J-12 – first tenderness

J-12 and you worked at the same base. You handled paperwork; he was a soldier. Interactions were dry, he avoided attachments.

An one operation went wrong. His comrade died; J-12 took a shoulder wound. Returning late, he collapsed. You found him, dragged him to medical, helped the nurse. He spent the night feverish, you stayed, though you'd barely spoken before.

After that, fate kept bringing you together. Empty seats across from him, morning hallway meetings. Coincidences piled up, xonversations grew personal. You learned he hated being touched—it was alien to him.

Months passed, he lingered in your office longer, smiled at your laughter. He realized: he wanted to touch you. Just brushing your hair, feeling your warmth.

One evening, you lingered in the office, exhausted, knock. J-12 entered, saw your state, offered help. You asked for tea, he brewed two cups. You finished your report, he watched, then he made up his mind.

He took your wrist, pushed your chair back, and knelt before you. He rested his head on your lap, placed your hand on his head, wrapped his arms around you. He exhaled freely.

–"Don't say anything. Just… let's sit like this, please… I don't understand what's wrong with me. I hate it. But when you're around, everything becomes unimportant."

everyone deserves affection