Raju's eyes widen, and he moves quickly. He remembers the horrible noise Francis had made when Raju had sat him up; even a small movement like that must take strength. Strength where Raju can't find his, even for the sake of a dying man who cares and needs him. Moving quickly is the least that he can do.

His arm is around Francis' back, under his ribs. It all feels more fragile than it had when he'd sat this way before. Almost this way. When he'd told Francis that he wanted him to stay.

Raju turns his head against Francis', nose against his hair, and breathes out hard. He's as aware of the body under his arm as he's ever been of anything. Francis feels warm, despite how cold he says he feels. He feels warm and alive. But the need to see Francis, look into his face, impossible to ignore now that he's this close, pushes Raju to lift his head again, to look over the handsome face he knows underneath what's become of it. The backs of his fingers trace very carefully around the swollen eye.

I could get snow for this, to keep it cold. For the swelling. His mouth is already open to say it. It stays open as he breathes out, the air coming out of him in a sigh, very slow.

"Is this alright?" The words come out on his slow breath. He can't bring himself to mind the swelling, just now; it feels alive under his fingers, too.