i.
[It's been a long night, but they're not riding quickly. Geralt navigates the streets with ease, riding with his passengers arms wrapped tightly around his middle. Maybe he's driving slow because he's got precious cargo, maybe it's because they're both fucking wiped after an extremely long, bloody, messy fight.

They pull into the garage of his passenger's home and he hesitates before swinging his leg over his bike. He still leans on it, arms folded loosely over his chest.]

You want me to walk you upstairs?

ii.
[It's early evening, a familiar bike is parked on the street with a familiar figure leant against it. His arms are folded over his chest, until he sees the person he's been waiting for. He strides forward, speaking in a low voice once he's close enough to be in murmuring range.]

Need your help with a job, I'll cut you in.

iii. [Wildcard. Text him? Fuck him?]