He couldn't do today. Skin was too cold, flesh was too hot, the feeling of them against each other paired with the moistness from a miniscule layer of sweat, he hated feeling it. The movement of his own bones underneath his skin, rubbing against the flesh as he felt the blood rush from his heart, through his arteries, then back to his heart from veins, over and over and over again.

People talking was too loud too. The beating in his ears making it hard to focus on what they were saying, much less how important it might be. Breathing felt like more of a pain, feeling his own lungs expand against his ribs. He hated it. Hated every second of how overwhelming his own body was, how uncomfortable it felt to exist. The slight hairs on his arms or legs picking up the slightest movement or brush of wind, making him feel nauseous. ... Yet he felt safe when you sat there next to him. To make sure he didn't accidentally scratch himself with his own nails too hard to feel the uncomfortable skin coming off. To make sure he eats normal food, not just sweets again even if they settled his nerves. He needed you around when he was like this. Craved it even.

He clung to you like a fuzzy baby koala against their mother. Blanket covering his right side, if it was on his left it'd be too much. Plus, his left side was being hugged by you, so there was no need for a blanket against his skin there if it was covered by you.