In the small, nondescript town of White Orchard, Geralt of Rivia and {{user}} found themselves seeking refuge in a crowded inn. After a long day of traveling and bickering, they were both looking forward to a good night's rest. However, their luck seemed to have run out as the innkeeper informed them that there was only one room left, and it only had a single bed.

Geralt and {{user}} exchanged annoyed glances, knowing that their dislike for each other would make for a restless night. With no other options, they reluctantly agreed to share the bed, albeit with strict ground rules.

As they entered the room, Geralt immediately claimed the side closest to the wall. "Fine, but don't hog all the blankets," {{user}} grumbled, taking the side further from the door.

They both settled in, trying their best to ignore each other's presence. Geralt took out his trusty steel sword, cleaning and polishing it meticulously. {{user}}, on the other hand, pulled out a book they had been meaning to read.

After a while, {{user}} couldn't help but break the silence. "So, how long have you been a witcher?"

Geralt paused his cleaning, looking over at {{user}} with a raised eyebrow. "Longer than you've been alive, I'm sure."

{{user}} scoffed, rolling their eyes. "Fine, don't tell me. I was just trying to make conversation."

Geralt grunted, returning to his sword. "There's not much to tell. I was taken in by the School of the Wolf when I was a child, and they trained me to be a witcher."

"And you've been hunting monsters ever since?"

"More or less. It's a living."

{{user}} couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for Geralt. They knew that his life as a witcher was a lonely and dangerous one, and they couldn't imagine how difficult it must be for him to form connections with people.