Zayn: He was silent as he observed you, his hand carefully cradling yours. His own digits gently traced the smallness of your fingers, the stubbiness of your thumb, the wrinkles in your pinky, the spaces between your fingers where he could barely fit the tip of his. "So small," He marveled in a hushed tone. Carefully he picked apart your balled fist, flattening out your palm against the warmth of his. Each finger came just below his third joint, the tips of your fingernails adding length. "Cute," He decided.
Liam: Your palm flattened against his chest, elbow bent and nose brushing his as you continued to giggle at something he had said. His laughter was cut short as he tilted his chin down to eye your hand on shirt. His hand stacked on top of yours, twisting his wrist so his fingers fit between the spaces in yours. The tip of your fingernail started at the beginning of his, to which a fond smile slipped over his lips. "Whatcha looking at?" You inquired, puzzled at his actions. "Your hands," He answered, peeling it off his chest to bring it to his lips. "They're so small."
Niall: "Stubby fingers," He teased, watching you test whether your thumb and index finger touched when being wrapped around your wrist. Yours didn't even come close, much to your distaste. You pouted, dropping your hand away from your arm and instead opting to fold your arms tightly across your chest. "Ah, c'mon, love, I was only joking," He crawled across the couch to you, prying your arms apart so he could slip his fingers through yours, pressing a kiss to each knuckle. "I think they're cute."
Harry: His fingers linked with yours, a source used to pull you closer to him as you passed through a semi-thick group of fans. He held tightly to you, the task easier due to the minuscule size of your fingers and the short width of your palm. He held onto your hand until the group passed, the screams died down, and the two of you were in the safety of some black utility vehicle. "I love your hands," He blurted, finally uncurling his from around yours. You cocked an eyebrow for him to elaborate, to which he blabbered in explanation, "They're really small, it makes me feel like I'm this big superhero when I hold your hand. I don't know, I like your hands.."
Louis: He marveled at the size of your hands, it was one of his absolute favorite features. He wasn't used to being bigger than anyone, in any shape or form. He was always small, his height, his arms, his hands. Being able to wrap his entire palm around your curled fist gave him this strange satisfaction, one he told you every day. You'd always been puzzled by the fact that out of everything he chose the most insignificant part of your body to worship. And he kind of was as well, not entirely sure how to answer the why? question you pondered early one morning. He ended up stammering out something cute, something along the lines of, "I've always been the small one, and now it's good to know I can fend off anyone who's mean to you, now that you're the small one."
