lets meet in the middle (and wait) -- 4900 words

"How does one ask to be touched?" the Changeling asks, face pressed into the back of the couch behind its mother's shoulder.

Much to its own disconcertation, the Changeling has found itself unable to move on from the events that had transpired the last time Augustus had spent the night. The recollected sensations of the line of pressure where her body pressed up against its, the warm weight of her head atop its chest, the steady rhythm of her rib-cage expanding with breaths that matched its own. The thoughts circle and snag. Each time it succeeds in distracting itself for a time, the memory of it creeps back in again, until the Changeling blinks and realizes that the palm it has pressed against its chest is a pale and unsatisfying mimicry of the real thing.

It finds itself taken aback by the whole situation. The Changeling does not like to be touched — the Changeling has never liked to be touched — and yet it had permitted Augustus to lay on top of it for hours. And yet its brain continues to circle back to sniff at the remembered sensations curiously.

And yet, the other day it had hesitated leaving Augustus' car when she had driven it home after work. Had lingered in the open door, staring intently into the car's interior, until it had caught up with itself and realized all at once that it was searching for the words to ask for something that it could barely articulate. It had slammed the door, mortified, and stormed into its house before it could attempt to speak a word.

It had hoped to push it down and ignore it — the Changeling does not like to be touched. It has never conceived of what it would be like to desire touch, has no frame of reference for something of this nature.

And yet, the thoughts had persisted until Changeling had no choice but to concede its curiosity. The desire for something it has never desired before.

Hence, its question.

"Hmm," its mother hums thoughtfully. "Just like that, I'd say. Same as asking for anything else."

Changeling growls, muffled into the cushion. It had figured this much already; the advice alleviates approximately none of its uncertainty. This means it must not have asked the right question.

It scratches its claws through the bristling hair on the sides of its head, careful to avoid jostling the headband of its dog ears, as it struggles to trace the thread of this uncertainty to its source. It attempts to picture making this request, and Augustus granting it, and its brain interjects with the sensation of force against its palms, reminiscent of a panicked shove demanding space. The blotchy, flushed texture of Augustus' face the first time she had attempted to touch its ears, frantically apologetic.

"If one were to ask," it begins, the words coming like metaphorically pulled teeth, but if it wants to know, it must ask. "Only to change their mind? Would this not be, cruel?"

Like Lucy and Charlie Brown — holding out the metaphorical football in offering only to yank it back at the last second. Setting one up for failure. A mean trick.

"No," its mother replies. "If that were to happen, then you could say something like 'Sorry, I guess I'm not as up to it right now as I'd thought'. Or even just, 'Stop, I changed my mind,' would work well enough on its own."

Changeling readjusts its weight against the couch and resists the urge to tear into the fabric with its teeth. There is something tight and expectant sitting in the back of its throat that it cannot decipher.

Except that Augustus is not as adverse to touch as the Changeling is. It has observed this in the many ways she has returned hugs with others that the Changeling would balk at, the way she has reached out to it and caught herself before making contact, or last week, when she had not caught herself at all. The Changeling is barely discovering what it means to want to be touched at all. What if this want is purely theoretical? Wanting the idea more than its actuality? Will Augustus be disappointed?

Would Changeling?

(Something in its stomach sours. It hazards a guess that this might be the true quandary. The Changeling does want to want to be touched by Augustus — what will it do? If it reaches out to sate this desire only to be repulsed by it? It does not feel fair.)

"Darling, you don't have to overthink this," its mom says, interrupting its train of thought. It can feel the cushions shift as she twists in her seat, and resolutely does not look up to meet her gaze. "If you realize you need to change your mind, then that's okay. You can still try another time, if that's what you want. And if you don't want to try again at all, then you still learned something, and that's another step towards figuring it all out. It's never unacceptable to ask for more information. And if anyone was going to understand, it would be Augustus."

At this, Changeling shifts enough for its glare to become visible to her — eyebrows pulled low and furrowed in the middle, mouth curled downwards, its nose wrinkled. "I did not say I was talking about Augustus," it protests flatly.

The expression its mother makes in response to this turns her face into a series of unfamiliar planes; Changeling drops its own efforts at a facial expression and glances away. "Oh? Were you talking about someone else?" she asks, the pitch of her voice stretched past expecting an answer.

Changeling pushes itself up off the back of the couch and stalks off towards its room. Its mother laughs brightly, unrepentant.

"I have bible study in the morning!" she calls at its back. "Ten to one, okay?"

Changeling nods without turning back to face her, and closes its bedroom door behind it.

It shoves itself into the negligible space between its bed and side table and ponders its options. Despite her heel turn into teasing, its mother's advice had been sound. Augustus is not overly prone to defensiveness — even when Changeling lashes out from a place of kicked-dog instinct, she is slow to frustration and has always allowed it to apologize and explain. If the Changeling were to recoil, she would not take offense; it had known this even last week.

As for itself, it would feel a sense of disappointment if it should need to draw back. However, its mother's perspective had been salient in this too. If it had tolerated — even enjoyed — the contact it had shared with Augustus the week previous, then perhaps a subsequent recoiling would imply "not right now" rather than "never again". And should the latter be the case, then the Changeling does not necessarily have to abandon the desire altogether. After all, although it has never well-tolerated hugs from its mother, the two of them have negotiated other physical displays of affection to occupy that void together. Such an exploration with Augustus can only take place if the Changeling were to voice its desire to begin the process.

It sighs, shifting onto its belly to fish its phone out from somewhere underneath its bed. It decides to linger there, half-hidden by the bed frame, to sate the intolerable sense of vulnerability it feels creeping up on it. A wolf with its belly exposed — harder to be bitten if it seeks shelter. Its paws clumsy and tense as it taps through the squares in its AAC app, filling out the half-formed question perched in the back of its head in clumsy increments. When it taps open the "Other Verbs" folder, it finds itself briefly distracted by the sight of the awkward tangle of stick-figure limbs pointedly illustrating the "hug" square. Flustered, it pulls its legs up under the mattress as well, and hurriedly scrolls down to the W's instead.

'Would you want to watch Scream tomorrow?' it texts Augustus.

'Okay,' she texts back quickly, although she is at work, meaning it must not be very busy at the store today. 'I have to go grocery shopping, but if everything goes okay, I'm usually done at 10. what time did you want?'

Hesitantly, it copies the '10' out of her text to send back to her.

The doorbell the next morning rings at 10:12AM.

"You have a key," it informs Augustus tersely, annoyed despite itself as it opens the door for her.

"Well, I was gonna use it," Augustus says, plucking at the key in question where it rests against her thigh. Changeling squints against the motion of it and realizes she has stuck a wolf sticker to the top. "But I got nervous that I wasn't supposed to."

"You are," Changeling replies. "That is why we gave it to you. For it to be used by you. You have permission." It hesitates, and then holds out its paw, "Give it to me?"

Blinking, Augustus reaches down to unclip the key from her carabiner and holds it out. Changeling takes it, and then steps through the doorway, shutting and locking the door behind itself. It hands Augustus the key back, and steps around her to stand at her back.

"Hi?" she says, peering down over her shoulder at it, her head tilted like a confused puppy.

"Open it," Changeling instructs, pointing at the door.

"Oh," she mouths, looking down at the key again. Then she looks back up to smile at it. "Thanks, Changeling," Augustus says, and then finally reaches out to unlock the front door and walk through it.

"Good," the Changeling responds, before catching the full force of her beaming. It goes to put the DVD into the player before the almost-cramping in its stomach makes it do something foolish.

Its anxious ruminations had eased after it had reached a decision yesterday, and then intensified once again overnight as Changeling began turning over the quandary of how and what to ask. It is good to be clear and specific when setting expectations, to avoid uncertainty and ambiguity when making requests. It had dedicated a significant amount of time to solving this puzzle.

There is a script constructed on the back of its tongue, waiting to spill out. This eases some  nerves, but not others.

"How was the store?" it asks, stilted, to initiate this script as it busies itself with setting up the TV. It had decided this must be the precursor of its actual desired question last night. Augustus routinely does her own shopping, but it is a task she often struggles with. The fact that she was amenable to coming over to its house after making the trip is a positive sign, but does not inherently belie adequate resources for attempting something new. Therefore, if she indicates that shopping had been draining or gone poorly, then Changeling will refrain from asking its true question today, and will instead save it for a more optimal time.

"Mmm, it was good," Augustus replies, settling down in a corner of the couch with a low grunt. "It was quieter than it usually is, I think. There wasn't even a line at the front at all. So I got done quicker than normal. And I didn't forget anything."

The Changeling nods to itself. This is a good response — arguably the best it could have hoped for. Its stomach still clenches painfully as Augustus tapers off, now that the time has come to expose its belly once again. It chews restlessly at the collar of its shirt, and turns itself around all at once.

"I have been thinking," it says, nerves pulling its voice flatter than it already typically is, "about last Friday."

It stares fixedly at Augustus' shoulder as she turns its words over in her head. Belatedly, it recalls that it had constructed its script to be spoken while sitting next to her, and hurries over to its spot on the couch, catching its tail to thread through its fingers while it waits.

The moment it sits, however, Augustus draws back to sit on her hands. "Sorry!" she squeaks out, the curve of her cheek where Changeling's gaze has settled flushes a dark red. "I'm sorry. My brain wasn't working right, and I know you don't like to be touched, but I wasn't thinking. I'm really sorry. I tried to say so after work the other day, but maybe you were tired that day because I don't know if you heard me."

Changeling blinks, the abrupt deviation from its plan briefly knocking words from its head entirely. "That is not what I meant," it manages finally. It shakes its head, "Stupid. It was fine; as I told you, I would have pushed you off if I did not like it. I- that is," it stops, breathes out, attempts to realign itself to the script once again. "I am curious. It was not unpleasant, and I am curious to try it again."

Augustus' mouth hangs uncertainly. Changeling smooths fur beneath its fingers and observes her jaw tensing around the side of her tongue. "Um," she manages, swaying uncertainly. "Uh?"

"Touching," Changeling clarifies patiently, as Augustus' inability to articulate her thoughts could be contributed to a lack of understanding its intentions. "Specifically, you in my lap."

This was another puzzle the Changeling had pondered extensively before coming to a conclusion. So when Augustus' face twists, and she asks, "Wait, won't that be trapping you?" the answer comes promptly to Changeling's tongue.

"I liked your weight, considerably," it tells her, as the weight and pressure had been a significant snagging point in its brain lately. This is a fact, but the words feel heavy and awkward in its mouth, so the Changeling shifts its gaze off past her entirely in an effort to make them easier to speak. "But I did not want to lie down again. And it seemed optimal for avoiding skin contact," it adds.

The Changeling typically has a broad distaste for touch in a general sense, but Augustus has a particular distaste for skin-on-skin contact specifically. It remembers this from her distracted rambling during one of their previous movie nights. The notion of a smaller, less complete touch — such as hand-holding — had been dismissed by the Changeling as less than ideal rather quickly, despite the fact that it might be considered comparatively "easier" than full-body contact.

"Besides," Changeling adds, flicking its gaze back towards her face spasmodically, "I will not be trapped. I know you will move when I ask you to. That is not being trapped at all."

A thin, wavering noise tumbles out of Augustus' mouth. The Changeling tilts its head and attempts to decipher if this is a promising sound or not. "I-," Augustus starts, and then pauses again, rocking herself back and forward in her seat. "Now?" she asks, head jutting forward awkwardly.

Changeling nods and twines its tail over its palms in an attempt to be patient. It is important to avoid being rude or a source of pressure when making requests.

Her shoulder hitches up behind her jaw as she tilts her head, fingers postured as she considers the request. "I- Okay," Augustus says slowly, eyes blinking shut compulsively. Then, stronger, "Okay. I- Um. How-?" she shifts up onto her knees, wavering there uncertainly.

Quietly pleased, not only by the fact that she is amenable to trying, but also in the way she had not continued to ask if it was 'sure', the Changeling hurries to shove its tail out of the way. "Over me," it instructs, lifting a hand to steady her when Augustus nearly tips herself over in her effort to change positions. It keeps its fingers tucked in against its palm, and does not grab at her. Its other paw shifts to steady her leg as she swings it over its lap.

It is difficult to ignore the proximity of her face so close to its own. The Changeling keeps its eyes fixed on its thighs as Augustus cautiously settles her weight there, the movement delicate. The couch cushions on either side of it seem to bear more weight than its lap does; beneath its hand, Changeling can feel the muscles in her legs pulled taut — ready to spring up and away as soon as it says the word. It is a kind gesture, but one that leaves something to be desired in the contact itself.

Unthinking, Changeling hooks its fingers into the curve of her belt and pulls. It catches up to itself and lets go as soon as Augustus yelps softly and loses her balance, but the damage is already done — she falls the rest of the way into the Changeling's lap. They both freeze still.

Cautiously, the Changeling unfolds the surprised catch of its thoughts and focuses its awareness onto the points and planes where the two of them now touch. The heavy-warm weight of her body balanced on its lap, the bend of her knees pressed clumsily against the side of its hips, elbows braced against its shoulders. It steels itself for an encroaching sense of panic, but feels nothing of the sort.

It is not, strictly, unlike being under one of its weighted blankets, but it is different. The weight is denser — more concentrated, and intrinsically alive, despite how still Augustus is holding herself, which the Changeling tentatively determines it is not adverse to. It stares fixedly at Augustus' stomach, attempting to determine whether it should relax, and feels its mouth abruptly flood with saliva.

It holds its breath as it struggles to identify the source of this response, but although it does feel slightly flushed and overwhelmed, its chest does not feel painfully tight, its limbs have not involuntarily stiffened, and it is not baring its teeth. It cannot decide what, exactly, it is feeling, but surmises that it is likely not angry, panicking, nor overstimulated, and relaxes.

"Am I too heavy?" Augustus asks quietly. Some of her hair tumbles over her shoulder, and she catches it to push it back before it can brush against the Changeling's face. It flicks its gaze over the awkward hunch of her neck and shoulders — an attempt to make herself smaller that fails, as their respective positions inherently leave her looming above it. It does not mind. "Should I get off?"

"No," Changeling tells her. Its voice emerges slightly too quiet, and it shakes its head to emphasize the answer. It is not identical to the sensation of a weighted blanket, but it is pleasant in its own right. Behind the simple deep pressure, there is a more esoterically emotional aspect to the contact that heightens its significance, but the Changeling does not quite understand it yet.

"Can you-," the words stall, and Augustus — who had just cautiously begun to relax — goes still again. Changeling huffs in annoyance. "Stay," it reiterates. Then, "Against my chest?"

It lifts a paw to lay its palm beneath its collarbones, pressing itself back into the couch demonstrably. This is where the bulk of recollected sensations had seemed to settle; it is curious to see if satisfying it will reveal anything further. It is careful to speak this request, rather than pulling on her again — it had not quite meant to, earlier, and does not want to make a habit of it. Communication is vital, to ensure they are on the same page. The Changeling is aware that it can be pushy, but it is important this remain a non-literal quality, to avoid neglecting Augustus' comfort, especially when she seems quite preoccupied with the Changeling's.

"Oh, yes? I-," her voice catches, head twisting sharply to the side — once, twice, three times. "Sorry," she breathes, and Changeling shakes its head, attempting to make the gesture appear reassuring rather than impatient. Augustus hums out another uncertain, wavering noise — blinking rigidly — and then clumsily leans forward to rest her weight against the Changeling's chest.

The sensation slots into the place Changeling's brain has been restlessly gnawing at all week, and settles. The feeling of some undefined emotion intensifies, but remains a net positive. It is comfortable, it thinks, satisfied. Perhaps even more comfortable than it had been the week prior, having had the opportunity to prepare itself, rather than being caught off-guard.

Belatedly, it once again reminds itself that communication is key. "It is comfortable," Changeling states, allowing the remaining tension to bleed out of its spine now that the concern of sudden disgust or overstimulation no longer seems relevant. "Are you comfortable?" it asks, since Augustus has neglected to voice an opinion thus far.

"Sure," she says. 

The word jars uncomfortably against the Changeling's throat. Augustus always tells the Changeling "yes" when they speak; "sure" is a word she uses with other people, when she is not very comfortable in her ability to answer exactly. A tight, cold tension sinks between the Changeling's lungs — perhaps it was meant to engage in a longer dialogue before they moved onto initiating contact. Perhaps it was pushier than it had meant to be. Perhaps something is wrong and it had not noticed. It squirms to attempt to look Augustus in the face; her gaze shifts to look over its head, but she should still be able to see it in her peripherals, so that is fine.

"You should be comfortable too," it tells her, firm, and then catches up to the words in its brain and clarifies. "It is only good if we are both comfortable. If you are not enjoying it as well, then we should not continue. I, I-," it flusters, and then pushes through its instinctive discomfort — Augustus will not mock it, so there is no reason to hesitate. "I want for you to be comfortable as well. Together. Are you comfortable?"

Augustus' face scrunches up around a blink, and then she slumps to press her face into the back of the couch. Changeling feels an odd tremor run through her body and has just enough to be baffled and alarmed by it in turn before she lets out a pressured, groaning noise from deep in her chest. "Yes," she sighs out, her body relaxing into the Changeling's all at once. "Yes, I - it is very nice. You are very warm. And comfy. But, I'm, I am overwhelmed; it is a big change. I do not want you to feel pressured."

"Neither of us should be pressured," Changeling agrees, careful not to move, just in case. "I am the one who initiated the contact. When I asked, you got up," it says, referring to the other night. "When you ask, we will get up. It is good to be on the same page."

"The same page," she echoes. "Yes. Okay. I- Okay. If you are comfortable, then I'm — me too. It is very nice. I like-, um," she cuts herself off. The Changeling can feel her the tic of her neck shiver through both of their bodies, which feels strange, but not terrible. "I have a question," she states, muffled.

"Okay," Changeling replies, and then carefully tilts its head to rest against hers, reassured that she is at least not uncomfortable. It can feel the edge of its headband press against the shell of her ear, but she does not protest it, so it stays put, even though its dog ears have shifted slightly out of place.

"I," she starts, then stops. It is interesting to feel her attempt to shake herself, only to halt when she remembers that the Changeling is currently sat underneath her. One of her hands tangles itself into the fabric of its shirt instead, and pulls; Changeling feels its face twitch at the sensation, but ultimately decides it does not mind. "I want to hold your paw," she blurts out all at once, words slurring into one another, and then turns her head away, as if flustered, despite the fact that the Changeling already cannot see her.

Well, it had dismissed the idea itself, but if Augustus is curious, the Changeling will not deny her the opportunity. "Okay," it says, reaching up to offer its paw. It nudges her shoulder when she fails to notice it with her face still hidden.

The moment their hands touch, however, she recoils. "Ugh," she grunts, a shudder pushing down her spine at the sensation. "Wait," she whines, a distinct pitched edge to her words, when the Changeling attempts to pull back further to remove itself from her space. "Wait. I want to." She fumbles to pull her sleeve down over her hand, clumsy with impatience, and the Changeling moves to do the same — using the front panel of her overshirt since it does not have long sleeves of its own.

They reach out again, and the fabric seems to help. The sensation of their bare palms meeting had been unpleasant for the Changeling as well — sticky and over-warm, buzzing unpleasantly through the nerves. It is reduced to a more pleasant pressure with the barrier in place between their skin.

"Yes. That is a lot better. Is it, um?" Augustus says, keeping her hands very still where it is wrapped around the Changeling's.

It stares at their joined hands and explores the sensation and its corresponding internal responses. It is pleasant — more so than it had presumed it would be the night before. It nods.

"I have been setting aside money," it says into the space between their bodies, "for handpaws. They are expensive, but visually appealing." It squeezes her hand, feeling her fingers twitch at the pressure. "This would make for a compelling additional use for them."

Augustus squeezes its hand back, the corners of her mouth twitching. "I like fur," she says, and then flushes and hides her face in the back couch cushion once again. "This is really nice," she mumbles against the fabric.

It is nice. The Changeling settles their joined hands into the meager space between their stomachs, and tilts its head to hook its jaw over her shoulder. The movie had started to play at some point, it notes disinterestedly — staring at the screen without truly processing any of the visuals. The Changeling continues to ignore them in favor of pondering the sensations it is busy experiencing.

Warm and weighed down, mostly, which it is finding it has quite an affinity for. One of its legs teeters on the cusp of losing circulation, and it can feel its palms beginning to sweat against the flannel of Augustus' shirt, but none of these sensations have begun to tip the scales towards Upset. It can linger here in this space longer, it decides; this is convenient, as it had not felt inclined to move any time soon. Augustus seems to finally grasp the idea that Changeling is not about to demand she go away with no warning, and finally relaxes the tension built up in her spine, curling herself in closer against its chest.

Big, it decides abruptly. The additional emotional edge supplementing the physical sensations is an intrinsic feeling of Bigness.

This paradox annoys Changeling as soon as it names it. This is not a situation in which it makes sense for it to feel "big". Not when Augustus is larger than it in every sense of the word — fat where the Changeling is lean, tall where Changeling is short — and when her position in its lap serves only to emphasize this disparity. Even tucked down against itself as she is, she looms.

Still, its conviction in this determination remains stalwart. Despite the apparent lack of logic, the Changeling feels big like this. Like the wolf guarding the mouth of the den, protective and important, tilting its head into the deferential gestures of its pack members.

It thinks of Augustus' tongue against the line of its jaw, and flushes.

"Do you think you want to do this again on other days?" Augustus half-whispers, and the Changeling flinches sharply at the sound — the way it grates agonizingly down its spin. They both go still as the Changeling attempts to process the disruption.

"I do not like the sound of whispering," it says, once it has determined what has occurred. It tightens its grip on Augustus' hand so she will not let go, and shakes the remnant buzzing out of its shoulders so that it can relax again.

"Okay," Augustus replies, the texture and volume of her voice returning to normal. "I'm not very good at it anyway. I'll remember."

"Okay," it echoes. Then, "Yes, I believe I would be open to exploring this further. Although, likely not everyday."

It is good to be clear when setting expectations.

Augustus nods. "Yeah," she says, tentatively shifting her weight before relaxing once again, her cheek rubbing gently against the texture of Changeling's shirt. "Yes. It is really nice, though. I like being close to you."

"Thank you," it tells her, and its words dry up before it is able to elaborate. 'For wanting to try, for being honest, for liking me, for being you.' It cannot quite articulate any of these, but it feels them. Their proximity feels comfortable and overwhelming all at once — Augustus sighs contentedly against its shoulder, and its words scamper off out of sight. Changeling tucks its face into the space between Augustus' collarbone and shoulder, and closes its eyes.

Behind them, the movie plays on — forgotten.