Flawless

The other could tell his fingers hurt. They were nearing the point of raw and bloody as they moved up the fretboard. He wasn’t a professional, not by far, but from what the other saw of his determination and how his fingers flew across the strings, he would be.

His middle finger pressed forcefully down on the A-string to finish the chord and that’s when the skin split. The other could see the red start to bead but he kept on playing. The muscles in his hand seemed to strain as they kept on. Three hours of practice had worn them out, but the man knew it was all worth it. His green eyed companion just watched as he kept going. Not a wince in sight; he’d split his fingers enough now not to flinch.

A swear was breathed from the elder’s mouth, and whisper in the mainly quiet room. He placed his dingy guitar on the ground and lifted his chocolate eyes to the other’s jades. A small smile lifted the corners of his mouth and his brushed his palm against the smaller man’s face.

Soft. That’s what his hands felt like, aside from the calluses at the tips of his fingers. His fingers were long and thin, the nails painted with chipped black polish.

His hands could be rough, but they knew how to be gentle. How to caress and love. There were lines deeply etched into his palms foretelling of a long life. Flawless.

And that was all the younger could think of; those beautiful hands. How much he loved them and the man that they were attached to.

He let his cheek lean into said hands and sighed lightly.

Flawless.