[It is the bump of shoulders that wakes him up; all at once it's so quietly familiar, pulling him out of. Thoughts. Memories. Jaskier blinks, and his body uncurls from how tightly wound it'd been, though not fully relaxed. That was one calls a spiral. So much so that he didn't even notice someone approaching.

It was that easy. It's exactly that sort of thing that gets a man taken by surprise.

Here, with the bulk of Sam pressing against him, a wall on his other side, it feels strangely. Safe. Compared to his other company, Jaskier manages a smile this time to greet him.]

Fetching, I've been told. On me, of course. I'm not sure you've the face for hats. [Immediately pulling for humor, as he does. He already knows Sam's going to know. He always seems to.] Please don't tell me Geralt sent you after me. No, no. [He's already pulling the mug of cider over, interrupting himself with a held up hand and a solid gulp of it.] He wouldn't. That would take a bit too much care on his part. No, I'm betting he's told you something, and you caught on, and then he said something about how I was fine or I'll get through it.

[His voice noticeably gets deeper at the words, as if impersonating their speaker. It's not even a guess. He already knows.]