Raju's eyes widen a little as Francis kisses his knuckles, expression shifting into quiet surprise. What he has with Francis, what they've started building — started now, or maybe a long time ago — every moment of it should remind him of Seetha and choices that he has to make, pain and other inevitable things. But he's never been kissed the way that Francis, sometimes, has been kissing him: like he's doing as much of the wooing as Raju is, like Raju isn't leading Francis into heartbreak so much as the two of them are taking turns leading each other.

And there's something about the thing itself, the obvious romance in the gesture. He's never once thought about how it would feel to be on this end of it before.

"I have to worry about your hair," he says, unwilling to move his one hand from Francis' just now but flipping the towel behind Francis over the top of his head with the other and rubbing it at his head gently. "We can't leave it damp all night. Besides, if we're moving, that means I get to clean you up now. I might as well worry about your hair while I do the rest of it."

The more time passes, after all, the more aware he becomes of that wet spot inside his trousers. Moving isn't necessarily going to be a bad thing, even if Raju didn't need something to do to stop himself from thinking. "You'll feel better once you're clean and dry, you'll see. I won't even take very long to find you new trousers, I've already looked through everything once."