◎ + throat scar
it’s not often that he’ll let someone touch him. it’s not that he doesn’t like being touched ( he loves it ) but merely the fact that he FEARS it. touch has long since been a thing that he equates to pain, to fear, to hopelessness. ever since the moment cold steel pressed to his throat & then tore his life ASUNDER he has feared it. yet sometimes, sometimes he finds himself caring about another being enough that he craves their touch, at least enough that he doesn’t become DEFENSIVE if their fingers brush his skin.
he wasn’t exactly expecting to feel barty’s fingers on his throat, however. he jumps in surprise, a soft, strangled whimper escaping him. the fingers are warm, he knows that ( it’s common knowledge, after all ) but to him, they feel absolutely & utterly FRIGID. he tenses beneath the touch, each inhale coming more rapidly than the last did. & then slowly, or perhaps all at once, he calms. tilts his head back slightly as he leans closer to barty, viridian irises trained on the ceiling of their room. he even allows his lids to slowly slip CLOSED, showing the extent of his trust. as barty’s hand drops, fox leans forward once more, gaze trained on the book in his hands before he finally glances over his shoulder.
❛ it’s a sacrificial scar, in case you’re wondering. ❜
