while i can see both sides, i feel williamās a physical person. touch is such a powerful sense and tool in manipulation, not only forcing familiarity and proximity, but also creating tension when thereās a lack of touch. heās deliberate with each pat on the shoulder, each lingering hold on someoneās arm. when heās avoiding those quick grazes of assuring touches heās known for, it feels like rejection. you immediately feel offset, like heās avoiding you, like thereās something you have done to make him this way. sure, his touches are much smaller gestures compared to his partner, but their absence speaks volumes.
with those heās close with, heās especially physical. i donāt think clara likes to tolerate any touch besides her own childrenās, but sheās not afraid to reach out and try and smooth over his tie, or fix his suit lapel when itās out of place and afton somehow doesnāt notice. she holds her head high and touches him without fear or hesitation. with henry, itās like he doesnāt really care. heāll crowd him trying to look over a blueprint heās sketching on, manhandle him whenever heās too busy talking to someone and standing in his way. hell, youāve seen them eat after each other. when youāre stuck in an apartment together for four years, you to learn to live with each other, henry says. yeah, you guess thatās true.
even when you two first met, he would linger a bit longer than socially acceptable. his hand would stay rooted on your shoulder, moving you away from a crowd. maybe when giving you a stray key or one of those fazcoins he likes to carry, his fingers would brush against the inside of your wrist before pulling away. a bit creepy, maybe, but you didnāt really read into it. just normal human interaction, right? itās just how he is.
if you thought he was touchy before, god, now that youāre lovers? (you canāt really call him a boyfriend at his age, even if he finds it endlessly entertaining) itās like he canāt keep his hands to himself. heās always finding an excuse to touch you. whenever youāre walking together, he expects you to loop his arm with his, or hold hands. when he sees you sitting anywhere, heāll stand behind you, his hands settle at your shoulders and stray inward to touch your collarbone. laying on the couch, heāll slink down besides you and wrap an arm around your waist, or even flop on top of you if heās feeling especially dramatic. public or private, heāll find a reason. sometimes that reason is just that he wants to.
when you donāt indulge him, or reject his touch out of embarrassment or any other factor, he sulks. not that heāll say that, but you can see the subtle pout in his lip, the way he suddenly goes all stoic and every little thing bothers him. the water in the sinkās too hot, or his pen is smudging too much, or everyone just seems to be getting in his way. youāll ask him whatās wrong and heāll huff and look away, going nothing, nothing. how temperamental.
you have to move in front of him, bring your hands to his face and force him to look at you. william tilts his head into your grasp. no shame, no questions asked, just melting into your palms. you canāt help but giggle.
āwhat a grumpy old man.ā
his face immediately drops.
āwhat? i think itās cute! i like you clingy.ā
afton grumbles, āi am not clingy.ā
āitās okay! i like it. itās really sweet,ā you try to smile at him, to lighten him up a bit. āi wouldnāt of expected someone like you to be so touchy-feely.ā
heās stopped pretending like he isnāt still enjoying the attention. will turns his head inward to your right palm, pressing kisses to your fingers, the lines of your palm. his voice rumbles against your skin. āwhat did you expect?ā
āhm. i donāt know. typical silver fox sort of thing, i guess. hookups after work, maybe a fancy dinner or two to make up for it. not much else.ā
ādo you think i was that shallow?ā
you shake your head. āi mean, look at you. always have to look the best, have to have the best. that was when we first met, anyway. i know you better now. i think youāll die if i donāt kiss you every morning.ā
āwhich i still havenāt gotten, by the way.ā
āshut up. iām getting to it.ā
truthfully, thereās something pleasantly simple about touch that afton wonāt ever truly admit to himself. heās forged his existence around the weaponization of wordsāhow to use subtle praise to get himself into someoneās good graces, how to threaten someone while toeing along that subtle edge of socially acceptable, how to get someone else to believe even the most elaborate of lies. touch is just a way to affirm the seeds of doubt heās spread. william afton, of all people, is deeply familiar with the duplicity of words. words can be ingenious. words can lie to you.
touch cannot lie. you can try to force yourself to raise a fist against someone you love, or try to shake hands with the most vile person youāve ever met, but the truth is that touch is so intimate that thereās a point where you just canāt. you can pretend that you canāhe certainly does, has tried, continues to tryābut at some point, you canāt make yourself betray your own body.
perhaps thatās why itās his love language. why instead of answering your confessions, heāll just lean close, set his forehead against yours and close your eyes. maybe thatās why he chooses to slot against your back and wrap his arms around your waist, his head on your shoulder while you continue with your day. his words arenāt enough. even if he could speak what he feels to you, it wouldnāt be enough to convey what he truly means. it would never feel enough. he knows words can lie, and you must know that, too, being with a man like him.
a man so heavily guarded rendering himself vulnerable to you, only ever you, because he cannot find the words to speak his devotion to you. heās already complicated his own life enough.
there is something simple about touch.
sometimes, thatās all afton needs.
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