alert for any threat these humans might pose to Roach, Jaskier, or himself. Jaskier seemed to notice the change in Geralt's demeanour, for he stuck a little bit more closely to Geralt's side, and his chatter continued at a slower pace and a more pleasing volume, making it easier for Geralt to regulate.

Walking with one hand holding Roach's reins and another placed soothingly on her neck, Geralt followed Jaskier to the university grounds and reluctantly stabled his horse, shunting aside the baby-faced stablehand in favour of doing it himself. He smirked to himself at Jaskier's impatience. The least Geralt could do was make the man wait, since Jaskier had made him come all this way without really telling him why and then to turn what should have been a drop off at the gates into an ordeal that would last long enough to require a place for his horse.

But even if he could smell the impatience on his travelling companion, when he'd finished and turned towards the man, raising an expectant eyebrow, Jaskier's face didn't betray it. Jaskier rolled his eyes and led the way again, this time to a modestly appointed set of university-provided accommodation. A mildly questioning glance was all Jaskier needed to go on at length of how he'd received a missive several months ago, during one of the times they'd been apart, from the university begging him to return over winter to "mould eager young minds into the next greatest scholars and musicians since the great Jaskier - as if they could ever truly hope to reach my level! Honestly, Geralt, I'm not a miracle-worker, but I replied and promised to of course do my utmost to pass on my one-of-a-kind fabulousness to the next generation".

Jaskier, the loud-mouthed, self-absorbed, perpetually horny braggart and trouble-magnet who'd been booed off stage and pelted with rotten fruit so often and who still seemed so impossibly young to Geralt, a professor at the acclaimed Oxenfurt University. Was it really that long ago that the barely not-a-child bard with bread shoved down his pants had approached him? Despite himself, Geralt was impressed. He watched Jaskier go on about his winter teaching post and other plans from the corner of his eye. All evidence to the contrary aside, perhaps the man was grown after all. His heart felt strangely warm and full as he stood in Jaskier's fully-funded apartment and watched him pace about it gesturing wildly and excitedly. His winter at Kaer Morhen, spent training, mending the keep, and hibernating with his brothers, would be very different from the winter Jaskier planned to have and was vividly describing.

"I said, Geralt - Melitele's sacred balls, do you ever listen to me? No. Boobs. Sacred, bouncing tits. Breasts? Geralt, what do you think? Wait, no, never mind that."

Jaskier's ranting pulled him from his musings. "What?" He blinked with a furrowed brow. He didn't often miss anything Jaskier actually wanted a response to. Clearly, this overly cosy place was lulling him into a comfortableness he could ill afford, even here in the relative privacy and safety of Jaskier's quarters. He internally shook himself and started stomping towards the door. It was time to leave.

That appeared to be what Jaskier wanted, which was confusing. Jaskier almost never wanted him to leave, and their winter partings were usually full of melodramatic moping and goodbyes, not this vibrating excitement that Jaskier was now displaying.

Jaskier took his arm as they left and guided him not the stables like he was expecting but back towards the river. He didn't dare interrupt Jaskier's stream of consciousness chatter to ask where they going and confirm that no, he hadn't been listening. Fortunately for him, it was always only a matter of time before Jaskier circled back to previous topics, and he learned that they were to spend the day "relaxing" on a Pontar river cruise.

Geralt could think of more relaxing activities, like fighting a wyvern or a spot of torture, and his face must've shown his misgivings for Jaskier tutted and went on to elaborate all the ways in which a Witcher should and absolutely must have a holiday and take time for himself away from the demands of playing with excessively large and sharp swords and rather distasteful monster murder. And didn't Geralt want to spend just a little more time with his very best friend in the whole wide world before not seeing him for such a devastatingly long time?

Geralt ground out a rote "not your friend" reply which Jaskier laughed at - Geralt didn't know what was so funny. He disagreed with the "witchers need holidays" premise on the whole but not strongly enough to put a stop to Jaskier's nonsense. Besides, Jaskier was paying from the very generous salary advance he'd received and what harm could it do, really?

He was surprised to find that, aside from the skipper and a small crew, they were the only passengers. Just before the vessel set off, a messenger ran up and thrust a covered basket at Jaskier. Jaskier took it, thanked the kid, and passed them a few coins for their service. Geralt's breath caught at the smile Jaskier beamed at him.

Crossing his arms over his chest as if to protect his heart, Geralt watched with hidden interest as Jaskier pulled a blanket from the basket and spread it out, then laid out a feast of cold cuts, fruits, cheeses, and wine before sitting and bidding Geralt to join him.

Geralt did so, and they fell into easy conversation - mostly, but not exclusively, one-sided - as the vessel got underway and they nibbled at the food. When the food had been eaten and the wine almost all drunk, Jaskier pulled him to his feet, and he placidly followed the man towards the side of the ship, standing side-by-side next to him and resting his arms on the railing.

Jaskier slumped over it with a sigh Geralt had learned meant that Jaskier was seeing poetry in the natural and ordinary, as was his wont. "Oh, Geralt," Jaskier said. "Isn't it beautiful?"

Geralt wished he could see through Jaskier's eyes, to find the beauty he often couldn't comprehend, but then the mid-afternoon late autumn sun shone on Jaskier's hair turning the strands striking shades of metallic red that flickered and danced and suddenly he thought he, too, could see the beauty in the world that Jaskier saw. "Hm. Yes," he murmured back, staring softly at the man's profile and memorising it. Then he looked away and softly cleared his throat, a physical way of clearing his mind, and took a deliberate step to the side, putting a little space between the two of them.

He felt bereft of the soft press of Jaskier's form against his own, so he held out his hand and gestured. "Give me the wine." With a roll of his eyes, Jaskier passed the glass over, and Geralt took a fortifying sip. His stomach felt tight and queasy. What were these abjectly foreign thoughts and feelings?

As if sensing Geralt's sudden unease, Jaskier began speaking again, not grandly as he did to tell a story, but softly and as plainly as he could while telling Geralt of all the wonderful things he could see and feel as they made another circuit around the river. Geralt closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, allowing Jaskier's voice to centre him and guide him as he imagined what it might be like to be someone like Jaskier, only briefly pausing in his ruminations to drape his cloak over Jaskier's shoulders when he felt the man shiver against a brisk breeze.

When the cruise had ended and they'd disembarked, Geralt almost smiled as Jaskier wrapped a hand around his arm. His shoulders felt lighter and his body felt as loose as it did after a good soak in Kaer Morhen's hot springs. Not that he would ever admit it to Jaskier, as he would never be allowed to live it down, but perhaps Jaskier was right and Witchers did, occasionally, need a bit of a holiday.