"It's not—" he starts automatically and then stops himself with a huff and a noise of faint amusement, hand on Francis' head sliding down to the chairback behind his head, looking down at the arm in his lap. He hasn't touched this one very often. There's something about this kind of injury that feels as if it should be left alone, out of... respect, maybe. Or maybe something else.

But then there'd been yesterday. Raju hadn't noticed this changing in him too, but maybe it had. And maybe the rest of it is the warmth that spreads out inside him in a burst whenever he hears Francis call him that. He reaches out to Francis' arm, turning it a little so the underside of Francis' wrist is facing up, the easier to run his thumb over the skin there, exploring it while he thinks of how to explain.

"I'm just not... used to being here, I suppose. Even now. I used to skip over foraging altogether unless I ran across something edible by accident." Odd to think about that, now. His meals had been nothing but the tins. Francis has been changing things for Raju for even longer than Raju's known enough of himself to think about it.