1.03.2008

Don't touch me, please.

Tic parted his lips, chest rising gently with each soft breath. It was an unexpected inquiry, so awkward amongst the interrogational rest. What did Larkin want of him? It made him uncomfortable, drawing him into a tentative silence. The sharp longing for Larkin's concentration on him to sway intensified as Miraye protested, the query now bearing more weight into his response. The thought of answering proceeded to slide down his throat and settle uneasily in his stomach, placing a familiar, numb pressure against his forehead.

Miraye was right, though, wasn't she? Larkin had hit him, and he was bleeding. He didn't know why he felt so hesitant now; the answer was obvious. But to feel those eyes penetrating him, so hungry for his words; it filled him with strong apprehension. What was he supposed to say? He longed for Larkin to find interest in something else. The silence furthered, perpetuating his response.

He kept his glance away from the man's subduing gaze, staring determinedly into his tunic. Coerced by his own hesitation, he spoke; knowing the truth, but not daring to speak it.

"I... don't know."

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