Soft, her gloved hands are soft, made from the same kind of fabric as his soft shirt. Tonight everything she wears is made out of it. A long sleeve turtleneck nightgown that reaches mid thigh, leg warmers too. They look more like leggings. All soft, That soft, his kind of soft.

He wants to touch, he wants to feel the soft and soothing. But it's not his shirt, not his pillow case. She is wearing it, yet he is still tempted to touch. It's confusing, he's disoriented and it makes him want the comfort more. He was ready for the pain of over stimulation, the maddening crawling, the choked crush of panic, the nauseous ache.

He closes his eyes, can't look at her, he can't process it while looking at her.

"Why? You're wearing sa- soft..." He chokes out. "Why?

"I don't want to hurt you. I'm not going to. This shouldn't be forced, this won't be. You can touch, or not touch. It is your choice, my choice is to not hurt you or let you hurt yourself. So if you're doing this in spite of pain, I won't let you."

He was going to try to say how she doesn't hurt him, not like the rest of the world does.

"Don't do that." She says quietly. "Just because something doesn't hurt as much, that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt at all."

She does that, says what he wants to say. Or gives a reply to what he can't say. He doesn't have to make a sound or look at her. And most of the time, she doesn't have to look at him. Like now, she's walking away as she speaks the answer to his thoughts out loud. She lays down on the bed and settles in the bedding before pulling it back slightly. It's an invitation.

So he lays down beside her, even though she is so much smaller than his own, her body doesn't roll toward his. The only indication that she is there is a warmth that radiates from her. He doesn't touch her that night, not purposely. Because... honestly, he doesn't know if it's because he wants to, or to prove something, or because it's expected socially.

In his sleep, his hand grabs a corner of her night gown. Technically he wakes up in the early morning. At that point he let's go, grabbing her hand instead. She smiles in her sleep.

He feels

Good–

Happy–

He feels

Love–

Love that is soft, so soft.

The next day her long sleeve shirt is soft. He can tell without touching. She almost always wears a soft shirt with long sleeves. She didn't do it for him, she likes the soft too. But last night was for him.