{{ psssssst does creeping up behind alan, lightly squeezing his shoulder, and whispering "boo!" in his ear count as "touching your muse in the gentlest way possible" because that's what luci's gonna go ahead and do
touch my muse in the gentlest way possible
It’s a playful touch with the pressure of thundercloud straining to burst. He isn’t frightened, not initially, because he tastes no malice and the hand is light, glancing. All the same, the suddenness startles him into a full-bodied jerk, into whipping around with a prepared smile, ready to share in delight.
The smile slides promptly away from his face, leaving it wide-eyed and gaping as the beginnings of cheerful excitement drop ice-cold into his gut. Elbows bend to press intertwined white knuckles to his chest.
And he is most certainly frightened. Color has already drained away, an immediate physical response that required no careful direction on his part. Every inch of him tenses and petrifies, screams for action and only remains locked in place.
Running encourages a predator to pursue.
Remaining encourages one to open its prey’s throat.
He stands frozen, mouth open and mind utterly blank. (Is there any handful of charming words that would remedy this encounter? Hardly.) The small sound that emerges from trembling lips at long last is not a word at all, simply a tiny ‘ah,’ from the back of his throat.
