"It wasn't so—" Raju stops himself before he can lie, ducking his head over a grin and reaching to wipe his hands on a rag. "It wouldn't have been so bad with a trim."

He reaches out for the sheet around Francis' shoulders, gathering up the ends so all the hair doesn't spill out when he lifts it off him. It's odd smelling that familiar scent here, of all places, stronger when he bends forward with his arms briefly around Francis' shoulders; sandalwood and alcohol and the chill in the air, and snow somewhere outside the windows. He turns his head toward Francis' neck and smiles a little. He likes it, he thinks. Maybe he likes the way those two disparate parts of his life fit against one another better because it's Francis who's wearing the scent. Raju straightens, bringing all the corners of the sheet together and looking over. He finds his gaze drawn to Francis' chest and stomach, and it lingers there for a moment before moving up to to smile, teasing, at that oddly bare face. "You'll realise what you've been neglecting the next time we eat. How long has it been since you've had a meal without hair in your mouth?"