#whodda thunk

The Pikund snapped out of her discomfort, ears pinned back, "Finn, that was completely uncalled for."

"I...I-" He stopped short, the words caught behind his teeth. There was so much hurt and sorrow and tiredness swirling in his brain, the Yamper couldn't make sense of any of it and that only made him angrier inside.

she has been alone for so long, has no memory of tenderness, of what it means to be soft with another person. she has only had the voices, all that scream when someone stares at her for too long. when you two start whatever it is you have, even the smallest touches make her wince. 

maybe you don’t notice at first, used to kissing cheeks and giving hugs and holding hands. but one day, when you lean your head on her shoulder, you can feel the way the muscles underneath your ear tense, balled tight like wraith is bracing herself. 

you don’t want to scare her. the last thing you want is to make her run away, not when you two have just begun whatever it is you are to one another. so you ask her, say to her, “babe, what are you okay with?” 

it’s through shamed, downcast eyes that she tells you in barely more than a whisper that she’s not sure yet. that she knows she feels something for you but touch is just... so hard. it’s so hard to have someone so freely grab her, approach her, and she doesn’t know what she’s doing, and she’s sorry. 

reassuring her that’s okay, that you want her to be comfortable, that you two can start off slow, that you don’t have to touch ever if she doesn’t want. you have feelings for her too. just being with her is enough. 

so you two spend time together. you go to movies and don’t pull up the arm rest between you. you go on picnics and respect her corner of the blanket, just beneath the shadiest part of the tree. she stays the night at your apartment and sleeps on the couch. content with being in each other’s space, with waking up to having another near but not on top of it. you give her room to breathe. 

then, one day, when you two decide to take a walk before the games, she hooks her pinky with yours. it’s not hand holding, but it’s a touch, one she initiated, one she wanted to try. and maybe it doesn’t last very long, but you only smile at her, pleasantly surprised as you keep your pinkies interlocked for however long she’s comfortable. 

so you two continue your pinky-links for awhile. you go to the movies and you still don’t raise the armrest between you, but you do link your pinkies even when your fingers begin to get cold and stiff in the theater. then, one day, on one of your picnics, wraith rests her head in your lap. you keep your hands at your sides, even though you’d love to run your fingers through her pretty raven hair, and she offers you a pinky. 

this tradition of pinky linking continues for some time. on your walks, on couches, at the movies, at bars. then, one day, with maybe a couple of drinks in her system for courage, wraith laces your fingers. squeezes your hand, lets herself feel the grooves of you wrapped around her. you don’t say how happy you are, but she can see it in the way you grin, in how your voice is a little louder over the bar, in the way you squeeze her hand back. 

so on picnics, you two move a little closer on the blanket, holding hands and pointing at shapes in the sky. on your walks, you hold hands, and sometimes link pinkies, more for old times than for her lack of comfort. and you spend your time together, waking up to having each other in the same apartment, going on dates, trying new food and talking more than anything. 

it takes time but so do all good things. and eventually, as what you two have progresses, wraith gently, tenderly, cautiously kisses your cheek, your hands interlinked. 

       @knightlyfury​