#touch aversion

You were always a pour your heart out kind of person when you'd had a drink, blame it on the years of isolation and crippling loneliness in Wallers labs praying one day she'd be kind enough to let you die.

Unfortunately she wasn't.

Never in your wildest dreams did you ever think Amanda Wallers daughter would be the person you spilled your guts to let alone consider one of your closest friends.

Getting to know her you'd realised two things 1.) she was a hell of a cool person and 2.) she was as much of a victim of her mother as you were.

So here you are enjoying your Friday off, drunk, eating bad food and watching equally bad TV on your couch. Ad's gives you a sideways glance setting her half eaten food on the table, you know what she's waiting to bring up.

You keep your eyes glued to the TV pretending you can't practically feel her curiosity bleeding into the space between you.

"So Adrian seems to be coming over alot." she lets the statement to dangle between you waiting for you to take the bait.

You do. But she already knows you will.

A sideways glance at her face lets you know this is a conversation you aren't escaping Ad's was far too nosey for that. Sighing you set down your own half picked at food reaching for your drink you down the rest with a grimace.

"He's a friend." You start

"A friend who's over alot."

"You're a friend who's over alot." You glance around at the takeout, drinks and down at her lap to where one of your many blankets currently rests.

"I don't climb through your window at 3am cause I cant sleep." You snort the memory of a dripping, shivering Adrian like a lost puppy outside your window as it stormed heavily flashing before your eyes, how long he'd been out there already you dont know he wouldn't say, but you were one deep sleeper.

You made a point of giving him a key after that.

"What about that one time Keeya kicked you out?" You counter watching her grimace at the memory.

"I don't sleep in your bed." Her face wrinkles further like the thought disgusts her.

"Adrian doesn't-" all words die on your tongue because anything after would be a lie. You never did anything he would just lay beside you and sleep which probably sounded unbelievable to alot of people now that you think about it.

Knowing she has you beat Ad's smuggly raises her brows fixing you with that pointed look as she wiggles them suggestively, making you laugh.

"Come on, give a girl something. Chris and Emilia will be in a nursing home before anything spicy happens between them." You groan at the thought.

"Okay fine just never put the thought of old Chris and Emilia doing it in my head again." She holds her hand up in mock promise.

"Sometimes it's hard you know? Touching people with my power being in peoples heads and all the experiments, the pain. I feel like nothing good has ever come from touch." Ad's face fills with sympathy.

Your mind takes you back to that cold, dark lab. Strapped to a table while a team of "scientists" cut parts off jotting down how long they took to grow back ignoring your pleas for them to stop.

You were six years old when you learned just how ugly the world could really be, a hard lesson you had never allowed yourself to forget.

Forcing down bile you will yourself back into the present.

"Adrian is the most honest person I've ever known, how crazy is that? Not a though in his head he hasn't said out loud and it's so refreshingly Adrian it's hard not to grow fond." Your cheeks feel warm at the admission.

"You know he thinks the world of you." And there's no room for argument, he really does but just because she sees it, it really doesn't mean that he would if he found out how broken you really were.

Honestly who in their right mind could ever be content with just the pleasure of your company?

"And I think the world of him, you know I actually look forward to his animal facts? The guys contagious I swear." Ad's laughs fondly taking a swig of her drink TV long forgotten.

"So what's with the hesitation?"

"Touch, sex, I just can't." You feel your eyes prickle hating the wobble in your voice. It made you feel small, weak, like Waller had won.

"I don't actually think sex, is all that important to him. Sure he had that one threesome with Chris but I swear it's like playing tennis to Adrian." That does make you feel a little better, that you wouldn't be depriving him of anything.

But still you weren't fully convinced.

After a few more hours of gossip Ad's heads home and you clear up ready to get in bed and watch some animal show.

You're getting ready for bed that night shower done, pj's on, you switch on the TV just preparing yourself to climb in bed and zone when a sudden voice almost sends you into cardiac arrest.

"You're my seahorse." You almost jump out your skin whipping round as what you can only describe as the most unflattering noise escapes your throat.

Your wide eyes land on Adrian leaning against your now open bedroom window far too casual for a guy who almost sent you to meet your maker so to speak.

His hair is sticking up in a way that is just not flattering spouting a grey shirt, hoodie and joggers, he looks like he's just rolled out of bed.

"What the fuck Adrian." You exclaim hands clutched to your chest as you will your heart to go back to normal.

"I accidentally eavesdropped earlier on your conversation with Ad's, i know spying is wrong but I swear I just came by to tell you some super cool new animal facts I've learned. Didn't know you had company." He definitely doesn't sound as sorry as he should for spying instead he looks happy cheeks flushed, donning that boyish grin that just melts your insides in the best way.

Wait. Did he just compare you to a aquatic animal?

"Your seahorse?" The confused look on your face goes ignored as he continues on.

"Yeah did you know that the males carry the babies and give birth because the female deposits her egg cells into the males brood pouch." Grinning wildly you can't help but think he looks really proud of the fact that he's remembered that.

"Adrian I can't impregnate you." You say it slow deliberate hoping he'll finally get to the point you know he's trying to make cause if that was it then you don't even know anymore.

"But how cool would that be? I'd finally get to experience motherhood which has been my dream for a long time, what can I say I'm a feminist." He shrugs closing your window and settling on the end of your unmade bed, kicking his shoes off before tucking them neatly under the bottom.

Resisting the urge to snort you watch him as he gets comfortable.

Pushing his glasses up his nose blinking cartoonishly he squints at you, head tilting slightly.

You can't help but think he looks like a confused dog.

Now you know Adrian is bad at alot of things feelings, reading faces are definitely top two but the way he takes pause to study your face almost has you believing that maybe Adrian isn't as clueless as you like to believe.

It's honestly jarring.

"Seahorses also mate for life."

How can something as stupid as a seahorse fact make your heart swell?

"But we haven't-" You leave the sentence open ended jesturing with your eyebrows praying he at least has enough brain power to connect the dots.

Seems luck is on your side tonight.

"I don't care about sex, human skin is like the worst thing to softly touch me."

Oh so that's what this was about he's trying in his own way to let you know sex really doesn't matter all that much to him.

Smiling you place your hand on his shoulder over his shirt giving it a reassuring squeeze.

Your throat feels tight but you manage a small thank you as you settle beside him on the bed shuffling back on your arms reaching for the remote.

Suddenly you feel stupid for worrying about something as trivial as sex, your relationship with Adrian was much more than that and if you were both happy with it that was all that mattered.

"Wanna stay and watch Animal Planet?" You offer already knowing the answer.

Flopping next to you, you giggle as he wiggles around before stilling seemingly comfortable.

It started when the old ladies at church, the ones who wore floral cardigans and ballet flats, started to gossip.

They’d huddle together on the pews, Janet throwing the occasional paranoid glance over her shoulder to ensure neither of you were listening in.

“That Lars boy and his girl? They don’t touch much you know.”

“Sure… I did notice. But you know how he is.”

“Ladies won’t wait forever Doris, god bless that woman.”

Janet glanced back, seeing you two sat close as you could without touching, Lars smiling softly at you with doe eyes while you ranted on about a new obsession or your daily activities

“They seem happy, it’s fine.”

Lars wasn’t a toucher, everyone knew that. Certainly you. The way he’d unravel at the burning sensation even the slightest touch would bring.

You didn’t mind, not really.

Lars was attentive in ways others weren’t.

He’d listen and remember even the smallest of details, whether it was a gift you mentioned in passing or a favourite movie. He’d help you out when you didn’t even ask, whether it was fixing something broken or replacing a daily necessity. And he’d always put you first, whether it was holding the door or making plans, even always serving you first at dinner.

He was an absolute angel, so everything else outweighed his touch aversion, but after a while, you really struggled. Having always been a touchy person, being physically distant from your own partner really hit you. He’d said many times he was trying and learning and working on it- but was he? The most you’d ever been touched by him was a rare kiss on the head or hand hold, but he always knew it wouldn’t be enough.

Eventually, as you learnt more you began to understand him better.

How to feels, mentally and physically, to be touched. How it affects him, the nights he’s spent sobbing quietly into his pillow in pure loathing of his touch aversion.

You loved Lars, every fibre of your being was pulled towards him like your body was compass and its only job was to get to him. You knew he was your person, your rock.

All of the nights spent near but not touching began to mean more, and you learnt to wait. To be patient for the day he would finally loosen up. And you were okay with that, it hurt, but you would wait.

It all came crashing down one night - the night of your two year anniversary.

Lars had poured his heart into cooking you two a candle lit dinner, chicken a bit too crispy and a fire alarm having gone off twice, but it was perfect. You both ate in his tiny kitchen, talking about a new interest or something that happened at work.

Once dinner was done, you and Lars washed the dishes in happy silence. It was one of your favourite things to do with him, it felt warm and domestic, giving you a taste of how it would feel to grow old and live with the man you love. It was also an excuse you brush your fingertips against his when passing plates or cups.

Afterwards, the two of you sat on the couch, the cushions moulded around your body, as you watch shitty reruns deep into the night. The seat creaked as you shuffled towards him, desperately trying to get him to initiate contact.

Lars was wearing your favourite sweater of his, the one with the little reindeers on it, and his usual under layers, so thinking it was fine, you rested your head on his shoulder, a new point of contact.

The second your head settled onto his firm shoulder, he yelped, jumping up like a frightened puppy. You immediately shuffle back, creating distance between you and your other half.

“Lars? Im so sorry! Are you okay?” Panicking, you dart up from the couch and stand infront of him. His usually gentle doe eyes were clenched hard in overwhelm, and he buried his face in his hands. Chest rising and falling rapidly, he drags his hands through his hair and begins to pace, the floorboards creaking under his restless footsteps.

“Oh Lars please im so- im sorry…” you manage to whisper out, taking a step back to give him space.

“I can’t even touch my girlfriend.”

Your brows furrow in worry.

“What? Lars it’s okay, c’mon let-“

“No. No no no- I- I can’t even-“ sensing a panic attack coming along, you usher him to the sofa without touching him. It was times like these that made your heart ache. Seeing him in so much distress really upset you, but Dagmar and Karin had taught you what to do in this situation.

“Head between your knees baby, remember what Dagmar says?” You encourage, placing a warm hand on the middle of his back, something you knew helped ground him.

Taking deep shuddering breaths, he continues to mutter quietly.

“I’m so sorry. I-I can’t- I can’t do it. I can’t do it.”

The pure emotion in his voice is too much for you, leading to the both of you sat on the couch with teary eyes.

“Lars stop that please…”

Once he calms down as much as he can, he sits up, chin in his palm as he averts his wet gaze from yours. His normally perfectly gelled hair is messy, strands flying away and falling in front of his painfully beautiful face.

“You don’t deserve this.”

Confusion bubbles in your blood like a boiling kettle of worry. Lars gets upset sometimes, overwhelmed at life, but he never says things like this.

“What?…”

“I’m not good for you.” The gentleness of which he uttered your name shattered your heart. You knew what he meant, what this was leading to you. You felt it like impending doom. “You should go. We-we shouldn’t do this anymore.”

“No. No-no I’m not going. Don’t be silly Lars it’s fine.”

Lars simply shakes his head and gets up.

“I’m going to chop wood.”

And with that, he grabs his coat, fumbling with the zipper as he pulls it up, pulls on his gloves, the ones you got him for his birthday, and leaves.

Autumn leaves crunch under his feet as he travels further from the house. Further from his other half.

And then it’s just you.

Left alone on your… on Lars’ couch with a wet face and a broken heart.

Clearing your throat, you shakily grab your bag, gently pulling out Lars’ sacred blue blanket. He’d lended it to you the week before when you mentioned how much you miss him in the night. You fold it with immaculate care and place it on his bed.

It felt like taking off a wedding band.

With a kiss to the worn fabric and a teardrop falling off of your cheek, you stand up, the room feeling unnaturally cold in his absence, and leave.

Leaving Lars.

Leaving your person.