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Diavolo’s hands are rough from years of work and dedication, skin torn from the dry air of his homeland, and calloused at the knuckles because of how often he cracked them to keep from going numb. No matter how many times he was told that it was a bad habit, he could never bring himself to stop. It had almost become a nervous tick whenever he was stuck doing something he didn't like (which was more often than he cared to admit). Still, he was proud of his hands and each scar and mark they carried because it was proof of how far he had come.
What he loved most about them, though, was how large they were. He could hold the most precious things in them and keep those things safe from all the toil and turmoil of the world while he built up a kingdom around them. He was proud that he could keep so many precious things safe and warm in his embrace.
He traces the pad of his thumb down the length of their soft fingers, feeling the hardness of their bones just beneath. Each wrinkle of their skin pushes and pulls with his movements and, somehow, he is reminded of velvet.
Their eyes watch the world outside of their window as if they had never seen it before, “It looks like the sun decided to take a vacation today.” They chuckled, “Good. It deserves a ‘me’ day.”
He laughed at the joke he’d heard a thousand times before, still enjoying it as much as the first time, “But the flowers will be begging for it to come back.” He knew the line by heart at this point.
“Oh, a week off never hurt anyone.” A week -- an eternity -- it was all the same to them he supposed.
“Well,” he weaved his fingers between theirs, “I hope it enjoys the beach somewhere.”
They turned their face to him, eyes drooping and lidded, struggling to focus on him even as they were only inches apart from one another. Their sight trailed down to where their hands were joined, the light of the room catching in their greyed hair, “Blue collar?”
“Hm?” That was the first time he’d heard them ask that.
“Sorry. I was trying to guess your job.” The tips of their withered fingers ran over the hard skin of his knuckles, “You use them a lot?”
“Only a bit.” He definitely didn’t do any physical labor, but he wouldn’t say they went unused. He had held so many things in them over the centuries, including the fates of his people and kingdom, “Do they bother you?”
They seemed to ponder the question for a little before shaking their head, “No. It actually feels nice.”
That made him glad and he couldn’t help but smile. Their hands were so small in his but it still felt like, despite the fact that he was holding onto them, that they were the one cradling them in their grasp. No matter how much he held onto, he always loved that they held onto him in equal measure.
“You’ll have to forgive me, but you look familiar.”
“Oh? Where from?” He was curious what the answer would be today.
“I think I saw you at the restaurant the other day.”
They hadn’t been to a restaurant in months. It was too difficult to take them that far from the palace without worrying that they would lose track of where they were and panic. Still, he would play along, “Perhaps so.”
“I knew it!” Their smile stretched wide across their face and his heart pounded in his chest. They were so beautiful. Every spot and wrinkle of their cheeks, their fading teeth, the faint yellow tinge of their nails... everything about them was beautiful beyond belief and he couldn’t help but fall in love with them all over again.
“You have a great memory.” He just wished it was a little better.
Diavolo’s hands are rough, they are powerful, and he holds far too much inside of them for any one man. Even so, he cannot hold onto everything, as much as he wishes he could. There are things that will slip through even his embrace.
He just wished that this one precious thing wasn’t one of them.