His hands are so soft. Thin and long fingers, nails short and well-manicured. Their skin is silky due to his daily care. I know he spends hours on his skin, mostly his face. When the most thing about him are his hands. Skinny, the knuckles of each finger prominent and white.

The way he uses his hands. The way he gestures, I follow every move. I'm hypnotized. When he dances, when he runs, when he walks, it's all I can focus on, when he sits and puts them in his lap. When he touches me with them.

Those hands which write all those songs, which put compositions and lyrics on paper. I watch him write. I watch him put his face in these palms, scratch his head when he thinks, rub sleep out of his eyes when he's tired. When he touches me with those hands.

The hands that belong to this body. Those hands which know every corner of his owner. Every part of his body. When he washes himself, when he touches himself. When he touches me.

He touches me with those hands. He pulls my hair, he ruffles my hair. He puts those hands on my shoulder, on my waist. He gently my cheek, he traces the muscles on my arm with his sleek fingers. He holds my hand.

I take his hand while we're sitting at home, watching a movie. Or waiting for lunch. Or waiting for another member to come home. I don't know. I his palm, trace the line of each slim finger with shy fingertips. My thumb explores the space between his thumb and forefinger.

“Having fun?”

I'm startled to hear his voice this suddenly, being fully immersed in redrawing the lines on his palm with my forefinger.

“What? Is my hand more interesting than the drama?”

I nod. His hands are definitely more fascinating than an old couple fighting over the future of their son. He answers with a chuckle and lets me continue to massage his hand.

Something in the kitchen rings. He attempts to stand up but I hold him back. Interlacing our fingers, I urge him to sit down again.

Oh god, my fingers are between his. I can't help finding this .

“Seungri, the food is ready. I have to get up before it get's cold.”

Sighing, I let him go. It was about time anyway.

I was a moment away of asking him to touch me in other places with those hands.

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A/N: Because Jiyong's hands are . They are, your argument is invalid.