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    Summary

    “Careful, sweetie, don’t break a nail,” Billy said, leaning over Steve’s shoulder, lazy cat’s-grin gleaming up to his eyes.

    “I’m not going to break a fucking nail.” Steve hissed and elbowed him, like he hadn’t been thinking the same thing as he struggled to wedge one of his shiny red nails into his wallet’s tight leather pockets. When Carol warned him that some things would be harder, she hadn’t mentioned the bizarre anxiety that came with feeling like your hands were made of cracked dinner plates.

    Idly, Steve wondered if newly de-clawed cats felt like this. Except he was a re-clawed cat, and the vet had promised him it was only temporary.

    He was already losing his mind.

     
    Or, Steve makes a bet he can't win and Billy doesn't realize his mistake.

    Language:
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    Chapters:
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