Diatimur pushed the book aside, deciding to finish it later, and randomly grabbed another from the shelf, flipping to an arbitrary section. Her eyes ran numbly down the page, not really focusing on any of the words.
Until she zeroed in on the two largest ones:
Touch-starved.
Dia had never heard that term before. She shook herself awake, reading down the small, neatly printed letters.
Touch-starved: A lack of touch that makes the person feel very lonely, depressed, ill and even aggressive and angry at the world.
She paused. Where had she seen that before?
The answer came to her in an instant.
Murk.
When was the last time she, or anyone else, had placed a hand on his shoulder or wrist or given him a hug, other than Theo? Dia couldn't think of one. She couldn't process this. It wasn't possible. Murk couldn't be... touch-starved. She bit her lip, flipping the page quickly, scanning down the list of symptoms, searching for any clue that this wasn't true. She didn't find one.
Dia set the book down, her face collapsing into her hands.
How could this have happened?
She might call them her nephews, though they shared no blood, and they might have called her aunt, but she was more like a mother to them than anything else. How could she not have noticed this?
Her eyes hardened. What was she doing here, being upset and not helping? She scooped the book up in both hands and left the room.
It may have been late at night, but she was still able to catch Theo in the hallways.
"What-" She didn't let him ask as she shoved the book into his hands.
"Read page 16." Dia turned and walked away, too fast to see Theo's eyes widen in horror as they traced down the ink.
Something was going on with Theo. Murk noticed it immediately. The way that he seemed to want to give him a hug every time they saw each, or always had a hand on his wrist or on his shoulder. It didn't make any sense to Murk.
Then he cornered him about it.
The elf haltingly admitted that he thought Murk was touch-starved. The half-orc couldn't breathe. Touch... starved? Theo was trying to help him?
He shook his head.
No, people didn't touch to comfort; they touched to hurt. Like the sting of a whip or the fiery sting of a brand. He didn't notice he was crying until he stumbled to his knees, and Theo had to catch him.
"Sh... melethron, it's alright." He planted a kiss on Murk's forehead. "I love you, I and want to help you."
With the elf's arms wrapped tight around him, the half-orc decided that maybe touch wasn't so bad after all.
