Enjin never really thought about hands before.
To him hands were practical things. Burned knuckles. Scraped palms. Fingers stained black from grease and dust. In the pit soft hands didn’t survive long anyway. Which was exactly why yours caught him so off guard.
The two of you were sitting in the workshop after a long day, shoulder to shoulder on the floor beside a half-disassembled radios and tvs. Everyone else had already wandered off for dinner, leaving the two of you alone.
Enjin reached for the wrench beside you at the exact same moment you did. His fingers brushed yours. Your skin was warm and smooth and so soft.
He blinked once, staring down at your joined hands like he’d touched something dangerous.
You pulled back first. “Sorry.”
“No,” he mumbled roughly. “It’s fine.” but he kept looking at your hand.
You tilted your head. “What?”
Enjin rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly before speaking, “Your hands are really soft.”
Your eyes widened slightly, and Enjin immediately regretted speaking, because now you were looking at him like that. That cute little stare that always made his chest feel too tight.
“Yeah.” he cleared his throat and looked away fast. “Weirdly soft.”
“You know what I mean.” he groaned under his breath. “Not weird bad.”
A smile tugged at your lips. Enjin however suddenly became very interested in that one radio that was beyond saving.
“You just…” he struggled for the words. “You don’t feel like this place.”
You looked down at your hands for a moment before softly asking, “Is that a bad thing?”
You looked back up at him, and there was something dangerously fond in your expression now. So you teased him a little, “No?”
“But you’re complimenting me.”
“You literally called my hands soft.”
You laughed brightly and he looked at you. His heartbeat kicked at that sound. It always did, especially when he was the reason for it. But what he wanted now wasn’t to listen to your laughter, he wanted to touch your hand again. Just to see if it’d be that soft the second time too.
Will you let him, please?
