Work Text:
Before, Cal had always been around people who understood why he sometimes shied away from touch. The lingering traces of a person’s experiences didn’t just rest on objects, but on people, too, and some days that was too much for him to deal with. All Cal had to do was say that he was psychometric, and any Jedi understood. It had been easy enough to explain to the clone troopers, too.
It was different now. He couldn’t tell anyone he was psychometric; no one on Bracca knew what that meant, and it would be worse for Cal if they did.
But being a scrapper meant he could manage. It was better, after all, to wear gloves and protect your skin when out there scavenging for scrap and salvage. No sense risking more than you had to, out there. Medkits weren’t cheap, and even small cuts could get infected.
And if even in the after-hours, when they would shed their gear, Cal would sometimes avoid contact, well…he’d learned to be unobtrusive about it. Some days were better than others.
Prauf noticed when Cal had bad days, of course. But he didn’t ask questions, and he gave him space.
Cal managed.