Chapter Text
Genesis Rhapsodos had always had a strained relationship with touch. Growing up as a rich kid, he was often paraded around like a trophy for his parent’s benefit. He remembered early years where they viewed him with apathy at best, clearly not prepared for the loud, wilful and needy child that he was. When he cried and cried to be held by his parents, his mother would remark on the noisiness of babies and leave him to the nanny. His father was always ‘busy’ with his affairs, business or otherwise, and rarely made time for his only child.
Their tune changed once he began showing his potential as a human being capable of accomplishing great things. Then, it all became too much. It was being paraded around at fancy dinners with important guests, expected to sit still and smile and nod and answer intelligently when spoken to and not a word otherwise, trapped like straightjackets in nice little dresses that felt so wrong it made him want to scream; it was being touched and prodded and pinched with no regard for whether he wanted it or not, feeling more like his mother’s doll than a real person.
He had once heard his mother say that she and his father “grew to love him” over time. Grew to love him. In all his books, parents were supposed to love their children right from the start, if not before. Very well, then; if that was how they wanted to play it, then he would just ‘grow’ not to need them, and especially not their affection.
His skin crawled every time his mother cornered him to fawn all over his face with groping, inescapable hands. It only got worse when his chest began to swell like he was growing some sort of tumors—whenever his arms or his clothing brushed the edges of the unwelcome growths, which was nearly every time he moved, it set his teeth on edge like nails on chalkboard and on bad days (which were more often than he’d like to admit to anyone, even Angeal) he felt more than a little inclined to chop them off himself and damn the consequences. He certainly didn’t want to add touch from other people into the equation.
He was too sensual a child—he liked to experience everything with all of himself, all the attention and meaning he could wring out of any moment—for anything even slightly resembling intimacy of any kind to be taken lightly, touch not least of all, so the fact that he felt trapped into it bothered him more than he knew how to express.
And all this was not to mention the kind of Shinra propaganda that was pumped to him constantly about what it meant to be a man, which triggered the incessant need to prove himself. He didn’t note it consciously, otherwise he would have seen it for the foolishness it was, but the male characters he looked up to in books and films didn’t hug or actively seek affection often.
Suffice it to say, it was hardly a surprise when he began to avoid touch altogether before too long, no matter how trusted a source it came from. If he saw it coming unasked for, he would bat it away aggressively; if he wasn’t expecting it, he would flinch slightly; when he did allow it, he usually remained stiff the entire time the contact was sustained.
He relaxed slightly about this policy once he began to understand why he felt that way about it, when he and Angeal left to discover the world in Midgar, and he learned he was not alone in his struggles with being signed up for the wrong gender and all the treatment and changes that came with it without his consent. He still didn’t like it from people he didn’t know and trust, but he thought that if Angeal wanted to touch him, he could be amenable to that. But since his best friend, being an attentive and good best friend, had long since taken notice of his aversion to touch and stopped pressing him about it, that was not going to be tested quickly, if ever.
Genesis discovered that he might not be alright with that, as he found himself beginning to wonder what it would feel like, to touch or to hold or to be held freely and with love (it had been so long, he had quite forgotten). As he saw others enjoy it and celebrate it in the theater shows he adored and was able to see now that he was in the city, he wondered what the appeal of it was, why people seemed to crave it so much that it was without question that they assumed others (him) also wanted it (he didn’t think he was wrong in believing one should wait for the consent of the other party before encroaching on their personal space, but he was curious, at least in an annoyed sort of way).
Still, he didn’t make any moves to discover it for himself—for once, he didn’t want to draw attention to himself, not for that. He wanted to be paid attention to, of course he did, that was his nature—but he wanted to be paid attention to like everything was normal, not for a big fuss to be made about why his preferences might have suddenly changed. He couldn’t really explain what the difference was, or why it was; it simply was. And so he just kept putting himself ever so slightly more in the way of friendly touches, inched ever so slightly closer to Angeal when they were sitting together, but he never took the plunge.
At least, until the whim took him, as was so often the case with him. He was tired, and a bit tipsy, and they had decided to stay in and watch movies on one of their rare days off. As he was often inclined to lounge on any surface that would bear his weight, it wasn’t too noticeable that he had been slipping closer and closer to Angeal’s side the whole time until Genesis could feel the heat coming off his shoulder. Finally, mentally holding his breath, he shifted himself with an exaggerated discontented sigh as if uncomfortable so that his head and upper body were fully in Angeal’s lap, with his legs thrown haphazardly off the arms of the couch.
Angeal did not comment—just shifted to make the position comfortable for them both, resting his arm across Genesis’ stomach carefully. Genesis relaxed slightly and let out the mental breath he’d been holding after a few more moments of this new thing remaining undisturbed and unquestioned and allowed himself to take in the new sensations.
Angeal radiated warmth, though not so much that it became uncomfortable, as Genesis had expected. He was much more solid than the couch cushions, though he found the comfortable warmth and the surprisingly soothing feeling of his friend breathing steadily beneath him more than made up for any slight discomfort that caused. He suppressed a shiver as he allowed himself to sink deeper into the contact. He very much just wanted to stay right here for the entire night, the entire week even.
(Angeal, meanwhile, was holding himself very still and very carefully not saying a word, as if trying not to disturb a particularly moody and untrusting cat that has suddenly decided to drape itself luxuriously over one’s lap.)
The movie ended and the television meekly asked them if they were still watching, but as neither of them were or had been for quite some time, they gave it no response. Genesis’ eyes were beginning to droop irresistibly, lulled to sleep by the comforting warmth of good Banoran apple wine and good Banoran apple-stealing company.
“Gen?” Angeal probed quietly to see if he was still awake.
“Mmh?” Genesis acknowledged after a slight delay without opening his eyes.
“Is it alright if I touch your hair?”
“…mmh?” Genesis was brought more into wakefulness by a sudden stutter of his heart. For the first time in several hours, he turned his head up to actually make eye contact with Angeal and squinted at him suspiciously. But it was just Angeal looking back at him, and he was curious, so… “I suppose so,” he relented, though he had half a mind to beg him to do so.
Genesis’ facade of reluctance was quickly washed away as he melted into Angeal’s hand with a contented hum. That felt truly wonderful, and before he could finish berating himself about not allowing this sooner Genesis had dropped off into a deep, contented sleep.
———
Genesis was in a truly foul mood the next day, when he was forced to peel himself off of Angeal and actually go do work, with a crick in his neck from sleeping on the couch, even. Disgusting, how demanding his job was. They’d better promote him soon—he clearly deserved it, for what he put up with.
He felt colder than usual the whole day, a feeling that didn’t abate completely even when he fidgeted about with his fire materia. Whenever he was near Angeal (but not nearly near enough), his skin turned itself on edge in a confusing sort of way where he couldn’t tell if it would make him feel better to be touched or if it would feel wrong, too much.
He practically threw himself at Angeal that evening when he became too impatient to wait any longer, and discovered that it was something like both of those at once. He did not want to let go.
“Why did you ask?” Genesis queried suddenly. He had found that moment in particular sticking in his head.
“Hm? About what?”
“…My hair. Last night.”
Angeal visibly collected his thoughts for a few moments longer than Genesis would have liked, looking at him contemplatively. Genesis looked around for something else to catch his eye.
“I guess…I just figured you would want me to, since your parents never did. And I wanted to make sure you were alright with it. I mean, choice is important to everyone, but you haven’t gotten it nearly as much as you should. Am I wrong?”
“No,” Genesis said, his voice suddenly hoarse. That hadn’t exactly been what he meant. Or maybe it had, he didn’t really know what he had meant. It was odd—it wasn’t like he hadn’t made that connection before, but to hear it put to words out loud by someone else made him feel strangely vulnerable, like someone had come across him injured and had seen through the gash into his bared soul, and treated it gently.
Genesis swallowed roughly several times, focusing on the rhythmic beating of Angeal’s heart. Angeal squeezed his shoulders lightly, but did not comment further.
Soon it became commonplace for Genesis to be quite touchy with people he liked, and even sometimes with strangers (though with the latter he had to be the one initiating the contact). He did still have his moods where he very much did not want to be touched, but they were respected, as Angeal always asked before touching him, verbally or otherwise.
And Genesis lapped the attention up with an insatiable hunger, thoroughly enjoying every moment of it he could steal away.