-on haitus until I'm out of genshin hell-

The previously hand shaped nail polish now sits in pieces. With its demise comes a deafening silence, only broken by Klavier's nervous breathing. He's too scared to look up. Too terrified to face the scolding he knows he'll get for this transgression. He knows he has to though, so cautiously, he raises his gaze from his shoes to his brother. 

Even in youth, Kristoph has an intimidating air about him. That aura only grows in situations like this. When Klavier is caught doing something he shouldn't. He just wishes this was one of the things he'd gotten away with. He isn't sure whether or not he should be grateful that Kristoph isn't looking at him. However, when Gavin realizes that his eyes are on the transparent pieces, he decides he's unlucky. 

Kristoph's gaze travels from the shards, to Klavier's hidden hands, then finally to his bedroom desk -- where his spot for his nail polish is decidedly empty. It didn't take a genius to figure out what happened. As it dawns on him, Klavier can see the start of anger tense his shoulders and glint his glasses. 

"You...! What have you-...!"

Klavier flinches. The sentence is cut short, yet it still holds frothing fury. Enough to set Klavier's heart into a tempo too fast to be healthy. He can hear Kristoph inhale. See the bob of his adam's apple as he reels in his annoyance. He's restraining himself. He always is. He has to when the pressure of being the golden child is on his shoulders. 

Approaching steps add to the broken symphony of Gavin's hitched inhales, eventually stopping right in front of him. Kristoph doesn't say a word as he puts a hand on the five year old's shoulder, moving him aside with a grip that's fighting to be gentle, but too tight to be pleasant. That alone has Klavier's breaths dissolving into whimpers. 

He watches anxiously as Kristoph looks at the scene before him. Polish is dying the floor and threatening his desk rug. Even if Klavier had somehow managed to hide all these pieces behind his little form, he'd never be able to get rid of this incriminating evidence. However, Kristoph didn't stop there. Because his brother is someone who made sure to collect all the proof to back his case. It's one of the things Klavier admired him for. Right now though, he disliked that part of him. He isn't surprised when Kristoph crouches in front of him, grasping Gavin's hands and coaxing them from their hiding place. 

Neither of them were shocked to see gloss on Klavier's fingers. 

"....You touched my nail polish...."

A statement. Not a question. 

Klavier immediately bursts into tears. 

His hands tremble in Kristoph's grip as he wails. One hand pulls away to rub at puffing eyes, words a blubbering mess as he tries to explain himself. 

"I-It was an a-accident!!", A hiccup. His breaths keep hitching, unable to obtain the oxygen he desires in between cries and wobbly sentences. "I d-didn’t mean to! I didn't mean to break it! I...I just wanted to...I-I wanted to be...!!"

'Like you' goes unsaid. He can't get much else out. The knot in his throat saw to that. So he sobs instead, shoulders shaking from the force of it all. Kristoph scans his growingly wet face with dimming anger. His eyes lose their fire, his shoulders loosen, and eventually...he heaves a sigh. Cautiously, so Klavier doesn't assume the worst, he pulls the younger to him. In this position, his face is pressed into Kristoph's chest. One arm is loosely wrapped around him while the other sits on his head. He can feel his brother softly pat his hair, fingers threading through yellow strands.

"It was an accident. It's not your fault, so stop crying", Kristoph sounds exasperated, sure, but not mad. There doesn't seem to be any malice hidden within his tones. 

Despite this, Klavier's guilt isn't eased. He knows how much his brother adored that bottle. Ever since their parents had gifted it to him, he held it quite close. Not even when the polish ran out did he throw it away. Klavier knew, because he'd always peak in and see him cleaning the inside, before carefully refilling it with whatever color he desired. Their parents had said it was a good luck charm. Klavier had wondered, in his childlike curiosity, if this was one of the many secrets to his brother's coolness. So pretty soon he'd done what kids do, and snuck in to sloppily put some on his own nails. Maybe then some of that luck would brush off on him and he'd be just like Kristoph. Apparently not. Kristoph certainly wouldn't be foolish enough to drop such a fragile bottle. 

He tries to voice the argument that this was, in fact, his fault. If he'd never been messing with Kristoph's stuff, this would have never happened. Yet the words can't find their way out, except for maybe some strange mewls and unrecognizable vowels. The older simply rubs circles in his back in response. 

They sit like that for a while, with Klavier boohooing and Kristoph muttering the occasional reassurance. He's snotting up his brother's nice outfit, he knows. The pretty one that he wears when he practices piano. Nevertheless, he can't bring himself to stop. So he continues, wetting the warmth of his chest with mucus and tears. Eventually though, like all things, his cries come to an end. He quiets into worn out breaths, clutching Kristoph like his life depended on it. 

"Sorry....m'sorry...."

He feels arms curl under him in a silent answer. Gently, he's shuffled into slim arms, relocated onto Kristoph's lap. The 13 year old has chosen to give his previously crouched and currently numbing legs a break, sitting at his desk where it all happened. There's still glass beneath them, glistening side by side with heavy scented polish. In spite of its danger, it's ignored in favor of tending to little Klav. Kristoph pulls a tissue from his box and holds it to the youngster's nose. 

"Blow", he says simply, and Klavier does. 

Only when his boogers are removed and his face is cleaned does Kristoph get up. Klavier is left to sit as his brother cleans up his mess. Shards are carefully swept, and liquid mopped. By the time he's done, it's almost as if the incident never happened. Except for maybe the new stain on his rug, and the lack of a bottle. When Kristoph returns, Klavier is lifted back onto his lap. One arm wraps around to keep him in place, while the other pushes into his desk drawer. With a little digging, he manages to pull out a different bottle. It isn't nearly as fancy as the hand shaped one, plainly round and wide. But nail polish is nail polish, that thought only confirmed when his nose is met with the familiar scent of solvent. Klavier looks up at his sibling with questions in his eyes. Kristoph just dips the brush in liquid purple. 

"Put your hands on the table, and stay still"

Klavier's gaze shines bright with excitement. 

So there they sit, Kristoph painting small nails with ease. Klavier watches delightedly all the while, completely engrossed with the simple motion of small strokes. The sight and quiet is relaxing. So steadily, as each finger is given color, his eyes grow heavy. The exhaustion of a good cry finally weighs down on him. Kristoph can sense it, too. In the way his breathing slows, and how his body leans on the pianist. He doesn't stop painting, even when he feels the preschooler's head lull back onto his chest. Soft snores are his new companion as he finishes the job. 

And once the less impressive bottle is put away, and Klavier's nails are dry enough to be moved -- Kristoph places a small kiss onto his brother's head and carries him to bed.

______