[ OBSERVATION ]: when showing the sender something they've been working on, the receiver can't help but address their feelings as the sender gazes in wonder at their work.
'Will They, Won't They?' Prompts
"I won't try to hold a candle to a vineyard retirement," Regis chuckled, before his timbre softened into sincerity alongside his expression, "but this is a gift nonetheless."
He could already smell the flowers, before they were even in sight; no doubt Geralt could too.
Regis led the way into a broad, colorful field surrounding a cottage. Shoots of white arenaria - some beginning to sprout their blood-red berries, a sign of the turning season - stood stiffer against the breeze. Clusters of periwinkle agapanthus and golden melilote swayed more freely, lending the air their delicate sweetness.
The cottage itself looked new, though an overhang to shelter firewood already had pink honeysuckle twining round its posts. Close to it were shrubs of damiana as well, leading to a cherry sapling and a carved stone bench.
It was the latter where Regis guided Geralt first, watching his dearest friend's expression all the while.
"Every inch of this place is yours, if you wish."
Every inch of the home he'd built for Geralt's safety and comfort. Every inch of the field he'd planted and nurtured for Geralt's happiness and peace. Every flower that bore regard for practicality, for simple beauty, for how they mirrored his feelings for the Witcher. Damiana was not there by accident, nor was honeysuckle only present for its use in certain potions.
Those feelings refused to be set aside, in this moment, a hunger for reciprocation gnawing in Regis' chest.
He didn't let that stop him from reassuring, "If you don't, I'll tend to all of it. I won't force any obligation. ...Though I do hope you'd visit."
