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Toya smiles, facing the woman and bowing deeply. “Thank you, Tenma-sensei.”
“Ah, Toya-chan, there’s no need to be so formal!” There’s a bright laugh, and a hand plants in his hair, ruffling it one way and the other; Toya giggles, following the implicit order and pulling his body upright. “We enjoy having you over, there’s no need to thank me.” She leans past him, looking down the hallway. “Who’s home?”
“Fuyuhiko-niisan,” Toya answers. “Mother is at a recital with Yuki-niisan. Father will be home later.”
“Alright,” Tenma says, patting his head again, “I’ll leave you be, then. I’m glad you had fun today.”
Toya smiles, running a fingertip over the smooth, hardened polish on his nail; he did have fun. “Thank you, Tenma-sensei. I hope I can see you all again soon.”
“So do we!” A kiss is laid to his forehead, and the woman turns around. “See you soon, sweetie,” she calls over her shoulder. Toya nods and watches her walk back to her car, then turns, walking fully into the house and pushing the heavy door shut. His shoes are lined neatly beside his brothers. He ignores the heaviness in his chest.
“Onii-san?” he calls; he would’ve thought Fuyuhiko would come to greet him. Maybe he’s practising?
Toya wanders through the house towards the practice room, checking each room for his brother; the house always seems so big and empty. Or maybe he’s just small.
“Onii-san,” he calls again as he pushes at the practice room door; a violin sharply cuts off.
Fuyuhiko looks down at him, slowly lowering his bow and violin. “Toya,” he says, voice even, “you’re home.”
“Mhm.” Toya glances at his music stand, pulled too tall for him to see, “What were you playing?”
“…Too complicated for you.”
“Can I look, at least?” Toya reaches up, standinding on his toes to reach the manuscripts. “Father said my sight-reading is way better now, so–”
“What’s that?”
Toya stops in his tracks at the change in tone; it’s the same one his father uses. The tone used when he does something wrong.
“W-What’s wha–”
Fuyuhiko grabs his wrist. Toya winces as it’s pulled sharply upwards for his brother to see, tendons still sore from intensive practice. After a moment of observation, his arm is pushed back towards him, grip unrelenting. “Your nails.”
“Ah…” Toya hesitates, “polish. Tenma-sensei did it for me.” Alternating yellows and pinks, just like a Tenma!, with glitter that shimmers under the lights. “She had some, and I thought it was pretty, so…”
A moment passes in silence. Then, Fuyuhiko tugs sharply on his wrist. “Come on, Toya.”
He’s being dragged out of the practice room before he can process it, fingers wrapped tightly around his wrist with Fuyuhiko pulling him along. “Onii-san, ow, what’s–!”
There’s a sharp tug that makes Toya stumble on his feet. He shuts up.
He keeps himself quiet until Fuyuhiko leads them to their parents’ room; Toya knows that this is off-limits, they’ll get in trouble for being here without permission. “W-Wait, Fuyu-nii–”
“I told you to stop calling me that,” he spits, pulling Toya into the attached bathroom. The grip on Toya releases, and he pulls his hands up to his chest, cradling the sore wrist; a gruff “Stay there,” is mumbled as Fuyuhiko starts pulling through the cupboard under the sink.
Toya obeys. He watches his brother grab different bottles and then place them back down, checking each label. Eventually, he pulls back, a small white bottle in one hand and a pack of cotton wipes in the other; he turns, placing the bottle down and pulling Toya forward.
“Onii-san, what…”
Fuyuhiko sighs, picking up the bottle and a wipe, dabbing a few drops of liquid into it and gripping Toya’s hand again; he rubs the wipe against one of his nails, colour slowly shedding onto the pad. Toya yelps.
“O-Onii-san, stop it–,” he murmurs, trying to pull his hand away; the grip tightens, drawing out a wince.
“You should know better than this, Toya,” his brother says, voice harsh, sharp at the edges. “You’re old enough now.”
“But…” Toya swallows, trying to push down the lump in his throat. “Mother wears nail polish all the time. I-It’s pretty. I don’t understand…”
“Mother is an adult, and a woman.” Fuyuhiko rubs harder at the edges of the polish; Toya whimpers as the chemical is pushed into the crevice of skin. “If you don’t understand that then I’m not sure what to say.” The wipe is pulled back for a moment, allowing them each to check the nail. It’s mostly clean, aside from some polish still stuck where the nail meets skin; Fuyuhiko pulls on Toya’s hand again, pressing at the edges of his nails. Toya cries out.
“Fuyu-nii, stop, you’re hurting me–!” He whimpers as hot tears begin to roll down his cheeks, pooling at the corners of his eyes; the liquid burns against his skin, seeping against the nail beds as his fingertips turn red with the force of the cleaning. Toya tries to tug his hand back, to no avail; Fuyuhiko holds him in place.
“Toya, hold still–”
He protests, pulling back again, trying to pry Fuyuhiko off of him with his free hand; his brother grips him tighter, tugging him forward so sharply that Toya feels his wrist pop momentarily.
“Toya,” he seethes, “stop throwing a tantrum. You know this is the right thing to do.” He begins rubbing at the next nail, and Toya bites back a sob. “Father would have your head if he saw you like this.” He grimaces. “I’m helping.”
Toya whimpers, but doesn’t give any further rebuttal; as much as it makes his chest sink, he knows Fuyuhiko is right. Harumichi would probably offer the same treatment, if not worse, maybe ban him from seeing the Tenmas entirely. He hopes Fuyuhiko doesn’t tell. He’d hate for Harumichi to get them in trouble, too.
Still, there’s an itching in his heart. He tries to keep it to himself, but watching as his nails are slowly stripped back to their dull state, pain sparking in his fingers, he can’t help but ask.
“Fu– onii-san…?”
The elder grunts, rubbing particularly hard against the corner of the nail.
“Why…” he sniffles, “why aren’t I allowed to wear it? I don’t get it.”
A sigh comes from Fuyuhiko; he pulls back, nodding to himself and grabbing a clean wipe for the next nail. “It… isn’t something for you, Toya. It’s… complicated.”
“B-But… mother. And Tenma-sensei… an-and she said she does it for Saki-san too, I’m not too young.” He pauses, biting his lip to stifle another cry. “So why?”
His brother huffs again. “You’re a boy, Toya. It isn’t proper for you to wear nail polish.” He frowns. “A classical musician, too. You must maintain your standards or your image will suffer for it.”
Toya has never properly understood standards, when his father talks about it. But… if Fuyuhiko agrees with him, it must be important. Even if he still doesn’t get it.
“O-Okay.” He looks down at his hands; one is clean of polish, the fingertips red and raw. “…Hurts.”
Another sigh. “I know, Toya,” Fuyuhiko murmurs, eyes flickering up for just a second; he almost looks sad. “I’ll put some cream on them afterwards.”
Toya nods. He keeps his mouth shut, then, throat straining to keep down his whimpers. His fingers continue to burn. Fuyuhiko doesn’t hold back, rubbing and rubbing away until there isn’t so much as a speck of polish left.
At the very least, he applies some soothing cream like he’d said. Toya keeps quiet; his brain is telling him to be grateful for the kindness, but his heart can’t find that appreciation. He despises it. His brother is caring for him, protecting him.
So why are Fuyuhiko’s hands so cold?
He sets the cream down, capping it and standing to rinse his fingers off. “Go to your room, Toya,” he says, voice returned to its previous monochrome tone.
“Yes, onii-san.”
“I’d suggest you practise a little before father returns, too. Don’t get that stuff on the keys, though.”
“Yes, onii-san.”
Toya feels eyes on him for a moment, there’s a soft sigh. A small pat on his head. “Go, then. Let me tidy up.” Tidy up your mess, his voice suggests.
Toya obeys.
(His tears are muffled into a pillow, that evening. He knows he shouldn’t be crying, he should be better than this, but something about the ordeal carved a hole in his heart, and he chokes the wasted space up in sobs.
When his father asks about his reddened fingertips, Toya remains silent. He’s never been a convincing liar, and Harumichi would no doubt punish both him and Fuyuhiko. So he stays quiet and takes the berating he earns for it.
It’s the least he can do for the brother who helped him.)
—
“Toya!” An grabs the cotton bud from his hands, huffing. “Are you trying to rub your skin off or something?!”
Toya glances at her, then back down to his hand; indeed, the skin around his nail is a bright red, sore where the polish remover seeps into his skin. “I was just getting the polish off, like you said.”
“You don’t have to do it that hard, dummy,” she says, tugging his hand forward. She drops a little more remover onto the wipe, slowly dragging it down his nail. “It takes a little longer, but you aren’t rubbing your damn fingers raw. You’ll be sore holding a mic after that, man.”
“Ah… you’re right. I’m sor–”
An grabs one of the polish bottles and dabs a little onto his nose. Toya feels his face scrunch up; she giggles. “Don’t apologise. You haven’t done it before, it’s not a problem.”
Toya nods after a brief moment of hesitation. The spot is wiped off of his face with an apologetic giggle, and An continues removing the polish; she holds his hand gently, soft scarred skin against Toya’s own calluses. Orange bleeds onto the wipe as she slowly strips it off, careful around the edges not to rub too much fluid into the skin.
With his nails bare, An offers him a choice of colours; he selects a soft yellow, and she grins, quickly getting to work. They talk as she does; school, practice, their partners and music. It's peaceful. Toya relaxes; An’s hands are so soft against his own, and her movements are gentle. It’s almost lulling.
He paints hers in return, of course. She laughs gently each time he smudges it onto the skin, cutting off his apologies and showing him how to wipe it off cleanly. Toya grows used to the movement, able to brush the polish on precisely after a little practice. He finishes them quickly enough, and they lay their hands out beside each other.
“We should get Akito and Kohane to do it with us next time,” An says, looking down at their nails. “We can all match.”
Toya looks up, “Oh, that’s a good idea. We could all do each other’s colours…”
“Exactly! We should have a sleepover, get face masks and everything– a little self-care night!”
A quiet chuckle escapes Toya at her instant enthusiasm, although excitement is building in his chest, too. “Well, as soon as this starts to chip off, we can ask them, right?”
“Mhm!” A grin crosses her face– bright and loving, just like the girl herself. Toya feels his heart lighten. Her fingers curl against his. “Thank you for asking me to do this, by the way. It’s fun!”
Toya smiles, nodding slightly. “Thank you for doing it. I… understand it may be a little strange for me, but—”
“Oi!” Her hands come up to his face, gently squishing his cheeks and leaning forward. “It isn’t strange or whatever. You’re you, and you like it, and I’m more than happy to help. Don’t get in your head about it, okaaaay?”
Toya feels his eyes widen. A moment passes, and then he smiles, leaning into her touch. “Okay.”