Chapter Text
Reaching for someone’s arm or hand had a calming effect on him. He was able to feel their warmth, feel that they were there. And being allowed to grab onto them whenever his anxiety spiked was just another way of saying that he was finally safe . No more Cambridge scientists poking and prodding, pushing his limits and touching him without consent. No more long nights alone in his sarcophagus, trapped. These others, his family , didn’t do any of that. They didn’t snap at him when he messed up or disagreed with them, and they let him use them as an anchor.
It happened most often with Larry. When he opted for walking around the museum with the older man, sometimes he’d feel his chest start to tighten. Either someone screamed, or something fell and shattered or just simply dropped. Sometimes watching the other exhibit’s roughhousing was just too close, too familiar to being grabbed and forced into things he didn’t want. In those instances, he’d reach for Larry, grabbing onto his arm or slipping his fingers into his hand. The first time it had happened–he’d felt the panic and gone to hold onto Larry–he’d stopped himself.
His hands had moved on their own accord, and he flinched as he quickly brought them back once he realized what he’d done, cowering slightly, instinctively, as he glanced up at the nightguard, expecting disgust or anger at his childishness. But all he saw was gentle concern.
“Ahk? Bud, you okay?” Larry’s voice was gentle, glancing down the hall to where the yelling had originated, before looking back at the young pharaoh.
Ahkmenrah licked his lips, tentatively relaxing as he reminded himself that this wasn’t Cambridge, that Larry wasn’t going to punish him. Larry cared. He nodded, though it must not have been very convincing, as Larry’s brow remained furrowed and his apparent concern didn’t go away. The nightguard reached for him, before freezing when the pharaoh tensed.
“Ahk? Can I touch you?” Ahkmenrah surprised himself with how quickly he nodded, immediately relaxing against the older man when Larry rested an arm across his—shaking?—shoulders. He focused his attention on the warm contact, evening his breathing to match Larry’s, steady against his side; feeling his heart rate slowly ease to something more natural.
Larry was quiet for a long moment, allowing the young king to gather himself, before speaking gently, if hesitantly. “Ahk, does contact or touch help sometimes when you’re feeling anxious?”
He felt heat rise to his cheeks, the floor becoming immensely interesting as he remained tucked into Larry’s side. He internally argued with himself about whether or not to be truthful, but Larry was safe, right? He could be trusted with the truth. Larry wouldn’t purposefully hurt him, wouldn’t take his vulnerability and use it to his own advantage. Or at least, Ahkmenrah sincerely hoped he wouldn’t, because he liked Larry. He finally felt at ease in his presence, after so long, and it was an addictive feeling. A feeling of security.
As such, he found himself slowly nodding. “Sometimes, yes.” Then, because Larry deserved the whole truth after all he’s done for him, he continued, “It’s nice to be able to feel someone there who’s safe. At Cambridge the scientists didn’t really care about how I felt, they just wanted to use me. Then in the sarcophagus…it was hard not having any human contact for that long. At least when I was at Cambridge, people would talk to me.”
Larry was sure he could feel his heart physically shatter at the teenager’s words, and was unable to stop himself from pulling Ahkmenrah just a little closer. Feeling the young king press into him, head coming to rest lightly on his shoulder for a brief moment, he murmured, “Well you’re welcome to reach for me whenever you want to if it’ll help. Okay?”
Ahkmenrah couldn’t hide the surprise and gratitude that flashed across his face, simply giving a wordless nod. Larry returned it, and after a moment they continued down the corridor, Larry’s arm still slung over his shoulders, to see what catastrophe the exhibits had produced.
After that, Ahk found himself reaching for Larry’s arm whenever he felt fear grip him and the night guard was within reach. At first he did it tentatively, shyly grabbing onto Larry when it felt like the museum walls were closing in, vision tunneling as he struggled to breath. When others were around, he forced himself to keep his distance, digging his nails into his palms or, if needed, making a hasty getaway to calm down. Over time, however, he got more comfortable with reaching for the guard, and began to do it even when he simply wanted human touch, craving it after 54 years locked up. He was still careful how and when he did it, though, staying as discreet as possible. Just because he had the body of a teen, didn’t mean he wanted the other exhibits treating him like nothing more than a kid. And Larry, thankfully, never brought attention to it.
If Ahk’s hand wound into his, he’d squeeze gently, hoping to reassure the young king. He got used to feeling the teen’s hands reach out to grab his arm, the pharaoh swaying slightly towards his warmth. Larry was both shocked and honored that Ahkmenrah trusted him so much, and vowed to never violate that trust.