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Her Touch

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He supposed it started when they met. How surprised they all were when she reacted to a strange boy bursting through the ceiling, into what was meant to be her new bedroom, and threatening her friend not by being fearful and running but by following her first instinct to surge forward.

It was the fault of a wayward piece of wood that sent her careening into him rather than between the boys like she had originally intended.

Her touch marked the first time in a very long time that he had been transformed by a girl and not exhaustion. He was so caught off guard by the interruption to what he had hoped would be his final battle with Yuki that he barely noticed how warm she was, as she held him to her, how soft.

Barely is still some, so he hid his embarrassment with rage. Blamed her for slipping on something that wouldn’t have been there had he not been careless. And tried to run from the scent of her hair into the woods.

Yes, it started then. When an angry, touch-starved young man literally burst into her life and she reacted by embracing him.

Before he realized what he was doing he found himself going out of his way to touch her. He found a convenient excuse with the gentle taps he would give her crown when she wasn’t thinking of herself enough. So for a small while he was satisfied, masking his affections with gentle chastisements, but she took his advice to heart and reasons for him to lift his hand to her hair slowly dwindled.

He had no choice but to get his fix from more deliberate means. With her being so kind hearted it was no feat at all to hold her hand. In fact, often enough she was the one that initiated such ministrations.

He wasn’t sure which he liked more then, the deliberate touches like hand holding, or the stolen brushes of skin. The legs ghosting next to each other when they sat at the dinner table. The accidental caress of fingers when they both reach for the same thing. The heat he felt rushing to his face and the color he could see coming to her’s was perhaps the most intoxicating drug.

The euphoria from each of these interactions was laced with shame. Her mother would be rolling if she saw the way his face heated and his heart beat when she was near. Did Kyouko hate him? With each touch did her spirit grow more angry? Unfortunately he didn’t think he could have stayed away from her even if she did. Nothing but Tohru herself could make him leave her side.