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Arakita’s palms are large.
If Kinjou were to spread his palm out and line it up with Arakita's, their palms would more-or-less match in size. But different to Kinjou's, Arakita's fingers are long and thin, deceivingly frail-looking. Yet Kinjou knows that those fingers, those hands, are indeed very strong.
Kinjou loves playing with Arakita's hands, and now that Arakita's sleeping soundly on his left, Kinjou couldn't help but indulge himself a little. Kinjou slides his hands up to the tips of Arakita's fingers, examining the nails. Arakita's hands are indeed pretty, but his nails are everything but. They are severely bitten, the result of a nervous habit Kinjou knows Arakita has had for years. The skin of the cuticles is broken, and on some of the fingers, traces of dried blood can still be seen. Kinjou sighs and strokes each peeled skin, each small, deformed fingernails with his own digits and follows the strokes with featherlight kisses.
Kinjou then moves downward to observe the back of Arakita's hand. Like every other part of Arakita's body, the back of his hand is bony, veins popping out due to lack of fat. But the skin is smooth and healthy, slightly paler than the skin near the fingertips. The difference a result of countless of hours riding under the glaring sun while wearing fingerless, cycling gloves. He also kisses this part of Arakita's hands. It smells like the soap he used earlier in the bath. Kinjou's lips pause there for a moment. Spacing off, Kinjou starts thinking about the hilly roads of Hakone, the ones they had just ridden earlier that day.
“Be careful of the traffic from the other side” Arakita would always remind him when he led their party of two. Whenever it’s Arakita’s turn to pull, however, Kinjou was always in a sort of trance. Arakita knew these roads like the back of his own hands. Or the back of Kinjou’s, maybe. Kinjou couldn't help but pay attention more to Arakita’s confident lead, the fluidity of his movements as he danced up the hills. The way he gripped on his handle bars hard while climbing, the muscles of his arms straining.
At the top of one hill, Arakita suddenly stopped on what seemed to be a parking spot of a viewing area. He leaned his bike on the lined up vending machines and turned to Kinjou.
"Are you thirsty?" Kinjou asked, not really understanding what was going on. "Did you want to buy a drink?"
"Nah." Arakita replied, adding that he still had one full bottle. "This...is the place where i first met Fuku-chan." Arakita's voice grew quieter by the words when he said that. He looked off to the spot on the far left of Kinjou, where there was...nothing.
"There used to be a rock thing as a sign for a parking spot, you know. I was sitting there when Fuku-chan just came out of nowhere. I wonder when they removed it." Arakita said, now turning his gaze down to his fingers, a sign that he's about to bring one of his fingers up and bite on the nail. "If i hadn't come to this place, if Fuku-can hadn't needed a drink refill that day....we wouldn't be here right now."
Kinjou noticed the way Arakita visibly deflated, his shoulders sagging and head down, still staring at his hands. Kinjou was about to say something to break the silence but Arakita beat him to it, "But that doesn't matter. It's happened and no need to worry about the what-ifs, eh?" Arakita said, lifting his head up and turning his gaze to Kinjou. He didn't bite his fingers and instead, ran it over his sweat-damped hair. Kinjou only nodded and offered to buy Arakita a bepsi before they continue their ride.
Turning his attention back to the present, Kinjou turns Arakita’s hand in his, the palm now facing him. The lines on it are deep, and Kinjou traces them with his own fingers. Kinjou then goes on to think about the first time he held one of Arakita's hands.
It was at the end of the third day of interhigh, and Kinjou was driven back to the medical tent to grab the things he’s forgotten. He wasn't expecting anyone inside the tent since most teams have gone back or have all settled inside their respective buses. So Kinjou was more than a little surprised when he pushed the flaps of the tent back and found Arakita still in there, standing on the side of his bed and packing up his things.
Arakita noticed someone coming into the small tent so he looked up and stared at Kinjou with a sharp, piercing gaze. A startling contrast to his pallid face, the sweat on his brow and the slight tremor in his hands. Arakita was still extremely exhausted.
“Kinjou,” Arakita started. Arakita's voice was drawled out as if in annoyance. Kinjou thought he was going to say something threatening, to curse at him or say anything that would show how bitter he was about Sohoku's win and how much he probably hated Kinjou. Kinjou thought Arakita would maybe even attack him, if the rumors about him being a delinquent were true.
But instead, Hakone Academy’s number 2 just heaved a sigh and zipped up his bag. “Congratulations on the win.” He said. No longer looking at Kinjou. Arakita hoisted up the bag on his left shoulder, though Kinjou honestly thought someone should help him carry that instead. It seemed like a lot of weight for Arakita who looked like he could pass out at any moment now. He went to move towards the tent’s exit, where Kinjou was still firmly rooted.
“Y-yes, I...” Kinjou tried, suddenly tongue-tied. “It was because you brought Onoda-“
“Shut up.” Arakita's answer was instant. This time his voice was strong and angry and Kinjou's shoulders twitched in surprise and fear, just a little. He’s looking at Kinjou again, his sharp gaze even more menacing now that he’s closer to Kinjou. Arakita was feral and Kinjou was always very bad with people like him.
Without letting his gaze softened, Arakita exhaled harshly and held his left hand out for a handshake. “But still, congratulations.”
Kinjou was confused, both with Arakita insistence to congratulate him, and with the offered left hand. Kinjou realized then that he’s never shook anyone’s left hand before. He observed the hand offered to him, it was thin and pallid like the rest of its owner's body, and veered his gaze to Arakita's right arm. It looked just the same as the left one and did not seem to have any injuries, but the tremors were far more visible there than in his left arm.
"Oi!" Arakita barked at him, moving his still-outstretched hand weakly. Realizing he's been spacing off too long, Kinjou hastily held out his own left hand and awkwardly grasped on Arakita’s, shaking it slightly. Arakita retracted his hand soon after and pushed pass Kinjou to exit the medical tent, off to his team’s bus. Kinjou noticed that Arakita's hand was larger than he’d imagine, and that it wasn’t soft, despite how it looked. It was actually quite rough.
A few moments passed before Kinjou realized that he forgot to thank Arakita. But when he rushed to look out of the tent, Arakita was already well out of sight.
“Shingo.” Arakita’s drowsy voice pulls Kinjou out of his thoughts. Kinjou brings Arakita’s hand down to rest on his stomach, Kinjou’s own hands still wrapped around it. “Still awake?”
“Yes” Kinjou replies. He smiles when Arakita turns to him, still rubbing at his eye with his other hand. He watches Arakita adjust his eyesight to the dimness of the room, his eyes blinking several times before finally focusing on Kinjou’s face. He looks over to where his other hand was.
“What?” He asked, voice still heavy with sleep. He half-heartedly tries to pull his right hand out of Kinjou's hold but the movement is too sleepy and drowsy.
“Nothing." Kinjou says while turning over to his side to face Arakita properly. He brings their entwined hands up to his lips, kissing Arakita’s knuckles softly again before bringing their hands down to rest on the pillow between them. When Kinjou looks up to Arakita, he is much more awake and blushing a little.
“Sap.” Arakita says and Kinjou only chuckles at that. Kinjou opens up Arakita’s fingers and rubs on the palm with the pads of his thumbs, paying attention to the smallest of details. The tiny lines all over the palm, the bluish vein visible underneath pale skin, the thin wrist, even the small scar on the bottom right part of the palm that he got after trying to pet a stray cat a week ago.
Kinjou's smile softens even more, eyes becoming half-lidded. His is the face of admiration, of love and of fondness. He then moves to position Arakita's right hand and grip it as if in a handshake. It doesn't feel much different than the left one. Large. Rough.
"Shingo-chan, what are you doing?" Arakita asks again, drawling out kinjou's name. Arakita looks to their still connected hands and shakes up and down exaggeratedly, a comic handshake. Kinjou laughes at Arakita's antics and moves in to kiss him on his forehead, still holding on Arakita's hand. Kinjou whispers to Arakita's hair,
"Thanking you."