Work Text:
Tsuzuru chews on his lower lip as he scrolls up and down his document for the umpteenth time that afternoon. He decided on a non-linear narrative this time, but the flashback just doesn’t quite work. Something’s missing.
Should he sprinkle hints rather than build a complete scene around the past? Emphasizing the moment the main character’s eyes change will be impactful, but is this the part where he needs to kill his darlings—
“Eep!”
The cold drink on his face snaps Tsuzuru out of his trance, and he turns his head, expecting Masumi’s unamused ‘you-forgot-to-eat-again’ look, but it’s Chikage’s face with the opposite expression that greets him.
Right. Masumi’s visiting his grandma this weekend.
Tsuzuru accepts the drink, tipping his head. “Uh, thank you.”
Instead of walking back out, Chikage looks somewhere beyond Tsuzuru. His laptop? …Not the screen though. The keyboard?
“What is it, Chikage-san?” Tsuzuru asks instead of saying, you know it’s rude to stare at other people’s stuff like that right.
“I’ll be back.”
And Chikage disappears from the room as silently as he appeared.
Not really in the mood to add… that… to the list of things to figure out along with the script’s narrative direction, Tsuzuru simply returns to his laptop.
He has only added two words (after deleting five) when he hears the door open and close, followed by footsteps and a soft thud as Chikage sits on the circular rug in the middle of the room.
After placing a small bag on the table, Chikage taps on the floor beside him. “Here.”
“What?”
“I doubt you’ve added more words than you removed”—Tsuzuru flinches at the personal attack—“so take a break. Come here.”
Tsuzuru considers refusing.
A second later, he heaves a sigh and hits CTRL + S three times for good luck.
He rolls his chair back and stands up, stretching his arms upward to buy himself a bit of time before resigning to his fate. After a long trudge, he plops down on the floor to Chikage’s right and crosses his legs.
And while Tsuzuru prepared himself for several things, Chikage grabbing his hands and inspecting his fingers aren’t included in his list.
Any kind of preparation is futile, as expected.
“Chikage-san…?”
Tsuzuru hopes his face isn’t as red as he feels it is. Fortunately, Chikage’s attention is only on his fingers even while he digs into the bag on the table. A flash of silver makes Tsuzuru’s brain suddenly rattle off facts about yubitsume, the ritual wherein a yakuza member cuts off a portion of their pinky to serve as atonement—
Ah.
It’s a nail clipper.
“Your nails are getting long,” Chikage says, lifting Tsuzuru’s left hand and brushing his thumb against his nails. Tsuzuru’s resulting shiver makes the corners of his mouth turn upward, but he simply continues, “It must be bothering you when you write. I’ll trim them.”
“It’s fine.” Tsuzuru tries to pull his hand away, but Chikage only tightens his grip. “I can do it.”
“I didn’t say you can’t.”
“But—”
“It’s supposed to be your break time, isn’t it? Just relax.”
It’s difficult to do that ‘relax’ thing when you feel like your life is on the line. Yet, in the end, Tsuzuru can only mumble a fine before sighing yet again.
At least it’s not his dominant hand, if it’s any consolation.
Chikage starts with his pinky (stop thinking about yubitsume—), trimming a cut straight across the top of his nail before doing small, angled clips at the corner. Slow but accurate, he works in a few crisp strokes, no movements wasted.
Watching Chikage work meticulously, along with the rhythmic sound of nails being trimmed, makes the tension in Tsuzuru’s shoulders disappear. Chills still run down his spine whenever their skins touch, like when Chikage inspects his work before setting Tsuzuru’s hand down and grabbing the other, but it’s easy to ignore them once he begins battling with drowsiness instead.
“Considering how much you type, both for university and for scripts, you should always keep your nails short,” Chikage says while Tsuzuru scrunches up his eyes, fighting off a yawn. “But you’re already aware of that, I suppose. You simply forgot to trim them recently with how busy you’ve been.”
When Chikage’s done with all of his fingernails, he brings out a nail file from the bag. It’s made of opaque glass with a teal-colored end, looking nothing like the buy-three-get-one emery boards Tsuzuru has back home.
Placing Tsuzuru’s hands on his palm, Chikage smooths out the rough edges, stroking the file in one direction. It’s something Tsuzuru learned is better than sawing it back and forth too, after his part-time job in a nail spa some time ago.
“I’m surprised you’re good at this,” Tsuzuru says, this time fighting off his drooping eyelids threatening to cover his view… huh? Where did that towel come from?
“I’ll pay attention and take care of your nails when you forget.”
Tsuzuru blinks, all kinds of fuzzy replacing sleepiness as Chikage dusts his fingers with the conjured towel. Something in his chest blooms, a feeling not unfamiliar to him especially when it comes to Spring… but an entirely different deal when it’s solely caused by Chikage.
While Chikage returns his items to the bag, Tsuzuru tries to come up with a response to those words, to these actions, to everything. Heck, what can he reply? Cheesy isn’t their thing, but he wants his reply to pack a punch—
“Of course,” Chikage says, cutting his thoughts off, “I always keep my nails short for you, too.”
“Huh? Why?”
“I don’t want to accidentally hurt you, after all.”
There goes that mysterious smile again. What’s the emphasis for? Hurt him, how? In what circumstances can Chikage hurt him with his nails?
Of course, Tsuzuru’s brain decides to work then and not when he was working on his script, supplying the answer to his question: When his fingers are inside—
Tsuzuru flushes — Stop. That. Thought. — and says, “Did you really have to ruin a very nice moment?”
“What nice moment?” When Tsuzuru only huffs, Chikage smirks before leaving to get a broom.
“Right, because why did we do that here,” Tsuzuru mutters, eyeing the mess that would be easier to clean if they were outside—or at least on the floor and not on the rug.
A sigh escapes his mouth, as it always does when it comes to dealing with Chikage. Figuring out the script’s direction is as hard as figuring that guy out, but…
He looks down at his perfectly trimmed nails.
It was a pretty good break.