Desire, ask, believe, receive

[500 Themes: 219]

Barnaby rather wishes he didn't have an always reaching hand.

He's not quite sure how it's come into being, this urge to touch, this urge to relieve Kotetsu's hand clasped tightly around his own once more. It's warm, it's rough, but above all, it's there, some sort of solid thing in this world, grounding him for the first time in years.

He's not sure where this urge has come from, but he both likes it and hates it and wants it gone and wants it stronger.

So he reaches, tentative, apprehensive, and then recoils at the last minute – fingers curling into his own palm, curling into a fist that isn't made for that warm touch but for keeping Kotetsu away, at an arm's length again and once more.

Really, it's safer (more familiar) like that, anyway – even if nothing hurts more than a hand reaching out, and that hand not being taken.