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As a rule, Makoto isn’t a cuddler, so it’s a surprise when Shoichi wakes up one morning with Makoto’s arms locked tight around him, face buried in his chest like he’s trying to burrow through Shoichi’s rib cage and lodge himself in his heart.
It’s not like they never touch one another; Shoichi likes to sling an arm around Makoto’s shoulders when they sit on the couch together, and Makoto’s softer side has made itself known when he holds Shoichi on his bad days. But this is something else altogether. Right now, Makoto seeks contact like he needs it to survive.
It’s not like him at all. At first, groggy with sleep, Shoichi is content to enjoy it, but as coherent thought comes to him, it brings with it concern. Makoto’s face is hard to make out without his glasses, but Shoichi thinks his brows are drawn, like he’s angry or in pain.
Shoichi gives him a gentle shake. “Alright?” he murmurs.
Makoto’s eyes flicker, but don’t open. “Mmm,” he replies, pressing his face harder into Shoichi’s chest. Although they’re lying beneath a thick blanket, he’s shivering.
Shoichi frowns. Despite Makoto’s vague noises of protest, Shoichi prises him away for long enough to press their foreheads together. Makoto’s is decidedly warm.
The moment Shoichi lets go, Makoto returns to his original position - if anything, he’s somehow managed to press himself even closer to Shoichi. It’s a little uncomfortable, but Shoichi returns the embrace regardless. It’d be cruel to try and loosen Makoto’s grip, feverish and trembling as he is.
Shoichi had nothing important to do today, anyway, so he has no problem lying in with Makoto - especially if it gives him the opportunity to tease him about his latent clinginess later.