Jonas Brothers: Hands
Title: Hands
Rating: G
Summary: It's during the most mundane of tasks when you realize what's most important. Jovin. Written in second-person.
Thanks hotfruits for the beta job!
You’re standing side-by-side in front of the sink when you realize it.
Joe’s handing you a bowl to dry, but you’re not looking at it. You’re looking at his hands; the hands that are soft from tambourine-shaking and hair styling. The groves in his knuckles, the freckle that is almost dead center on the back of his hand, the state of his fingernails (always a better clue to his mood than his words).
He tilts his head slightly to the left and looks at you curiously.
“What?”
You look away from his hands and up to his eyes.
If his hands illustrate his story, his eyes are narrating.
Oh, those eyes, those eyes that tell you everything you’ve ever needed to know, right at the moment you need to know it the most.
“Kevin?”
“I love you.”
And the way you say it, you’re sure he can’t possibly take it any way other than how you mean and god, do you mean it. Because how can you not? With his hands and his eyes and the smile that tells you he understands, that he gets it.
He bumps he shoulder against yours and nothing changes.
“I love you too,” he smiles and everything does.
His perfect fingers slip over yours and rest on your calloused fingertips.
Rating: G
Summary: It's during the most mundane of tasks when you realize what's most important. Jovin. Written in second-person.
Thanks hotfruits for the beta job!
You’re standing side-by-side in front of the sink when you realize it.
Joe’s handing you a bowl to dry, but you’re not looking at it. You’re looking at his hands; the hands that are soft from tambourine-shaking and hair styling. The groves in his knuckles, the freckle that is almost dead center on the back of his hand, the state of his fingernails (always a better clue to his mood than his words).
He tilts his head slightly to the left and looks at you curiously.
“What?”
You look away from his hands and up to his eyes.
If his hands illustrate his story, his eyes are narrating.
Oh, those eyes, those eyes that tell you everything you’ve ever needed to know, right at the moment you need to know it the most.
“Kevin?”
“I love you.”
And the way you say it, you’re sure he can’t possibly take it any way other than how you mean and god, do you mean it. Because how can you not? With his hands and his eyes and the smile that tells you he understands, that he gets it.
He bumps he shoulder against yours and nothing changes.
“I love you too,” he smiles and everything does.
His perfect fingers slip over yours and rest on your calloused fingertips.