"...You know that was going to be my third guess?" He squeezes Kurt's hand, immediately entranced by the texture. There was something smooth and velveteen in the way the light hit his blue skin, but feeling it? He turns Kurts hand over, fingertips stroking feather light against his palm before he can stop himself. "How are your hands so soft?"

His own fingers, despite his efforts, hold calluses of his profession. Dagger grips and bowstrings, though the skin around each rough patch is as smooth as he can manage to make it.