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Jyushimatsu and Ichimatsu are off to the side comparing scars. Choromatsu has opted to sit this one out courtesy his lack of the object of comparison. The scars he got when he was a child and running and tripping all over the place have long faded, anyway.
Jyushimatsu’s pointing at some band aids on his knee. Are those dinosaurs? It’s baffling how he can manage to get cartoon band aids at his age, really. Who even gives him these?
Choromatsu looks back at his book.
When he glances over again, Jyushimatsu peeks under the already-rolled edges of Ichimatsu’s sleeves.
Ichimatsu only bothered to lift up the very edge of his sleeves, which didn’t do much to get them away from his wrists, so Jyushimatsu keeps looking under the fabric. It’s not that he’s expecting any new wounds, it’s just that he’s scared of them.
Jyushimatsu, for his part, has his shorts bunched up in the joints of his thighs. They kinda look like briefs. Or a really messed up skirt. Maybe if Choromatsu occupies himself with the state of Jyushimatsu’s shorts, he’ll fail to acknowledge the marks they usually hide.
Oh, but he already has a good excuse not to look. He turns his attention back to his book.
Something knocks against his shin and ricochets to the floor. He looks up.
“Come over here”, Jyushimatsu says. Slowly, deliberately, overpronouncing every consonant so Choromatsu can read it. How polite. Choromatsu picks up the keychain they threw at him and takes a seat by their side.
“What were you reading?” Ichimatsu signs.
Choromatsu goes to sign an answer, but the moment he lifts his hands they get trapped between his brothers’ mitts. Ichimatsu shoves two sleeves up; one is green and the other is purple.
Choromatsu looks once, then away. He’s poked by Ichimatsu until he looks down again.
The tally marks on the inside of Ichimatsu’s wrist crisscross and overlap and twine and if Choromatsu looks for too long, they’ll start to dance in his eyes, and he’ll see them behind his eyelids when he blinks. His own wrist is baby smooth in comparison. He’d tried cutting once, panicked, cried, and ran around the house with disinfectant all over the place, and even that has healed over. He didn’t, still doesn’t, get how one could bring themselves to continue breaking their skin like that. It’s too visible, too close to the hands. And isn’t it too much of a hassle to clean up the blood every time? Especially for Ichimatsu’s lazy ass?
Ichimatsu taps Choromatsu’s hand and holds the sign for ‘good’.
Choromatsu laughs. Just a little bit.
On the other hand - pun intended - Jyushimatsu looks under Choromatsu’s sleeve and rolls it back in place, then pats his own oversized sleeves over his brother’s hand.
He then brings that hand to his thigh.
Choromatsu glances away for a moment. He forces himself to look, and, oh, there’s a new cut. Almost precisely at the middle of Jyushimatsu’s right thigh. There’s always been more on the right than the left, just like there’s been more on Ichimatsu’s left wrist than his right, just like Choromatsu can find the one on his own left wrist and the eight on his right thigh if he really, really, really looks.
For some reason bleeding out of his legs felt safer than below his hands. He still didn’t like it, doesn’t, cutting was never his thing.
Jyushimatsu counts aloud, for Ichimatsu’s benefit, since Choromatsu can’t hear it. He points at his thighs as he counts the marks that are still wounds rather than scars.
“Four!” he says. “Your number, nii-san!”
Choromatsu rubs his hand down his face. “Don’t say it like that, God. You make it sound like you’re cutting for him.”
Jyushimatsu looks appropriately horrified. Ichimatsu pats his worried little head until there’s a smile on it again.
He points at his wrists, once at his right and once at his left. He holds up two fingers.
“Ichimatsu, you know that’s not a fair count”, Choromatsu scolds.
Ichimatsu just shrugs like it’s not his fault he scratches his claws in pairs or triplets. He points at Choromatsu instead, raising his eyebrows.
“Nah. None.”
“Really?” Jyushimatsu says, bouncing in place. “Not even a little bit? You didn’t even do cold water for a shower?”
“Nope”, Choromatsu says, suddenly overcome by nervous laughter. “But fuck, I could really go for a handful of ice right now.”
And they both start for him, gripping him tight.
“You can’t do that, nii-san! We’re right here, you’re not alone, let’s talk about it! You’re doing so good!”
Ichimatsu bares his teeth. Between them rises a soft hiss.
“I’m- I’m not going to! Guys, relax, seriously. I’m trying to go for a record here. Since I ruined it the other day.”
Jyushimatsu sighs the entire air out of his lungs. He nuzzles his head under Chromatsu’s neck. “We’ll get better”, he says.
Ichimatsu leans on his older brother’s shoulder and lowers his sleeves.
“We are getting better”, Choromatsu says.