A/N:Haven't really written anything for a while so this is mainly the result of whumptober prompt 17: "You're the lump in my throat and the knot in my chest" -Touch aversion and letting my fingers run free across a word document.


Mickey chooses the green and white fleece for more than concealing rope burn and bruising.

It's heavy, and warm.

It's another layer between the world and his skin.

A skin that feels raw and not his own.

He never realised how many people were in the world.

Standing. Sitting. Brushing past.

Shaking hands. Rubbing shoulders. Patting you on the back.

Touching you.

All the time.

Just

Touching.

Touching.

Touching.

And they have no fucking right.

Smithy's hand claps his shoulder, and he recoils.

Desperately sucks in panicked air.

Smithy looks at him confused.

He has no right.


He won't leave it alone.

Pick

Pick

Pick

Until the thread comes loose and he's worked it out only he can't

Won't ever

Say what Delaney did

How he touched him

Violated

Ra-

They have an agreement. Smithy gives his word.

No one will know. Nothing's being said.

Until he opens his mouth and tells Ramini


And he's not afraid to touch Smithy because he wants to tear him apart.

For betraying him like everybody else has.

Then Smithy's hand is round his neck and he can't breathe over the hammering in his chest

Being touched when he doesn't want to be.

Clawing

Fighting

Like last night and he can't get him off on his own

Jack's pulling them apart like errant schoolboys in the corridor

Chest heaving

Something about an office and Smithy's following

And it's

All

Coming

Apart

and he's going to tell.

About how Mickey's weak and vulnerable

And a vict-

He closes his eyes and bolts.


He sits beside the mound of earth concealing his mother.

He doesn't think he'd flinch from her.

From her hug.

For her touch.

He blinks and Jack is there

And he doesn't know how or why.

But he lets him sit beside him.

Let's Jack tease it all out.

Through tears and fear.

Let's Jack see him unravel.

But he doesn't move.

Doesn't mock.

Doesn't make out like Mickey's some broken ruined thing.

And he clings to that.

The tie scrunched in his hand, sobbing into his jacket.

Surrenders to the embrace that makes him feel almost human.

Like his skin is still his own.

That it's safe to be touched.

Sometimes.