"Bah," Rip says, waving a hand whilst the other rests on his hip. "It's quite all right, Raymond. I realised it was significantly hypocritical of me to tell you to rest if I couldn't do it myself."
But he's still got an earbud in, and the second one will follow suit. For now, though, it stays in his pocket, and when Rip moves to lie down at Ray's side, he spares a glance at how much farther Ray's legs reach down the mattress and raises a brow at them.
Ah, well. No matter.
"Besides." He shifts, turns slightly so he's looking at Ray-- they're at total eye-level now, lying down instead of standing. "I wouldn't want to run out of whiskey before the next landing."
Edited (ok im done i swear) 2020-01-24 05:03 (UTC)
"You're not wrong," Ray agrees, and when he draws his legs up it's not really intending to look smaller, but that's what he accomplishes. At some point, he picked the pillow back up and has it tucked to his chest again, like a security blanket in the face of all this.
He opens his mouth to ask a question, then closes it again. Reconsiders. Takes a breath. "Do you always drink this much?"
Stop worrying, he tells himself, and promptly ignores his own advice in favor of furrowing his brow at Rip. Easier to worry about someone else, not himself; Ray drags both hands over his face. "I swear, I'll stop. I trust your judgment, I do --" He does. Ray chews at the cut in his lip until it opens up again.
Rip barely even gives an answer and Ray's already regretting speaking. His brows furrow when scabbed over skin opens, blood dripping, and he reaches out with one hand to press the pad of his thumb over the open wound to swipe it off.
"You're just worried," he says, sounding lucid despite himself, and he brings his own thumb up to lick the blood there clean. "Wrongfully so-- I'm quite capable of handling myself, you know-- but.
"That's what friends do, isn't it?"
He lets out a short huff of a laugh through his nose. "The answer is no.
"I drink more."
Is that better? Worse? Rip doesn't know, and doesn't particularly care.
It's worse, if the way Ray looks is any indication, with his face creased by a frown and his eyes fixed on his captain's face. He barely registers the thumb sweeping blood off his lip, his brain had short circuited so quickly.
"I know you can handle yourself, you know, I just... wow."
"That's not something you typically 'wow', Raymond." But Rip is reaching out again, and with both hands he takes Ray's cheeks and carefully smooths all the lines away with his fingers. It's such a juvenile thing to do, stupid, and while he may not be drunk, he's certainly had enough that Ray-- the one he'd nearly lost to blood loss, internal bleeding, and broken bones-- is someone he'd love to be sure was real, just in case.
Oh, he's home. And he's safe. But is he Ray? Their Ray? Rip's Ray?
This Ray keeps frowning in worry. It's a pretty damn close call.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
But he's still got an earbud in, and the second one will follow suit. For now, though, it stays in his pocket, and when Rip moves to lie down at Ray's side, he spares a glance at how much farther Ray's legs reach down the mattress and raises a brow at them.
Ah, well. No matter.
"Besides." He shifts, turns slightly so he's looking at Ray-- they're at total eye-level now, lying down instead of standing. "I wouldn't want to run out of whiskey before the next landing."
no subject
He opens his mouth to ask a question, then closes it again. Reconsiders. Takes a breath. "Do you always drink this much?"
Stop worrying, he tells himself, and promptly ignores his own advice in favor of furrowing his brow at Rip. Easier to worry about someone else, not himself; Ray drags both hands over his face. "I swear, I'll stop. I trust your judgment, I do --" He does. Ray chews at the cut in his lip until it opens up again.
no subject
"You're just worried," he says, sounding lucid despite himself, and he brings his own thumb up to lick the blood there clean. "Wrongfully so-- I'm quite capable of handling myself, you know-- but.
"That's what friends do, isn't it?"
He lets out a short huff of a laugh through his nose. "The answer is no.
"I drink more."
Is that better? Worse? Rip doesn't know, and doesn't particularly care.
no subject
It's worse, if the way Ray looks is any indication, with his face creased by a frown and his eyes fixed on his captain's face. He barely registers the thumb sweeping blood off his lip, his brain had short circuited so quickly.
"I know you can handle yourself, you know, I just... wow."
hey this tag's a whole loada nothing
"That's not something you typically 'wow', Raymond." But Rip is reaching out again, and with both hands he takes Ray's cheeks and carefully smooths all the lines away with his fingers. It's such a juvenile thing to do, stupid, and while he may not be drunk, he's certainly had enough that Ray-- the one he'd nearly lost to blood loss, internal bleeding, and broken bones-- is someone he'd love to be sure was real, just in case.
Oh, he's home. And he's safe. But is he Ray? Their Ray? Rip's Ray?
This Ray keeps frowning in worry. It's a pretty damn close call.
"...don't sound so sad for me."