Francis tilts his head, and the gesture makes Raju’s smile deepen. He knows that Francis trusts him, of course — what is this now if not proof of that? — but being shown, invited, to put his hand on something so vulnerable makes it obvious again. Even more now, maybe, when Francis’ body is so fragile already. Obligingly he sets the cloth at the line of Francis’ beard and moves it very slowly down, feeling the muscle and throat under his fingers with nothing more than the thin cloth between.

By the time his hand reaches Francis’ older scars he’s leaning forward, free hand resting on the edge of the tub behind Francis and gaze already focusing on the skin under his hands like there’s nothing else in the world. From there he dips the cloth in the water again and runs it across the older scar at the top of Francis’ chest, still slow and reverent. He’ll move to the rest of Francis’ chest after this, he knows; his mind is already quieter than it was, so mostly Raju’s only thinking that he’s going to enjoy it.