His hands are always warm when my feet are freezing and always cold when my neck is hot. They're big hands that overpower my small fingers when he goes to grasp them. On the back of his hand is a scar from his childhood years and I always run my fingers across it when I'm bored. But that's not his only scar. He has many battle wounds on his hands that explain his past. When his anger gets the better of him, his knuckles are the ones to pay. Apparently, hitting the wall is his form of therapy. But I love those battered hands because they're his. And his hands holding mine, or pushing the hair out of my eyes or lightly cupping my face makes my heart skip a beat. His fingers are long and he's always using them to stroke the outline of my lips to make me smile when I'm upset. At the end of his long fingers are the bitten down nails that I always smirk at. He's always biting his nails when he's anxious or zoning outin front of the t.v. His hands are one of my most favorite things about him. Everyone thingks he's this intimidating person, but his gentle hands show the real side of him. The side that I am head over heels in love with.