Francis’ eyes are closed and Raju’s breath is faster, harsh and pulled in through his mouth. But Francis keeps talking and Raju keeps listening, every word crystalising themselves in his memory, and then Francis’ head is leaning into Raju’s, and Raju doesn’t know if it’s affection putting it there or if he isn’t aware enough to hold it up on his own anymore. The hand against Francis’ front reaches down, scrambling to grasp his hand.

“You said, once—“ The words hurry out of him. He can hear the awful, painful sound if Francis’ strained breathing and clings onto it. “That I didn’t know how much I made life worth living. For you. I never said anything about it after that, to you, I just thought…”

I thought it meant you were going to stay, he thinks. He clenches his jaw with a sharp breath, and forces himself together. Pleas for the impossible don’t have any place here, now. That isn’t what Francis needs. He can be what Francis needs, in this one way. For as long as he still needs it.

“You felt alive,” he manages, quieter, slower. He watches Francis’ body, memorising how it feels against him, watches Francis breathing and listens to the sound. “With me.”