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For as long as she could remember, Hilda hadn't let people touch her hands.
She hadn't fought it when some noble boy took one and pressed a kiss to it in greeting, a picturesque smile upon those glossed lips, but Marianne can recall the slight displeasure in those pink irises rather vividly. She never asked Hilda why though, believing it was some unspoken rule that a noblewoman should never be found holding hands with someone they weren't going to wed, but that idea had been quickly forgotten when the Goneril daughter skillfully drew them back, even when passing her work onto others.
Marianne never got to ask during their time as students, nor did she ever work up the courage to ask during the five years they could only send letters to one another.
Maybe Hilda had a complex about it?
Marianne would hate to bring it up if that were the case.
But then one day, Hilda asks: "Marianne, can I see your hands?"
The question astounds the taller of the two, the teacup raised to her lips pausing in its tilt, eyes widening slightly in confusion. And before she knows it, it's a repeat of when they were teens, tea spilling on her lap, the same "Ow, hot...!" exclamation, chairs scraping against the floor in a rush to get her cleaned up to avoid burns.
"Oh, Marianne, still as clumsy as before," Hilda teases, and Marianne only blushes in response, the affection laced in the shorter's words music to her ears.
"I-I'm sorry..." comes the apology, but the giggles from Hilda as she settles back into her chair brings a sheepish smile to her features. "I thought I've grown, but I'm still a little clumsy..."
Hilda smiles at that, head shaking. "It's fine, isn't it? If you changed too much during our time apart, I'd be worried!"
A sigh of relief escapes Marianne involuntarily, and then they fall into companionable silence as the blue haired woman continues to dab away at the tea soaking into her dress.
It's comfortable, simply sitting like this with Hilda, because she hadn't thought they'd be able to have tea in person again so soon. However, the stare on her brings a blush to her cheeks soon enough, dark irises raising from her lap to meet bright pink. The fondness on Hilda's features translates easily to another smile, and as if on command, Marianne smiles shyly in return.
Minutes go by, and when she believes she's done all she can, Marianne hesitantly offers the handkerchief back, expression apologetic.
"Again, I'm really sorry, Hilda..." A pause. "Um, should I clean it before I give it back to you? I know this one is one of your favorites."
She hums in response, Hilda plucking the fabric from Marianne's hands and placing it on the small table between them, head nodding.
"Yeah, I'd appreciate that, actually," she says just as simply as she takes Marianne's hands in her own. Her thumb runs across the back of Marianne's left hand, and as unused to physical touches as Marianne is, the taller of the two's features are suddenly bright pink. Hilda seems amused by this, that affectionate smile returning before she sighs something that seems to be a sigh of relief. Even before Marianne can ask, she's speaking again, thumb still gently rubbing circles into her skin.
"Yup, just like I thought... Your hands are really soft, Marianne."
The comment has Marianne blinking, but it's then that she notices it.
Hilda's hands are rough.
It's a surprising realization, Marianne believing that, out of everyone in the army, Hilda would have the softest... Well, everything! Soft hair, soft features, soft hands... Hilda took great care in her appearance, always moisturizing and even offering some lotion to her fellow Deer on occasion. The idea of Hilda with rough hands fit for a soldier seemed... Strange. Almost unreal. Of course, Marianne has witnessed first hand the sheer power Hilda has on the battlefield, but the reality seems so... foreign.
She hadn't realized she was staring down at their linked hands until a soft laugh from Hilda breaks their silence.
"Does it surprise you? My hands, I mean." Even before Marianne has a chance to deny or confirm it, Hilda continues on. "I'm sure you noticed... When we were younger, you'd always take glances at my hands... Did you realize?" A hitch of her breath tells Hilda that no, she hadn't, and again Hilda giggles. "It's okay, I didn't mind. I never let people touch them... I bet that got you curious."
"Well... Yes, a little..." Marianne admits, head ducking as though she had confessed to a crime. "I thought of all sorts of ideas as to why... But I never wanted to ask. I didn't want to hurt you if it was because of something complex that I didn't know."
"Aw, sweet Marianne. As kind as ever."
There is no malice in Hilda's voice, and while the woman is known to pile compliments upon compliments on someone, a part of Marianne knows she's being truly genuine.
"You can put your theories to rest now, I suppose. A 'delicate maiden' with rough hands was sure to break the image... But, we're at war now, so I don't really care anymore." And then Hilda pauses, her thumb continuing its circling action. "But your hands Marianne... They're soft. Very soft... When I think about these soft, gentle hands and how they've saved me countless of times through our countless of battles... It makes me not care about my own, just a little more."
A well of emotion surges forward in Marianne's chest, the sheer gratitude Hilda feels almost bringing tears to her eyes. One of her hands slips out of Hilda's gentle hold, only to clasp around one of those smaller, rougher ones.
"Y-you've saved me too! Many times," Marianne assures, the volume of her voice causing the shorter to blink in surprise. "I can't count the amount of times you've protected me... With you on the front lines, I feel more confident... Your hands really are rough, Hilda, but... They're a symbol... Of your kindness too..."
Suddenly shy, Marianne's shoulders hunch, head lowering as if to calm from her outburst.
"I... love them. Your rough hands," she says quietly, eyes sure to burn holes into her own lap. "So... I'm glad they don't bother you anymore."
Hilda doesn't say anything in response for what feels like an eternity, and Marianne doesn't dare a peek up at her either. The clock ticks loudly with her beating heart, but then her heart leaps into her throat just by hearing a single sigh. Marianne forces her gaze higher, and then they're looking at one another again, a mixture of embarrassment and gratitude on Hilda's features.
"You can say such embarrassing things, Mari," Hilda sighs affectionately, the nickname causing the corners of Marianne's lips to come up. "But... Yeah, I'm glad they don't bother me much anymore too. I can't let them bother me if I'm protecting you, right?"
At this, Marianne smiles in full.