Akari is not one to make attempts at physical contact. It is not that he particularly minds it, per say; he is a doctor after all, and as such he is always in close proximity to his patients. But he simply does not see it as a necessity, for surely there are better ways to show affection than holding hands.
Hirato has never been the "touchy feely" type either. He does not resist contact, nor is he unwilling to use sex or the gentle brush of hands to his advantage, to manipulate people. But he finds touch forlove of all things to be… a bit too much. If you lean against someone they can hear your faintly racing heartbeat. If you hold hands they can feel the warm blood swishing through your veins and heating your face and hands. No matter if you have the upmost control over your body's physical appearance, it will always find a way to sabotage you.
It is Tsukitachi who eventually crosses the bridge, or rather, forces his colleagues across it. One night, when all three are a bit red and too full of wine and other drinks, he takes both of their hands in his and twines their fingers together before either man has a chance to react. "Keep 'em that way," he orders, voice slurred but intentions clear. He wanders off, stumbling slightly, to leave them in peace.
Hirato lifts an eyebrow and glances sideways at Akari. The dim light and the doctor's already flushed face make it impossible to tell if his face grows any redder, but his eyes darken and he stares intently at the glass of bourbon in front of him. And yet… neither man removes his hand from the other's grasp. Instead, Akari seems to almost tighten his grip on Hirato's larger hand, while Hirato merely looks from the doctor to their hands and back. His mouth opens slightly, a question hanging on his tongue— and then closes again, swallowing down the question with his wine. And interlocked Hirato lets their fingers stay, until Akari's inevitable drunken sleep overtakes the blond man.