[ Noelle can't remember the last time she asked someone to touch her. The clones did it on their own, things made from her body that somehow knew its most secret desires. Whenever they held hands, or hugged, or even, on those deliberately rare occasions, kissed, it was usually Krouse who initiated.
She'd hugged him after their last match - the last one that they won. But that hadn't felt like she was asking for anything. That hug was something she'd earned, and so she hadn't felt disgusting receiving it.
It must have been when she was a kid, before she learned the secret of the world that everyone is supposed to pretend they don't know. The one that puts you in the hospital if you act on it too much, if you follow it to its logical conclusion.
But she's asking for it now. It's something Noelle never thought she'd miss, but there's another secret she learned, locked in bathroom stalls and warehouses and bunkers: when all you are is a body, not being touched is the loneliest thing in the world.
As Krouse unclasps his hands, Noelle gets ready, too, a process that occurs behind the locked door of a carefully neutral expression, inside her own brain. He wipes his hands on his jumpsuit, clearly as nervous as she is, and Noelle resolves not to flinch. He's frightened. (Of her.) It wouldn't be fair. (To him.)
He touches her palm. Noelle still flinches. The reflex courses through all her talons as they curl inwards, her stupid body once again blowing up all her problems to monstrous proportions. Loathing twists in her stomach, as reflexive as the flinch, because of course she's still too sick to get this right.
Still, she doesn't pull away. She leaves her talons slightly curled, and it's almost like holding hands. Like someone leading her up and out of the dark. ]
Yeah. [ Noelle rasps through a wet chunk of feeling stuck in her throat, meeting his dark eyes with glassy ones of her own. ] Sorry - I just - it's new.
[ But the longer they stay in it, the less frightening it is. There's a light at the end of that long, dark tunnel. If this place won't fix her, then nothing will, which means this is the best she's going to get. It might even be okay. There's soft, gentle warmth against something hideous and ugly, but it's all for her. It can't be that awful, if he's willing to touch it.
cw: eating disorder, ableism
She'd hugged him after their last match - the last one that they won. But that hadn't felt like she was asking for anything. That hug was something she'd earned, and so she hadn't felt disgusting receiving it.
It must have been when she was a kid, before she learned the secret of the world that everyone is supposed to pretend they don't know. The one that puts you in the hospital if you act on it too much, if you follow it to its logical conclusion.
But she's asking for it now. It's something Noelle never thought she'd miss, but there's another secret she learned, locked in bathroom stalls and warehouses and bunkers: when all you are is a body, not being touched is the loneliest thing in the world.
As Krouse unclasps his hands, Noelle gets ready, too, a process that occurs behind the locked door of a carefully neutral expression, inside her own brain. He wipes his hands on his jumpsuit, clearly as nervous as she is, and Noelle resolves not to flinch. He's frightened. (Of her.) It wouldn't be fair. (To him.)
He touches her palm. Noelle still flinches. The reflex courses through all her talons as they curl inwards, her stupid body once again blowing up all her problems to monstrous proportions. Loathing twists in her stomach, as reflexive as the flinch, because of course she's still too sick to get this right.
Still, she doesn't pull away. She leaves her talons slightly curled, and it's almost like holding hands. Like someone leading her up and out of the dark. ]
Yeah. [ Noelle rasps through a wet chunk of feeling stuck in her throat, meeting his dark eyes with glassy ones of her own. ] Sorry - I just - it's new.
[ But the longer they stay in it, the less frightening it is. There's a light at the end of that long, dark tunnel. If this place won't fix her, then nothing will, which means this is the best she's going to get. It might even be okay. There's soft, gentle warmth against something hideous and ugly, but it's all for her. It can't be that awful, if he's willing to touch it.
Maybe she isn't so terrible, either. ]