He was always like that. She knew this when they met. His hands always moving. Always fiddling with a gadget or a thingamabob. Never still. Never steady.
Some days it was rough. Some days it was easy. Soothing. Angry. Powerful. Careful. His hands, so large and strong, could crush the glass in them if he wasn’t careful. If he wasn’t paying attention.
He feared what his hands could do. Have done in the past. He had lost so much because he could not keep them to himself. So he fidgets more. Nervous. Anxious. Unsure if he should use them. Unsure if he should reach out, just to run his fingers through her hair. The restlessness of what if would spread throughout his body. Feet tapping. Legs shaking. A man in perpetual motion, unable to sit still. Unable to silence his mind.
Until, at last when the sun sets and Luna rises high, she smiles. She sits and holds out her hand. Calm. Steady. Sure. She holds it out and patiently waits.
He at last reaches out, and fingers entwine. He stills. She sighs – soft and reassuring.
And in just that small gesture, he knows it’s okay. He has nothing to fear.
She knew it wouldn’t be easy, loving someone who is always a nervous wreck. But he needed her to help him still the mind and squash his fears. And she… she just needed a decent man’s hand to hold.