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Arakita was very much aware of the fact that several of his genetics sucked donkey balls. Sure, people complimented him on his height and his glossy, healthy hair but there was no ignoring the fact that he hadn't won the genetic lottery.
There were some people born lanky and slim, who managed to have round cheeks and gorgeous smiles and had fingers which were long and smooth, perfect for playing the piano.
(Arakita remembered his mother commenting on his fingers when he was five and had signed him up for a practice session. The teacher had come to the conclusion that Arakita sucked at playing the piano, only that he had said so in more polite terms. It had suited Arakita just fine, he enjoyed being outside far more anyway.)
Arakita was none of that. He was all pointed elbows, sharp angles and very, very bony. His youngest sister (not that she was any less bony, just more rounded in places where it seemed to matter) had grumbled and complained and compared him to a knife the last time he had jabbed his elbow against her side for stealing the last bottle of bepsi. She wasn't wrong. Arakita knew he was a terrible person to hug. He had inherited his father's bone structure and hugging his father was like hugging a tall, humanoid cactus: prickly and painful.
One would think that being graced with the softness of a glass shard would cancel out the chance of any other terrible genetics.
Arakita wished it worked that way.
His mother was tall and graceful, her voice smooth and cuddling up to her would have been one of the most joyful experiences in Arakita's life if she hadn't been blessed with terrible circulation and thus, constantly cold hands and feet.
Which, naturally, she had passed on to Arakita.
Sometimes, Arakita wondered if he could trade his shitty genetics for something nicer. A lifetime supply of bepsi, perhaps. Maybe a better affinity for animals in general? (Apparently, he had gotten his terrible animal handling skills from his maternal grandfather. And his weakness for anything cute and fluffy from his paternal grandmother. Respect your elders his ass.)
Considering that Arakita was a walking, talking popsicle who seemed to eat nails for lunch and dinner every day, it was a wonder that Shinkai was as comfortable with touching Arakita as he was. And Arakita had tried every trick in the book to get Shinkai to stop touching him, hugging him and pressing his stupid, dumb, sexy lips against Arakita's cheek. He had snapped and growled and dodged, shoved Shinkai out of arm's reach and then a little further.
Shinkai was not to be deterred.
With a grin and an amused Yasutomo, Shinkai would ignore Arakita's petulant scowl and pull him close. Always, without fail. He would do his stupid pistol pose, one arm wrapped around Arakita's shoulders and with the other hand aimed at Arakita's face. Trying to bite the finger off had, so far, proven to be ineffective.
Hugging Arakita could not be a comfortable experience. There was no way in hell.
And yet, Arakita mused as he tried to ignore the way Shinkai's arm tightened around his waist and the way the sheet rustled as Shinkai's leg twitched in his sleep, it always ended up like this. With him pulled against Shinkai's body despite his protests and with Shinkai happily holding Arakita as close as he could get away with.
They couldn't have been more different. Shinkai's body was a furnace, a thick, muscled and dense furnace. Being hugged by Shinkai was like being hugged by an overgrown, happy rabbit: Comfortable and comforting at the same time. He never minded Arakita's cold hands and feet, never seemed to mind waking up to find a very sharp elbow buried in his stomach. All he would ever do was kiss Arakita's temple, mutter a Good morning and pull him closer.
Of course Arakita would end up with a cuddler.
Of course it would be someone who wasn't deterred by his prickly attitude and his mood swings.
Of course Arakita would end up falling in love with a person who was so at ease with himself and his moody boyfriend that Arakita couldn't seriously stop from getting his way.
Of course it would be Shinkai.
Stifling a groan, Arakita glared at the clock, too red digits happily announcing that it was one in the morning and that normal Hakone students should be fast asleep. Just to be spiteful, Arakita pulled a face and tugged the blanket up to cover his grimace. Behind him, Shinkai huffed, his lips moving against Arakita's neck before he snuggled closer. His knees knocked against the back of Arakita's thighs before he settled down again.
And of course Shinkai clung like a limpet in his sleep.
But he was warm. Warm and a constant, someone who made Arakita feel wanted and cherished. Tentatively, Arakita snuggled back into Shinkai's warmth and closed his eyes. He could feel Shinkai's lips quirk up into a smile and a small kiss was pressed against Arakita's skin before Shinkai drifted off again. Face utterly red, Arakita nudged Shinkai's leg with a foot.
Perhaps he was all sharp angles. Maybe he was all bones and cold feet. Shinkai never seemed to mind. That was all that mattered.
(Hours later, Arakita woke up to crumbs in his hair, a blazing hand on his back and a smiling Hayato wishing him a good morning. The crumbs Arakita could have done without and he complained loudly about them as he pushed himself up to give his glutton of a boyfriend a kiss.)