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Andrew would have thought that, after everything, Neil would have problems focusing. Andrew's own attentions were constantly split; an ear on the conversations around him and the other on his surroundings. Eyes locked on his junkie while also watching as Nicky swept back and forth through the kitchen in Columbia, putting away dishes before he started on dinner.
But Neil, wrapped in a blanket over top of his oversized PSU hoodie and joggers, was so intently focused on the calculus book in front of him that he hadn't noticed that he was gnawing on his nails again.
Andrew knew it was an anxiety driven, unconscious habit. The second his mind wandered, his fingers drifted to his mouth, glacial eyes distant as he systematically chewed his nails down to the quick. When there was nothing left to bite, he'd nibble at hangnails or his cuticles until he bled. Then, and only then, would the lights come back on in his eyes as he surveyed the damaged he'd wrought.
Andrew found that he didn't like it.
He didn't enjoy seeing Neil bleed. He didn't appreciate the mental image of Neil's ruined hands after Baltimore that sprung up whenever he accidentally smeared crimson on his knuckles.
Andrew scooted back from the counter and made his way to the door, a plan of action in mind.
“Oh, Andrew?” Nicky said, poking his head around the corner, “If you’re heading out, can you pick up some cocoa powder? I was gonna make brownies.”
Andrew nodded and Nicky beamed, “Thank you!”
When Andrew returned forty-five minutes later, Neil hadn’t budged from his spot at the kitchen table. His hyperfixation with whatever proof he was working his way through meant that he probably hadn’t even noticed that Andrew had left the house, as he apparently hadn’t noticed that Nicky had set down a plate of fruit and a glass of water at his elbow.
“Perfect timing!” Nicky said, clapping his hands together, “Dinner’s ready.”
“Junkie.” Andrew said.
Neil jerked, blinking rapidly as if his eyes were dry and smiled. “Hey.”
“Aw, Neil!” Nicky said, “You’ve done it again!”
“What?”
“Your nails, good Lord!” Nicky cried, he reached out and Neil let him take his hands, fussing over the bleeding cuticles and ragged, bitten nails. “You gotta stop! You can get infections!”
“I don’t even-” Neil sighed, and shrugged. “I’ll go get some bandaids.”
Nicky only ever bought ridiculous looking bandaids in bright, attention-grabbing colors and it was all Andrew could focus on as they ate dinner. Neil didn’t flinch, but he was eating slower than usual; a casual pace rather than his usual, near frantic inhalation, a by-product of his pre-PSU rabbit life.
Nicky cleared their plates away, chattering absently and Andrew stood to help. He paused before he passed Neil and leaned his hip against the table, jarring it enough to draw Neil’s eyes.
“I’ll give you a goddamn manicure, yes or no.”
Neil’s eyebrows shot up, his surprise pulling the knife scars on his face taught and white. “Yes.” He said.
Andrew and Nicky made swift work if the dishes, moving in perfect orbits around the kitchen from years of practice. Nicky hummed happily along to the random love songs flowing from where he had his phone plugged into a small speaker, pleased and peaceful with their calm Saturday night.
“Let's go, junkie.” Andrew said, again knocking Neil's attention from his textbook. He moved them to the living room and sat them facing each other on the floor in front of the coffee table, Neil camped in a beanbag and Andrew cross legged before him. He turned the television to a random Exy game and set out his tools on the table, watching with half an eye as Neil unwrapped his fingers and then took stock of the supplies.
There was expensive lotion, the kind he expected of Allison, and plastic bags, several different bottles of varnish, a wooden stick?
“I've never had a manicure before.” Neil said.
“Obviously, since you're biting your nails to stumps. Self-destruction is not your coping method.”
“I'm not doing it on purpose!”
“Obviously.” Andrew repeated. He held his hand out and Neil automatically dropped his into it, face pulled into his version of a pout.
Andrew began with lotion, massaging it into Neil's hands and cuticles. He hadn't managed to completely decimate his cuticles during his study session, but the ends of his nails we're short and frayed from where he'd mindlessly tore at them.
Neil had noticed that Andrew's nails were always pristine in the same way he noticed everything about him. From his short, blunt fingers, some slightly crooked from badly healed breaks, the peppering of old white scars on his fingertips to the sunken scar of a badly healed pimple on his temple. Neil noticed - treasured- the little details that, when combined together made Andrew so distinct from Aaron that he couldn't believe that anyone ever confused them.
On the couch behind them, Aaron was dead to the world, one hand thrown over his eyes and the other cradling a small textbook to his chest.
Andrew dug into the flesh between his thumb and pointer finger and Neil almost moaned, jolted out of his thoughts and back into the moment as Andrew stuffed his heavily lotioned hand into a plastic bag then wrapped it in a warm, slight damp, towel. He moved on to his other hand, massaging it just as thoroughly and Neil melted into the coffee table, sliding down until his cheek was resting on the wood as he stared at Andrew's calm, focused face.
Andrew finished and wrapped the warm towel around his other hand, knocking the lotion bottle to the side like a cat bats objects off counters.
He took the hand that he started with and removed it from the bag, massassing the excess lotion up his arm, smoothing sore muscles and the lumpy scars striped down them. Andrew glanced up, checking on Neil, and rolled his eyes in the face of the striker's dopey grin before picking up the wooden stick.
“What is that?”
“It's to push your cuticles back.”
“Why?”
“It cleans away the extra skin and lets the polish apply more evenly.”
“Oh.” Neil said. He rubbed his fingers together inside the warmth of the plastic bag. It felt odd, but the warmth of it was intoxicating, especially as his hands were always so cold in the face if the coming winter.
“Don't let anyone ever cut this skin.” Andrew said, looking up through his eyelashes at Neil as he pointed with the stick, “It'll get infected.”
“Okay.”
Andrew repeated the process on his other hand then sat back and brought Neil's fingertips closer to his face, squinting at the edges of his nails.
“Do you want your glasses?” Neil asked, Andrew looked up, pupils dilating and frowned.
“Here ya go, cleaned 'em up for you.” Nicky chirped. He set Andrew's large, black framed glasses on the table next to the nail polishes and immediately retreated, slipping back into the kitchen.
Andrew glared at the lenses before snatching them off the table and onto his face. The lenses made his eyes look larger than ever, when through the angry glare narrowing them.
“Your eyes are beautiful.” Neil said.
“Shut up.”
Andrew picked up a nail file and began shaping each nail, smoothing torn edges to roundish tips. There wasn't much to work with. He kept glancing up, checking Neil's face for signs of pain.
“It doesn't hurt.” Neil said, eyes set on the game playing quietly on the television, “I'll let you know.”
“Why.” Andrew asked, he kept his eyes on his work, running careful fingertips over freshly filed nails to check for snags.The question seemed random, but Neil knew he was asking why he bit his nails in the first place.
“I don't know. Probably faster to take care of them then making sure you had all this stuff. Mom, she- I can remember that she used to paint her nails red Before.” Neil said, he paused when Andrew switched tools to a long four sided rectangle and began to buff his nails smooth. Andrew passed his thumb over each nail, checking his work. Without looking at Neil, despite the fact that he had to feel Neil’s eyes on him, Andrew brought his left hand to his lips and pressed a dry kiss to his fingertips and then to the burn scars on his knuckles. Neil turned to heated molasses, slumping deeper in the beanbag and turning heavy eyes to Andrew who’d flipped the rectangle to the next side and continued, pointedly ignoring the holes that Neil’s laser blue eyes were burning into his forehead.
On the couch, Aaron grunted and flipped over, knocking his textbook to the floor as he curled in on himself, face pressed into the back of the couch. Nicky materialized from the kitchen again, this time armed with a large homemade looking quilt and spread it over Aaron. He smiled at Neil and Andrew as they looked up at him, calm and pleased, before he ducked back into the kitchen.
Andrew picked up a vial of clear polish next and spoke before Neil could ask what it was. “Strengthener. Helps with the splitting.”
He put a single layer on every finger then set Neil’s hands, fingers splayed out, on his knees.
“Do not move.”
“Okay.”
Neil tilted his head to the side, watching the game as Nicky emerged a third time, this time with two plates in his hand, one piled high with brownies and the other with lime bars, Neil’s favorite.
“Ta-da!” Nicky whispered, placing the plates down.
“Thank you,” Neil smiled. Andrew took a brownie and nodded once at his cousin, turning his eyes to the game despite clear indifference. Nicky preened and leaned over the couch, eyes bouncing between the game and the assorted manicure materials. He glanced down at his own nails, considering, when Andrew turned back, mouth twisted into a strange half frown.
“Get two plastic bags and I’ll do yours.” He said.
Nicky blinked, a cascade of emotions flashing across his face before he smiled, nodded and darted back into the kitchen.
While he was gone, Andrew turned back to Neil, catching his eye.
“Do you want color?”
Neil’s eyes darted to the two bottles in Andrew’s hands, one bright orange - Fox orange - and the other black, a perfect match to Andrew’s own nails.
“Let’s match.” Neil smiles, and Andrew dropped the orange polish and uncapped the black.
With a perfectly steady hand, Andrew carefully applied a coat of shining black lacquer before setting Neil’s hands back on his knees.
“Stay.”
Nicky returned, armed with additional nail polish, plastic baggies and what appeared to be tinfoil wrapped hand towels. He folded gracefully to the floor beside Neil’s beanbag and offered up his tribute to Andrew, who took it all and dumped it on the table, save for the polish bottles, which were placed quietly in line with the others. He held out his hand and Nicky held out his own, hovering it just a top Andrew’s palm until his cousin snatched it and began to the same lotion massage he did with Neil.
Nicky stayed perfectly still and quiet, a pleased, soft smile on his face as he let Andrew poke and prod and file and clip at his nails in the peaceful quiet of the house, aside from Aaron’s occasional grunts and the murmur of the game. Once Nicky’s hands were soaking in lotion, Andrew turned back to Neil and applied a second coat of polish before placing his hands back on his knees.
Nicky’s nails, much like the rest of him, were well taken care of and Andrew was applying a base coat to his nails much sooner than he’d applied it to Neil’s. Neil dragged his attention away from the near silent game and took a moment to inspect a small smattering of white half moon scars along Nicky’s palms as he rested his hands palms up on his knees.
“Either my voice shakes or my hands do.” Nicky said, tilting his head to catch Neil’s gaze. Neil lifted an eyebrow and Nicky smiled again, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
“When I get anxious or scared.” He explained, “I have to pick which is gonna shake, my hands or my voice. I always pick my hands.”
Neil looked back at the scars, realizing now that they would line up perfectly with Nicky’s nails if he clenched his hands into fists, and he knew enough about Nicky’s life before the twins to imagine what could make him clench his fists hard enough to draw blood.
“Neil.” Andrew said, he’d picked up Neil’s hand again. “Do not bite your nails.”
He spun the bottle in his hand so Neil could read the bright “Anti-Bite Formula!™ “ proudly stamped across the front and simply lifted an eyebrow in the face of Neil’s frown.
“How’s that supposed to make me stop?”
“You will not enjoy the taste.”
Neil frowned, but said nothing, letting Andrew apply another layer of polish. He cleaned up the edges with his own thumbnail, the results otherwise perfect, and cast a critical eye over his work.
“Sit still.”
“I am! Hey ! Why doesn’t Nicky get the bite polish?”
“Nicky doesn’t engage in casual autocannibalism.”
“You don’t even notice you’re doing it,” Nicky said mournfully, “We got to get you better coping mechanisms.”
“I have coping mechanisms ! ” Neil said.
“Stop moving.” Andrew hissed. Neil and Nicky both froze in tandem, shoulders to their ears. “You’re going to fucking smudge them.”
Aaron rolled over suddenly, eyes bloodshot and face contorted with confusion as he blinked himself awake. His eyes passed over the game on the television, the manicure tools scattered on the coffee table and Nicky and Neil sitting before Andrew before he zeroed in on the fresh polish on Neil’s fingers. He pushed himself upright, scrubbing his hands through his hair before taking a moment to look at the state of his own nails. He glanced up, locking eyes with his twin for a long moment before Andrew gestured to the floor beside Nicky.
Aaron wordlessly settled next to Nicky and held out his hands to his brother, who took them with the same unexpected gentleness that he’d shown Nicky and Neil, despite the sneer on his face.
“Tell her to stop cutting your fucking cuticles.”
Aaron made a half-hearted sound that was almost a snarl, but he made no move to pull his hands away as Andrew dug into the meat of his palm, unable to prevent to the relief from the massage from dulling his claws. Like Neil and Nicky had, he visibly slumped, shoulders loosening.
“Color.” Andrew said, and Nicky looked at the assorted colors on the table before glancing at both Neil and Andrew’s fingertips.
“Black.” He smiled. Andrew paused, eyes set on Nicky’s primed and trimmed nails but said nothing before he uncapped the bottle and began to painstakingly coat Nicky’s nails. With his first coat finished Nicky returned his hands, palms up, to his knees and Aaron automatically held his out. As Andrew worked, Neil sniffed at his nails, but detected no discernible scent.
“Don’t.” Andrew warned, not looking up as he set Aaron’s left hand down and picked up his right.
Staring at the side of Andrew’s bent head, Neil defiantly licked his nail.
And immediately gagged.
“He told you,” Nicky said, he knocked his shoulder into Neil, “Try to wash it out with a lime bar.”
“Idiot.” Aaron sighed.
“Color.” Andrew snapped and Aaron glanced disdainfully at where Neil was carefully attempting to eat a lime bar and where Nicky was blowing on his nails before sighing heavily, defeated.
“Black.”