Work Text:
Obi-Wan had always noticed his master's hands.
The way they gripped his lightsaber during training or a spar. The forms they shaped when he channeled the Force. The elegant way they rested on his knees during meditation, when Obi-Wan was not supposed to be noticing his master's hands at all. Qui-Gon's hands were strong and steady and graceful, leaving warmth and peace behind when Qui-Gon clapped him on the shoulder in praise or gently corrected his posture.
(Obi-Wan had dreamed, too, of touch his master never gave.)
He thought he felt them sometimes, still.
His own seemed far too small.