[ben startles. he hates being touched, hates it even more when it's done by someone he dislikes. it's too intimate, the mere brushing of fingers. then, there's liquid. his brows furrow as he glances down and -- blood -- it makes him wince.
swiftly, his hands retreat up and he pivots his right foot behind him to brace himself before he shoves cesare, palms on his chest so fast and so hard that he's glad he braced himself (he would have stumbled back a bit if he hadn't).]
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swiftly, his hands retreat up and he pivots his right foot behind him to brace himself before he shoves cesare, palms on his chest so fast and so hard that he's glad he braced himself (he would have stumbled back a bit if he hadn't).]
Don't touch me.