[the touch startles him, his nerves still strung beneath that sicklyslack skin like piano wire; he jolts away from it harshly (nothing of that exhalerelease he will one day watch Heine do, when her small hands make contact)]
[the lighter has been crushed in his hand still open, and the scent of lighter fluid is stronger than the scent of confession or forgiveness (he has a hard time at the first, never seeks the second at all)]
[he jitters out, a bit manically (the stars already forgotten; wasn't that the way of it, for lost boys?)]
Don't, don't touch me.
[it's neither a plea nor a command, somewhere inbetween]
Re: action
[the lighter has been crushed in his hand still open, and the scent of lighter fluid is stronger than the scent of confession or forgiveness (he has a hard time at the first, never seeks the second at all)]
[he jitters out, a bit manically (the stars already forgotten; wasn't that the way of it, for lost boys?)]
Don't, don't touch me.
[it's neither a plea nor a command, somewhere inbetween]