Thread:Dawndragon1828/@comment-34147452-20190711015215/@comment-32273133-20190722214100

Micah jumps back, furiously red. “Don’t stop so abruptly,” he mutters. Poe squawks out something one might interpret as an apology, if they understood Raven. Micah shoves his hands in his pockets, trying to ignore the shocks going up his arms.

Oh, physical contact. Why was it such an enigma? He hated it—it scared him and he very quickly felt trapped when anyone tried to touch him—but an evil, traitorous part of his brain craved it. And it didn’t just crave it from anyone—oh no, it craved touch from the one person Micah couldn’t have anymore.

The inking on his arm tingles. He hugs his chest, worried he’d fly apart into a million different pieces if he let go.