[It takes Alois what feels, and so must seem, considerably longer to make his legs move forward. There's a dark pressure on his chest, as he stands clutching the new underwear, and he stares for some time at the floor. He's spared from any harm, since at this point, it's more a matter of working up his nerve than outright refusal.
He's thinking things to himself like: It's just getting him dressed—but it isn't at all comparable to clothing a five-year-old. Miyuki is of masculine shape. Miyuki who was sickened by Alois touching him. A boy who's only other previous experience with intended touching caused blood to turn hotter. And despite this having been a healthy reaction, Alois' sense of self, his lack of experience with normal people, have left him hinged on that ability to warm someone. It is true that it should be a nonissue presently, but other than Father's initial distaste for him, the beating, and then the beatings when Alois stepped over lines for fun to make him furious, he hasn't experienced such blatant resentment. He won't see Miyuki again, and still he thinks, What's wrong with me? Am I not good enough? Is it because he can tell I'm ruined? Because I'm bad?
What if he accidentally bumps against him. And then there's the matter of how snugly boxer-briefs seem to sit. Surely he noticed to some degree when he stretched the band back before, but he hadn't really given it proper thought. It's receiving proper thought now when he'll have to take it all the way to ankles and off of feet. His stomach is beginning to ache when he thinks about how he doesn't want to touch, accidentally or not, someone who doesn't want to be touched: it is too painful, too close to home.
But perhaps he can stretch the band wide enough. He feels like he's moving lead to make that first step the few it'll take to reach the older boy. He drops new pair on the side of the bed, expression and eyes a mixture of nervous and blank, and if his movements appear slow it's because he's rigid. Fingers extend to let his thumbs take hold of the band, and he stops just before—]
I don't know if I can do it without touching your side, [he warns, in flimsy voice. His line of sight is glued to Miyuki's chest, but more as though he's looking, or trying to look, through him. Firmly attached, yet trying to detach all the same. He's having to fight himself harder with each passing moment to stay in this reality with him. He wants to abandon Miyuki and his own body and the monitor and go to some place unreachable by anyone else. He wants to hide.]
no subject
He's thinking things to himself like: It's just getting him dressed—but it isn't at all comparable to clothing a five-year-old. Miyuki is of masculine shape. Miyuki who was sickened by Alois touching him. A boy who's only other previous experience with intended touching caused blood to turn hotter. And despite this having been a healthy reaction, Alois' sense of self, his lack of experience with normal people, have left him hinged on that ability to warm someone. It is true that it should be a nonissue presently, but other than Father's initial distaste for him, the beating, and then the beatings when Alois stepped over lines for fun to make him furious, he hasn't experienced such blatant resentment. He won't see Miyuki again, and still he thinks, What's wrong with me? Am I not good enough? Is it because he can tell I'm ruined? Because I'm bad?
What if he accidentally bumps against him. And then there's the matter of how snugly boxer-briefs seem to sit. Surely he noticed to some degree when he stretched the band back before, but he hadn't really given it proper thought. It's receiving proper thought now when he'll have to take it all the way to ankles and off of feet. His stomach is beginning to ache when he thinks about how he doesn't want to touch, accidentally or not, someone who doesn't want to be touched: it is too painful, too close to home.
But perhaps he can stretch the band wide enough. He feels like he's moving lead to make that first step the few it'll take to reach the older boy. He drops new pair on the side of the bed, expression and eyes a mixture of nervous and blank, and if his movements appear slow it's because he's rigid. Fingers extend to let his thumbs take hold of the band, and he stops just before—]
I don't know if I can do it without touching your side, [he warns, in flimsy voice. His line of sight is glued to Miyuki's chest, but more as though he's looking, or trying to look, through him. Firmly attached, yet trying to detach all the same. He's having to fight himself harder with each passing moment to stay in this reality with him. He wants to abandon Miyuki and his own body and the monitor and go to some place unreachable by anyone else. He wants to hide.]