Raju listens. Of course he wouldn't judge Francis' efforts to grieve his enormous losses in whatever way he could; of course he would join that mourning if he were allowed to; of course he would try, once Francis was ready to leave, to make him smile. Francis has never forgotten his responsibilities to or his love of the people who needed him, even when that responsibility and that love and the grief it wrecked inside nearly destroyed him. Of course Raju would help a man like that in any small way that he could. It's the least of what Francis deserves.

But these simple, obvious facts performed because of course he would, of course Francis deserves them and so someone should give them to him, and of course Raju can, and would, and should be the one who does, recited sound like acts of love in Francis' mouth. As he hears them Raju feels it inside his chest warm and deep, deeper than he could chart without a map, and realises that they are.

You've seen all sides of me, Francis says, and never once spurned me, and Raju's other hand cups the side of Francis' face.

"I feel the same." His voice is thick, throat suddenly tight. His gaze is fixed to Francis' eyes, smile faint and helpless to be anything else. "You've never turned away in disgust. Even when... when you could have. Maybe you should have. But you were loyal, and patient, and kind."