#touch therapy

He had lost so much, not just in body but in spirit, and the burden was heavier with each passing day. He had once been known for his gentle hands, guiding others back to health through alchemy and food-based medicine, but now… his hands trembled more often, his mind clouded with the weight of endless war. And though his eyes had grown blind from a sacrifice made in battle, it wasn’t just his sight that had faded—it was his belief in the world’s goodness.

It was during this time of sorrow that he had met you.

Soft-spoken, yet infinitely kind, you had come into his life at a time when his world was shrouded in darkness. You, too, were blind, a rare and beautiful soul who had endured your own share of trials. Yet, instead of turning inward, you had turned outward, offering the light that burned within you to others, including him. And he… well, he had never known anyone like you before.

The door to the study creaked open, and the sound of your soft footsteps approached. You always moved with such grace, so attuned to the world around you, even in the absence of sight. Your voice, gentle and filled with warmth, broke the silence.

“Jiaoqiu?” you called, the tender note in your voice pulling him from his thoughts.

He smiled, a small, bittersweet thing. He had never known peace like this—peace in your presence. The world, so dark and uncertain, felt a little bit lighter when you were near.

“I’m here, my love,” he replied, the calmness of his voice belying the turmoil that sometimes roiled inside him. “What is it?”

You leaned down beside him, your fingers brushing his hand gently. His pulse quickened, the sensation of your touch always bringing a sense of comfort, even in moments of confusion. Your hand was warm, a reminder that there was still warmth in the world, even in his own shadowed existence.

“I thought we could practice again,” you suggested. “The path through the garden… I’ve been working on something to help you.”

He frowned slightly, feeling the familiar flicker of guilt rise in his chest. You were always so patient, always so caring, yet the idea of relying on you… He wasn’t sure if he deserved that kind of tenderness.

“I don’t want to burden you,” he murmured.

“You’re not a burden,” you assured him, your voice filled with the unshakable certainty that always grounded him. “You’ve taught me so much in our time together. Let me teach you now.”

His eyes, dull and unfocused, seemed to sharpen in the direction of your voice, a flicker of hope behind his once-empty gaze. Though his world remained silent and still, your presence was a beacon in the darkness. He knew he was lucky, perhaps more than he deserved, to have someone like you by his side.

He took your offered hand, allowing you to guide him as you had so many times before. The path to the garden was well-worn, but navigating it still felt like a foreign dance to him. His steps were hesitant at first, uncertain of the way, but your voice came to him like a soft breeze.

“Step forward… just a little… yes, that’s it.” Your encouragement was as gentle as the touch of your fingers, guiding him with a precision that surprised him every time.

“Turn slightly to your left,” you continued, your hand still in his, leading him with a care that he could feel even in his bones. “Can you feel the edge of the stone bench?”

He nodded slowly, his fingers brushing against the cool surface of the stone, the sensation grounding him. It was amazing how much you could teach him with so little. Though he couldn’t see, he could feel your movements, your presence—the subtle shifts in your body language, the rise and fall of your breath. It was as if you were teaching him a language all his own, one he hadn’t yet mastered but longed to understand.

“Let’s pause here for a moment,” you said, guiding him to sit beside the bench. The sound of your voice, soft and encouraging, made his chest tighten in a way that was both comforting and painful. You didn’t see the flaws in him, the wounds he carried, the scars that marred his soul. To you, he was simply Jiaoqiu, the man you loved.

He closed his eyes, a sigh escaping his lips. “Sometimes, I wonder if I’ll ever be whole again,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. “The battlefield, the poison… It feels like I’ve lost more than just my sight.”

You were silent for a moment, your hand resting gently over his as if to reassure him. “Healing isn’t just about mending what’s broken,” you said softly. “Sometimes, it’s about learning to accept the cracks and finding new ways to see the world, even without sight.”

His heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, he wasn’t sure if you were speaking about his blindness or his soul. Maybe both.

“How do you do it?” he asked, voice trembling slightly. “How do you find peace in all the chaos?”

You smiled, and though he couldn’t see it, he could hear it in the warmth of your voice. “I don’t know if I’ve found peace,” you admitted. “But I know that every day, you help me find it, just by being you.”

Jiaoqiu’s heart ached, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he felt a glimmer of light. It was faint, fragile, but it was there.

“I don’t deserve you,” he murmured, more to himself than to you.

“No,” you corrected gently. “You deserve more than you’ll ever know. And I’ll spend my life helping you find it.”

With that, you stood, helping him rise to his feet. Together, you walked through the garden, your hand never leaving his, guiding him forward. Even though his world was still wrapped in shadows, he found himself walking toward something brighter—not with sight, but with you.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

You buried your hands deep into his curls, pulling his head against your chest; pressing your lips to the top of his head as he hid his face. His breathing was light and warm against the skin of your breast, your fingers tangling in his ebony curls, and massaging his scalp. You could hold him like this forever, shifting slightly, threading your legs with his and turning to allow him to rest against you. Aidan’s arms snaked around your waist, hugging you tight against him. You stroked his hair, the side of his bearded face, tracing the rim of his ear with the pad of your thumb. 

The pair of you melted together, borrowing deeper into the mattress and blankets. You hummed, rubbing your cheek against his hair, surrounding yourself in his scent; the sandalwood shampoo, natural musk and scent of his skin, the lingering smell of his Santal 33 cologne and deodorant. Aidan whimpered against your skin, drawing you out of your dreaming. You rubbed the back of his head, your other hand cradling the side of his face, soothing away the sweaty locks. You dragged yourself fully out of your tip-toe between the plane of waking and dreams, giving your full conscious focus to Aidan; frowning at him.

“I’m right here, Aidan.” you whispered into his hair, nosing it lightly. “It’s just a nightmare, nothing more.” you reassured him.

It been a few weeks since the last time, Aidan had one of his nightmares. You didn’t know why he had them, or even what they were about, all you knew is he had them. Sometimes you’d wake in the silence of the night, not hearing him snoring beside you, to find him laying on his side, eyes the size of serving plates and hardly breathing. You’d learned, quickly, what to and what not to do in those moments. If he was awake, touching him was easy, a gentle hand on his side or arm, with a light squeeze, an anchor. If he was asleep, touching him wasn’t the way to go; the first time you’d touched him while he was still asleep and having a nightmare, he’d nearly took your head off. Suddenly coming to life, gasping for air and swinging. Calling his name, would suffice, then after him calming, you could touch him.

Touching Aidan during his nightmares and their aftermath, was the anchor he needed to ground himself back into reality.

You moved your hand from the side of his face and glided the tips of your fingers over his side, feeling the skin and muscle contract and relax as you moved over ticklish spots, feeling the corner of his mouth turn up against breast. You felt the tense cords of muscles relax under your hands. Aidan rubbed his cheek against your shoulder. Giggling, you pushed Aidan up long enough to remove your bra and shirt. Aidan looked at you, dropping his head down, eyes never leaving yours, as he pressed his lips between your breast.

“Better?” you asked as he rested his head back onto your chest, burrowing against you. “Good.” you smiled, feeling Aidan settle and relax, knowing you touching him and the feel of your bare skin was enough to ease his mind back to sleep.