When Francis slips his arm around Raju and pulls him even closer Raju looks over at him, surprised. Francis says I l dream of green and somehow Raju knows that what he actually means is No, not like you do. Raju can’t imagine that, not feeling that connection to the place he came from, the pull of its need. But Francis’ work is done, isn’t it, for better or worse. Maybe that’s the difference.

Francis goes on and Raju looks away from him, chewing at the inside of his lip. He watches the way the strings move as one hand picks restlessly under the nail of the other, that heaviness Francis must be feeling too pressing against the inside of him. “I’m sorry, Francis. I didn’t mean for you to…”

To feel… what? Raju would have to look at the roiling mass of it more closely to figure out the words. Instead he shrugs, feeling Francis’ chest against his shoulder as it moves. Francis knows what Raju means anyway, doesn’t he? He doesn’t need to say it.