He was not used to casual contact.
Not that he was against displays of emotion. No, he was all for them, considering that he had only recently realized that he actually did have emotions.
But it aggravated him when that display was prolonged.
There it was, the collection of skin, muscle and bone that was bothering him so. It was just there, for no real reason.
And it had his hand captive. He was trying to eat his sandwich, which was proving to be beyond annoying with one hand.
Besides, it wasn't like the gesture really meant anything anyway.
He opened his mouth to voice his discomfort, and ended up deciding it would be better to just bite his sandwich. And he did so, mostly to avoid looking like an idiot for opening his mouth for no reason.
Hand shakes, now those made sense. They were a display of trust, of good will. They were a show of hand strength in some instances. While you were shaking hands, you couldn't draw your sword and run your enemy through.
But he didn't have a sword. And the owner of the offending limb was most certainly not his enemy.
Yet there it was, keeping him from eating in peace. He sighed gently, enjoying his view from the hospital stairs. The view was about all he was enjoying however—he was having far too much trouble with his sandwich to be enjoying his lunch.
Touching someone with your hand could also mean something. A slap or punch for anger, a gentle touch to comfort. So long as such gestures were quick and rare, they preserved meaning.
But this wasn't quick, and he could tell it wasn't going to be rare.
He flexed his fingers slightly, making sure there was blood flow, and opened his mouth again.
And then he sighed once more, biting off another piece of sandwich.
The captive state of his hand could also be a sign of possessiveness. The limb showed that he had been dominated, defeated. It showed that he was practically on a leash.
He opened his mouth one more time, and finally spoke. "Cameron?"
She turned to face him, smiling. "Yes, Greg?"
"Your hand..."
"What about it?"
And then he smiled. So what if she owned him? This was the woman he loved, the woman he would—cliché as it seemed—protect with his life. So he just threaded his fingers through hers and tried not to laugh. "...Never mind, love."
She smiled once more and kissed him before returning her attention to the people passing below.
Yes, he wasn't comfortable with casual contact. And yes, this could well be a sign of ownership. But so long as she was the owner...
His smile grew, and he took a bite out of his sandwich.
...so long as she was the owner, he might just get used to holding hands.
Again, I had to do it. Hope you enjoyed!!!
Oh, just to say—I'm now accepting prompts for chapters. The chapter's title is the title of its prompt. So if you're dropping a review, feel free to suggest one.
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