Raju makes a pleased noise to answer that rumble Raju can feel in their lips, in Francis' mouth. As Francis pulls back Raju realises he's licking his lips, then smiles in a bright, amused way at Francis. "I will," he says, and then turns to set things up. He hooks the strop over something nearby and unfolds the blade, starting to run it with quick, practised ease back and forth over the leather side.

"It's been a long time since I used this," he says as he does. "But I've been looking after it. You're in good hands."

A moment more and he's setting the blade aside again to start on the soap, glancing up to study Francis' face as he wets the brush, lathers the soap. "Your hair is longer than it was when you used to shave, isn't it? I'll be the first to see you looking this way." He looks pleased when he says it. Curious as he is about the man Francis says he used to be, the way that man used to look, the way Francis must have seemed when performing the work that would define the rest of his life, Raju finds he likes this too, the idea of seeing something new. Being the first to see something new, because his hand was the one that did it. There's something about that.