Chapter 1. Personal Space.

This is my first attempt at writing, I'll try my best butcher your beloved characters one way oranother.

Some points to know before reading this:

This is an AU. It is my interpretation on how Hachiman would interact with a Gahamama of his age.

I wasn't sure on what to call Gahamama, so I just went with Yuigahama. There was this one fic that referred her as Sayaka, I might start doing that in the future.

I am still trying to pin down their character, so please stick with me if you kept reading.

He's not a touchy guy. Wasn't when he was a kid and definitely isn't now.

It's pretty weird, all things considered. Mom was always friendly. Mom never had those hangups. Komachi had tried to get him to open up when they were younger. She'd given up somewhere along the line and then he'd run off to become a Cafe waiter. Or a painter. Or whatever random job he found to distract himself from his cynical thoughts.

Somewhere along the line he'd started associating touch with negative stimuli. It kicked his fight or flight instincts into high gear. When someone tried to touch him, he instinctually smacked their hands away, without even realizing. Maybe a left over trauma of all the times he's been bullied as a child, or his reflexes when dealing with the one thing he fears.

Most people got it. Most people left him alone.

This girl didn't.

He'd met very few people who gave less of a damn about personal boundaries. Yuigahama was just naturally tactile.

She'd clutch his arm when he motioned for them to stop. She'd hold his hand if she thought something was bothering him. If she wanted his attention she'd just touch his elbow. That first brush of skin on skin left him jolting upright, staring at the contact. Her hands weren't as soft as one might have expected; years of gardening and other chores had left her with calluses. There's a gently textured quality when she brushes her thumb over the curve of his elbow. She's staring up at him with her huge eyes and open face. He doesn't catch the words.

He doesn't understand the girl. At all. She's still staring at him and still holding his arm; it takes him actively pulling away for her to finally let go.

"So prickly."

She's clasping her own hands together now. He wonders why she needs the contact so badly, if it grounds her or something. Yuigahama rocks from the tips of her toes back on her heels, practically bouncing. He wishes she'd stop. It's excess movement; it's a waste of energy. Hachiman grunts in lieu of a reply, already in the process of moving past her.

"You could try smiling once in a while, you know. You're probably scaring off your customers."

"Not my problem."

"Your face isn't your problem?"

He pinches the bridge of his nose. He's starting to pick up on these shifts in her mood. There's a lilting cadence that bleeds into her voice when she's feeling mischievous. "People don't pay me to look nice."

"Hikigaya-kun," and she sets her hands on her hips, moving to stand in front of him. Yuigahama looks like a stiff breeze might knock her over, petite as she stands there in her summer dress and sandals. "If you're going into business for yourself you have to understand something: the customer is always right."

He gets a feeling he knows where this is going. The angsty teen crosses his arms over his chest. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. And right now, I'm the customer."

"You ain't paying me."

She huffs. She huffs and then she catches his right hand, clasping it between both of hers. "C'mon. Just try it. You might like it." He just stares at her, blank faced, and she heaves an exaggerated sigh. Yuigahama tosses his hand back at him. "Prickly, prickly, prickly. But I'll wear you down."

He shrugs and says: "Sure."

The mall is crowded. Yuigahama sticks out, natural and earthy in a sea of neon. He catches a few guys staring. He's not jealous or anything. But he's not about to let her wander in a place like this.

He reaches behind her, fingers curled in invitation. "C'mon. Stay close."

Only Yuigahama stopped and she's staring at him as if he's grown a second head. "Huh?"

He frowns, flexing his fingers. "Don't wanna get separated."

Her pursed expression blossoms into a wide grin. It's soft, rather than teasing, and leaves him needing to look away. He's not...good at this. Interacting with people or...having them around. Yuigahama sets her hand in his, threading their fingers together. She doesn't make some jibe about him being her hero, or tease, or anything. She squeezes his hand and says, "Ok, Hachiman. I'll follow your lead."

Her skin is warm. Her hands are delicate. It's got a weight to it that isn't exactly bad, though. There's a hint of resistance when he walks too far ahead and the flex of muscle when she wants to catch his attention. He doesn't like it. But he doesn't hate it either.
_

Yuigahama doesn't like the silence.

He's starting to pick up on these things. They're on their way back from the Cafe, Yuigahama on one arm (which is a personal nightmare, but he's trying not to focus on that), and she's filling the empty air as best she can. He just nods and hum's, speaking only when directly addressed.

He misses his early days. When people kept their hands to themselves and just...left him alone. Hachiman holds onto that thought, clings to it. If he doesn't, he'll have to face the fact that he hasn't even tried pulling away. Yuigahama is soft and she's shivering in the night air. She's just cold; he doesn't mind her pressing nearer if she needs the heat.

Which leaves him alone with the girl. Yuigahama is wringing her hands in front of her, all nervous energy. Not the good kind either. Heranxiety has an almost electric energy to it, charging the air around her.

He touches her bicep. "You good?"

He steps forward instead of away. Somehow he's still touching her. "You...wanna talk about it?"

She shakes her head. All the joy in her voice is forced. "Nope!" Hachiman nods. Maybe a good friend would offer more. He's still trying to figure all this out. He turns to go. Yuigahama catches his wrist. Hachiman decides he doesn't like her like this: small and delicate and drained of all her vivacity. He wishes she'd tease him or something. There's only the deathly strength of her grip, too much for a woman her size. And there's no tangent when she finally speaks. Just one tired request, barely a question. "Please stay."

She expects him to leave. He can see it in her eyes, bright red and so alive. There's hurt and fear and so much. He doesn't understand how any one person can feel so much . And he's terrible at this kind of thing but he still…

"Ok."

"What?"

There's so much relief in that one word. Hachiman grits his teeth, pushes on. She is his only friend and for him...it matters. They matter. "I'll stay."

For once, she doesn't say anything. Yuigahama nods, grave and still fundamentally off. She doesn't say anything as she crawls beneath the covers. Hachiman lays on top of them. He lets her adjust him. She wants her back to the door; she wants him curled behind her, around her. She's so delicate; he's afraid he'll break her when she hugs his arm over her.

"Hachiman?" He hum's in response. "Thank you."

"Go to sleep."

She must. Eventually, her breathing evens out. Their fingers are threaded together, joined hands clasped between her chest. It can't be comfortable. Her head is resting on his other arm. It's gone numb already. Her hair is tickling his nose, scented too heavily with floral notes. He still hasn't moved.

None of this should be comfortable. But she's warm. She's soft. It's calming and those incessant voices in the back of his head, the one's screaming he doesn't belong, he's a coward and a liar…

They're still there. They just...aren't as loud. If he closes his eyes, they're almost silent. Hachiman sighs. He hates this. He hates all of this. He half expects her to gloat the next morning. Say she did it; she won. She wore him down. Yuigahama just stares at him, smiling softly. She brushes the fringe of his bangs away from his forehead and curls into his chest.

He should get up. He ends up turning his face into her hair. He'll hold her until she's ready to face the world once again.