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Reaper sharply inhales, jolting as he looks for Error, expecting pain or agony but not finding it. Instead, he is met with a mildly irritated (which is pleasant for Error) and confused glare. “What?”
“… You touched me.” He softly breathes out, his head spinning. Again and again, like a carousel, he replays the sensation of that touch. The lightest warm between their knuckles. He doesn’t realize he’s stopped moving, because it feels as if the world is rushing past him. The night is dark, only barely illuminated by the street lamps dotting the path through the park. Over them, only the moon is witness to Reaper’s relief.
“… Did I?”
He feels a slight uncertainty at Error’s absent response. Did he really? But he knew he felt it. It wasn’t like the time Error’s sleeve brushed his fingers or like when his scarf ghosted over his chest. He knows this, knew for certain, with startling and growing clarity- it was him. It was that slightest warmth, the strange numb sensation that was Error’s presence. It was everything. They had touched, and Reaper- he needed to do it again.
Slowly, he reaches out his palm, face up, to the other man. It reflects the warm lamp of the street lights around them. Error stares at him with a furrowed brow, his shoulders drawn up slightly. The unsaid offer is clear.
“Please,” and Error’s eyes widen as Reaper fights not to take a step forward. To chase him down and grab him and never let go. His voice is small, contrary to his need. “Give it a chance?”
Mismatched eyes flickers between his slightly shaking fingers and his expression. His brows lower, his mouth stretching into that usual scowl, Reaper braces for rejection-
Warmth. Not warmth, but something scalding hot. Alive, thrumming with life, brimming and sparking and numbing his fingers it was so alive. Screaming and yelling from every height that it was alive, defiant and angry and purposeful, destructive and so, so alive.
He closes his fingers slowly around Error’s hand. His other hesitantly comes up with it. Error warns it off, and it falls back limply to his side.
“Thank you.” He sighs.
Error grumbles, visibly grimacing as his arm jitters with white squares and glitches. “Shut up.”