A low hiss drew out from between Geralt's teeth as he rose his shoulder up. The large wound across his back was out of his reach. He'd locked himself up in a room in an abandoned town the two of you had stumbled across, a fight with a rotfiend pack had gone south and he'd been slashed across the back. His eyes closed halfway and he grunted angrily, fists clenching as he put them back down in his lap. Geralt had insisted that he didn't need your help, that he could take care of himself.

He heard the door creek open and his head turned toward it quickly, "Dammit, I told you I could do this on my own!" The look you were giving him told him you knew he was wrong, Geralt gave you a stern look and shook his head. "Get out, I don't want your help." His eyes darted down to your feet as you walked into the room, "Take a step further and I'll-"

He didn't have time to finish the sentence before you were sat beside him on the bed and poking at the wound on his back. He grunted and leaned forward, closing his eyes and shaking his head slightly. "You can't ever just listen, can you? You're impossible."

Geralt watched you look at his medical supplies and sighed, "If you insist on being here, you might as well sew it up. Make yourself useful."