#haphephobia

For @pastelaspirations Forget scarf hand holding; feast your eyes on Scarf Hugs! For the haphephobic grump skelly in your life.

Based on their UTMV fanfic "Perseverance"

*Looks around* Are you people in my house???? THREE asks of traits I have. IN A ROW???

Comic, Geno, Red and Swap aren't very fond of random people touching them, so they've got a partial idea of what you're feeling.

Template, Ink, and Error have all the tools to survive The Curse and they're more than happy to share.

Blue, Heart, Ccino, Cherrybomb, and Killer are like southern grandma's. You cannot remind them often enough that you do not want to be touched. They're getting better, they're just not used to it yet.

Dust, Horror, Passive, Reaper, and Syrah are used to not touching people. They don't necessarily like not touching you, but they can manage, especially since they don't want you to be suffering because of them.

Plum, Swad, and Pale both live off of physical contact when it comes to their loved ones, and hate it with a burning passion from anyone else. Its almost painful for them not to show you affection that way, but they'll find another way while you're recovering.

Nightmare, Shattered, and Fresh are all remarkably physical on an instinctual level, so this is a little bit of a mind bender for them. They... struggle, but they try.

Pairing: Lars x Reader Fandom: Lars and the Real Girl Theme: First kisses, haphephobia, gentle guiding.

They're sitting on her front porch. A blanket around her shoulders, his hands twitching in his lap like he isn't quite sure what to do with them now that he's here. He's been walking her home every day after work since Bianca died in the spring, and now the air smells like rotting leaves and the pumpkin spice cocoa she'd given him, even though he never drinks it.

He’s talking about something, model trains, or the church bake sale, or maybe the neighbor’s dog who always wears little socks. Something small. He talks a lot more these days. Still stilted, still careful, but when he’s with her, he fills the space with his thoughts.

She’s not really listening tonight, though.

She’s watching his hands.

He doesn’t notice. He’s focused on the story. But her gaze flickers down to where his sleeves are pushed to the elbow, exposing pale skin and long, thin wrists. His arms are lightly freckled. One of his veins is visible. It twitches when he moves. And not for the first time, she aches to touch it. Not just to reassure him, but to feel him. To let her hand say something her mouth is too shy to.

She waits for a lull in his voice. “Lars?” she says, turning to face him fully now.

“I read something a while ago. About a thing called ‘touch therapy.’” She glances at him sideways. “Have you ever heard of it?”

He blinks. Stares at her like she just offered to perform open-heart surgery on the porch. “Uh ... Yeah. Yeah, once. My doctor, Dagmar, she, um, she tried it. A little.”

“Did it help?”

He shrugs, visibly uncomfortable, and she resisted the urge to tell him it didn't matter. “I don’t know. It felt ... it hurt a bit. At first. But then it wasn't so bad."

She nods, and takes in the way he shrinks in on himself, like he's afraid to take up space. How he still dresses in layers, even during the summer. How ever since Bianca, he's been a lot more open to spending time with her, when before, the most she could hope for was one of his polite smiles in the breakroom at lunch or at church before he skittered off like he was afraid she'd burn him.

"Can I try?" she asks, finally.

His whole body stiffens. Not in fear, exactly, but more like the idea surprised him so much he forgot to move. "... why?"

She smiles. "Because I care about you. And I want to help."

She doesn't tell him it's because she's been fantasizing about holding his hand like a schoolgirl with a crush for months. Not yet.

He swallows. "What would I have to do?"

"Nothing. You just have to sit there. I'd put my hand on your arm. Or your shoulder. Nowhere else. Only where you tell it's okay."

He stares at her for a long time, his eyes tracking her fingers as she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, waiting, quiet. Letting him choose.

"Okay," he whispers.

And then, so slowly it barely registers as movement, she lifts her hand and places it gently next to his, letting her fingers brush his knuckles.

Lars's breath catches, and he stares straight ahead, like if he looks down, that old frostbitten pain he used to feel when anyone touched him will return. But after a while, she feels it; his shoulders relax. Just slightly.

"You're doing great," she smiles, and shifts her hand the tiniest bit, just enough for her fingers to nestle between his.

He closes his eyes. Breathes in, deep, and spreads his fingers enough to let hers fit.

"Can I touch your arm?" she asks.

That makes him blush. He doesn't smile, exactly, but something in his face warms, and he gives an almost imperceptible nod of his head.

She moves as if he's made of paper, starting at his wrist, barely a graze, then rests her hand along his forearm. Not dramatic. Not invasive. Just warmth. Just her.

Lars goes very still.

“Okay?” she murmurs.

“It tickles,” he says after a pause. “But it’s okay.”

She smiles.

“It feels… nice,” he adds, so quietly she barely catches it. “You feel nice.”

Her face stays neutral, but her heart stumbles, and she moves a little closer, knees brushing his.

“Can I try something else?” she asks.

He nods. Slower this time. Braver.

She shifts her hand to his shoulder. He tenses, then exhales. She strokes upward, to the side of his neck. His skin is warm there. She can feel the flutter of his pulse under her fingers.

“Still okay?”

He nods again. His mouth is slightly open, his breathing shallow.

Then, gently, she brings her hand to his cheek.

He jerks - just a twitch, but he doesn’t pull away. His eyes are glassy now. Like he’s not sure if he’s about to cry or run away.

“You’re really here,” he murmurs, and she knows he's comparing her touch to Bianca's. So she lets her thumb graze the corner of his mouth. His head is tilted down, not touching, but close enough that his breath brushes her lips and it takes everything in her not to close the gap.

"You're not going to kiss me, are you?" he asks.

"Do you want me to kiss you?"

He looks down at her hand, then at her mouth, then back to her eyes.

“… I don't know. I think I do.”

But she doesn’t. Not yet.

She smiles and strokes his cheek one more time before letting her hand fall into her lap.

“Next time,” she says. “When you’re ready.”

And Lars leans forward, just slightly. Not to kiss her. Just to be near.

“I think I’m getting there,” he says, very softly.

---

It happens a few weeks later. It's late, and they've just come back from a slow walk through the neighbourhood. Lars always likes walking at night better. There are fewer people. Fewer eyes. The cold gives him an excuse to tuck his hands into his sleeves and not have to worry about what to do with them.

They’re sitting on the front steps of his house now. Not quite touching. But close.

She says something quiet and inconsequential, like “It’s nice out here.”

Lars nods. Then nods again. Then looks at his shoes. “Yeah. Yeah, It is.”

She watches him for a moment. Tilts her head. She’s not impatient, just … tenderly amused.

“You’re nervous again,” she says.

He flushes. “N-no. I’m not. I’m okay. I’m good. This is good.”

“Lars,” she says gently, “we’ve been seeing each other for a month.”

“Mm-hm,” he says. “We have.”

“And you haven’t kissed me.”

He freezes. His throat bobs with a swallow. “I - I wanted to. I just didn’t want to do it wrong. Or if you weren’t ... if you didn’t want-”

She shakes her head and moves closer and reaches for his hand, slowly, deliberately. He’s okay with holding hands now. Has been, since that first night of “touch therapy.”

"You can kiss me now. If you want to."

He glances at the treeline for a moment, as if debating whether it would be less awkward to just run away from the moment. But eventually, he meets her eyes again.

"You'd tell me if it was bad, right?"

She laughs. Laughs. But it's warm, not cruel.

"I'll kiss you back if it's good. Want to try and find out?"

His gaze flicks down to her mouth, and he nods. Sure and determined.

But he doesn't move.

She waits a second longer. Just in case. But he's not pulling away, just stuck, like always.

So she does.

The kiss itself is soft. Slower than it would be with most men, because she can read him like a book. She doesn't lunge or surprise him. She shifts closer by inches, letting him get used to the idea, watching his face to see if he flinches. He’s wide-eyed, bracing for impact. But then her hand is on his cheek, and that's what does it.

It settles him. Roots him.

And when she leans in and brushes her lips against his, he leans into her mouth like he finally realised he was allowed to.

There’s no tongue. No sudden rush. Just a gentle meeting of lips in the dark.

And when she pulls back slightly to check his face, he’s staring at her like she hung the moon. "Was that okay?” she asks.

He nods. Rapidly. “Yeah. Yeah. I just … I didn’t know it could feel like that.”

She smooths his hair back and kisses his forehead, still smiling. “You don't have to know everything before it happens. Sometimes you just have to let it happen, and then decide if you want to do it again."

bro doesn't like to be touched.

he has no issues touching other people, since it is fully within his control. but being touched by others, especially by people he doesnt trust, reminds him of when he was controlled and used by chara/player and nightmare.

haphephobia in a sense , but not nearly as extreme as error's.