He was her savior.

Every time she went out on a date with him, he quickly takes her hand in his, as if all he wanted to do was to pronounce their eternal love.

Every time she would feel embarrassed, get shy, or jumps back and forth on the verge of tears, his hands were always there; one on her head, one on the small of her back, his body right next to her, stroking her hair and saying it was alright.

Every time there was a fight between her and his other girlfriends, she would always feel his hand grasping hers, and his voice determined as he announces who he loves the most: her.

Every time someone would accuse her of something, and she turns red with anger, ready to give that person a verbal beat down; his hands were there, calming her and telling her that she shouldn't overreact to those things.

Every time she messed up something, broke something, or hit something; when her face gets flustered and she starts to say sorry; his hands go to her shoulders, calming her down while he goes to repay the person, whether it we work or cash.

If anyone asked her what she finds the most attractive about him, she would say his hands.

If anyone laughs and teases her about what she said about him, his hands would be the one inflicting pain upon their face.

If she confesses all her worries to him, he would sit there, listening intently to every story while his hands sat there, thumbs twiddling ever so slowly.

Yup, he was her savior; he messiah; her leader.

And those hands controlled her world.