#sudiakko

When she was very small, Diana first learned to speak and to love through touch. Her mother’s hands had taught her, with her soft palms and slender fingers. Every touch of hers had a meaning. The gentle feel of her mother’s fingers combing through her hair was adoration. Thumbs carefully wiping away tears after a bad fall meant comfort and concern. Warm hugs radiated safety. Bedtime kisses and playful tickles spoke of silliness and joy. Together they shared a secret code, just between the two of them. A gentle series of taps. One, two, three.

The last touch Diana received from her mother was a cold hand clasping hers. It was a silent promise that everything would be alright, and that she would see her mother again. That was the touch that taught her how to lie. It created a fracture in her world. Through that tiny crack Diana began to learn the touch of the darkness that lay hidden in plain sight.

From that moment began her new education, the lessons that taught her touch was something to be feared. It began with her cousins. They brought the cruel pinches of tiny fingers, and the pressure of heavy pushes from chubby hands. Their movements were always quick, anxious to steal toys and candies. As they got older they learned how to jeer and taunt with words, but Diana never forgot their touch. With every word they spoke in their mocking voices, she could still feel her skin pricking under manicured nails.

Daryl taught her even more than the childish aggravations of her immature cousins. Her aunt’s hands had boney fingers, and were greasy from the expensive hand cream she wore. When Diana failed to comply, she learned of the harsh sting of pain that came from an open palm. When she dawdled in her classes, she learned to fear the heavy smack of the ruler on her palm. Diana remembered Daryl’s lessons the most. Touch was no longer a comfort, it was agony. Slowly Diana was robbed of the language she loved the most.

When she was finally free from the suffocating aura of the Cavendish mansion, she began to spend more time with her childhood friends, Hannah and Barbara. The distance that had stretched between the three after the death of her mother faded gradually, but there was still a line that couldn’t be crossed. Diana didn’t like to be touched anymore. Hannah and Barabara, thankfully, respected her boundaries. There was an occasional tug of the sleeve, a tap on the shoulder. Soundless communication during class hours, when they required an extra pen. Those were acceptable, those were safe. In the odd hours, wrapped in the safety of their shared room, Diana pretended not to notice the affection they lavished on each other. The pinching feeling in her chest was to be shoved aside. Jealousy was impossible. After all, how could she want something that could cause her pain? Soft hands, gentle hugs, a happy laugh—those memories were conveniently forgotten in favor of her studies. She tried to ignore when they placed her ever higher on her untouchable pedestal.

After the missile crisis and the multiple hijinks that followed, things became calmer. Diana opened up to the others more. She still had her invisible barrier, but she was better. When Akko and Sucy confessed, she found herself opening up even more. The three of them formed their own coven. While covens weren’t always romantic in nature, it was still socially accepted and well within charted territory among witch-kind. Even though to Diana it felt like dating both Akko and Sucy had pushed her into completely new territory. 

Dangerous areas that were to be explored with great hesitation. After all, Akko gave affection freely, and wholeheartedly. Touch was Akko’s primary love language. But as much as Diana wanted to reciprocate, she had forgotten how. Years of conditioning and isolation had taught her to flinch when arms wrapped around her. The tight, constricting feeling that followed those hugs always filled her with panic. Akko’s warmth was a mere afterthought in the waves of panic. Sucy, Nine bless her, picked up on Diana’s little tic. She helped Diana ride the waves, and became a wall between her and a raging brunette when Akko got too excitable.

Even with the small hiccups, Diana had to admit that they complimented each other. Where Akko was high energy, Sucy was calmer. She wasn’t afraid to tell Akko when she was being too overbearing, in her own blunt way. Sucy was slow and methodical. Her slow movements always gave Diana plenty of warning. A hand over hers, and Diana’s eyes would flick to meet Sucy’s. The tacturn witch always gave a small nod and a simple “I understand.” Sucy’s touches were always feather light, a blink-and-you-miss-it sort of feeling. But the gentle touch always left an imprint on Diana’s skin that could be felt even after Sucy had gone. Diana loved Sucy’s cool hands and calloused fingers.

Akko was a quick learner and stepped quickly into the pattern Sucy took with Diana. The brunette stopped throwing herself at Diana in wild displays of affection. Sucy taught Akko to move slower, and silently ask for permission before latching onto Diana. Diana was ever grateful to the both of them. Diana learned that Akko’s touches were warm and firm. It felt like solid sunshine grazing her skin. Life and strength. Diana memorized the feel of Akko’s hands. They were always firm, with little raised scars from her trouble making.

Together they worked to teach Diana once more of the warmth and safety that touch brought. Every day there were small victories. A hand held there, a ghosting of the fingers here. Diana began to reach out. Silent pleas for affection became her staple. She would tug on sleeves, or gently grab their wrists. From there, she would speak her silent language. A series of taps. One, two, three. A secret code. Sucy would smile softly, Akko would plaster a wide chip-tooth grin on her face. They would gently take Diana’s hands and entwine them with theirs, squeezing her hand back. One, two, three.