Although I missed, I heard a grunt of pain. As if reading my thoughts, he took my right hand in his and turned it over, examining the back of it. Then, without a word, he removed the ice pack from his jaw and gingerly laid it across my knuckles.

I have never had a chance to actually study those hands, I thought idly as one of his thumbs massaged my palm. I really like those hands.

Angel Rupert is a visual artist and writer.