“I deserve you.” Raju’s shaking him a little, again. He realises what he’s said; it doesn’t matter what he deserves. Not when it comes to what he has to do. Wanting so badly to doubt that, being so nakedly aware now of the weakness in him, makes it all the more essential that he not allow himself to so much as consider it now.
He’s almost breathing hard again, looking at Francis. He realises, with relief like a clean breeze blowing onto sweat soaked skin, that that isn’t why he wants to argue with Francis this time. He remembers the current of Francis’ thoughts, coward and selfish to want a man he’s so settled in devotion to to stay; it can’t be endured. The way Francis chokes on the words not what you deserve as he says them shouldn’t be endured.
“I’m going back.” Raju’s hands don’t clench over Francis’ sides. They don’t even twitch there. It’s some distant marvel that he can say it matter of factly, evenly even with the fact of it still clenching at the inside of his throat. Easier to do when he shuts the reality of it away from himself a little, and focuses on the fact that one was leading up to: “But not because you’re not enough to be worth staying for. What do I care about getting old? What does old mean to a man like me, a life like mine? It’d be a privilege, to live a life here with you. That’s what you give to me, Francis. And that’s enough.”
His eyes— they were burning, and he didn’t notice until now. He swallows, and blinks the blur in his vision away. It should be enough. It’s hard to figure out how to speak about this, to say should and have it mean the right thing, not a betrayal of the people he has to go back to, but just… just should be, that’s all. He wants it to be. But it’s not because of Francis, of all things, that he can’t afford to stay.
Raju can’t help but go on, his calm of a moment before eclipsed by desperation again. His hands do grip Francis’ sides this time. “I don’t give a damn how old you are,” he insists, voice coming out low and rough. “I’d stay anyway.”
no subject
He’s almost breathing hard again, looking at Francis. He realises, with relief like a clean breeze blowing onto sweat soaked skin, that that isn’t why he wants to argue with Francis this time. He remembers the current of Francis’ thoughts, coward and selfish to want a man he’s so settled in devotion to to stay; it can’t be endured. The way Francis chokes on the words not what you deserve as he says them shouldn’t be endured.
“I’m going back.” Raju’s hands don’t clench over Francis’ sides. They don’t even twitch there. It’s some distant marvel that he can say it matter of factly, evenly even with the fact of it still clenching at the inside of his throat. Easier to do when he shuts the reality of it away from himself a little, and focuses on the fact that one was leading up to: “But not because you’re not enough to be worth staying for. What do I care about getting old? What does old mean to a man like me, a life like mine? It’d be a privilege, to live a life here with you. That’s what you give to me, Francis. And that’s enough.”
His eyes— they were burning, and he didn’t notice until now. He swallows, and blinks the blur in his vision away. It should be enough. It’s hard to figure out how to speak about this, to say should and have it mean the right thing, not a betrayal of the people he has to go back to, but just… just should be, that’s all. He wants it to be. But it’s not because of Francis, of all things, that he can’t afford to stay.
Raju can’t help but go on, his calm of a moment before eclipsed by desperation again. His hands do grip Francis’ sides this time. “I don’t give a damn how old you are,” he insists, voice coming out low and rough. “I’d stay anyway.”