Touch — Alessa (Patreon)

She does not like how her fingers stiffen.

The joints are cold as if the bone is cracked, and she cannot have as full control over her movements as she would like. The chamber is warm, she can feel the beads of sweat gathering on her forehead and slipping down her tunic, but her hands are cold and unresponsive, and for the first time in a long while, Alessa wishes she could be gentler.

She wishes she could be softer, like those absurd ladies who seem to only speak in demure whispers. She wishes her hands were pliant and she could keep the sharpness away from her grip. Alessa wishes she could learn how to keep her nails tucked away like a graceless cat with soft pads for paws, but as she sees you wincing for the third time, Alessa knows she is too harsh and too rough, but her skin is cold and stiff, and she cannot touch you any gentler.

"It shall not take very long," she informs you then, in a way of apology, keeping her tone as neutral as possible. And when you look at her and give her a smile that crooks one corner of your lips, Alessa wishes she could return it without feeling like a fool.

"Ah, what a pity that is," you say, grin stretching. "I'm quite enjoying this torture, you know? It's very welcoming after almost drowning."

But perhaps she is too late, for Alessa already feels like a fool. And like a fool, she cannot help the quirk of her lips. "Torture?" she hums, and now the tug she gives your wrappings is intentional.

"Ow!" you protest, and Alessa has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep her face as stoic as possible. Your eyes are wide in mock indignation, but your grin is in full force, and she cannot help but appreciate how it fits you just so. How your proximity, your knee occasionally brushing hers, affects her so.

How, despite how stiff and cold and wrong she feels, your skin warms where it touches her, and she is indeed a fool, but Alessa finds herself lingering. Prolonging her movements, stiff and awkward, but made less so because it is you.

"How dramatic you are," she says, tone impassive. She makes sure to hold your gaze as she gives one final tug and then ties your forearm. "If you were under my torture, you would not be behaving so."

You immediately lean forward. "How would I behave under your mighty torture, then, oh Alessa?"

She lifts her chin. "Like a frightened mouse."

You chuckle, and she allows herself a sharp smile before she flicks your shoulder. "'Tis done," Alessa informs and watches you inspect the wrappings. Something warm on her fingers as her looking down, and Alessa sees then the blood on her skin. Your blood. Her brows furrow as she considers it, as she considers how she was so close to losing you, so close to...

"Thank you, Alessa," you say, rising from your seat, but like an arrow, her hand shoots out and grabs hold of your elbow. Alessa is sharp, and right now, she does not mind how her nails dig into your shirt and press onto your bones. She doesn't mind it, because steel has crystalized inside her.

"Do avoid further injury," she says, although she wants to say more. She wants to call you an idiot, wants you to promise never to repeat what you've done. But Alessa has not completely lost her pride. "It is... good that you are back."

Not yet.

She sees you looking down at her hand on your elbow, and instinctually tightens her hold. When your eyes flicker up to hers, Alessa clenches her jaw and hardens her gaze. She will not be shamed, even as her cheeks feel warm, and she barely avoids staring at your lips. She will not be shamed because she is right, and you almost lost your life.

"I know, and I'm sorry," you say, your grin all vanished and voice sounding sincere. Too sincere, too gentle. Gentle in a way she can never be, in a way she is never treated. "I didn't mean to worry you, Alessa."

Your hand grabs hold of her own, and when you tug, she can do nothing else but follow. She lets go of your elbow so you can turn her wrist, and now your fingers intertwine with hers, and all the words escape from her lips when you squeeze. Gently, always so gentle. "I promise I'll be more careful."

Silence.

Your thumb sweeps over her wrist, and your eyes have hers captured, and there is a ringing in her ears, and a warmth in her cheeks, and Alessa realized then that she had been wrong. Softness is worst, and she is doomed. "I- it is of no consequence, I was not worried I was merely…"

What is she to say?

"It is good you will be more prudent."

You smile, and she can feel her heart beating wildly against her ribcage. "Well, I-"

A snap as her jolting in place, hands searching for her knives, only to be confronted by Hadrian. The stumbling fool is hopping on one leg. "By God's blo- I mean, damn," Hadrian grumbles. He stops and blinks at the pair of you, his eyes following the trail to your linked hands.

And the fool smiles slowly.

Softness is gone, and she is ice once more. "I will be waiting over there," Alessa announces, ice in her tone too, face as cold as the grip that tightens her throat. And just before she turns away, she sees your smirk and feels a deeper heat on her cheeks. "Do not take long."

Alessa walks away, then, her hand clenching and unclenching by her side. You may have been the one to fall into an underground river, but Alessa is the one who feels as if she takes the deepest plunge.

A soft fool. The worst kind.

The worst kind, for even as she falls, she finds herself smiling.