Lev crouched, watching as Teorin unfastened the glidesuit’s casing with quiet precision, explaining pressure seals like this was a normal afternoon and not one where Lev’s entire world had been pulled out from under him.

  Lev tried to focus. Tried to care. Tried to be normal. But his chest was tight. The headache was getting worse, and he was itching and aching all over.

  Two days. He’d barely touched anyone in two days. It shouldn’t be this bad, right? He did two days all the time. But… burns. Kara. Everything crumbling.

  He was okay. It wasn’t as bad as high school, when he’d stupidly tried to wean himself off touch. Five days of avoiding Mom on purpose. She’d found him sobbing in a closet, unable to do much more than curl in a ball and cry. He could feel her weight against him now as she slid to the floor and held him. The warmth of her arms, her breath against his neck.

  He hated this closet.

  No! Not real. Not there. He wasn’t completely lost in memory again. She wasn’t real. He knew that. But he didn’t want to think about how close he was getting to the edge. Because Mom wasn’t here to find him this time.

  He ran his hands over his arms. The pressure relieved the ache for about five seconds. Then it was back.

  It wasn’t enough. His fingers knew it. His arms knew it. This wasn’t Rhett’s grip, brief and exactly enough to snap things back into place. This was just friction and heat, and it wasn’t real. It wasn’t connection. It was pretending, and even his body knew it was fake.

  He tried to focus on Teorin’s voice. That was real. He was saying something about wing stabilization, but the words slid past him, muffled. Remembered sensations bombarded him: brushes against his skin, someone squeezing his hand. It all became a constant, shifting itch.

  Even the good memories he dragged up to fight it only made things worse. He remembered how his mom used to steady him when he flinched from a crowd. How Kara’s hand felt on his arm. All of it, perfectly encapsulated.

  His fingers dug into his leg. Kara wasn’t here. Her warmth, her steady hands, the weight of her shoulder pressed against his. Her presence anchoring him to reality.

  He clenched his teeth. It was fine. This wasn’t a real emergency. He hadn’t been hurt again. Nothing terrible had just happened. He was fine.

  He was fine.

  But the itch inside him kept building. Every nerve hummed, and it was so hard to focus. He dug his fingers into his arms again, hard enough to leave marks. That helped. For a second.

  He shifted his weight, pressing one hand to the floor for balance as the ground seemed to shift into sand, and he leaned too far. The movement felt wrong, foreign. He never leaned too far.

  Then Teorin touched him, steadying him as Lev swayed slightly. A single point of contact. Just a hand on his shoulder.

  Lev felt like he’d been electrocuted.

  His body seized in pure recognition. Awareness screamed through him as the ache snapped open like a fault line. He hated it—how fast it hit, how his body recognized the real thing and grabbed for it like he was starving.

  Then it was gone.

  And the absence was worse.

  Rain against his skin. A brush of someone’s hand down his arm. Kara letting go. Again. And again. And again.

  His breathing sped. He staggered to the wall and dropped, sliding down before his legs gave out, one hand over his face, trying to press it all back in. He could do this. He could do this.

  He couldn’t fall apart. Not now. Not yet.

  He concentrated. Kara hugging him after a game. Sitting next to her on the couch. Staying. Fingers brushing his hair. Laughter as his feet touched cold tile.

  And suddenly Teorin was there, crouching beside him, voice edging toward panic. “Lev?”

  “I’m okay.”

  “You’re not. Is it the burns, is it—”

  “No,” Lev snapped, then softer, “No. It’s not that.”

  Someone shoving him. A reporter’s hand on his shoulder. A fan grabbing his arm as she questioned him. A microphone jammed too close to his face, bumping his cheek.

  He swallowed hard. He wasn’t going to unravel because he hadn’t been touched enough in the last forty-eight hours. That wasn’t a reason to fall apart. That wasn’t a thing that happened to normal people.

  He could explain it away: blame stress, blame worry, blame anything else. Just not this.

  But the panic wasn’t going away. The ache in his chest was only getting worse. His fingers flexed, like they didn’t know what to do anymore. Like they wanted something to hold onto and couldn’t find it.

  Gravel giving way beneath him. A ball slipping from his grip. Delicate fingers gently pulling away.

  He wasn’t fine.

  And pretending wasn’t helping anymore.

  “Lev, just talk to me!”

  Lev winced. He didn’t look at Teorin. Couldn’t.

  He knew exactly how this was going to sound—like a complete breakdown, like a crazy person clinging to nothing. But it didn’t matter anymore. He had to be functioning to find Kara. He wouldn’t be any help falling to pieces like this.

  He’d tested Teorin already, just small brushes and quick touches. Teorin didn’t seem like the type to welcome contact, but Lev didn’t care anymore. His throat felt raw. This was the kind of request that got people to walk away. The kind that made them look at you different.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  Dad nudging him to the side. An aunt's tight grip moving him away from Mom.

  “Can you—” The words caught in Lev’s throat. He swallowed and forced them out. “Can you just—can I get a hug or something?”

  Silence. Then a startled, almost panicked, “What?”

  Lev clenched his jaw, hating how raw his voice came out. “Look, I know this is weird, but I’ve had kind of a week, okay? I haven’t—I haven’t had anyone… really there in days, and I’m barely holding it together.”

  He glanced at Teorin, who was still staring with that stunned, slightly panicked look.

  Lev looked away, heat prickling behind his eyes. “You owe me, remember? Just… just a quick hug. Please. Then I’ll shut up and never mention it again.”

  Never again. Who was he kidding? A three-second hug was like slapping on a bandage when he needed a tourniquet, and he knew it.

  Another pause. Then a quiet, hesitant, almost horrified, “Uh. Sure? I—yeah. I can do that.”

  Lev didn’t move. He couldn’t. His skin felt too raw. His chest too tight.

  Teorin crouched slowly, lowering himself to Lev’s level. One knee hit the floor. Then the other. He paused as if he wasn’t sure how close to get, then reached forward and wrapped his arms awkwardly around Lev in the most lopsided hug imaginable.

  Lev almost pulled away. It was too stiff, too uncertain. He should have stood, should have helped, but his head hurt and his muscles felt disconnected, and he just didn’t know—

  Something shifted.

  Teorin’s grip adjusted. He pressed in closer. One hand came up to the back of Lev’s neck; the other anchored on his arm. The tension bled out of Teorin like someone flipped a switch, and suddenly, Lev was being held, really held. Not like Teorin was just fulfilling a weird request, but like someone comforting a brother, a hug worth remembering, not one he’d regret.

  Warmth hit first. Then weight. Then something else: reality crashing into him, driving back the memories swarming under his skin.

  Heat bloomed at the points of contact and spread—slowly at first, then all at once—like stepping into sunlight after two days in complete darkness. Like warmth seeping back into numb fingers, sharp at first, then real. A cacophony of sensations finally resolving into music. His body remembered the difference between memory and reality.

  Lev’s breath hitched. His nerves didn’t flinch or recoil like he’d half-feared they might after the scalding burns. Instead, every inch of skin that touched Teorin’s burned with awareness—not with desire, not even comfort exactly, but relief.

  Like something broken was finally slotting back into place.

  He’d expected a pat on the back, maybe a mumbled “there, there.” He hadn’t expected this. The solid wall of another body. The quiet patience in the grip.

  And Lev cracked. Just a little. Not a sob. Just a quiet, shuddering breath and a single, unsteady exhale. Hesitantly, he shifted, angling toward Teorin, and wrapped his arms around him, clinging tighter.

  Teorin’s breath caught, and he tensed.

  Lev jerked his hands away. “Sorry, sorry! I didn’t mean—this isn’t me saying I like you that way. I know how it looks, but I’m not… I just need—”

  Lev cut off, throat tightening. He couldn’t finish that sentence. He just… couldn’t.

  Teorin didn’t pull away, but his posture was stiffer. “Just need what?” he asked. His voice was quiet, but not cold, more confused than anything.

  Lev hesitated, chewing the inside of his cheek. This could be a disaster, but Teorin was warm and steady, and if they were going to be stuck here for days, if they couldn’t find Kara quickly, Lev didn’t think he could keep pretending.

  Because one hug wasn’t going to be enough. Not even close, but…

  He’d never told anyone but family. He’d hidden it his whole life. Because people wouldn’t understand. Because they might use it against him.

  Even his dad hadn’t known what to do with it—always distant, always looking the other way. Because Lev was too much. Too needy.

  A hand pushing him to the other side of the bed. The wind of a door shutting in his face. Arms recoiling as he reached for a hug.

  And Teorin? He didn’t have to stay. What if he turned cold too? Or worse, what if he was nice about it, and then let the secret slip when it mattered most?

  “Lev,” Teorin said quietly. “It seems like whatever you need matters for both of us. You having panic attacks doesn’t help anyone, and don’t try to lie about not being panicked. I can literally feel your breathing, remember? So, if you could enlighten me, that would be really, really helpful.”

  Lev choked on a breath. Sure, it would help. That didn’t make it easier. Or feel safe. But Teorin was still here, still holding him, and that meant something.

  Besides, if he said nothing… He’d be useless. He wouldn’t be able to help find Kara. He’d be a crying heap on the floor.

  Slats of wood against his back. Water seeping down his face. His own fingernails digging into his palms.

  His whole body trembled even as Teorin held him. Then he took a deep breath.

  “It’s… part of my affinity,” Lev admitted. “My body stores everything: habits, patterns, sensations. A lot of my memory lives in my body, and that has… consequences. My body memory is less like remembering and more like reliving.”

  Teorin gave a short nod.

  Lev took a deep breath. “Sometimes my body can’t tell when I am,” Lev whispered.

  Teorin blinked. “What?”

  “Because my memory feels like reality, sort of. Close enough it confuses me. So… I need new input. Like a checksum for reality almost.”

  There was a beat of silence. “A what?”

  Bursts. Why did he pick that metaphor?

  Lev let out a long breath. “It’s complicated. A math thing to see if something changed. Basically, I need something real to compare the memories to. Not that simple, but sort of. Otherwise, I get overwhelmed by memories.”

  Teorin was quiet.

  “So yeah,” Lev muttered. “I just… need people. Regularly.”

  “Why people?” Teorin said softly.

  Lev sighed. “It’s really complicated. Like… I’d need a diagram. But people are predictable and not at the same time, and that’s… important.” He bit his lip. “Can we just go with ‘they help’ for now?”

  Teorin stiffened but gave a sharp nod.

  Lev closed his eyes, trying not to think about what he was admitting. “So basically, it’s touch hunger, instead of your pressure hunger. A kind of desperation for human contact, so I can tell what’s real and what’s not. That’s why I’m always testing. Seeing how people respond to touch. Who’s safe.”

  Teorin was silent, but he didn’t pull away. If anything, he leaned in more, and Lev couldn’t hold back a small whimper, because cascades, he could breathe again. The headache was finally receding.

  So Lev took a deep breath and kept going. “Normally, I can manage it. I just go to Kara, and it’s fine, but now… It’s like my battery’s running down, and no one’s got a charger.” Lev squeezed his eyes shut and whispered, “I hoped I could hold out longer, but it’s worse when I’m emotional or stressed. And it feels so stupid, falling apart just because no one touched me. And I hate it.”

  Teorin didn’t answer at first. His breath caught, arms shifting like he wanted to speak but wasn’t sure how.

  Then finally, softly, “I don’t think that’s stupid,” Teorin said. “But I—uh—I’m not… not great at this, and…” He trailed off, shoulders tensing, breath hitching like he was searching for a gentle way to explain that one hug was fine, but more was some form of insanity.

  Lev braced himself, waiting for the recoil, but Teorin didn’t pull away. Instead, he just tightened his grip, like he’d decided that if words didn’t work, presence would have to be enough.

  Warm. Solid. Real. Not rejection.

  And Lev felt himself break all over again, but quieter this time. Like something cracked and then exhaled. Maybe… maybe he wasn’t too much.

  “You can…” Teorin said. “You can put your arms around me if it helps, I guess, but this isn’t—I mean…”

  Carefully, Lev wrapped his arms around Teorin again. “Got it. Believe me, I understand how not that this is. More than most.”

  Teorin let out a long breath, and they were still. “Am I…” Teorin started, breaking the silence. “Is this helping?”

  “Yeah. Don’t worry so much,” Lev murmured. “You’re honestly way better at this than I expected.”

  He felt Teorin’s shrug against his cheek. “Got a lot of brothers.”

  “Lucky them,” Lev said, huffing a quiet, broken laugh. He was silent for a moment, then, “You like hugs. Admit it.”

  Teorin stiffened for a second then relaxed again. “Yeah. Just with family, though. This is a special circumstance.”

  Lev snorted. “I’m the definition of—”

  “I’ll hold you, but no teasing. Shut up.”

  Lev chuckled but stayed silent. He just closed his eyes, pressing in closer because for the first time in two days, he felt real.

  [Teorin] Lev decided not to comment on this one, but here's his rent.