"I- hold on... I can't..." His face was bright red, blue eyes wide as he looked away. He was terrible with intimacy. He'd tried, the two of you had worked on it for literal weeks. He should be better by now. But he was still afraid. Whether he was scared of his own strength or of you seeing his scars and running away, or one of the millions of other worse-case scenarios running through his head, he didn't know.

All you had done was place your hand on his chest when he'd kissed you. He felt like an idiot, like he was overreacting. he desperately wanted to go further with you. He wanted to bare his soul and trust you fully, but he couldn't do that when he didn't even trust himself. This body was different than the one he remembered. His height, his bulk, his strength was almost foreign to him. And he still forgot himself every once in a while, accidentally gripping too hard or knocking his head into things he used to fit under. The last thing he wanted was to forget himself with you and hurt you.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "Just... can I have a second? I didn't mean..." He took a breath, closing his eyes and trying to calm his racing heart. It was just your hand. It was fine. He was fine.

"We... I want us to... I just- I think I might need, like... exposure therapy? Or something?" he mumbled, fidgeting with his hands as he stared at the wall. Jesus Christ, he hoped you didn't think he was as much of a fuck-up as he thought he was right now.

"I don't know..." He sighed, looking down at his hand in his lap. "Touching my hands is fine, my arms too. But I don't think... I'm not ready yet for..." He gestured vaguely to his torso, "here."