A/N : as always, Loveless belongs to Kouga Yun. I'm merely borrowing her characters for the pleasure.
TOUCH
He had a very ambiguous relation to touch.
His heart remembered the caring touch of a loving parent. The reassuring hugs, the steady presence, the carefree and innocent touches. The caress of a warm breath soothing a nightmare or a pain. A light hand rubbing his back. A bigger hand holding his own. His heart never forgot. The impression was everlasting. His heart was buried alongside his parents.
His body remembered the harsh touches of another. The slicing leather of a whip. The cold metal of a blade. Ritsu scarred his body. His touch had been — wrong. All the time. He knew how to be soft and gentle and caring. He knew it but had never bestowed it upon him. He had been dismissive of his child-self. He had been abusive of his younger self. He had been cruel to his 17-years-old self. His body disconnected.
His mind remembered the spiteful touch of words. The orders given to cause discomfort. The shaming orders. The orders his heart went against. The dismissal. The lack of concern. The utter absence of recognition. The loneliness. The degrading comments. The negative attitude. He hadn't forgotten. He couldn't forget. Beloved indeed. His mind shut everything out.
His soul recognized this touch. It was pure and uncontrolled. It was avid and rash and sweet and gentle all at the same time. It was demanding but freely given. It was soft and shy. It was needy and comforting. It was a touch that stirred his frozen, broken, hidden heart. A touch that traced the scars as if it could erase them, that soothe the skin and whispered pleasure to it. A touch that tentatively reached out to his mind, coaxing it out, showering it with sweet promises and caring words. A touch that moved his soul and made it weep with sorrow, pain, regret, hope, love and protectiveness for this new, soft, sweet, better caretaker.
xxxxxxx
It took him years to understand.
He hadn't known then how to accept love because he only remembered his mother's hatred, his father's absence and his classmates' rejection. When he had met him, he had been given a slice of happiness and he hadn't known how to accept the gift or what to do with it.
Soubi was the same. With touch. He only remembered pain. Pain given by his guardian. Unbelievable pain and ultimate betrayal. Then he had met Seimei. A whole new level of pain was reached. But he supposed the worst was Seimei's total freakiness about touch. A Fighter adulates his Sacrifice. Touch is important to bond. But Seimei would not be touched. Ever. Under no circumstances whatsoever. He wouldn't deliver blows as punishments. He wouldn't touch his Fighter, leaving him in a cruel limbo. And Soubi had been punished. Often. Because he couldn't curb his instinct to check his Sacrifice for wounds or injuries. Long, harsh punishments to break this caring streak out of him.
He had often wondered about the blood on his balcony. They had barely known each other then. But the incident had bothered him. For a long time. Because it was one of the rare occurrences Soubi had expressed a personal desire. Now he knew : discipline had taken over his needs. Do not touch your Sacrifice. Do not dirty him. Under no circumstance. He must have been on the verge of collapsing and still, he had obeyed first, with that sad smile of his and this longing in his eyes. He had no wish to discover what training had resulted in such a rigorous mindset.
He understood now why Soubi would touch him so much. He— his Sacrifice — allowed it, even liked it. And yet, it took Soubi so long to accept his touch. A touch not meant to harm.