cw: Cross x Reader, dog coded Cross, hurt/comfort, scars, it's about trust and hands, a bit of a whump story, platonic relationship.
note: this is a continuation of this part!
Cross disliked physical contact. It was uncomfortable not knowing the intentions of people who lightly touched him, whether with a friendly pat on the back or a polite hand gesture. To Cross, all of these were a potential punch in the stomach, a slap on the neck, or even a kick in the ribs. It was unpredictable; a hand that caressed him one moment could scratch him the next - a reminder that trusting anyone was risky.
However, something changed. Your hand changed. What was once immaculate, pristine from any wound that might be exposed to the world, was now marred by Cross's teeth. A horrible, ugly mark, an eternal scar of his rage. And yet, despite this hateful scar on your hand, you still reached out to him. You extended your fragile, wounded hand not as a reminder of what he had done, but as a pledge of trust—a pledge he vowed to honor.
Every time you reached out your hand, he accepted it; so delicately that it felt more like an approach than a touch. Occasionally, his fingers - phalanges as sharp as his canines - would scratch you gently, and then he would pull away. Your hands engaged in this timid yet reciprocal dance.
You didn't mind much; aware of Cross's distrust and social challenges, you didn't mind waiting for him, always allowing him to decide whether to grasp your hand or not, whether to draw near or retreat.
Like a traumatized dog, you knew these choices were the last vestiges of freedom Cross had over himself.
