When Francis first tells him to breathe Raju's already doing it, has to so the pained noise he makes at Rama can make it out. But he stops again as Francis' hand moves, not able to stop his shuddering but controlling himself, chest tight with it, but Francis tells him again. Tells Raju — Rama — tells him to breathe, for Francis. Raju nods against Francis' shoulder, his neck, feels Francis' head moving against his and tries, letting his held breath out in a gust and pulling it back in again.

His hand is trying to clutch at what he realises by touch must be Francis' chest, gets so far as to brush against his shirt there but Raju moves it, presses it flat against the fabric of the chair behind him. He can't let go, can't move, or this is going to end too soon, but he needs to move, some of this needs to go somewhere so he slaps his hand against the chair, feeling the heat over and underneath his skin. But Francis is here. Francis is here, hurt, so the thing inside him can't let loose right here. Around him instead, a circle around the chair. A safe distance away. He feels Francis against him, and around him, and his breath shakes. Only them. The two of them, and Raju's self control. That's all that exists now.