A hug can be cruel, crushing and constricting in a way that makes a person feel dead. That was familiar, painful in a way that could almost comfort. It made sense. But it still hurt. He didn’t want to depend on cruelty, it was just all he had.

Once, a hug was warm. Larger arms wrapped around a small mutilated body. Scratchy yarn meant they were alive, pushing through the mental static and horrors that surrounded them. Curly hair that soaked up tears, brown eyes that soothed despite their fear of meeting them.
No words had to be said, their strained vocal chords didn’t need to try to explain, he understood.

Safe. Finally, even with all the dangers outside of the little bubble they made together.

It wasn’t her fault that it warped back into pain. She didn’t have any other choice. Warmth turned into heat that turned into blisters. All she had melted away.

Now, hugs were spindly and cautious. They still were laced with love and care but it wasn’t the same, it wouldn’t ever be the same. All comfort is fleeting.