Raju’s tugged against Francis’ chest. His arms are bent against it, hands still fisted in Francis’ shirt, and his face falls naturally against the crook of Francis’ neck. Francis’ arms are tight around him, smothering Raju’s desperate need to hear—

—something Francis could never give him, Raju realises, not wanting to know it but unable to help it held against the gentle warmth of him, the fire sounding faint behind the echo of Raju’s gasping breaths against Francis’ skin. You never would have asked, would you? He isn’t sure how much of the message makes it through — the thoughts he gets seem to be more impressions than words and his own now, as much as any idea can be, is quiet — but it isn’t something Raju could admit to out loud, the desperate, selfish shame of what he had been looking for. You’d sacrifice everything to help someone else, even people you’ll never meet. Asking for what you need instead never even occurred to you, did it? It never could have been different; that’s why I love you, after all.

His breath shudders in the small, damp space between his face and Francis’ neck, and his eyes burn. He can’t tell if the wetness on his cheeks is his own sweat or if it’s tears. He closes his eyes, and doesn’t try to figure it out.