Geralt was lying on his side on his bedroll, his eyebrows furrowed slightly and his lips pressed into a soft frown while his hand traced your face. He wasn't new to affection, to romance, the sweet and generous type that made him comfortable and warm, but he was a little rusty. He could go years without making much of a connection to the people around him, always on the road, and not many people are willing to pull up their lives to follow around a man who might be killed trying to make his living, but you'd been around for long enough that he was trying to scrape off that disuse and figure out exactly how to love you.

Of course, there were still times when he'd have to leave you behind, or when you'd leave him, but those were far and few in between, he'd just been staring at your face for quite a long time as the fire flickered near his feet. Trying to figure out just what to say to make you realize the depth of his feelings for you. He didn't like having to dig up those rotten things, feelings. They were sharp and prickly when not handled correctly, and even more so when hurled at others when they didn't expect it, he had learned his, in particular, were very dangerous.

Geralt opened his mouth slowly, his eyes drifting shut with exhaustion that always came after dark, "Thank you... for traveling with me," he whispered. It was pathetic when he heard it out loud, something that could almost be mistaken for a goodbye, or a passing sentence between two friends, not at all unmistakably romantic as he'd intended. How was he to finish it? "it, means more than you could ever know." He internally kicked himself for another completely neutral sentence.

He didn't want to call you dense, but he'd been laying it on thick for a few weeks now and you just seemed to be catching on. He decided his bluntness wouldn't do, not for this, love wasn't something you were supposed to be so crass about. He wanted, for once in his life, to have some semblance of poetic capabilities and skill with his words outside snide remarks.