sockathan drabbles

touch

     You can't always touch him.
     It's a thing you figured out early on. You were able to get somewhat of a handle on your form, controlling how and what you phased through to some extent, but he was beyond your discretion. Whether or not you could touch Jonathan was entirely up to him. Just one of the weird rules to the whole demon-touch concept.
     You learned that you could only touch him when he wanted you to.
     It didn't have to be a conscious thought. He didn't have to blatantly think, I want Sock to touch me. Whether it was subconscious, a passing thought or an urge, or something blatant, like grabbing you himself, something in him had to want to be touched by you.
     There wasn't much consistency to it. You could go days just following him around, irking and teasing and prodding at him, passing right through every time. Even if you were being complacent, drifting in circles around him and chattering absently near his ear, it wasn't always enough. It was almost entirely at random. You could spend the day being the most annoying asshole on the face of the planet and there was still a chance that he'd yank you out of midair and into his arms, flopping onto his bed without another word. You had no say in the matter. It was like throwing a dart at a spinning wheel.
     You can't always touch him.
     But when you can, it's the best thing in the world.
     Your favorite days are the ones where he rolls over early in the morning, groggy and half-asleep - usually on the weekends - and reaches a hand out from under his blankets, grabbing at thin air. You like to pretend not to notice sometimes, floating around just out of reach, forcing him to climb to his feet and tow you along by the wrist. Most of the time, though, you meet his fingers with your own and let him pull you in against himself with a contented grumble.
     No matter how many times it happens, you're amazed every time when you can trace your fingertips over his shoulders without your hands disappearing under his skin. You're in awe when his hair brushes over your hands and his cheek stays solid under the brush of your thumb. You can never hold back the sigh of relief when you tilt your forehead against his and it's really there, solid and tangible. You suppose that you're really the one who's always intangible, untouchable, passing through him, but that's not how it feels to you. As far as your senses go, he can be just as much a ghost as you are.
     The feeling of an arm around your waist, pulling you closer, or a nose nuzzling against your temple... It's enough to make your chest warm, tingling all the way down to the hole in your torso. You don't know if it affects you so much because you never got a chance to feel it when you were alive or if this is just how it is for everyone, but something about it drives you crazy.
     You can't always touch him, but you feel like that makes the times when you can just a little bit better.