[This is when Paul would trace a circle on Kaworu's back, or tap a rhythm on his collarbone. He'd lean in to kiss him again, petal-soft, stroke his thumb over the smooth line of his jaw. Touch is the clearest communication he knows, and it is always the first and last of his impulses towards comfort.
He keeps his hands still. He doesn't pull away, couldn't bring himself to, but he does nothing more than that.]
Do I ever remind you of that? When I touch you.
[A series of tiny, subtle flinches plays out for him, in near-perfect memory. Things he's soothed Kaworu through, unspeaking, because this question has caught on his tongue every time he's tried to form it.]
no subject
He keeps his hands still. He doesn't pull away, couldn't bring himself to, but he does nothing more than that.]
Do I ever remind you of that? When I touch you.
[A series of tiny, subtle flinches plays out for him, in near-perfect memory. Things he's soothed Kaworu through, unspeaking, because this question has caught on his tongue every time he's tried to form it.]