THE HOLLAND BOYS AND HARRISON OSTERFIELD IMAGINES

hands - s.h.

Written by:@/ parkerroos

wc: 1.5k

summary: having a hand to hold might be the best thing on the planet

It’s winter when he first holds your hand. There’s a bitter wind outside and it lifts your hair in spirals and nips at your nose. White sparkles of snow are falling around you, collecting on your eyelashes and melting when you blink. Your hands are deep in your coat pockets as you walk next to your best friend, cursing yourself for not bringing along gloves. Sam hadn’t either from what you could tell, but then again he didn’t really need them. His hands were always warm in comparison to yours.

A shiver runs down your spine as the wind picks up, carrying snowflakes with it. Your lips part slightly and your breath comes out in misty white puffs. The corner cafe just down the street seems miles away in this weather, and you do your best to bring your coat further up your neck to conceal it from the cold.

“Remind me why we decided to walk instead of drive?” there’s a chatter to your teeth and Sam only flashes a sheepish smile. He pulls his hand from his pocket, and for a moment you believe he’s going to hold your hand until he wraps his arm around your shoulders. You graciously accept the heat radiating from his body as you step closer into his side.

“It was just a dumb excuse to spend an extra amount of time with my best friend.” A comforting warmth blooms against your already rosy cheeks, nearly melting the sparkling flakes of snow landing on them.

“You’re a dork,” your voice is teasing as you nudge your shoulder against his.

“Well lucky enough for you, we’re here.”

“Thank god,” you breathe out, muttering a thank you as he opens the cafe door for you. Your nose is almost instantly warmed up from the cozy heat inside. You retrieve your hands from your pockets, blowing air into them and rubbing them together together to generate some type of heat. You find an open table as Sam orders your drink. The corner of your lips raise into a bright smile when he sits across from you, sliding you drink in front of your face.

You blow more air onto your hands and rub them together again, your body still shivering. You always were naturally cold. An amused smile etches itself onto his face as he looks at you.

“Are you still cold?” you nod your head, pressing your palms against the heated surface of your cup. Wordlessly, he picks up your hands, holding them tightly in his. He grabs your left, rubbing both of his hands against it and pressing kisses against your knuckles. You feel a rosy hue setting fire to your cheeks as he repeats the actions. He keeps hold of your left hand, your fingers linked and resting in the middle of the table.

“Better?” you nod, sipping your drink with a smile.

“Much.”

His favorite time to hold your hand is in the spring–specifically in the fresh showers of the month of April. Maybe it’s because you love the rain so much, that it pours through your veins and transfers into his through the contact of your intertwined hands. Or maybe it’s because you somehow convince him to dance in the sprinkling drops of water falling from the sky and you’re radiating so much happiness that sunshine seems to pour out of you.

The rain seems never ending as he drives you back to his house. The windshield wipers are incessantly moving, never seeming to take a break as the rain seems to dump from buckets high in the sky. When you get out of the car after reaching his house, you’re soaked from your head to your toes in seconds.

“(y/n) c’mon love, let’s get inside,” you shake your head. There’s a small bounce in your step as you walk towards him, grabbing his hands and intertwining your hands together. You peer up at him. The rain has caused his hair to stick to his forehead and you let go of one of his hands, reaching up to push his hair away from his face.

“Dance with me? Please?” with a sigh, he’s pulling you to the middle of the driveway. His clothes are soaked and sticking to him uncomfortably but it all goes forgotten when he sees the sunlit smile on your face as he twirls you in his driveway. Your hand slips into his perfectly when he pulls you into his chest. You press your ear against it, his heartbeat making you smile. The rain is still pouring down in a steady stream when you tilt your face back to look up at his face.

In a swift movement, you release one of his hands and reach behind his neck, pulling yourself onto your toes to press your lips against his. Sam’s taken aback for a moment. You were both certain of the way both parties felt, but this was a first. It doesn’t take long before you’re pulling back from him, only for Sam to pull you back by your waist and slant his mouth against yours.

You’re a mess of wet sunshine when he pulls away this time, immediately spinning you and pulling you back against him, fingers returning to their intertwined state. And in the midst of the chilling rain and rolling thunder, you were never filled with more warmth.

With summer came waves of heat and never ending sunny skies. It was never really your favorite time of year, but with Sam it slowly became admirable. The days were longer and the nights shorter, but you made the most of it all. It’s a particularly warm night when Sam takes you out the middle of a grassy field to see the stars you love so much. There’s a blanket beneath your bodies but the cool grass is still kissing your toes.

You’re rambling about the stars painted in the sky above and pointing out the different constellations you know. Sam’s only half listening as you tell him these things; too enthralled by how your hair still manages to shine in the dark and how you always look like sunshine on a cloudy day in his eyes.

“Sam did you even hear me?” he blinks, a sheepish smile painting across his features. You shake your head, smiling because there’s a puppy like innocence on his face and his eyes are full of adoration solely for you.

“What’d you say love?” his hand finds yours and he links your fingers together. Your free hand lifts up, pointing at the burning meteor flying through the sky.

“I know it’s not really a shooting star, but we should still make a wish,” you whisper, closing your eyes as your plans for your near future dance beneath your eyelids.

“I’ve already got all I could wish for, right here next to me,” he presses a kiss to the back of your hand that’s intertwined with his. His remark is cliche but it doesn’t fail to make your heart race and set your cheeks ablaze. You love him a little more for it.

Autumn is your favorite time to hold his hand. You love the changing of the leaves outside and the soft breezes that comb through your hair. Sam always seems to smell like cinnamon and spice during this time of year and the scent makes your stomach flip and your heart soar. It’s your favorite time of year maybe for the fact that he lets you take as many of his cinnamon and spice scented sweaters that you want. But it’s your favorite because his hand always finds a way to touch and hold your own.

He holds your hand as you walk through the presumed “haunted” corn maze his brothers conned you both into going to. You’ve got a serious grip on his hand and your other hand is gripping the sleeve of his sweater that is nearly too big for you. He laughs every time you get scared, pressing kisses to your temple and squeezing your hand.

You convince him to carve pumpkins with you one autumn night, but not even that stops him from touching your hands somehow. Your hair looks effortlessly messy and his sweater is draped on your body perfectly. You sit on the stool, carving tools in hand as you saw away at your pumpkin. He comes up behind you wrapping an arm around your waist and grabbing the hand that’s holding your pumpkin steady. Soft kisses are pressed against the shoulder that his sweater doesn’t cover.

“Sam, stop, I’m trying to concentrate,” your voice is light and he smiles against your shoulder.

“But love, I’m bored,” he lifts your hand off the pumpkin and turns it over to link your fingers together. You sigh and relax back into his chest, silently admitting defeat. And so you spend the night curled on his couch, your hands always glued together and the pumpkins you planned on carving left untouched.

The seasons change again and with each one, brings more opportunities for hands to be held and memories to be made. And it occurs to you finally in the middle of autumn nearly a year later that perhaps having a hand to hold is the only thing you really need in the world.