Whoops: Touch-Starved

We are back with the Whoops project from FFM 2025! This story is a direct continuation to FFM 2025 30: Explanation(s).

And that’s not all! The first Full Collection of the project is out, featuring all the stories already written, this one included, and all the worldbuilding collected into a neat databank! The release was a massive pain to actually finish, as I found out the hard way upon checking the final result that Scrivener’s nested lists are quite broken and it took a long time to figure out the right search terms to get to the bottom of it and decide to work around the issue by making the lists manually. Then I slept on the release because I had a headache at the end of the mess, realized that my workaround might mess with accessibility things and noticed that editing the EPUB is actually very simple with Calibre’s e-book editor, so I reversed my workaround and fixed broken lists (that I noticed) post-compile.

Anyhow, now the compilation is out and I can once again focus on actually writing the story – I already have the next fic in progress, and that one might actually even go beyond the flash fiction wordcount limit! But for now, enjoy Touch-Starved!

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Steirdrar was not sure if he would go mad from something as simple as Agent Ket’s prolonged touch. Just a hand on his shoulder, a gentle grip. A method of communication — in this case, communicating reassurance.

He had not realized how narrow Agent Ket’s hands were; the armorplates covering their backs bulked them out just like the rest of the armorplates did for the rest of her body, and the length and number of her fingers fed into the illusion.

It was such a small touch, especially for his wide shoulder, yet it felt like it was almost too much, the longer exposure far more compared to the strong but ultimately brief pats to shoulders and back that Hisa’s crew liked to give him now that he was on their side.

And yet a part of Steirdrar wanted her to hug him even though that would most certainly kill him. If a few years ago a hug from his mother had made him feel like his heart was trying to literally burst out of his ribcage (and despite of that he had not wanted her to ever let go, both because he wanted the hug to never end and so that he would not have to go back to his duties where he had started to doubt the rightness of it all), a hug now would be certain to give him a heart attack (in the absence of the possibility of his heart literally bursting out of his body on its own).

He was not sure if his mother would hug him ever again even if they would reconcile his defection to the point where they would be on speaking terms again.

What did his family think of him now, if they were even thinking about him at all? Were Zeldron and Ialthia planning on telling Cetel about him at some point or would they pretend he was either dead or had never even existed? Had his parents hidden as many signs of his existence in their home as they could or did they all still remain as painful reminders of what they now likely viewed as the wayward son, the one who had thrown away his successful career to join the enemy side?

_{(A part of him dearly wished that Zeldron’s instincts as the older brother had gotten him to start asking questions about what had happened on Folga even though seeking out — let alone finding — the answers would be certain to put not just his wife and daughter but also their parents in danger.)}

…Thinking about things like that was not helpful, and, since he had been having a conversation with Agent Ket, it was rude of him to get lost in his head like this. “Sorry, I got lost in thought.”

“It’s fine,” Agent Ket told, her voice and expression just as gentle as her grip on his shoulder. “Feel free to take your time thinking. I’m not one to run out of patience quickly. Impatient hunters don’t last long, you know?”

Steirdrar nodded. “Thank you.”

“How are you feeling?”

It was such an innocent question, spoken in a tone of care, but Steirdrar could not help raising his guard at it. “I’m all right.”

Agent Ket hummed, her expression unchanged, but something about it told Steirdrar that she saw through him. And of course she did.

“You can sense my emotions. You know how I’m feeling,” Steirdrar retorted with a bit more heat than he had intended.

Agent Ket was unfazed by his defensive reaction. “Your emotions, yes, but not the context they are in or the interactions between them and the rest of your psyche. In this case, I have a hunch that you dismissed some thought a bit before you spoke up, but I have no idea what it was about, or even if my hunch is correct. The basic Mind-sense only tells me a part of the answer. The rest of it I can only find out by hearing it from you or digging into your mind.”

…That did make sense. “Apologies. I shouldn’t have assumed.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Agent Ket squeezed his shoulder ever-so-gently, startling a sharp gasp out of Steirdrar. “Too much?”

Steirdrar shook his head. “It feels good.”

Agent Ket nodded. “Glad to hear that.”

They wound up staying there in a companionable silence, Agent Ket now more interested in how Steirdrar responded to her touch than talking; at some point, she tried caressing his shoulder with her thumb. It was light enough for Steirdrar’s shirt to dull the feel of it yet strong enough to send his mind careening.

“Is this good?”

Steirdrar could only nod and conclude that there was no way he could survive a hug.

A part of him hoped, desperately even, that Agent Ket would be willing to do something like this again some other time.

Some time later, QWERTY returned from aers meeting with the other Mechs, looking satisfied. Agent Ket’s hand did not leave Steirdrar’s shoulder as the android summarized the meeting’s contents, never even as much as giving a notable glance at it.

How Steirdrar managed to pretend full sanity, he had no idea, especially once it was time for him to gather his jacket and head out, at which point Agent Ket finally let go of his shoulder. He immediately missed and craved that touch when it was no longer there despite it having been borderline too much.

While he managed to fall asleep with little trouble despite (or perhaps thanks to) the ghost of the touch on his shoulder, he had no idea that within the walls of the Afterglow, Agent Ket looked at her left hand, still tingling from the prolonged touch, and told QWERTY, “I’m so touch-starved it’s not even funny.”

QWERTY just rolled aers eyes. “Of course it’s not funny. It’s a result of you neglecting one of your base needs.”

Agent Ket just sighed. “I’ll be hugging a pillow if someone needs me.”

“Duly noted.”