Francis leans closer into him and Raju grips him a little tighter, feels his breath rough and cold in his nose, feels his jaw clenched as he looks in the direction that the bridge will be. Only that. And then away from this damned place.

Once they reach the place he's tucked the wheelbarrow away he leans Francis slowly against a tree, gaze focused and darting over him to make sure he's stable there. Francis had been leaning so close, needing him, and it hurts to let him go, even for this. But he has to be patient. He has to do this right, and deliberately. He can't even let impatience outside of him now. So he grabs the wheelbarrow, moving it close to Francis and holding up its handles to tip its wheeled end to the ground, so it'll be easier for Francis to simply lay back into the blankets piled up inside it. His throat hurts, everything pressed so tightly inside him now, and the mud under the melting snow is beginning to dry and crack under the sustained heat.

"Is this alright?" he says tightly, eyes on Francis' every movement. "I can move it closer."