Kanji had set up his laptop on the low table, video tutorial paused on a frame showing someone’s half-manicured hand. Bottles of polish—shiny, cheap, and way too many colors—were scattered around.

“Alright, don’t move,” he muttered, brows furrowed. You went still. Not because you were afraid he’d ruin it, but because of the way his hand cradled yours—gentle, careful, like he was holding glass.

The video had been abandoned twenty minutes ago. Somewhere between the base coat and the second nail, Kanji had stopped following directions and just… started painting. Swirls, lines, mini doodles like a little cat or a big star. His chewed on his lip as he concentrated, and it was kind of cute how serious he looked.

“How are you even doing this?” you asked softly. “You’ve never done nails before, right?”

He grunted, not looking up. “Dunno. Just… feels like paintin’ any other surface. Only, y’know, smaller.” “So I’m your new canvas?”

That got him. His hand twitched the tiniest bit, and his ears went pink. “…D-don’t say it like that.” You tilted your head, watching him work. The polish brush moved with surprising precision, each stroke sure, like he’d been practicing for years. When he finally leaned back to admire his work, he blinked in surprise. “…Huh. That actually looks… kinda sick,” he muttered, almost to himself.

You lifted your hand, twisting it to see the tiny stars he’d painted across your nails, perfect gradients of blue and silver. They were beautiful, to put it simply.

“Kanji. These are amazing.”

His blush deepened, creeping across his cheeks. “It’s not—don’t make it a big deal, alright? I just—” He rubbed at the back of his neck, eyes darting anywhere but yours. “…I’m glad you like ‘em.”