Geralt

Geralt sat on the edge of the bed with his elbows resting on his knees and his hands folded in front of him. His eyes focused on the flickering of a short candle on the bedside table, its wax had melted into the chipped paint and was slowly dripping onto the floor. Geralt told himself the sound was keeping him up, but if that was true he would have put out the flame. He didn't want to sleep beside you, it made him nervous.

He'd had some difficulty coming about coin lately, even after you'd joined him on his travels. The two of you had to settle for a single room with a small single bed. On most days he wouldn't be so paranoid about touching you, sharing horses and tents wasn't foreign to him, not with you. But the past few days he'd found himself growing comfortable with you. Much too comfortable for comfort.

Geralt sighed and turned his head over to stare down at your face, his eyes softened and he ran a hand down his face. He wasn't known to be a romantic, he did little when it came to intimacy outside of relieving stress and seeking forms of pleasure. But you for some odd reason made his eyebrows furrow as he tried to make sense of the emotions tossing in his chest.

He saw your eyes half open and his heart dropped, he reined in his expression and turned back to the candle, pretending to busy himself with the cuffs of his sleeves, "Bad sleep?" He asked quietly, raising his eyebrows and refusing to look over you. "This bed is lumpy. I haven't managed to get a wink."