Francis' voice, behind him. He'd known Francis was behind him through the walk, but hearing is different from knowing it. More real. It's Francis' hand that was touching his wrist, that's moving over his hand now. He forgets about the heat of the metal on his skin, and about the wet feeling blurring everything in front of his eyes. There isn't room for all of it. Francis wants him to drop the can; he watches it fall, watches it while the snow hisses and steams around it.
Francis' thumb is on his wrist. Francis thinks that he did well. Things feel better with it there, some cool and soothing thing spreading out from the heat of his friend's skin against his. Raju lets a breath out from between his lips, half-noticing the cloud of warmth it makes as it the air catches in the blanket wrapped over his mouth. The line of his shoulders starts to sag and his hand sags, arm starting to trust Francis to hold its weight up or let it drop. The mass of smoke rising out of the can's various holes begins to thin.
At home, it had been easy to operate this way. There had been orders, and when there weren't orders, there was routine. Raju looks up and around for his purpose, lacking anything that'd used to do in Delhi, but catches himself before he finds Francis' face and turns back to stare down at the can and the fire again. His hand hurts. It's important to keep his focus on the ground just there, on where it'd all dropped to, keep everything where it's supposed to be so nothing spreads. If anything else needs to be done Francis will tell him, and if there's anyone who won't tell him to do anything that's... Well, that's Francis again, so this is better than being home in that way, really. The thought floats there without anything to settle on and Raju lets it stay there, focuses on the fire again.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2024-06-08 02:55 am (UTC)Francis' thumb is on his wrist. Francis thinks that he did well. Things feel better with it there, some cool and soothing thing spreading out from the heat of his friend's skin against his. Raju lets a breath out from between his lips, half-noticing the cloud of warmth it makes as it the air catches in the blanket wrapped over his mouth. The line of his shoulders starts to sag and his hand sags, arm starting to trust Francis to hold its weight up or let it drop. The mass of smoke rising out of the can's various holes begins to thin.
At home, it had been easy to operate this way. There had been orders, and when there weren't orders, there was routine. Raju looks up and around for his purpose, lacking anything that'd used to do in Delhi, but catches himself before he finds Francis' face and turns back to stare down at the can and the fire again. His hand hurts. It's important to keep his focus on the ground just there, on where it'd all dropped to, keep everything where it's supposed to be so nothing spreads. If anything else needs to be done Francis will tell him, and if there's anyone who won't tell him to do anything that's... Well, that's Francis again, so this is better than being home in that way, really. The thought floats there without anything to settle on and Raju lets it stay there, focuses on the fire again.