So we back to the old days of using wifi to post my stuff bois, at least my burnout is clearing tho
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"So... Why do you hate touch?"
Such a casual tone for such a question. From back in the day, before Blue and before Nightmare, when he lived on the streets. He was all alone until he met them, by an accident that he'd thought was, perhaps, fate. Pampered but old-timer life met primitive but been on the streets long enough. They helped each other, learnt things, became friends in grim times. He had thought, when times weren't as rough, when they weren't in danger everywhere they went, when they got on their feet, they could be together... Then gangs came around, them dabbling with their members... When they pinned him to the dusty, cracked ground, when they forced his legs apart, when they used him for their own personal use and left him there, dazed, not fully processing what they did to him...
The memory of gritty texture of dirt on his tongue made him sip his coffee. "It's not important."
