Raju is pacing again. Without anything else to notice, he'd noticed the sharp energy in his limbs flagging and the leaden feeling pulling at his eyes, and gotten up instead. It's almost better than being next to Francis, where he'd feel how relaxed Francis seems, how close he seems without the fever to being alive, being well. And moving helps.
When he turns back, Francis is awake. Properly awake. Aware.
Raju's heart is beating hard, and he hasn't moved toward Francis yet. I am still, he thinks, and hope and fear are tangled up in a knot somewhere in his chest or stomach where a moment earlier had only been echoing empty space.
He walks toward Francis, feeling his heart beating. He wants to smooth his hand down over Francis' side and find out whether the never again, never this ever again would still be there and would still hurt. He wants to touch him in the way he always has, to feel what he always feels, to want what he always wants. Raju wants to feel his friend in his arms and kiss him in the long, grateful way he used to kiss Seetha after stepping off of the skiff at home for the first time in too long.
He raises a hand to cup Francis' face. His hard breaths are pushing his chest in and out, loud through his open mouth. The smell of his own raised arm makes it to him, and he realises he smells horrible.
He's been washing Francis so carefully, but not himself at all. It isn't the smell of honest effort, it's the sour smell of stress and fear and he had barely realised how much of it was lingering on him until now. It hadn't mattered at all, then. And Francis is...
Awake. Above everything else Francis is awake, and his fever's broken, and he's alive, and nothing else should matter, not even the things Raju wants as intensely as he wants this now. And moving Francis would hurt him anyway. And he needs to hear that voice saying something that isn't the last thing it will ever say, and he pulls in a sharp breath through his lips, his gaze darting everywhere over Francis' face and settling on the clear look in that one eye.
"Francis." His voice is rasping and sharp, intent, his other hand moving to clasp Francis'. "You're alive, still. With me. You're here."
no subject
When he turns back, Francis is awake. Properly awake. Aware.
Raju's heart is beating hard, and he hasn't moved toward Francis yet. I am still, he thinks, and hope and fear are tangled up in a knot somewhere in his chest or stomach where a moment earlier had only been echoing empty space.
He walks toward Francis, feeling his heart beating. He wants to smooth his hand down over Francis' side and find out whether the never again, never this ever again would still be there and would still hurt. He wants to touch him in the way he always has, to feel what he always feels, to want what he always wants. Raju wants to feel his friend in his arms and kiss him in the long, grateful way he used to kiss Seetha after stepping off of the skiff at home for the first time in too long.
He raises a hand to cup Francis' face. His hard breaths are pushing his chest in and out, loud through his open mouth. The smell of his own raised arm makes it to him, and he realises he smells horrible.
He's been washing Francis so carefully, but not himself at all. It isn't the smell of honest effort, it's the sour smell of stress and fear and he had barely realised how much of it was lingering on him until now. It hadn't mattered at all, then. And Francis is...
Awake. Above everything else Francis is awake, and his fever's broken, and he's alive, and nothing else should matter, not even the things Raju wants as intensely as he wants this now. And moving Francis would hurt him anyway. And he needs to hear that voice saying something that isn't the last thing it will ever say, and he pulls in a sharp breath through his lips, his gaze darting everywhere over Francis' face and settling on the clear look in that one eye.
"Francis." His voice is rasping and sharp, intent, his other hand moving to clasp Francis'. "You're alive, still. With me. You're here."