Raju’s head turns, attention drawn away from his one hand long enough to set his other briefly on the shoulder of the body next to his. “Go back to sleep,” he says, habit, saying the familiar words in the familiarly sleep-roughened voice with the familiar gesture from his dream, but the shoulder under his hand is strong instead of slender, the sound of his name deeper.
Francis won’t do it so easily, will he? He’s got more reason than Seetha, here, to think there’s good reason to wake up when Raju does. “There’s no fire. I’m alright.”
It feels true. There isn’t any fire. The weight churning uneasily in his stomach is familiar, the sour feeling rising from there to his chest and throat a familiar rope inside him, tying a familiar knot. He’s woken up this way plenty of times; it probably doesn’t feel too bad. He lies nearly back but not completely, swallowing and taking deeper, careful breaths. The thread, he catches sight of it again. It’s s stained, frayed, waiting for cleaning and repair that’s refusing to come—
He sits up so quickly that for an instant he’s nearly dizzy with it, socked feet on the floor. He shudders in the sudden chill, without half his usual layers between him and the air. He turns to pull the blanket up around Francis where his movement tugged it away and stops, starting at the two red threads next to one another. The one connected to Francis is short just now, with no distance to cross, and bright, and strong. Raju closes his eyes, pushing the sight of the both of them away from his mind just as he pushes at everything stirred up by it. His breaths only shake a little, strictly measured and deep. A moment. He only needs to take a moment. He’s being ridiculous. He’s making it harder for Francis to sleep.
no subject
Francis won’t do it so easily, will he? He’s got more reason than Seetha, here, to think there’s good reason to wake up when Raju does. “There’s no fire. I’m alright.”
It feels true. There isn’t any fire. The weight churning uneasily in his stomach is familiar, the sour feeling rising from there to his chest and throat a familiar rope inside him, tying a familiar knot. He’s woken up this way plenty of times; it probably doesn’t feel too bad. He lies nearly back but not completely, swallowing and taking deeper, careful breaths. The thread, he catches sight of it again. It’s s stained, frayed, waiting for cleaning and repair that’s refusing to come—
He sits up so quickly that for an instant he’s nearly dizzy with it, socked feet on the floor. He shudders in the sudden chill, without half his usual layers between him and the air. He turns to pull the blanket up around Francis where his movement tugged it away and stops, starting at the two red threads next to one another. The one connected to Francis is short just now, with no distance to cross, and bright, and strong. Raju closes his eyes, pushing the sight of the both of them away from his mind just as he pushes at everything stirred up by it. His breaths only shake a little, strictly measured and deep. A moment. He only needs to take a moment. He’s being ridiculous. He’s making it harder for Francis to sleep.