[ There's a long pause where Charles stares, a little disbelieving, before laughing abruptly. ] Oh god, are you okay? You scared the hell out of me. [ He reaches with the hand not still reflexively clutching the plastic jar as if to touch Francis' face before changing course; looking for ice instead. ] That's going to bruise, I think.
no subject
[ Belatedly: ] It's not, is it? [ Rehab. Surely not? ]