"Then you will leave. There is nothing here. You won't stay for long, will you?"

It didn't amuse him then: the catty way she tried to degrade his love for her each time he streched to show it. The trimmings of her voice were so mistrusting. He slowed his breath.

"Think again."

&&&&

He murmured quietly and she did not catch it.

Possibly, she thought– thought startled– that he told her to...'think'? She wasn't sure. After everything how could she be sure?

It dangled...then...

His hand rested before him, partly blocking his face from her view. She minded that, but did not say so. She snuffed at "those gestures of his!" that hid any part of himself... yet the deeper they went, the more 'guilt' crunched at her gut: for she masked herself so much more.

But he accepted it–truly. This...this fact that:

He didn't rush.

He didn't scold...as they entered their relationship; as she was nervous about herself. Steadily–so, so steadily:

He let her unveil.

But why? She mused alone, sharp-eyed. What does he get from this? My body? My kiss? A taste of 'perfect'?

But she wasn't perfect...and the ever-slipping mask revealed that.

Oh–

His hand hid himself! Why did it hide himself? Why did he let it hide himself like that? Of course, resting luxuriously beside her, he probably felt he needn't worry about such things...like annoying her with his positions! No, no– it didn't annoy her: she knew his face by heart. What did it matter if he used a bodily item to block his face–the face she loved?

"Move your hand."

"Move it for me."

&&&&

He couldn't hide the smirk. The way her face bloomed with frustration made him want to laugh, but he gulped it down and repeated his words:

"Move it for me."

Since crashing into love and transforming it, molding it into bliss and anger and hopeless human lust: life had altered into a dream. Bluntly: a dream slash nightmare, but the nightmare was more...more forgetting the "simple touches"–on his part. He did that so she could help ground herself in their love as necessary. He didn't want to rush her... not after all the fuss from others.

Now that he had liked her and confessed to wanting love; now that she had liked him and admitted to wanting "more" he wanted it to flow properly. They had not ventured too far pass the line ("I don't want to ruin it," he would muttered alone) but the beautiful things: the simplistic 'holding hands'...he wanted to try that– granted, he wanted that with her when they were alone, when it twas themselves.

It didn't have to extremely sexual right away, as she often thought he wanted (no matter how many times he told her "not so, don't think that"). A gentle touch...that's what mattered.

Quietly, still looking frustrated and clumsy, she slid a nail over the back of his hand in soft manner. Growing bolder, she carefully lifted his palm– and to his disappointment, held it only for a moment before placing it on her cheek.

"I'll try harder," was all she would say. "I'm a perfectionist, after all."

With a sigh– and a sweeping motion– he took her hand in his. She blushed uneasily, as though this 'hand holding' was much too complicated for her sanity.

"This." Would she be comfortable enough to understand soon? He held her back slightly as she leaned to kiss him; instead, holding her tenderly against his chest.

Their hands were together, pulsing with the same thing: blood, and love for eachother. He knew, gradually, she would nail it.

But even so...even if our love is...I wish you'd see...soon...

"It's nice..."

"It is."

I love our awkward hands.

&&&&

I hope everyone is still enjoying Holding Hands. Which pair do you think these recent chapters could be implying? (Smile). I've uploaded a couple of chapters in one day a bit fast. I do hope they prove pleasureable to you. Have a great day everyone!