Chapter Text
Then he trembles, despite his training. Then he trembles, despite his teachings.
For this touch is a round to pierce any armor.
He's felt the effects before - the ‘you are safe here’, ‘you will be alright’, the ‘you matter’ - but not this intensity, this consuming blinding gleam. And the enemy shouldn't even know what this is. Someone who can do this, bring these feelings with their touch, they're not the enemy by definition. Friendly?
[All who live on the surface are a threat.] Directive 1. Now he knows it's true, why the elders called Earthers threats every time they called them weak. The reason is climbing up his arms in calming aurora, along his waist, upon his back; the suit is no barrier.
He holds him back. Too tight, certainly he's doing this wrong. But the other man doesn't seem to mind. If anything, he's holding him closer now.
Threat.
Threat.
But not hostile.
For every second he can remember he has wanted everything to just end. And now suddenly here's an exception. How long was he going without this? Without knowing this existed? There's no hesitation when he reaches for his helmet seals, because he needs this. The elders were wrong about only one thing: Earthers are not dirty. Not impure. Nobody could say that about this man.
He lifts his helm off, and at last he feels clean.