It might have been more obvious how amenable Geralt had actually been up to that point when Jaskier laid in and the Witcher's face shut down into a stoney mask. He knew the man across the table from him well enough to know telling him outright to shut up would go far amiss-- instead, leaving the last few bites of his meal and a quarter tankard of beer, Geralt just stood up with an almighty scrape of chair against floor and walked away.

His boots struck quick but heavy steps against the floor as he moved toward the stairs. Idiot. What notion in Jaskier's brain could have possibly determined that it was fine to holler about any personal relations that they had while in public? Where any ears could listen. Certainly, fine, there were times in public when Geralt had been rather obvious about his feelings for Yennefer but they were mostly couched in terms of worry-- for Yen or, more likely, for the person standing in her way. But he was ever discreet before saying anything or taking any strides toward something that might seem less than professional. Yen as well. Jaskier was...

Damnit. Jaskier was no one but himself and if anyone was to blame then it was Geralt for thinking that the man could ever be discreet. The slammed the door to their room behind him, wishing they'd spent the coin to get two.