[ He snorts out a laugh at the first bit because if chamomile tea is bad, bark tea sounds revolting. Look, he may be drunk but he really isn't that drunk that he'll believe anything Ray says. Maybe this is some kind of joke. He's brought him gross tea to see if he'll drink it as a laugh. Lost your memory, have you? Well we'll see about that!
To be fair he'd have probably have done the same thing to someone with amnesia: no, really, you love pickled herring. Actors really did have a dreadful sense of humor.
He bit down on his laugh at least, because Ray was looking at him like he was lying there in his deathbed, looking as grumpy as he did terrified. You sure you're alright, buddy? His laugh ebbed. He put the back of his own fist into his mouth and quickly looked away from that worried expression, feeling deeply guilty.
Ray kept speaking to his ear, and his guilt only deepened. Oh, they really did have a something, didn't they? Ray really cared a great deal about him to think that he could tell when there was something wrong with him, to be guilty that he'd missed it, but it was Geoffrey who was really crippled by that guilt. He wanted so badly to remember, because then he might be able to absolve Ray somewhat, or at least let him in. He wanted to remember because he wanted to remember someone loving him so much that they'd notice when he was losing his mind. God, to be loved by someone who wouldn't give him up as a lost cause on the actions of a single night.
But he didn't. He didn't remember. And it was like having a heart full of razor blades. What if he'd forgotten it forever? What if the alcohol burned the memory of being buddies with Ray out of his head permanently, or he really had taken a blow to his head? He'd never drink again.
Geoffrey turned back slowly, his eyes searching Ray's face. It was really the first time he'd been face to face with the man since he'd stepped out of the cell. The neon lights hung on the contours and lines, the sharp angle of Ray's jaw. It made his eyes look steelier than they were; somehow harder and...sadder. God, he looked lonely. What would happen to Ray if he lost his memory? Would he be able to live with it?
He reached out instinctively and cradled that bristled jaw, tilting his own head very slightly to the right. He spoke softly, with admiration, because he admired this man despite the fact that in certain respects he'd only just met him. The words were familiar - Hamlet - but he also liked them, often murmured them under his own breath: ]
"What a piece of work is a man. How noble in reason, how infinite in faculty. In form and moving how express and admirable. In action how like an angel. In apprehension how like a god." [ He exhaled slowly. ] I'm the one that went out chasing ducks in the middle of the night, Ray. Surely it is I who ought to be making it up to you? [ He brushed his thumb over Ray's bottom lip. ] I should have told you something was wrong. It can't have been important - I can't even remember what it was - but I should have told you.
no subject
To be fair he'd have probably have done the same thing to someone with amnesia: no, really, you love pickled herring. Actors really did have a dreadful sense of humor.
He bit down on his laugh at least, because Ray was looking at him like he was lying there in his deathbed, looking as grumpy as he did terrified. You sure you're alright, buddy? His laugh ebbed. He put the back of his own fist into his mouth and quickly looked away from that worried expression, feeling deeply guilty.
Ray kept speaking to his ear, and his guilt only deepened. Oh, they really did have a something, didn't they? Ray really cared a great deal about him to think that he could tell when there was something wrong with him, to be guilty that he'd missed it, but it was Geoffrey who was really crippled by that guilt. He wanted so badly to remember, because then he might be able to absolve Ray somewhat, or at least let him in. He wanted to remember because he wanted to remember someone loving him so much that they'd notice when he was losing his mind. God, to be loved by someone who wouldn't give him up as a lost cause on the actions of a single night.
But he didn't. He didn't remember. And it was like having a heart full of razor blades. What if he'd forgotten it forever? What if the alcohol burned the memory of being buddies with Ray out of his head permanently, or he really had taken a blow to his head? He'd never drink again.
Geoffrey turned back slowly, his eyes searching Ray's face. It was really the first time he'd been face to face with the man since he'd stepped out of the cell. The neon lights hung on the contours and lines, the sharp angle of Ray's jaw. It made his eyes look steelier than they were; somehow harder and...sadder. God, he looked lonely. What would happen to Ray if he lost his memory? Would he be able to live with it?
He reached out instinctively and cradled that bristled jaw, tilting his own head very slightly to the right. He spoke softly, with admiration, because he admired this man despite the fact that in certain respects he'd only just met him. The words were familiar - Hamlet - but he also liked them, often murmured them under his own breath: ]
"What a piece of work is a man. How noble in reason, how infinite in faculty. In form and moving how express and admirable. In action how like an angel. In apprehension how like a god." [ He exhaled slowly. ] I'm the one that went out chasing ducks in the middle of the night, Ray. Surely it is I who ought to be making it up to you? [ He brushed his thumb over Ray's bottom lip. ] I should have told you something was wrong. It can't have been important - I can't even remember what it was - but I should have told you.