[ She recalls their first night in this world, the words exchanged, her hand in his: why does he blame himself? "That does not concern you." Is he prepared? "No."
He is not prepared to make himself vulnerable, to do what is necessary to be closer to others, thus making touch easier to tolerate, to permit, to endure. He keeps himself an arm's length away, yet...
Her eyes remain on him as he presses the towel to her cheek; she feels the coolness of the water, a line of it dripping down the angle of her jaw, down her neck. The cloth remains a barrier between his palm and her skin. This is the wall he has woven for himself: no matter what touch he brings, it will never have that true closeness that he-- seems to deny himself. A barrier remains. It keeps him safe. It keeps him numb.... but how numb?
Her hand lifts to his cheek. No cloth separates her fingertips from his skin. There, there is warmth. There, there is comfort and acceptance, or so she hopes that is what it may provide him. ]
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He is not prepared to make himself vulnerable, to do what is necessary to be closer to others, thus making touch easier to tolerate, to permit, to endure. He keeps himself an arm's length away, yet...
Her eyes remain on him as he presses the towel to her cheek; she feels the coolness of the water, a line of it dripping down the angle of her jaw, down her neck. The cloth remains a barrier between his palm and her skin. This is the wall he has woven for himself: no matter what touch he brings, it will never have that true closeness that he-- seems to deny himself. A barrier remains. It keeps him safe. It keeps him numb.... but how numb?
Her hand lifts to his cheek. No cloth separates her fingertips from his skin. There, there is warmth. There, there is comfort and acceptance, or so she hopes that is what it may provide him. ]
Do you feel this, Somnus?