Raju hesitates. But Francis repeats himself, look at me, and Raju risks it. His jaw tightens, breath heavy and irregular as he works to keep his expression neutral. Seeing Francis’ fingers moving is more of a shock than he’d expected it to be, and he tries to focus past the way the electric sensation matches up with the sight of them well enough to think.

Smile. He’d sounded like Francis when he’d said it, not much like an officer or a captain, and his laugh had sounded soft and kind. Raju’s shoulders ache, and a man who loves Raju wants Raju to smile at him.

Smiling on purpose. It isn’t happening just by thinking about it. Maybe he’s too used to looking at Francis and feeling it happen on its own, or maybe it’s the uniform and the uniform’s leftover habits. In any case, Raju’s two brief twitching attempts at it feel as odd and unnatural as they must look and he stops quickly, eyebrows pulling into a frown. His mouth opens, then closes again. His lips twist into something wry and amused, which he’s sure doesn’t count in the way that a real smile would.

“And if I don’t?” he murmurs as if it’s a challenge, one he’d fully intended to issue in the first place. Don’t, can’t— well, he might as well have.