Yuuri had suddenly realised something. Wolfram had very beautiful hands. They were thin, nimble and he had very long, elegant fingers. His nails were polised and cut neatly. And Wolfram's hands could do the most wonderful things. When Wolfram woke up, he would streach and Wolfram's fingers would fan out their full extent. When he and Wolfram sparred, Wolfram would always win thanks to those quick and nimble hands. When Wolfram painted (even if he wasn't very good at it) his hands would move slowly and steady as if he made a mistake he would die. When Wolfram read to Greta his index figure would move along the page with his eyes following. When Wolfram would sit at his desk doing paperwork, he would only touch the quill ever so lightly to the parchment, making the most elegant of handwriting. When Wolfram played the piano, his long figures would reach far to make lovely chords whereas Yuuri could barely reach an octive let alone learn how to play the piano. When Wolfram was nervous, he would fiddle with his fingers until someone held his beautiful hands. And when Wolfram thought Yuuri was sleeping, he would wrap one arm around Yuuri's waist and grip Yuuri's night clothes ever so tightly and with his other he would lift warm hand and place it on Yuuri's cheek. Wolfram would gently stroke Yuuri's cheek and trace his tumb over his lips. Wolfram's hands were the best the most talented things in the world. And that is why Yuuri loves Wolfram's hands.
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