His hands did it all.
His hands were the ones that grabbed onto his mother's fingers, when he first opened his eyes. He had a firm grip. He never wanted to let go. He always had trouble with that.
His hands were the ones that threw flames at the grass in his backyard, as he ran around with his father.
His hands were the ones that would always wrestle with him as he fell back onto the dirt, as his mother rubbed the bump over her belly.
His hands were the ones that pinched his emerald eyed younger brother's cheeks as they celebrated his first birthday.
His hands were the ones that held his father's hand, as they walked through the street, on a cool summer evening. His hands were the ones that grabbed his brother's as his father told him to run.
His hands were the ones that held his scarf to his heart, as he watched his parents be buried in the city's cemetery.
His hands were the ones that hugged his brother, and wiped his tears as they sat in the old alley way next to the market.
His hands were the ones that needed to have gloves, in order to protect them from the cuts and burns he got from defending himself and the younger green-eyed boy from gangs.
His hands were the ones he slapped himself with whenever his brother got into trouble.
His hands were the ones that shook the ones of the triple threats, as they were finally given a roof over their heads.
His hands were the ones that rubbed his fingers against the pure yuans they got for them.
His hands were the ones that patted his brother's back, as they entered the pro bending gym, and bended their hearts out.
His hands were the ones that knocked players back off the edge of the ring every friday night, under the lights of the arena.
His hands were the ones that hugged his brother every time they won a match. He felt like he was worth something during those moments.
His hands were the ones that strapped on his gear, as the girl with mocha skin, and eyes that were bluer than the sky, walked in and greeted them both. He ignored her though. He thought she was just another one of those weird girls that was obsessed with his brother.
His hands were the ones that took off his helmet, and gazed at the girl back in the player's box.
His hands were the ones that crossed in his arms, as he watched his brother show off his earth bending to her.
His hands were the ones that ran through his hair, as he searched for his brother throughout the arena.
His hands were the ones that held onto the saddle of the girl's polar bear dog. Fighting the urge to grab onto her.
His hands were the ones that lost feeling, as he was hit by chi-blockers.
His hands were the ones that held his scarf to his face, as he told his story, to the girl, under the cherry tree in the park.
His hands were the ones that put the flyers together, that lead to where his brother had been taken.
His hands were the ones that wrapped his father's scarf around her neck, to keep her face, and herself safe, as it did for him, all his years on the streets.
His hands were the ones that grabbed his brother as they ran out the rally, and right into a fight with the lieutenant.
His hands were the ones that scratched his head, before he peered up, and saw an angel before his eyes.
His hands were the ones he coughed into, as he stuttered to talk to her.
His hands were the ones that sprang into the air, as he told his brother what she was willing to do for them.
His hands were the ones that held the girl with black curls hands, as they rode in a carriage through the very park he was in with the avatar.
His hands were the ones that held his stomach as he laughed in practice with his teammate who threw water his way.
His hands were the ones that hugged his team as they won their first match of the tournament.
His hands were the ones that didn't hold hers, when she confessed to having feelings for him.
His hands were the one's that held the Sato heiress's waist, as she left with his brother, and her on his mind.
His hands were the ones that he fisted in the air, as he took his anger out on her, right before the match.
His hands were the ones that shook right before he went to talk to her.
His hands were the ones that slowly wrapped around her, as she brushed her lips against his.
His hands were the ones that had his fingers pointing at her, as his brother saw them exchanging their kiss.
His hands were the ones that carried his brother over his shoulder, back from the noodle place.
His hands were the ones that went into the air, as he cheered for it was her who made sure they didn't lose everything they has that night.
It was his hands that ached to the bone in practice, before the championship.
His hands were the ones that threw fire at the wolf bats, as he ran in front of her, to save her from the blow of fire and earth.
His hands were the ones that fought til the last buzzer of the match
His hands were the ones that were tied to a pole, as the placed he called home, had glass falling into the water.
His hands were the ones that were ready to catch her, as she fell from the glass of the arena.
His hands were the ones that embraced her, as she came back to the stands, alive, and breathing. For which he wished he didn't take for granted.
His hands were the ones that packed his things as he moved to the mansion, where what he thought always wanted, was waiting for him.
His hands were the ones that played with his brother again, for what seemed like forever, and cheered as the two girls in his life raced around the track.
His hands were the ones that held the pale skinned girl to his side, as the avatar, filled his thoughts.
His hands were the ones that gestured frustration at her, as she accused her father of working with the enemy.
His hands were the ones that held her on his shoulders, once he saw her lifeless on the cold floor of the factory.
His hands were the ones that embraced the girl, who lost everything she had, and cried into his chest.
His hands were the ones that fought equalists in the streets, as he and his friends out did the councilmen's task force.
His hands were the ones that were cuffed, as he was arrested for fighting for other's freedom. He had let his brother, his girlfriend, but most importantly, he let her down.
His hands were the ones the grabbed equalizes by the collar, and held flames to their faces, as he demanded to know where she was taken.
His hands were the ones that cradled her against him in the cold night, as she gazed up at him with a smile.
His hands were the ones that brushed her hair out of her face, and assured her she was safe, as she leaned into his touch.
His hands were the ones that held her hands, as she slept peacefully under his watch.
His hands were the ones that wrapped around her, as she saw the island taken over by the enemy.
His hands were the ones that fought with her, as the masked man followed them.
His hands were the ones that he couldn't control, and reached for her, as he watched her bending get taken away, and was forced to watch.
His hands were the ones that conducted lightning, at the man, he would hate forever.
His hands were the ones that picked her tired self up, and ran with her.
His hands were the ones, that were forced to his sides, as he was bloodbent again.
His hands were the ones that embraced her, when he disappeared forever.
His hands were the ones he folded together as he waited to hear from her that she got her bending back.
His hands were the ones that grabbed her shoulder, urging her to hear what he had to say.
His hands were the ones that cupped her cheek as he told her loved her.
His hands were the ones that stayed at his sides as she ran away from him.
His hands were the ones that opened up to her, as she ran to him, after getting her bending back.
His hands were the ones that caught her, and spun her around in his arms like a child, and nuzzled his cheek into hers.
His hands were the ones that wrapped tightly around her waist, as he kissed the lips he could never live without.
His hands were the ones that held her's constantly, no matter where they went.
His hands were the ones he missed, after he yelled at her, and she ran out of the room.
His hands were the ones that held the Sato heiress again, just so he had something to hold on to.
His hands were the ones that grabbed her again, when she returned, and didn't remember the fight.
His hands were the ones he wrapped around her, for what seemed like forever.
His hands were the ones that carried her off the battlefield.
His hands were the ones that wrapped tightly around her, when she came back down to the ground.
His hands were the ones that grabbed hers, when they lied to each other, saying they didn't work.
His hands were the ones that let her slip out of his grasp, because he thought it was best.
His hands were the ones that he wished could her again for the rest of his life, and beyond that.
His hands were the ones that cupped her face and kissed every inch of it, telling her his devotion. And how he was nothing without her.
His hands were the ones that tied the betrothal necklace around her, and kissed her where the knot was.
His hands were the ones that carried her to his bed on their wedding night, and held her as he made love to her.
His hands were the ones that held and kissed hers as she was in labor.
His hands were the ones that held his twin boys, while she held his daughter's hand, and walked her to train with her instructor.
His hands were the ones that danced with her on their twentieth wedding anniversary, and kissed her whenever he had the chance.
His hands were the ones that buried his brother next to his parents, and joked how it wasn't fair that he got to see him before he did.
His hands were the ones that ached from the scars he had.
His hands were the ones that held her while he laid in his bed in the hospital.
His hands were the ones she kissed before he took his last breath.
His hands did it all.