Touch

Cho Hakkai

Out of all of them, he needs it the least.

Touch, to him, is something that he's had and lost, doesn't think it's needed anymore. Perhaps that is why, out of the four of them, he needs it the most.

He had touch once; the ability to feel skin close to his own. He spent hours some mornings in bed with the woman he loved, simply touching, loving, being and giving her everything he had. He would always love the feel of her skin beneath his fingertips, and her hair, whether it was dancing over his bare chest or otherwise. However, mostly he loved the feeling of her fingers interlaced with his own.

However, he lost that warm touch. Like every other sense, touch can come back to haunt you. Like touching the long dead corpse of the woman he loved. It's insane to think he is able to touch anything at all, with hands he continually sees stained with blood. No one else can see this blood, but he can. He can still feel it cloaking his fingers, drying, itching, burning...

So he smiles like a doll set up on display. He smiles like it's painted on his skin, like he just can't not smile. He smiles when he's angry or upset or in pain. He uses those hands now not to touch, but instead to heal. He refuses to indulge in the touch he so desperately needs. Instead, he heals the wounded—atonement for his sins—smiles because it is his default expression, and uses those hands to fold laundry. He cannot take back what has already been done, but he can atone for it. He will always punish himself by never submitting to another's touch.

However, he doesn't seem to realize how much he likes—no, needs, loves, desires—it when another leans against him, nudges him, throws an arm around him...