Hands
“How are your hands so big?”
Twilight chuckled as Wild held his hand up beside his own. He wasn’t wrong; WIld’s hands were about two thirds the size of Twilight’s, but they had almost as many scars.
Sitting on the couch, sharing a blanket with a half-empty bowl of popcorn between them, the TV’s volume was much lower than it should be for the movie they were supposedly watching.
“How many burns do you have on yours?”
“Uhhh, one here–” pointed to the inside of his ring finger, “one here–” to the outside edge of his palm, “and one little bitty one here–” to just above his wrist.
“Catching the edge of a hot pan?” Twilight asked.
Wild giggled. “Frying bacon without a shirt on.”
“Shouldn’t that be gloves?”
“Psh! Details.”
They snickered together as Wild wiggled his fingers, turning his hand this way and that. Before Twilight could lower his, Wild put his palm against Twilight’s. The heat Twilight could feel made his stomach flip pleasantly.
“Big strong hands,” Wild said softly as he looked on in quiet contemplation.
Twilight swallowed. “I’ve seen the way you grip the handle of the cast iron skillet,” he said. “Your hands are just as strong.”
“Huh, I guess that’s true.” Rather than let go, Wild brought his fingers between Twilight’s, interlacing their hands together. “Now they’re even stronger,” Wild said with a bright smile.
Twilight felt the summerwings flare up. “Yeah. they really are.”
