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In hindsight, Geralt really should have expected this when he let the bard follow him around. It had only been a few weeks of his companionship, and now this. They had had to make a hasty retreat from a town run by local smugglers. Turns out the locals didn't like Geralt's presence in their town, even if he hadn't been there to break up the ring. It had ended in more bloodshed and running than Geralt would have liked. They had just made it out of the town, sure that they weren't being followed. Geralt sheathed his sword while Jaskier was whooping for joy shouting about still being alive his crimson silk sleeves fluttering in the wind.
Geralt tensed as the bard threw his arms around him. Geralt froze like that, hand half flexed around the handle of his sword, fighting every urge to defend himself against what his body assumed was an attack. He could feel more adrenaline rising in his chest. He was so unsure of what to do about what was clearly just a hug.
Had it really been that long since he had last been hugged? He tried to remember the last time someone had embraced him, it would have been before the witcher trials. Possibly when he had been a child?
"Oh, right," Jaskier said, pulling back. "Prolly not my best idea. You'd think that sucker-punch last week would have taught me not to-"
Jaskier was flustered, and that was almost worse in Geralt's opinion than having the bard in his personal space. Contrary to popular opinion he wasn't some emotionless monster. He actually found himself enjoying the other man’s presence on occasion, even if he complained often. And the hug had been rather nice, if he was being honest.
"It's alright," Geralt grunted, forcing himself to relax. He slung his free arm around the other man, pulling him back in.
"I knew it!" Jaskier was practically whispering, "We are becoming friends."
Geralt grunted, but didn't push him away. Which was practically an agreement itself.