Chapter Text
Denki bit at his cuticles, eyes quickly finding the chipped and discolored polish on his fingers. Maybe I shouldn’t let Ashido paint my nails anymore, he’d think, sighing as he leaned his head against his hand once again. Pen in hand, he insistently began clicking the top as he looked down at the worksheet, only being pulled out of his thoughts when Ojiro gently kicked at his leg.
His eyes met with Ojiro’s, and he quickly mumbled an apology.
Thankfully, the bell had quickly rang not long afterwards, and Denki quickly rose to pack his things. He met with Ashido and Sero at the door, and the trio hastily left the class after what felt like a far too long day. Ashido didn’t hesitate to grab one of Denki’s hands, inspecting her once well crafted work.
“You should really repaint your nails. They look… horrendous ,” she said.
Denki snorted, “You really are your own worst critic. You’re the one who painted them in the first place.”
“Yeah but like,” Ashido crossed her arms as they walked, “You have to keep painting them so they don’t look ugly as hell.”
“Fine, fine. Lemme see what colors you have,” he finally complied, ignoring Sero’s small huffs of laughter in the background.
The teens at last reached their dormitory, Jirou quickly joining them as they all beelined into Ashido’s bedroom. Sero didn’t hesitate to make himself comfortable on Ashido’s bed, Jirou and Denki instead opting to sit on the floor. The blonde watched boredly as Ashido dug through one of her storage boxes covered in pink glitter, finally sitting in front of the two. Proudly, the girl wiggled a bottle of acetone in Denki’s face, pouring the liquid onto cotton balls.
Jirou offered to put on some music, and Ashido began working away at the old chipped polish atop Denki’s nails. He sighed contently as he listened to Sero and Jirou’s conversation, Ashido soon telling Denki to pick a color.
He examined the various bottles of polish, attention quickly being drawn to a mauve color in one of the fancier looking bottles. He held it towards Ashido, who complied by gently taking it from his hands, and shaking the contents. As she did this, he dug through the rest of the box filled with various colors with one hand, mindfully mumbling, “You have a lot of shades.”
Ashido made an ‘mhm’ noise as she got to work, carefully painting Denki’s plain nails with the purple color.
He stopped at a pastel yellow bottle, “Yellow, really?”
“What? Pink and yellow look really sweet together,” Ashido defended, eyes unmoving from the boy’s hand.
“Do they?”
“Purple and yellow too,” Jirou observantly added.
“Really?”
She faked a scoff, “Yeah, it’s like… basic color theory or something. They’re complimentary.”
Jokingly, Denki leaned towards Jirou, “Really? That must be why we fit together so well.”
Jirou mocked annoyance, failing to hide the smile playing at her lips. She playfully shoved him aside, soft tenderness filling the room once again.
Ashido clicked her tongue, “All finished! Be careful not to touch anything or ruin it.”
Denki mumbled a thanks, holding his hand out to perceive his friend’s handiwork. He spent most of the rest of the time digging through Ashido’s nail supplies, mindlessly reading a few of the labels and setting them on the floor. “Some of these colors are like, blinding,” he joked, earning a playful kick from Ashido.
“You can take the purple if you want,” she offered.
With a brief pause, he asked, “Can I also take this yellow?”
Ashido shrugged, “Sure.”
When Denki was double sure that his nails had dried, he shoved the two polish colors into his bag, walking out of the room with Sero once the two had decided they wanted to go their separate ways. He quickly said his goodbyes, hurrying towards his own room for the night, neglecting to take the polish out of his bag.
Denki had met with Hitoshu at the library a few days later after class, the two eager to find something about proofs that explained it better than their provided textbooks. The two admitted defeat, sitting at one of the tables as they begrudgingly began their homework they barely understood.
“No but like, why are proofs the absolute bane of my existence? I think I’m going to fall into a coma,” Denki complained, only earning agreeing huffs of laughter.
“They aren’t that bad…” Hitoshi tried.
“Some of these words don’t even make sense. Like, congruency? What does that even mean?”
“It means they’re the same… I think.”
Dramatically, Denki threw his pencil to the desk, rummaging through his bag. “Hold on, I think I remember seeing some of these problems in the notes.”
He flipped through the flurry of pages stuffed into his geometry folder, until he found the pages of messy and repeatedly-erased proofs. As he searched through the papers, he mumbled, “I swear to God I’m gonna have a breakdown or something.”
“ Whoa , when did you paint your nails?” Hitoshi asked, changing the subject.
Denki stopped, glancing at Ashido’s work. “Like… a week ago? I dunno, Ashido did it not too long ago.”
“It looks really nice on you,” Hitoshi leaned his cheek against his palm.
“Thanks, I think I…” Denki’s eyes trailed back to the inside of his bag, making an ‘aha!’ sound. He proudly pulled out the two bottles of polish he had forgotten.
“Please tell me you didn’t steal them or something.”
Denki feigned offense, “ Moi ? Ashido happened to lend them to me, thank you very much.” He looked down at Hitoshi’s hand that sat across from him, fingers tapping thoughtfully. “Can I…”
“ No ,” Hitoshi immediately answered.
“Unfair, you didn’t even let me properly ask!” Almost as a toddler or insistent dog would, Denki pressed his hands together, biting his lip. “ Please ,” he begged, dragging the word out longer than necessary.
“Do you even know how?” Hitoshi asked, crossing his arms as if to hide his hands from sight.
“It’s just brushing paint onto a nail, it’s not that deep. I’ve watched Ashido do it tons of times.”
Hitoshi inhaled deeply, as if he’d forever regret the words to come out of his mouth. “Fine.”
Denki childishly exclaimed a ‘yay,’ beginning to shake up the yellow bottle just as he’d seen Ashido do hundreds of times.
“You’re doing yellow?”
Denki shrugged, opening the bottle. “Jirou told me yellow and purple are like, complimentary or something.”
“...Right,” Hitoshi mumbled, lending his left hand to the boy across from him.
The blonde quickly got to work, repositioning Hitoshi’s thumb as to gain more precise access. Once he reached the ring finger, he clumsily applied polish smeared along the sides of Hitoshi’s finger.
“I thought you said this was easy,” he complained.
Denki playfully hushed him, eyes unmoving from his subject. He mumbled an ‘other hand,’ and Hitoshi quickly complied.
As Denki began the second coat, Hitoshi added, “It feels kind of wonky.”
Denki snorted, “Wonky?”
“Like it’s all cold and weird-feeling,” he explained.
“You’re a master of explanation and wordcraft, I see.”
Mindfully, Denki pulled Hitoshi’s right hand towards him, fingertips lingering on the sensation of the other’s larger hands. He bit his bottom lip as he focused, shakily adding the final layer on Hitoshi’s pinky finger. “Here, just don’t touch anything for a while and it’ll dry.”
“So you’re saying if I touch something it’ll just stay wet forever?”
Denki rolled his eyes, “You know what I mean.”
“So how long does it take?” Hitoshi asked, gently waving his hand around as if to dry it.
“Maybe a little less than an hour, You can just…” Denki softly grabbed the other’s hand, “Blow on it,” he finished as he began blowing warm air at his fingertips. Rather than look back up at his friend’s face, he instead observed, “Your hands are kinda cold.”
“I think I remember reading somewhere that anxiety can make your hands cold? I’m not sure if I’m remembering that right though,” Hitoshi stated, eyes unmoving from where Denki held his hand.
Finally, Denki looked back at him, “It’s a good thing my hands are always warm then, huh?”
Hitoshi smiled softly, looking off to the side as if he were embarrassed. “We should head back though, I don’t really feel like being held accountable for these God awful fumes.”
The other made a slightly strained noise, “Eh, yeah I guess you’re right. I think it smells pretty good, though.”
Hitoshi slowly began to rise from his seat, carefully slinking his bag over one of his shoulders. “The fumes have clearly been disintegrating your sense of smell slowly from the inside.”
Denki followed the taller’s movements, quickly catching up to him around the table. “You just have to get used to it.”
As the two walked out of the library together, Hitoshi sighed, “Something tells me you’re gonna get me used to it, huh?”
“Maybe,” Denki mocked innocence, dramatically shrugging with his arms.
And he did.