Chapter Text
Of all the adjustments that Veth had to make when she became Nott, getting used to the hands came slowest. She had the faint scars on her face and arms to prove it, clear records of all the times she had absently scratched at an itch only to find herself bleeding. She had learned, over time, to be hyper-aware of every movement, to know precisely the amount of pressure and where to exert it to avoid scratching something, or sometimes to dig her claws in deeper. That didn’t mean she never struggled, of course. Some days, she felt she pierced everything she touched. Most days, she hated her hands, as clever as necessity had made them.
Today, the problem was paper. They’d managed to steal almost an entire ream from a local shop, only around half of it already written on. Nott swore violently as her claws pierced through another previously-pristine sheet, loud enough for Caleb to turn his head from his reading.
She waved away his questioning glance, embarrassed to have been noticed in her moment of frustration. “Nothing’s wrong. I just keep tearing the paper while I try to organize it. Stupid fucking hands.” She slammed them palms down onto the cobbled floor, punctuating her frustration with a satisfying slap. “I’m sorry, Caleb. I’ll let you deal with these later. I only make it worse.”
She’d been looking down as she said all this, so she didn’t notice Caleb move until he was already settled down right in front of her, the stack of papers set between them. He picked up one of the sheets she’d handled, turned it over once, and said, “It doesn’t look very ruined to me. The holes are small, see? Easy to write around.”
Nott huffed out a bitter laugh as he picked up the entire pile and set it aside. “That’s not the point. I should be able to do this, without thinking. I hate having to worry about hurting everything I touch.”
Caleb frowned. She bristled, ready to brush off whatever sympathetic remark he was about to make, but all he said was “Come here, Nott”.
She came reluctantly, and he pulled her in close to him, close enough that their knees were brushing. “Look at me,” he prompted, and she did that too. She looked at him, and kept looking as he took one of her small hands in both of his own. She kept looking as he brought it up, achelingly slowly, gazing at her with the same intense solemnity Caleb looked at everything he cared for, and placed it against his lips.
Nott breathed in sharply at the first whisper of his stubbly mouth on her knuckles. Caleb’s breath was warm against her hand. His lips were soft. He worked his way methodically across her hand, brushing feather-light kisses along each finger, and when he had finished he moved on to the next. Every place his mouth touched seemed to light up with heat from within. Her hands were shaking, and she couldn’t seem to make them stop.
Caleb’s eyes didn’t leave hers for a second, and yet his lips were precise, catching every knuckle, every claw, exactly where he meant them too. Look, he seemed to be saying with each practiced kiss, look how I have memorized you. This is a body that is worth knowing. And as he finished off her other hand, and she leaned in with a sigh to allow him to start afresh on her jawline, Nott could almost imagine a world in which she believed him.