Raju bites at the inside of his lip, eyebrows pinching, studying him. The boundary he'd thought was approaching, Francis has already passed; Raju isn't sure what he's being asked to stop, exactly. Everything he's just said feels true. The don't might mean the endearments, the affection-- Francis has never asked him to stop that before.

Keep moving forward, Raju decides, but cautiously. He slips his forearm under him -- leaning on his fist feels too casual, now, as if he isn't taking Francis seriously -- and takes Francis' wrist in a loose grip, trying to ease it upward slowly, slowly, fractions of an inch at a time, giving Francis a chance to refuse him but tilting his head, trying to catch a look at the man underneath. "Look at me, at least," Raju murmurs, voice and expression intent, focused on any glimpse of him. "Or, at least let me look at you. I want to see you. Will you let me?"