Raju looks at him. Listens to the roughness in his voice, feels his skin. “You called me Rama earlier,” he murmurs, roughly. “Even after the heat of the moment was long over. When you didn’t have to. That’s a part of myself I…”
He lets out a slow breath, looking away and catching sight of his wrist. “That’s why I wear that,” he nods toward the cord, his half of Seetha’s pendant. “So I didn’t forget it was waiting for me, that some day I should be Rama again. But I’d started to think… I’d buried it too long, and maybe it’d suffocated there. I’d realise I’d forgotten I was wearing it, that I’d ever been anything else, and it was…”
It wasn’t anything. He’d realise it and soon after his mind would be empty. He hadn’t been able to afford anything else. The horror of it only comes now, after. But there’s too much else in him for horror to keep a foothold for long. Raju’s troubled gaze, then fixed on the pendant, moves now to Francis’ face again, smile small but growing, fixed on Francis, relieved. “But here I am. I see Rama again, with you. That’s a gift, too.”
He locked Rama away when he left his village. He had to, he had a mission to complete, a promise to his dying father to fulfill. Everything was wrapped up in being Raju, it was life or death, and Rama had been buried under the weight of all that. He’d nearly lost himself entirely - Crozier can understand that all-too-well, that fear of losing yourself completely in the need to be something or someone else.
But the thought that he’d brought Rama back - he doesn’t know if he’s ever seen a divide, Raju versus Rama - but he can feel his heart thundering in his chest knowing this beloved man feels that way. If he sees Rama, then that’s who Crozier loves. He loves the man with the pendant and heart that would give all of himself and leave nothing left to save his people.
He smile fades ever-so-slightly as he leans forward, bringing their foreheads to rest against each other. He blinks softly; Christ, is he crying? He couldn’t even feel it. “Here you are,” he murmurs. “I love the man that you are, Rama.”
The British saw the officer, of course, A. Rama Raju; the superior officers and their families must have loved one another, but they certainly didn’t love him. They only saw what he could do. They saw the officer with the hard face and the spotless uniform, and they used him.
The people at home, they saw a hero. They saw Rama and they loved him, loved their savior when he encouraged them to keep hoping and keep living and keep waiting for the day when their great hope Rama would win them weapons so they could finally fight, and then win them their freedom. They love the man who keeps himself strong, and keeps them strong, and so soothes their fear and their rage and their hope and their need.
Francis sees the man. Francis needs… well, only a man. The man that he is. Francis watches everyday acts and sees, somehow, something extraordinary. The spectacular act of heroism Francis needed was Raju going quietly to his knees in front of the monuments to Francis’ grief, and staying with him after; Francis’ great need is only for Raju, not as an empty soldier or a larger than life hero or an upright and faultless husband, some source of unyielding force and unending strength. But as a man. That’s what’s so monumental to Francis to send those tears down his cheeks now.
Raju’s throat hurts a little. It’s everything, it’s all of it, but the thing that trips him over into tears is Francis’ own, some kind of permission there, and Raju feels Francis’ forehead against his own, and lets out a hard, rough breath, voice thick with their tears. “I love you, Francis. Everything that you are.”
His breath hitches and he smiles on the hard exhale, corners of his eyes crinkling. “Thank you.”
He loves him. He loves him. He replays the words in his mind over and over again. Everything that he is, all the bad and all the good, all the spite and envy and missteps and guilt, all the pieces of him that are broken and never will be properly mended - he loves him, not in spite of all those things, but perhaps because he is all those things. He's been loved but not tolerated because of the things he is and isn't - Irish, middle bred, no ear for politics, a sailor who keeps but a single drawer when on land.
It's all of him, not just the acceptable pieces. He sees the ghosts that haunt him and has stayed. They're a fitting pair, aren't they? Both of them plagued by their pasts and unsure of their futures. But they work, they make each other smile and laugh, they hold each other when things are difficult and try to protect each other from the ills of the world.
Crozier slowly brings his hand up brush his thumb under Rama's eye, catching any tears that might have fallen, then tilts his head back oh-so-gently to press a kiss to his lips. He lets him feel the brief smile that spreads across his face, then angles his head to fit them together properly, inadvertently sharing the sigh that escapes him. He tastes a little salty, a little sweet, lips still just as lush and indulgent as they'd felt when he'd first kissed him earlier that evening. His fingers trail down to his beard, along his jaw, pulling back to press smaller kisses to his lips and over his cheeks and nose.
Odd to smile as he feels those little kisses there and feel the wetness at the edges of his eyes at the same time, to know it's at the corners of Francis' too even if Francis' face isn't far enough away now to see. One hand cups the back of Francis' head gently while the other clutches at his arm, and Raju does smile, darting little kisses back wherever the movement of Francis' head allows it. And it's odd to do this, kiss like this only for the sake of it; this, too, he hasn't done in a long time. Longer than since he's had sex, surely. Things between them had been serious and solemn in those later years, when he'd been home long enough to be the husband she'd needed. Even with the crying, though, this is anything but.
Raju gives a satisfied sigh, hand moving from Francis' arm to his shoulder to his side, and then running itself down that very slowly, soaking in the shape of him. He doesn't say anything; everything important has already been said. He wants to feel.
The tears start to dry up and he continues to kiss and be kissed, hand staying on Raju's head to keep his face nice and close. He pushes his fingers through his beard and then up to his hairline, tender and deliberate as he caresses along his temple and over the shell of his ear.
His chest is starting to ache though, and not in the lovesick kind of way. He hates it, but he needs to end the moment and get them back on track. With a gentle nip to his lower lip he pulls back, smiling apologetically as he meets Rama's eyes and drops his hand down over his heart.
"I need my chest wrapped," he reminds him, sorry to even have to say it.
"Mhm." Raju nods, still smiling as he takes the sight of him in. Looking at him feels new, even if nothing outside of them — or inside of them, for Francis, in a very literal sense — has changed. Raju will need to do the same chores, prepare the same food, wrap the same bandages in the same way. Everything has changed, even if some of it hasn't.
Raju steals one more quick kiss that becomes just a little less quick than he'd intended as he bites Francis' lip, and he's smiling in a playful, self satisfied sort of way as he pulls back from it. He watches Francis for a moment. Then he stands, finds himself running a hand over Francis' hair, huffs out an amused noise at himself. Even as he picks the bandage up again, his smile only dims. It's still there, and the pleasure is still there, some sharp, excited quality to the warmth inside him.
"Are you ready?" he asks, less because he thinks Francis isn't and more to give him a chance to brace for it. Wrapping this isn't pleasant, but it's necessary, and that's alright. Not so long ago in this very room, Raju was going to lose everything. But he has more now than he'd dreamt he could. The setbacks are worthwhile, compared to that.
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He lets out a slow breath, looking away and catching sight of his wrist. “That’s why I wear that,” he nods toward the cord, his half of Seetha’s pendant. “So I didn’t forget it was waiting for me, that some day I should be Rama again. But I’d started to think… I’d buried it too long, and maybe it’d suffocated there. I’d realise I’d forgotten I was wearing it, that I’d ever been anything else, and it was…”
It wasn’t anything. He’d realise it and soon after his mind would be empty. He hadn’t been able to afford anything else. The horror of it only comes now, after. But there’s too much else in him for horror to keep a foothold for long. Raju’s troubled gaze, then fixed on the pendant, moves now to Francis’ face again, smile small but growing, fixed on Francis, relieved. “But here I am. I see Rama again, with you. That’s a gift, too.”
no subject
He locked Rama away when he left his village. He had to, he had a mission to complete, a promise to his dying father to fulfill. Everything was wrapped up in being Raju, it was life or death, and Rama had been buried under the weight of all that. He’d nearly lost himself entirely - Crozier can understand that all-too-well, that fear of losing yourself completely in the need to be something or someone else.
But the thought that he’d brought Rama back - he doesn’t know if he’s ever seen a divide, Raju versus Rama - but he can feel his heart thundering in his chest knowing this beloved man feels that way. If he sees Rama, then that’s who Crozier loves. He loves the man with the pendant and heart that would give all of himself and leave nothing left to save his people.
He smile fades ever-so-slightly as he leans forward, bringing their foreheads to rest against each other. He blinks softly; Christ, is he crying? He couldn’t even feel it. “Here you are,” he murmurs. “I love the man that you are, Rama.”
no subject
The people at home, they saw a hero. They saw Rama and they loved him, loved their savior when he encouraged them to keep hoping and keep living and keep waiting for the day when their great hope Rama would win them weapons so they could finally fight, and then win them their freedom. They love the man who keeps himself strong, and keeps them strong, and so soothes their fear and their rage and their hope and their need.
Francis sees the man. Francis needs… well, only a man. The man that he is. Francis watches everyday acts and sees, somehow, something extraordinary. The spectacular act of heroism Francis needed was Raju going quietly to his knees in front of the monuments to Francis’ grief, and staying with him after; Francis’ great need is only for Raju, not as an empty soldier or a larger than life hero or an upright and faultless husband, some source of unyielding force and unending strength. But as a man. That’s what’s so monumental to Francis to send those tears down his cheeks now.
Raju’s throat hurts a little. It’s everything, it’s all of it, but the thing that trips him over into tears is Francis’ own, some kind of permission there, and Raju feels Francis’ forehead against his own, and lets out a hard, rough breath, voice thick with their tears. “I love you, Francis. Everything that you are.”
His breath hitches and he smiles on the hard exhale, corners of his eyes crinkling. “Thank you.”
no subject
He loves him. He loves him. He replays the words in his mind over and over again. Everything that he is, all the bad and all the good, all the spite and envy and missteps and guilt, all the pieces of him that are broken and never will be properly mended - he loves him, not in spite of all those things, but perhaps because he is all those things. He's been loved but not tolerated because of the things he is and isn't - Irish, middle bred, no ear for politics, a sailor who keeps but a single drawer when on land.
It's all of him, not just the acceptable pieces. He sees the ghosts that haunt him and has stayed. They're a fitting pair, aren't they? Both of them plagued by their pasts and unsure of their futures. But they work, they make each other smile and laugh, they hold each other when things are difficult and try to protect each other from the ills of the world.
Crozier slowly brings his hand up brush his thumb under Rama's eye, catching any tears that might have fallen, then tilts his head back oh-so-gently to press a kiss to his lips. He lets him feel the brief smile that spreads across his face, then angles his head to fit them together properly, inadvertently sharing the sigh that escapes him. He tastes a little salty, a little sweet, lips still just as lush and indulgent as they'd felt when he'd first kissed him earlier that evening. His fingers trail down to his beard, along his jaw, pulling back to press smaller kisses to his lips and over his cheeks and nose.
no subject
Raju gives a satisfied sigh, hand moving from Francis' arm to his shoulder to his side, and then running itself down that very slowly, soaking in the shape of him. He doesn't say anything; everything important has already been said. He wants to feel.
no subject
The tears start to dry up and he continues to kiss and be kissed, hand staying on Raju's head to keep his face nice and close. He pushes his fingers through his beard and then up to his hairline, tender and deliberate as he caresses along his temple and over the shell of his ear.
His chest is starting to ache though, and not in the lovesick kind of way. He hates it, but he needs to end the moment and get them back on track. With a gentle nip to his lower lip he pulls back, smiling apologetically as he meets Rama's eyes and drops his hand down over his heart.
"I need my chest wrapped," he reminds him, sorry to even have to say it.
no subject
Raju steals one more quick kiss that becomes just a little less quick than he'd intended as he bites Francis' lip, and he's smiling in a playful, self satisfied sort of way as he pulls back from it. He watches Francis for a moment. Then he stands, finds himself running a hand over Francis' hair, huffs out an amused noise at himself. Even as he picks the bandage up again, his smile only dims. It's still there, and the pleasure is still there, some sharp, excited quality to the warmth inside him.
"Are you ready?" he asks, less because he thinks Francis isn't and more to give him a chance to brace for it. Wrapping this isn't pleasant, but it's necessary, and that's alright. Not so long ago in this very room, Raju was going to lose everything. But he has more now than he'd dreamt he could. The setbacks are worthwhile, compared to that.