Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

"So here's the plan," Reki said excitedly as he and Langa made their way out the front doors of their favorite ramen shop, skateboards in hand and bellies full. "I've counted up everything we've been saving the last six months and if we stay at the cheapest hostels and walk a lot, we should be able to hit up almost thirty different skateparks between Tokyo and Kagoshima."

Langa was nodding along beside him, listening intently as the two dropped their boards and shoved off down the street.

"And," Reki continued, "if we're really good with our money, we might even be able to extend the whole trip. Not like either of us has anything to worry about except work."

Because they no longer had to concern themselves with school. Six months prior, they'd officially graduated. And while their peers were studying away at university, or preparing for their second attempts at the entrance exams the following January, neither Langa nor Reki had taken said exams. They were free to do as they pleased, no educational obligations blocking their path. Instead of attending classes, they'd been working. And Reki had been planning. Planning a very in-depth tour from Tokyo all the way back to Okinawa, where he and Langa would hit up as many skateparks as they could, living life on the cheap and spending time wherever they saw fit. Langa had sort-of helped with the planning, but he was rather terrible at reading maps, so Reki had done a brunt of the work.

Which was fine. He was happy to do it. A whole month (or more) of just him and Langa skating and going places neither of them had ever seen before. Together. No little sisters to get in the way or interrupt, no parents around to barge in unannounced, no early school days to take into consideration when they wanted to stay out late. Just him and his best friend and their shared love of skateboarding.

Reki couldn't imagine anything more perfect.

Well, he could, but… best not to entertain such impossibilities, especially on the cusp of spending over a month alone with Langa. Better to just shove all those fluttering butterflies back into his stomach where they belonged.

"We're just taking our backpacks, right?" Langa asked as the two of them jumped a curb and crossed the street.

"Right," Reki said. "That way we only have a carry-on for our flight from here to Tokyo. And I made sure that every place we're staying at has a washer and dryer so we can do laundry if we need to." Since they'd likely only be taking one or two sets clothes.

"Have you already bought our tickets?"

"No. I finalized everything last night, so I figured you could have a look at the itinerary and if it checks out, I'll go through and make all the reservations."

Langa was nodding again, a small smile pulling at his lips as they rolled slowly beside each other. It was a smile that had Reki grinning, before he leaned over and bumped Langa with his shoulder.

"This is gonna be so fun," Langa mumbled, sounding almost shy about it, which stretched Reki's grin into a full-blown smile. Before he ducked his own head somewhat timidly, chewing on the inside of his cheek and trying not to look as nervous as he felt.

"I was also thinking that—" he started quietly, "—that since I planned this trip, maybe… maybe early next year, you could… plan one."

Langa turned to him curiously.

Shrugging one shoulder, Reki stared down at his board. "In the early spring maybe, we could, um…" His cheeks flushed. "We could go to Canada or something."

Langa's mouth dropped open only slightly, that softness remaining in his expression. Before the corners of his eyes crinkled, some of that shy smile beginning to crawl back into place.

Only to be overtaken by cracking, wide-eyed horror a second later, as he came to a skidding halt.

Surprised, Reki nearly stumbled to a stop as well, flailing before turning back to Langa, who was gaping fully now, staring off ahead as if he'd seen a ghost.

"What?" Reki asked quickly, more than a little worried. "What is it? What happened?"

"Canada…" Langa said simply.

"What about it?" Reki asked, self-consciousness taking hold. Should he not have recommended Canada? Did Langa not want to go to Canada with him? Was there something wrong with Canada?

"I have to go to Canada," Langa said, voice breathy.

"Well, I mean, we don't have to go if you don't—"

"No, I have to go to Canada!" Langa interrupted, looking suddenly pained as he released a despairing groan and sank down into a crouch atop his skateboard. "I completely forgot."

Reki still didn't understand. "Forgot about what?"

"My Aunt Odette is getting married in December," he muttered, sounding absolutely devastated. "My grandparents bought a plane ticket for me to fly out there early, since they know I'm not in school and they haven't seen me in over two years."

"Oh…" While it'd be lame that Langa would be gone in December, Reki didn't quite get why it was such a big deal.

"Three months early," Langa continued.

"Three months?!" Reki gawped, before counting back on his fingers. "But that's, like…"

"Next week…"

"Next week," Reki repeated quietly.

"They made plans for it when my mom and I first moved here," Langa admitted. "That's why I forgot. They've been planning the wedding for over two years and the venue wasn't going to be available till this December."

"So… you're going to be gone in Canada for three months?" Reki asked quietly.

"I'm so sorry, Reki," Langa continued, standing and reaching out to lay his hand on Reki's arm. "It's been so long, I completely forgot about it. And you've been working so hard on this trip…"

Right, because if Langa was leaving for Canada the following week, then their trip at the beginning of November was as good as cancelled.

"It's fine," Reki lied, forcing himself to smile. He didn't want to make Langa feel worse with how absolutely crushed he was by this news. "We can just postpone it till you get back. Like I said, I haven't made any of the reservations yet. I'll just… shift everything to January or February or something."

"I feel like a complete asshole," Langa said, looking no better despite Reki's assurances. "You've been working so hard on this trip and—"

"And all the places we're going will still be there when you get back," Reki reasoned. "Seriously, it's okay. I'd probably have forgotten too, if someone had made plans that far in advance."

"I could leave later," Langa persisted. "My grandparents will refund the ticket and reschedule my flight for after our trip. Three months is a long time to be gone anyway and—"

"You can't do that," Reki said gently. "You haven't seen them since you moved here—they're probably super excited to see you."

Gaze dropping to the sidewalk, Langa pursed his lips, expression nearly as shattered as Reki felt. Which was kind of comforting, in a weird, demented sort of way.

"And you should be excited too," Reki added, wanting desperately to make Langa feel even a little bit better, no matter how bad it made him feel in turn. "It's been just as long since you've seen them. I'm sure you miss them."

Swallowing hard, Langa looked torn, but inevitably nodded. Dropping his hold on Reki's arm, he turned and snapped his skateboard into his hands, before pulling it up and holding it so tight that his knuckles paled beyond even their typical whiteness.

"It's only three months," Reki continued, desperately trying to make it all sound better than it was. "That's only… a quarter of a year…"

Well, so much for lightening the mood.

Three whole months? Langa was really going to be gone that long? What was Reki going to do without him that whole time? When he'd mentioned the wedding, Reki had figured a week or two at most, which had still sounded crappy, but three months?

Reki was used to spending nearly every day, all day with Langa by that point. How would he get through ninety days without him?

"Why… Why so long?" Reki asked quietly. "Three months is…"

"It was all figured out before we moved here," Langa replied. "There wasn't any expectation that I'd…"

"What?"

"That I'd care about leaving."

Oh…

"It was before I met you," Langa continued, voice somewhat strained. "Before skateboarding, before… everything."

Everything that had come to define their friendship—that had made them practically inseparable these last two years.

"Well, like I said, everything will be the same when you get back," Reki reasoned. "And then we can go on our trip."

Slumping, Langa nodded.

They were quiet the whole way to Reki's house, their skating lacking in much of its typical playful energy. And while Reki mentioned as they went to his bedroom that Langa should still look at the itinerary—because they'd be using it later—it was a rather depressing endeavor in comparison to how exciting it would have been prior to the Canada news.

"Yeah, it looks good," Langa said softly, after having a critical look at the schedule sitting open on Reki's laptop. Before he scooted back against Reki's bed and wrapped his arms around his folded knees.

Watching him for a few seconds—staring at the way his whole expression drooped, gaze distant—Reki eventually found himself scooting back beside him, until their thighs were brushing.

Forcing yet another smile, Reki brought up his arm and wrapped it around Langa's shoulders. "C'mon," he encouraged quietly. "You get to see your family. That's good, right? And I'm sure you've probably got loads of friends back in Canada that will be thrilled to see you again too." An idea that dropped a rock into Reki's gut.

Truth be told, he had no idea what Langa's life had been like prior to him living in Okinawa. He didn't talk about it much and Reki tried not to ask because Langa always looked a little… upset, when it came up. But given how popular Langa had been at their school, and was at "S," Reki assumed he must have been much the same back in Canada.

Yet…

"I didn't really have any friends back in Canada," Langa admitted quietly.

Reki blinked stupidly, surprised. "Really?"

Langa shrugged. "I'm not good at that kind of thing, you know that."

"Well, I guess, but…" But Reki supposed that, despite Langa's popularity, the only person he hung around with was, well, him. Him and their "S" friends, but that was only on Friday nights.

"My grandparents live out in the country anyway," Langa continued. "Not exactly close to town or anything."

"So…" Reki grimaced, "no skateboarding?"

"They have a basement and the driveway," Langa replied. "But… I probably won't skate anyway."

"Why not?"

His blue eyes flicked up to meet Reki's own. "It won't be fun without you."

Not for the first time, Reki's heart was sent flipping in his chest.

Truth be told, he was somewhat… lost… on how to interpret some of the things Langa said to him. Though he was a quiet personality, Langa was also incredibly earnest. He didn't always say everything out loud, but when he did, he really meant it. Yet, despite how direct he could be, Reki was still uncertain what, exactly, was going on between them. They were best friends, he knew that for absolute certain, but Langa had also said he wanted to "infinitely skate with him," back when they'd been making up during Adam's tournament.

At the time, Reki had been shocked by such a statement, or the implication behind it. Initially, he'd assumed such words had been a sort of… confession. As in, Langa had been confessing to… liking him, or something. As more than a friend. It had never really crossed Reki's mind prior, the idea that he and Langa could be something more intimate than friends. Which was why he hadn't jumped on it the second it'd happened. He'd spent a month sorting out his own feelings before finally discovering that, yes, he did, in fact, have a crush on Langa.

But, by the time Reki had settled his own perspective, they'd fallen back into their regular routine. Langa hadn't pursued anything further and Reki had felt uncertain attempting such a thing himself. So he'd… waited. And waited. And still, nothing. Which was why he'd come to the conclusion that perhaps he'd read the entire situation wrong in the first place. Langa seemed perfectly happy being only best friends, thus it was Reki who was on the losing end, having entertained something more only to be dropped back down into reality. Now he had this huge crush to contend with all the time.

Not even just a crush. More than a crush.

Sometimes, he thought that maybe he was even…

But he couldn't tell him, not if Langa had never intended for his original words to be a confession. Such would certainly mess everything up between them and that was the last thing Reki wanted. He could live with his feelings, he was certain, and skateboard "infinitely" with Langa as his best friend—that was fine.

He could settle for that. Had to. Should be grateful to. Someone as talented and amazing and… beautiful as Langa was willing to commit to doing even one thing for "infinity" with him—he should consider himself lucky.

And yet…

It won't be fun without you.

That was definitely a friend thing. There was no reason Reki should read anymore into it. Langa was just very honest, that was all. Besides, he was right—while Reki loved skating, it was definitely going to be way less fun without Langa around for three months. Sure, he'd skated alone for years before they'd met, but now that he was used to having Langa around…

"You'll have fun doing plenty of other stuff," Reki replied, jiggling Langa's shoulders some and trying, again, to cheer him up. "You know, fighting bears and murdering trees for maple syrup—whatever it is you Canadians do."

Finally, he managed to pull a small smile to Langa's face.

"And like I said, everything here will be exactly the same when you get back, so… it'll be like you'd never left at all." He wasn't sure who he was trying harder to convince, Langa or himself.

"You'll text, right?" Langa asked.

Reki cocked a skeptical eyebrow. "You hate texting." At least in Japanese. He'd gotten better over the last two years, but it was still somewhat of a struggle. Much as Reki's ability to speak English had improved drastically, even if he couldn't read or write well. Generally, they kept their texts to simple stuff—times and locations, that sort of thing.

"I know, but…"

But he was going away.

For three months!

And so suddenly too. Reki hadn't even realized that he'd need, what, time to mentally prepare for such a thing?

So lame…

"Yeah, I'll text," Reki said quietly, voice somewhat choked, causing him to clear it loudly.

"Every day?" Langa asked, before abruptly reaching out and taking Reki's hand.

Which was… a bit shocking. Shocking in the same way Langa's tackling hug at the end of his race with Adam had been the year before, and the one time they'd fallen asleep together in Reki's bed after "S," and when he'd lounged in the grass with his head in Reki's lap the month prior. Small, far-apart moments that sent Reki's heart into his throat for reasons he couldn't quite articulate.

"Yeah," Reki agreed, daring to turn his hand over so they could link their fingers together, his heart surging once more. "Every day."

Their hands… Did they… Did it mean…?

Not that it mattered. Reki didn't have the courage to ask. He just sat there, holding Langa's hand and dreading the upcoming week. The excitement he'd had for their trip was now gone, replaced instead with horrible anxiety.

What was he going to do for three months without Langa? Rationally, he'd do the same things he'd done before they'd met, but…

That felt so much more depressing now.

The last week the had together went by so much faster than Reki wanted. He tried his best to slow it down—to take deep breaths whenever possible and soak up every moment, but it came and went anyway. The whole time, a cloud of what was inevitable hung over them. Reki tried to push through it, to smile and do all the things they normally would, but Langa's increasingly dejected attitude made it difficult. It was like this progressively horrible weight was added to his shoulders every day, until, on the final afternoon before he left, Langa was so heavy that he didn't even want to skate.

It reminded Reki strikingly of the first day he'd ever seen Langa. At school, before they'd even talked, not after they'd met outside Dope Sketch. It was something Reki hadn't even realized he remembered until Langa started to retake that same attitude. That down, distant sort of glumness.

"You'll be back before you know it," Reki said, forcing himself to be chipper even as his whole heart felt like it was crumbling. They were sitting in the grass outside the local skatepark, Langa holding his board in his lap and sitting so close to Reki that their knees brushed. "It'll be fun. You'll see."

"Yeah…"

"Langa." He said his name in a near-scolding manner. "You'll be with your family—you should be excited."

"I guess…"

His words had no effect, Reki's already weak smile faltering.

"Don't you miss them?" he dared to ask.

"Of course, but…"

But…

Reki didn't know what the "but" was, and Langa didn't continue.

"Text me when you get off the plane, alright?" Reki started anew. "And send me pictures—I don't know what Canada looks like."

"It looks normal."

He elbowed Langa lightly in the side. "Just send lots of pictures."

"Alright."

They didn't say goodbye. Not like a person was supposed to when someone they cherished was going to be gone so long. It was… too hard. Instead, they said their typical farewells when night fell, as if everything was normal. Reki hesitated in place only shortly after they did their dap, before he smiled and forced himself to turn away.

He should have hugged him. He should have hugged him for a long, long time and he regretted not doing so the moment he was alone. Regretted it so much that he had to reach up and wipe the tears from around the edges of his eyes, before they could do something as embarrassing as streak down his cheeks.

He didn't sleep well that night, and when he got up in the morning and headed out for the day, Langa didn't come to meet him.

Because Langa was gone.

Chapter Text

While Langa could sleep nearly anywhere—including airplanes—taking trips still exhausted him. Especially when he was cramped into economy class for over fifteen hours. While he had slept a majority of the time, he still felt lethargic, sore, and heavy as the plane touched down on the tarmac at the Vancouver International Airport. A feeling, he feared, that would continue to weigh him down long after he should have reasonably recovered from the jetlag.

Sitting back in his seat—because he was content to be one of the last ones off the plane, as opposed to those who were already standing to gather their things—he pulled his phone from the pocket on the seat in front of him and checked to see if he could text again. While he'd tried sending messages during the flight, for whatever reason, the wifi signal had been so terrible that nothing had gone through.

He was thrilled, therefore, when his connection was finally strong enough to work. With it being around ten in the morning in Vancouver, it'd be seven in the evening in Okinawa, or so said the setting on his phone. First, he texted his mom to let her know he'd arrived, and then—

Langa: Just landed.

Reki was typing back immediately, which made Langa smile.

Reki: Send pics!

Langa: Of what?

Langa: I'm at the airport.

He did take a picture through his window, of the runway, and sent it, just to satisfy him.

Reki: Oh you really did mean you JUST landed.

Langa: You told me to text you when I landed.

Reki: Yeah I guess I did.

Reki: Send me a picture of you!

Langa: Why?

Reki: Because it's been so long since I saw your face.

Langa laughed to himself, the butterflies in his stomach stirring.

Langa: I look like garbage.

But he took a photo anyway, supposing there was no harm in Reki seeing him all dry-skinned from the plane air, with heavy bags under his eyes and red splotches in random places from his awkward sleeping positions.

He had a zit on his chin, he noted, as he sent the picture. He hardly ever broke out. Stupid dry air.

Reki: You don't look like garbage.

Reki: More like the insides of a recycling bin.

Langa: Thanks…

Reki: A beautiful recycling bin.

Langa: I wouldn't even know what that looks like.

Reki: Like you!

Langa:…

Langa: Send me a picture of you.

Reki: Why?

Langa: Because it's been so long since I saw your cute face.

Reki: Aw.

He did send a picture. By the look of it, he was outside, the sun having set enough that the sky behind him was ignited in pinks and oranges. Lips pooched out in an exaggerated duck face, he was winking at the camera. His red hair was, as usual, an uncontrollable mess even with his headband in place, and his tanned skin was downright radiant beneath the warm light of dusk. The little beauty mark off the corner of his left eye was aglow in the glare.

It'd only been one day—not even that long, actually—and Langa already missed him. Missed him so much his chest ached. Missed his huge, bright smile, and his light touches, and his constant presence. They hadn't had any significant separation from one another since Adam's tournament the year before and, if anything, that fight had brought them closer together. Langa was almost certain that not one day had passed by since that he hadn't spent significant time with Reki. They both worked at Dope Sketch and had even gotten second jobs together as waiters for Joe, just during the summer. To make extra cash after they'd graduated, for the trip Langa had ruined.

Literally everything in their lives involved each other, so being separated then, it was like half of Langa's entire body had been cut away.

Langa: I miss you.

The ellipses signaling that Reki was typing faded in and out multiple times. Before, finally—

Reki: It's barely been a day, dude.

Reki: But

Reki: I miss you too.

Reki: Work today was so boring without you.

Reki: I don't know how I used to do it.

Langa: Well, now that I'm on the ground, you can text me whenever you get bored.

Reki: You're gonna be sleeping a lot of the time that I'm working.

Oh, right.

Langa: I'll wake up to talk to you.

Reki: You will not.

Reki: You sleep like a rock.

Langa: Not here I won't.

Reki:?

Reki: What's that mean?

He didn't get the chance to answer, as they were finally letting people off the plane. Shoving his phone into his pocket, Langa pulled his backpack and his skateboard from the bin above his head, before beginning the slow march out into the crisp, Canadian air.

He could smell it as soon as he was off the plane, the difference. Even inside the tunnel leading into the airport, it was like a nostalgic slap to the face. So incredibly different from the heady humidity of Okinawa. With it being October, there was already a chill in the air, the incoming winter heavy on the horizon.

Resituating his bag on his shoulders, he pulled his phone out again—once he'd been filtered into a less congested area of customs—and activated another of his chat windows.

Langa: Just got off the plane.

Gramps: Wahoo!

Gramps: Nana and I are waiting for you.

Gramps: We brought poutine.

Langa: Great! Thanks!

At least that was something to look forward to. And seeing his grandparents, of course, but that went without saying. He was excited to see them, naturally, but then, any and all excitement he could feel about anything relating to this trip was shrouded by…

He returned to his chat with Reki.

Langa: Nothing.

Langa: My grandparents brought poutine with them.

Reki: They know you well.

Langa: There's never enough food on airplanes.

Reki: Not for you.

Reki: Most meals anywhere aren't enough for you.

Langa: That's why I eat your leftovers.

Reki: You say that like you're doing something generous.

Langa: Better than throwing it away, since you can't take food home with you in Japan.

Reki: You take food home with you in Canada?

Reki: From restaurants?

Langa: I don't.

Langa: I eat all my food.

Reki: Ha!

Reki: Who's gonna eat all my leftovers now?

Langa: Sketchy?

Getting through customs was reasonably quick since he was a citizen, which then funneled him out into baggage claim. Where he stood, waiting, once again focused on his texts with Reki.

Reki: That little monster bit me today!

Reki: I wasn't even doing anything!

Reki: I wasn't even looking at him!

Langa: That's probably why he bit you.

Reki: It's stupid!

Reki: He's mad if you look at him!

Reki: He's mad if you don't!

Langa: Wear gloves. Then he

Langa didn't get the chance to finish the message. Instead, he was knocked hard in the back, his thumb sliding along the send button as he was shoved rather harshly forward. Before his phone slipped from his hands and went flying through the air. He tried to make a grab for it, but was helpless to do anything as it went careening onto the moving baggage carousel. It landed face down, just as someone was tossing one of those heavy-duty plastic luggage cases, which promptly crushed it.

"Oh, sorry," someone said behind him, but they went ignored as he dove for his phone. Shoving the luggage aside, he fished it out of the carousel before it got too far down the line.

"Are you kidding me?" Langa muttered to himself, as he stepped back and surveyed the damage. The phone still lit up as he tapped the front, but there was a huge crack across the top half of the screen. And as he flipped it over, he was even more annoyed to note that the little lenses on the camera were totally shattered.

Reki: Then he?

Langa: Someone pushed me and I broke my phone.

Reki: The same phone you drop almost every day?

Langa: Yes.

Reki: The phone we once ran over with a skateboard by accident?

Langa: Yes, that one.

Langa: It got crushed in the luggage carousel.

Reki: It clearly still works.

Langa tried out the camera, mood dropping further when the picture he took was filtered with random black shadows and cracks, nothing able to be made out.

Langa: The camera is broken.

He sent Reki the botched picture.

Reki: Oh…

Langa: I see my suitcase.

Langa: Talk to you in a bit.

Simmering in irritation, Langa hefted his lone suitcase from the carousel, before pulling out the handle and rolling it along beside him. Pocketing his phone, he made his way along the hall to the pick-up area, where all the other passengers were filing out ahead of him.

There, before the big glass windows, waited his grandparents.

His grandfather was a tall, skinny sort of man with a thin, narrow face. He'd had more muscle, once upon a time, but much of it had wasted with age. Still, he had the look of someone who was in good shape for over sixty, what with his generally excitable nature and bright, sparkling blue eyes inside his moderately wrinkled face. His long hair—it was pulled back in a low ponytail, one chunk of his bangs loose along the side of his face—had once been the same color as Langa's. The two of them were the only ones in the entire family to possess such a color, though his grandfather's was streaked with white these days.

He wore old jeans and a tan cardigan, his shoes rather flashy with their adolescent blue stripes.

His grandmother was shorter by comparison—about the same height as Langa's own mother. She was a bit rounder than his grandfather, with cropped, light gray hair that had once been slightly blonde—like his father's had been. She was far more severe in expression than his grandfather, being a rather blunt, no-nonsense type of personality. But there was something soft around the creases of her eyes and in how she held her hands clasped in front of her blue sweater.

"Langa Oliver Hasegawa Lamoureux!" his grandfather said loudly, as a dramatic greeting, and reached out to pull Langa into a tight hug the moment he was close enough. Which did have Langa smiling, his grandfather's familiar arms easing some of his general discomfort.

It had been… a long time.

"Oh, I'm so glad you're here!" his grandfather—Luis—said as he rocked him in his arms, which must have looked pretty silly given that Langa was just as tall as his grandfather. Still, Langa dropped his suitcase and reached up to hug him back, not minding the attention. "I've been so excited to see you! It's all I've been talking about for weeks!" he continued, as he pulled back enough to set his hands firmly on Langa's shoulders. "And look at you! You're so much bigger! And these shoulders! You're so broad! Oh, I'm just—I'm so—" Sniffling, he fanned his face, tears gathering along his eyes. "I'm just so happy!"

"Contain yourself, Luis," his grandmother—Nancy, or "Nana," as Langa called her—said rather dryly, gently pushing Luis aside so she could stand on her tip-toes to stretch her arms up around Langa's shoulders. "It's so good to see you, baby," she said into his ear, holding him just as tightly as his grandfather had, if not with less theatricality.

"It's good to see you guys too," Langa said softly, as he was once again set free. Only for his grandfather to pull him in for another hug. Which wasn't so surprising—Luis was very fond of hugs.

"I'm sorry, I'm crying!" Luis blubbered against him, his head leaning against Langa's. "I can't help it! I'm a wreck!"

"It's okay, Grandpa," Langa assured and patted him lightly on the back. "I'm not surprised."

Nana rolled her eyes.

"As frank as always," Luis said, wiping his eyes as he leaned back again. "Oh, I've missed that dry humor of yours."

"What's this?" Nana asked, leaning around him to get a look at his bag.

"Oh, that's my skateboard," Langa replied, his insides going a bit warm and jittery at the question, cheeks barely flushing.

"Nanako said something about you learning to skateboard," Nana continued. "A friend of yours taught you?"

"Yeah, he did," Langa verified, as Luis came around and manhandled his skateboard from behind, jerking Langa around a bit, as it was still firmly attached to his bag. "He made my board, actually."

"He made it?" Nana double-checked.

Langa nodded.

"Very impressive," Luis said thoughtfully.

"Yeah, he's amazing."

Nana spared him a smile. "It's nice to know you've made some good friends—you always struggled with that."

Langa hummed in acknowledgement, before saying, "Can we go out to the car? I'm hungry." And tired.

"Of course you are," Nana said and patted his hand, before the three of them moved toward the doors. Nana led the way, while Luis dropped his arm heavily around Langa's shoulders and strolled beside him.

"Question of the week!" Luis said once they reached the parking lot. "Which Ryan is more attractive? Gosling or Reynolds?"

Langa tapped his chin quite seriously. "Reynolds," he ultimately decided.

"That answer is twenty-seven percent accurate," Luis replied.

"That's so low," Langa said, frowning.

"Patrice had a very convincing argument on the matter," he said as they reached the car—a black sedan—and loaded his luggage into the back. "She made some valid criticisms about the Reynolds' forehead to chin ratio."

"He's way funnier though," Langa pointed out.

"How much funnier, do you think?" Luis asked, leaning closer and looking very critical.

"Get in the car, Luis," Nana growled out as she dropped into the driver's side.

"At least sixty-four percent funnier," Langa reasoned, as he slid into the back seat, while his grandfather moved around and made himself comfortable on the passenger side, next to his grandmother.

"I'll give you a two percent bump," Luis decided.

"Two percent?" Langa was skeptical.

"Your sources are questionable."

"What sources?" Nana asked under her breath, as she started the car and pulled out of their parking spot.

"Because Patrice had better sources?" Langa asked.

"She had pictures," Luis reasoned with a shrug. "You know I like pictures."

Langa flopped back against the seat. "She's using that bias to her advantage."

"You have seventy-six hours and eleven minutes to change my mind."

That'd be more than enough time. Patrice didn't stand a chance.

"Can I eat this now?" Langa asked, noticing the dish wrapped in foil sitting beside him.

"Of course, baby," Nana said, even as he was tugging it closer.

Pulling out his phone, he was about to take a picture of the dish sitting his lap to send to Reki, but then remembered—with a slash of frustration—what had just happened to his phone.

Langa: I was going to send you a picture of the poutine, but now I can't…

Reki: Poutine is gross anyway.

Langa: Why would you say that?

Reki: Sorry. That was mean.

Reki: I know you have an emotional attachment.

Langa: Why do you think it's gross?

Reki: It just is.

Langa: But why?

Reki: Why do you care? Lol

Langa: This is very upsetting.

Reki: Omg you're so dramatic.

Though he was feeling acutely betrayed, Langa ate his poutine with much enjoyment, supposing that Reki simply didn't know any better. His grandparents asked him questions as he ate—mainly his grandfather, who was always very chatty—and he answered them as shortly as possible. Not because he was trying to be rude, but because he was very focused on his food. Which they knew to expect, and so didn't take any offense.

The drive north, to Whistler, and then to his grandparents' house, would take nearly two hours, and so Langa found himself dozing off once his stomach was full. The car rumbled around him and he could hear his grandparents voices in the backs of his thoughts, the familiar pine of the air freshener lining his nostrils.

"Why do you still have this in here?" Langa asked, as he reached up and fingered the old tree-shaped air freshener, which was sitting alongside the brand new one his father had just bought at the gas station. The older one was at least two years old, Langa figured, the color having long faded. The smell too, for that matter, or so he assumed.

"Hm?" His father glanced only quickly at him, before turning his attention back to the road, hands firmly on the wheel. "For looks."

"Looks?" Langa asked, before cocking his head and watching as the old cardboard bobbed along with the truck. "I guess that makes sense."

"Of course it does," Oliver replied, grinning.

"I'm changing the station," Langa announced suddenly, as he reached out to poke at the radio.

"I like that song!"

"It's bad."

"It's not."

"It is."

"You turn fifteen and suddenly you think you know everything about everything, do you?"

"Yeah."

"At least you're honest."

"Yup." He found a much better song on one of the other stations.

"Your mom says you were invited to some sweet sixteen birthday party this weekend."

"I was."

"You going?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want to."

His father sighed, turning the truck right at a green light. Outside, it was dark, drizzling rain falling upon the otherwise slushy snow.

"You're never going to make any friends if you don't put yourself out there."

"I don't want friends."

"Of course you do! Everybody wants friends."

Langa stared at him rather flatly. "You only have one friend, Dad."

"Well…"

"Exactly."

"That's still one more than you."

"Is not. I have a friend."

"Who?"

"You."

"I don't count!"

"Sure you do." Langa shrugged and stared out the passenger-side window. "You're my best friend."

His father made a sort of snorting noise, before releasing a huff.

"You're my best friend too, bud," he eventually admitted.

Langa looked back at him. "I thought Richard was your best friend."

"He thinks so," Oliver said. "And that's what I tell everyone, but…" He smiled over at him, "you're my real best friend."

Langa managed a small smile of his own and turned back to look out the window.

The rain was getting heavier.

"I still think you should go to this party," Oliver said, as he pulled up to a red light. His left blinker was on, tall pine trees shooting up into the darkness across the road ahead of them.

"No! Way!" Langa said firmly.

"Why not?"

"Because it's on Saturday," he reasoned. "And we're going snowboarding on Saturday."

"We go snowboarding all the time. Besides," his father peered critically up through the windshield. "They're saying we're supposed to get freezing rain like this the rest of the week. You'll probably have a snow day tomorrow."

"Then we can go snowboarding tomorrow too."

"No. The point I'm trying to make is that if the roads are too icy, we won't be going as far as the slopes. Look, you can see it now, freezing." He pointed to the asphalt.

Langa wasn't interested. Instead, he growled and sank in his seat. What was the point of a snow day if he couldn't even spend it on the mountain?

"At least we're almost… home…"

Peering up into the rearview mirror, his father's expression pulled in a few different directions—confusion, then surprise, then maybe something akin to horror. Before he dropped his foot abruptly to the gas pedal.

The light was still red.

"Dad?" Langa asked, startled and straightening up immediately.

The truck tires spun in place—they were caught on the ice.

Headlights, they flashed behind them, whipping across the car and drawing Langa's attention over his shoulder.

"Don't look behind us!" his father ordered harshly, the truck barely inching forward. Breath catching, heart clenching, Langa flicked his attention back to his father, forcefully ignoring the approaching lights.

His father, who had turned toward him as well, no longer holding the wheel as he reached out and grabbed Langa's hand. With his other, he pointed up at his own face, their eyes locking. "Keep looking at me," he said, his mouth moving as if in slow motion, his words long and safe and echoing in Langa's head.

With barely the time to take in a quick breath, Langa kept himself focused on those familiar blue eyes.

Around them, the blaring of a semitruck horn blasted in his ears.

Gasping, Langa's eyes flew open. He nearly surged forward, but the seatbelt strapped over his chest locked and kept him in place. Arms flailing in attempts to find balance, he kept himself instinctively—defensively—quiet, while his grandfather barely turned to look at him.

"Sorry about that," he said. "Nana hit a bump."

"Barely," she muttered in response.

Swallowing hard, Langa nodded and sat back again. His breath was shaky, so he made sure to keep it as silent as possible as he tried to calm down.

It'd been… It'd been well over a year since he'd had that… dream…

The pine of the air freshener had his nostrils flaring.

Hands trembling, Langa found himself reaching for his phone, which was sitting on the seat beside him.

Langa: Are you still awake?

He waited, and waited, but Reki didn't respond. Didn't even see his message. Not that Langa was surprised—Reki wasn't at his beck and call all day and night. He had things to do, no doubt, and so Langa would just have to… press on by himself. Even as everything inside him twisted tight and started to go numb.

He hated it, this feeling. Like his whole body was shutting down around him. But he also didn't know what else he could do. There was no solution—there was no going back.

Leaning his forehead against the car window, he watched the pine-filled landscape flit by, snow-capped mountains rising up in the spaces between. The sky was a sharp blue between the heavy clouds, most of which hung out around the peaks. Dumping snow, do doubt.

The thought left Langa nauseous and he closed his eyes again.

They drove directly through Whistler, but Langa kept himself firmly closed off—pretending to be asleep—as he was uninterested in seeing the familiar sights. His grandparents, they lived northeast of town, near Lost Lake, and so they ended up on less traversed roads as they eventually moved up into the mountains, Langa's ears doing all sorts of popping at the elevation changes. Or maybe his body was still under stress from the plane, it was hard to know. But the bloated ache in his head gave him something to think about besides… everything else, so he didn't altogether mind.

It was only when he felt the car traversing the familiar curves of his grandparents' long driveway that he opened his eyes. Just as his grandfather leaned back and jiggled his knee, perhaps assuming he was in need of being woken up.

"We're here!" he sing-songed, smiling wide.

Langa forced himself to smile quickly back.

His grandparents lived in a somewhat large, cottage-like house tucked away in a valley surrounded in giant pine trees. The outside of the two-story house was made up of gray stone, cedar siding, and plenty of huge windows, while the entire roof and its multiple peaks were framed with enormous wooden beams. There hadn't been enough snow yet to stick, but Langa could see the shimmer of frost atop the shingles, glistening in the afternoon sunlight.

His grandmother pulled the car around the circular drive, right up to the front door, and soon they were all clambering out, Luis retrieving the suitcase from the back as Langa slipped on his backpack.

Glancing down at his phone, he noted that Reki still hadn't replied.

"Two whole years, huh?" Luis said as Langa moved with them up the broad stone steps, beneath the deep, cedar-framed awning to the matching front door. "Hard to believe you've really been gone that long."

"Yeah," Langa agreed, his insides still twisting.

Unlocking the front door, Nana led them into the generous entryway. Like the rest of the house, the floors were gray stone, the walls a sort of eggshell white, and the cedar ceilings open and visible and all stained with the same golden warmth. The window and door trim as well, everything exactly as it had been when he'd originally left. It was his grandparents' house that he'd left from, as he and his mother had been living there for nearly a year, until they'd moved to Okinawa.

There was a large, arched opening at the end of the entry, which led into the rest of the house. As they passed under it, Langa felt nearly assaulted by the familiar scent of timber and sweet smokiness. It hit him so hard that his stomach flipped and he thought for just half a second that he might be sick.

"Got you up the steps, so the hardest part is done now," his grandfather said quietly, smile visibly strained as he bent up from the front of the wheelchair, which creaked as it settled into place. Langa barely heard him—was barely paying attention. His head—his whole body—hurt horribly, and his vision blurred around the edges. Hands in his lap, he stared down at the shine of his dress shoes atop the metal foot plates and said nothing.

Reaching out, his grandfather ran a gentle hand across his jaw, no doubt avoiding the thick bandages that covered most of his head. "We'll have Owen carry you upstairs later," he added quietly.

"Is this really okay?" Aunt Odette asked from behind him, as she gently pushed the wheelchair through the entryway. "Maybe he should still be in the hospital."

"The doctors released him yesterday afternoon," Nana said strictly, her purse held tight in her hands as she turned back to them. She was wearing a black dress—Langa only noted it because he'd never seen her in a dress before. "We should be thankful," she continued shortly—severely, "that he can come home at all." Expression pinched, she turned and walked further into the house.

Blinking slowly, Langa's head hung, his insides throbbing.

"C'mon now," Luis said gently, hand on his shoulder. "Let's get you settled."

He was pushed—as if he were floating—around the stairs, to the living area. Normally so vast and tall and open, it was crowded now. Crowded with so many bodies, all dressed in dark, formal clothes and wearing their shoes atop the expensive rugs.

Though it felt like the greatest of struggles, Langa managed to swallow. Which had his focus going in and out. Even breathing felt nearly impossible.

"Don't let him fall forward," Aunt Odette murmured, both she and his grandfather gently pressing him back into the wheelchair by his shoulders.

"We'll have Owen take him upstairs in a few minutes," Luis muttered back. "I think his pain killers must be kicking in."

All the people, they were watching him. So many eyes he didn't know and they'd all turned to look his way.

He didn't want to be there, but he didn't know how to say so. Talking was hard—everything was hard. Like his brain was working at ten percent its usual speed.

Still, despite that, and the pain, and the fogginess, his eyes caught on the familiar waves of his mother's brown hair. She was sitting across the room, in one of the plush sofas. Like Nana, she too was in a dark dress and formal heels—details that somehow struck him as significant. She was wedged on the cushions between Uncle Owen—who was sitting back on the left, wearing a suit and staring determinedly out the window—and Richard—who had a hand on her back and was otherwise staring at the floor.

She glanced up, just as everyone else in the room did when he was wheeled in, her face worn and pale, eyes heavy with sleeplessness. Yet, something vague and deep and penetrating flashed through her gaze as they looked at one another. Something strangely comforting, but that still made it even harder for Langa to breathe.

Why were all these people here? He knew. He  knew , and yet…

"It's gonna be just you, me, and Nana for a little while," Luis went on, Langa barely having the awareness to look over at him. "Patrice will be here next weekend, and she's bringing her new boyfriend." His grandfather sniggered quite evilly. "I figured that, between the two of us, we could cook up some pretty, ah, interesting tests to put him through. Nothing dramatic, perfectly harmless, you know. She'll be expecting it, of course, but—"

"Luis, please," Nana interjected as the three of them came to a stop before the wide, cedar staircase, which sat directly in front of the entryway and led up to the second floor. The banisters were thick and ornately carved, and a printed rug pulled its way up the center. "He just got in and he's clearly exhausted."

"Oh, right, right, of course." Luis backed off a step and made a sort of "X" motion with his arms. "I'm just so excited, is all. This is exciting, isn't it?" Reaching out, he cradled Langa's face in his hands and leaned in to kiss his forehead. "I can't help it!"

Pushing his grandfather gently aside, Nana rolled his suitcase toward him. "Your room is all made up," she assured. "It's getting quite late in Japan, so I'm sure you're tired. Why don't you go get some rest and one of us will come get you when dinner's on, hm?"

"Oh, yes, right, the jetlag," Luis added. "I forgot all about it! I read once that it can take half as many days to recover as it is hours you fly, so that means…" He counted up on his fingers. "Seven days. A whole week until you'll be back in tip-top form. Phew, that's a lot, but," he leaned in and patted Langa's shoulder, "good thing you're here so long, hm?"

Langa nodded. "Exactly," he quietly agreed.

"You go on upstairs, baby," Nana insisted and gestured up the staircase. "Your grandfather can wait to bother you till tonight."

"I'll draw up all the plans for Patrice and her boyfriend, don't you worry," he assured and gave Langa a thumbs up. "Then we can discuss stealth strategy."

Smiling, Langa nodded again and took hold of his suitcase. Thankful that he had jetlag as an excuse to hide everything else, he turned away and started slowly moving up the stairs. To the balcony at the top, which looked out over the living room on the other side, and spread out both left and right to either wing of the house.

His bedroom was down the left side, and so he hunkered that way, more than a little relieved when he could duck into the hallway and out of sight of his grandparents. They meant well, but he could feel his insides shutting down and he was afraid that, if they looked too close, they'd be able to see it.

He didn't want them to see it—he didn't want to feel like this. But, suddenly, his life in Okinawa felt so incredibly far away. Not just physically, but almost like it'd been a dream. He'd lived in Canada for over sixteen years and like a great chasm he'd only momentarily been able to pull himself out of, it threatened to swallow him whole. Two years he'd lived in Japan and without any warning, those two years felt as if they'd been in another life. Like the person who'd lived there and met Reki and learned to skate had been someone else entirely. The real him was still stranded here, in this inescapable pit of numb nothingness.

It'd taken him so long to scrape himself out of that place—out of that feeling. So long to find joy and light and fun in his life again. But like a cascading wave, he could feel all of that washing away.

No, more like… like he was drowning in it.

Shoving his way in through the door at the end of the hall, on the right, he was once again assaulted by image after image—flash after flash—of so many things he'd been trying so hard to forget.

How long had he been stranded in that bed against the wall, his brain so messed up that he hadn't even been able to walk? And how long after he'd finally "recovered" had he simply lain there anyway, feeling nothing, knowing nothing.

This place, it was emptiness now and it scared him.

It terrified him.

Closing the door, he left his suitcase beside the ladder that led into the loft, somewhat shaky as he moved to the cedar-framed bed. There were huge windows along the far wall—taking up nearly the whole thing—and sunlight streamed brightly in. The room itself, with its matching furniture and plush window bench and all the things he'd left behind, it should be pleasant. A warm, welcoming place.

But it wasn't, it wasn't, and Langa didn't know how he was going to get through three whole months in this place.

Dropping his backpack atop the clean and neatly folded blue comforter, he unstrapped his skateboard and set it gently aside, before he unzipped the biggest pocket. Reaching in, he rummaged past his extra set of clothes for the sweatshirt folded at the very bottom. Yanking it out, his heart jolted at the sight of it, a bit of warmth managing to slip in beneath that solidifying numbness.

It was Reki's yellow sweatshirt, the one with his trademark gear graphic on the front. Langa had swiped it the last time he'd been in Reki's bedroom, shoving it into his bag while Reki had gone to get them snacks. He hadn't asked, and he knew that kind of made it stealing, but he planned to return it once he got back. He'd just… been too embarrassed to ask, but had still felt like he'd need it with him—need something. The sweatshirt, the skateboard, it made his life in Okinawa real—it pushed back on the sensation that it'd somehow been a dream or existed in some other dimension.

Pulling the sweatshirt up into his face, he closed his eyes and inhaled. That familiar scent—Reki's familiar scent—was still there, and still strong. Old tatami and dry reed, accented by sweat and something similar to ginger.

It was familiarity, and a reminder that when this trip was over, he had something good to go back to. This… black hole inside him, that wasn't his life anymore, even if he did feel like he was hanging off the edge once again.

Dropping down onto the bed, he kept the sweatshirt in-hand as he kicked off his shoes, before he lay back and pulled it up under his head, so he could bury his nose in the worn fabric.

He then tugged his phone out of his pocket again.

Langa: Reki?

He waited, staring at that chat box and his heart pounding painfully in his ears. He almost kept typing—kept asking for Reki to respond, but then hesitated, as he didn't want to be… too much. Usually, he could catch himself before he did something, or said something, that might come across too strongly, or as being too clingy, or desperate. He'd pretty well accepted by that point that while he and Reki were quite close as far as friends went, Reki wasn't interested in anything beyond that, so Langa tried to be careful. Reki humored some of the more… intimate things Langa said and did, but he'd never once pursued it further. Langa had been pretty obvious at some points, he felt, but still, Reki wouldn't take the bait.

Which was… devastating, if Langa thought about it too long. While he'd come to grips with the fact that Reki didn't feel the same way he did, it still… hurt. And maybe continuing to be as close with Reki as they were was a bad idea, because it didn't give Langa's feelings the chance to fade. Yet, he didn't know what else he could possibly do. Reki was still his best friend, his comfort, his happiness, and Langa wasn't about to give that up. Doing so would be exceedingly unfair to both of them.

He wasn't going to punish Reki for not… loving him back. It wasn't Reki's fault.

Mostly, Langa was thankful Reki wasn't too interested in relationships in general. He dreaded—and feared—the day that Reki found someone to really fall in love with—someone he could love, that way. A girl, probably.

Not Langa, in any case.

They could skate infinitely together, at least. He'd always have that, even if his feelings were never reciprocated.

Sometimes, he wondered if Reki knew how he felt. He had to know, didn't he? Langa wasn't sure which was worse, the idea that Reki was so disinterested in the prospect of being in a relationship with him that he didn't even consider it, or that he realized how Langa felt and was silently rejecting him by refusing to acknowledge it. The second option was downright humiliating, which would be right up Reki's ally. In that, he wouldn't ever say anything because he wouldn't want to hurt Langa's feelings.

Because Reki did care, Langa knew. About him, even if it wasn't in the way Langa wished it was. And while he didn't want to bother Reki too much, or be too demanding of his time, he… needed him. More than Reki would probably ever know.

Reki: Oh sorry!

Reki: I was putting the twins to bed and missed your last message.

Reki: Mom's out helping a neighbor or something, I don't know.

Reki: And Nanaka kept asking that I read her the same story over and over

Reki: and Chihiro didn't want that, and on and on.

Reki: It was a thing, or whatever.

Langa stared at the messages a long while, reassured to know Reki was on the other side of their conversation—that he was real. Before he pulled up the menu in the chat and tapped the little phone icon. The digital ringing noise echoed around the room, before it was dashed aside and the shuffling of Reki on the other side of the line took over.

"Calling after all, huh?" Reki said, Langa practically able to hear the smile in his voice.

"It's easier than texting," Langa reasoned.

"Too bad about your phone—we could be talking face to face."

"You could turn on your camera."

"Nah, that'd be weird. Just me? I'd probably forget you could see me because I wouldn't be able to see you and, like, accidentally take the phone into the bathroom or something."

Langa grinned. "You'd feel comfortable taking your phone into the bathroom with only audio?"

"Well… no. But whatever! You know what I mean!"

"Are you one of those people that you hear talking in the stalls while they're doing their business? Because that's messed up."

"Of course not! I'm not an animal! Jeez…"

"I dunno, you're awfully defensive…"

"Why are you even calling me anyway?" Reki asked, sounding pouty. "Shouldn't you be hanging out with your family or something?"

"My grandparents are the only ones here, and they sent me to my room to sleep. Because of the jetlag."

"Your… room?"

"Yeah."

"Oh. Huh. Well… it's nice that you're all set up there and everything. I bet you're happy to be… home, after two years."

Home?

"It's alright."

"Just alright?"

Lips pursing, Langa tried, and failed, to come up with something else to say.

"Are you okay, man?" Reki asked a second later. "You sound a little… off."

"I'm fine," Langa said quickly, perhaps too quickly. "Just tired after the flight. And we've never really talked on the phone before, so I bet I sound different."

"Yeah, that's true…"

"Speaking of, if this is… inconvenient, we don't have to… talk this way." He should have thought about such things before he'd called, or at least been polite enough to ask. He really could be inconsiderate sometimes.

"It's fine. I was just gonna sketch for a while, but I'd rather talk to you."

Langa smiled to himself.

"It's been super weird without you here," Reki admitted, voice a little more subdued. "If it's this weird after one day, then a whole three months is gonna be… But I guess I'll probably get used to it."

Langa's heart sank at that thought. "I won't," he said staunchly.

"You will," Reki assured, as if such a thing could possibly be good. "Once you get back into doing all the stuff you used to, and seeing people, and then I bet you'll be doing wedding stuff. You're gonna be way more distracted than me—you know how boring my life is."

"Your life's not boring," Langa refuted. Besides, what sort of "stuff" did Reki think he was going to be doing by comparison?

"All I do is work and skate."

"That's all I do too."

"Well, yeah, but when we're together, it's more fun! I already feel like I'm just… waiting for you to get back."

"I feel like I'm waiting to be back." He'd felt that way even before he'd gotten on the plane.

There was a pause, where Reki audibly huffed into the phone. "Langa, what's wrong?"

"I'm tired, I told you."

"You've been upset about this trip since you told me about it," Reki countered. "I thought you'd be happier when you finally got there, because you'd be with your grandparents and stuff. But you sound, like, worse…"

How was Reki that perceptive? Or was Langa really that obvious?

He had to know how Langa felt about him—there was no way he couldn't.

"I'm fine, Reki," Langa lied, honestly not wanting to talk about… "I'm just tired, like I said."

"Then don't call me," Reki said, laughing. Which did lighten his statement some, but Langa still felt a little bit dejected. "You should go to bed!"

"I… wanted…" Langa felt his voice choke up, the words working so desperately to escape. He tried to hold them back, but… "I just needed to hear your voice. Sorry."

There was a pause, the line sounding a bit crackly.

"You don't need to be sorry," Reki said gently. "You can call me literally anytime you need to, or text me. I just… don't get why you're not happy to be there."

Langa didn't quite "get it" either. While he hadn't been thrilled to be going back to Canada—because he'd be without Reki—he hadn't expected that it'd be… like this.

That this horrible, empty feeling would still be there. That it'd come flooding back so quickly and so… easily.

"I am happy to be here," Langa forced himself to say. Because he should be happy. His grandparents were happy, and the rest of his family would be too. It wasn't okay for him to be miserable in turn. It'd make everybody feel bad, if he couldn't… pull himself together.

"Langa…"

"You're right," he said stiffly. "I am just tired. Like I said, it was easier to call than to text, so…"

Another pause.

"Look, I know I tend to close up and get all distant when I'm upset about something," Reki started. "And I know that's not okay and I'm working on it, but don't take a lesson from my book. If something's wrong, please tell me. I know we're not together, but I can still help. You're usually so… straightforward."

There were some things he couldn't be straightforward about, because some things couldn't be helped. Why bring it up when he knew there was nothing to be done? There was no "help" to give.

"We can fix it together," Reki added lastly.

"Not everything can be fixed," Langa replied, knowing he sounded colder than he should. So, he sighed. "It's really nothing, Reki, I promise. I'll feel better once I get some sleep." He hoped. Desperately.

"If… If you say so," Reki submitted. "But seriously, you can call me literally any time you want. I'll make sure to keep my phone on me."

Langa smiled again. "Thanks."

He appreciated the thought, but, maybe, he wouldn't need to call Reki like this again. Maybe, everything would be fine in a few days.

He just had to try at it, that was all. For Reki and his family's sakes.

Just try.

Chapter Text

The first week without Langa was super, duper lame. While Reki still enjoyed skating, it wasn’t quite the same anymore. He wasn’t lonely, exactly, but every time he pulled off a new trick or thought up a new board design, he turned as if to instinctively start chatting, only to remember that he was alone.

Once upon a time, such a thing would have been normal. He’d grown accustomed, over the years, to nobody being interested in or caring about his hobbies. None of his peers ever had, and while his family supported him, they weren’t exactly excited to listen to him prattle on about skateboarding.

Langa was the only person who’d ever really listened to him. Who’d been interested in listening to him. Interested in what he was interested in, and wanting to know more. The attention he got from Langa, and how attentive he could be, was rare, and that was only made all the clearer the longer they were apart.

Reki missed him. Terribly. It was hard to imagine that he still had two months, three weeks, and four days without him. Skateboarding, of course, would never lose its luster, and Friday nights at “S” were still something to look forward to, but all the rest of the time?

Well, he spent a lot of it texting Langa. He texted him whenever possible.

Langa, surprisingly, always texted back. Reki kept expecting to have to wait, that Langa would be busy or caught up with his family. Reki’s family life was expected, yet he still missed Langa’s texts on occasion because of them, despite going out of his way to check his phone more often than usual.

In fact, the two boys had practically established a routine:

Langa: Are you awake?

That was the text Reki had woken up to the second morning they were apart.

Reki: Yeah! What’s up?

Langa: Why are you awake? It’s six in the morning there.

Langa: You should sleep in.

Langa: I know you have the day off.

Reki: Then WHY are you texting me?

Reki: Besides, you know I don’t sleep in.

Reki: Not everyone can be like you.

Langa: I suppose.

Langa: Send me a picture.

Reki: Of what?

Langa: Of you.

Reki: I’m literally still in bed!

Reki: Besides, why should I send you pictures of anything?

Reki: I’m not going to be getting any pictures from you.

Langa: That’s not my fault…

Reki: Fine. Here, a picture of me.

He’d taken a picture of his big toe—all zoomed in up close—and sent it along. Which was how their new “game” got started.

Langa: Beautiful.

Reki: It’s my toe!

Langa: I love it.

Langa: Perfect.

Langa: 10/10

Reki: You’re stupid.

They’d texted back and forth throughout the rest of day. Not all day, however. At one point, they’d gone a whole three hours without saying a word to each other and Reki assumed Langa must have finally gone to bed. Which was a little disconcerting when he started chatting again later, because Langa certainly needed to sleep more than three hours.

Langa: The jetlag has me all messed up.

Reki: Oh.

Reki: I’ve never travelled anywhere there’d be jetlag.

Reki: Only to Korea one time, years ago, with my uncle.

Langa: It screws up your entire sleep schedule.

Langa: My grandpa says it’ll take me at least a week to adjust.

Reki: So I shouldn’t get after you for not being asleep?

Langa: Give me a week.

Terms Reki decided to stick to, despite the feeling in his gut that was telling him something wasn’t quite right. Well, not even a feeling. He knewsomething wasn’t right with Langa.  But maybe it really was just a matter of needing time to adjust…

Reki: Okay, I really have to go to bed.

Or so Reki told him at one in the morning, Japan time.

Reki: I’ll text you when I wake up.

Langa: Really?

Reki: Yeah, sure.

Reki: Why wouldn’t I?

Langa: No reason, I guess.

Langa: Talk to you when you wake up.

And he did. When Reki woke up around seven-thirty that morning, the first thing he did was text Langa.

Reki: Work is gonna be such a slog!

Langa: At least you’re making money.

Langa: Send me a picture!

Reki: What? Seriously?

Langa: Yes!

So he took a picture of his other big toe, which his little sisters had painted bright red the night before.

Langa: Stunning.

Langa: I’m particularly impressed by how the nail polish smears onto the skin the whole way around.

Reki: Courtesy of Chihiro.

Langa: She has unrivaled talent.

Reki: Obviously.

Reki: Well, you know what my plans are for the rest of the day.

Reki: What did you do today?

Reki: It’s…

Reki: 10:30 at night there now? Almost?

Langa: Not a whole lot.

Langa: My grandpa is planning this huge Halloween party at the end of the month, so I helped him pull a whole bunch of stuff out of the back shed.

Langa: Decorations, that kind of thing.

Reki: Are you gonna dress up?!

Langa: No?

Langa: I’ve never dressed up when we hung out on Halloween.

Reki: It’s different in the west though, right?

Reki: People dress up here, sure

Reki: but we don’t do that door to door thing.

Langa: Trick-or-Treating?

Langa: I’m too old for that.

Reki: What? Why?

Langa: It’s a thing kids do, mostly.

Langa: Nobody wants to open their door and see an eighteen-year-old standing there.

Reki: If you had a really rad costume…

Langa: I’m not dressing up.

Reki: Lame.

Langa: Yup.

They sent skate videos back and forth for a while then, and it was almost like when they were together, because they were watching them simultaneously. Except when a customer came into Dope Sketch and Reki found himself otherwise preoccupied. Always when he returned to his phone, however, Langa was waiting.

Reki: It’s nearly four in the morning there.

Reki: Go to bed.

He’d been telling him to go to bed for the last hour.

Langa: But you’ll be bored.

Reki: Go!

Reki: To!

Reki: Sleep!

He had, for a little while. For two hours, maybe.

Langa: I can’t sleep.

Reki: But you can sleep everywhere.

Langa: I’m still on Japan time.

Langa: I’m not tired.

Reki: But you were up all day!

Langa: You just don’t understand how jetlag works.

Reki:…

Langa: Send me a picture.

Reki sent him a picture of his thumb, which had a bright blue band-aid wrapped around it.

Langa: What’d you do?

Reki: Sketchy bit me again.

Reki: I think she’s mad you’re gone.

Reki: And blaming me for it.

Langa: That’s sweet.

Reki: That she bit me?!

Langa: That she’s thinking of me.

Reki: Whatever, man.

Reki: Did you see that link I sent you after you were supposed to be sleeping?

Langa: Yeah, I watched it.

Langa: That guy has some serious speed around those turns.

Reki: Right?!

And so it continued, all through the day, until—

Langa: Are you home yet?

Reki: Yeah.

Reki: Currently turning my room upside-down.

Langa: Why?

Reki: I can’t find my favorite sweatshirt.

Reki: You know, the yellow one?

Reki: Ugh, what if I left it at “S” or something?

Langa: Oh.

Langa: Maybe.

Langa: I’m sure you’ll find it.

Reki: I hope so…

Langa: Can I call you?

Reki: Oh, yeah.

Reki: Then I can keep looking while we talk.

His phone was ringing shortly after, Reki putting it on speaker and setting his cell on his desk as he kept pulling open drawers and rifling around. He wasn’t sure how his sweatshirt could have possibly ended up in a drawer, but he couldn’t find it anywhere else. Which was so weird.

Maybe it was in the laundry room somewhere…

“It’ll turn up,” Langa assured him.

“But I wanted to wear it tomorrow…” Pouting, Reki flopped back on his bed.

“Just wear a different one—they’re all the same.”

“The yellow one’s the first one I ever made, though. It’s lucky.”

“Oh.”

“Ah, whatever. It’s early afternoon there, right? What’re you doing today?”

“Not really anything. My grandmother asked if I wanted to go hiking, but…”

“But…?” Reki said.

“I’m tired.”

He sounded tired. And given how messed up his sleep schedule was, Reki supposed that made sense. Yet, even with this rationale, he still felt… uneasy. Normally, even lack of sleep wouldn’t be enough to stop Langa doing anything. Reki didn’t pursue the subject, however, wanting to stick to his word on not harassing his best friend about bed times for at least a week.

Langa loved to sleep. Once the whole jetlag thing was over, he’d definitely be back to normal.

Langa: You awake?

Yet another morning where Reki woke up to such a message, which had been sent to him nearly an hour and a half before.

Reki: Yeah. What’s up?

Langa: Nothing.

Langa: Please distract me.

“Please distract me.” Words that Reki wouldn’t have expected to become as normal between them as “Are you awake?” and “Send me a picture.” Yet…

Reki: Distract you? From what?

It took Langa a bit longer to respond.

Langa: Please, Reki.

Langa: Just talk to me about something.

Langa: Anything.

He didn’t have to work until later that afternoon, so Reki spent a majority of the morning sending Langa skate videos and typing up huge paragraphs describing the new board designs he was mocking up for Shadow, since he’d broken his own board last Friday. He tried to put his foot down when he finally had to leave around 12:30, however, as it was nearly 3:30 am where Langa was.

Reki: I have to leave for work.

Reki: Go to bed!

Langa: I’m not tired.

Reki: Langa!

Langa: I’ll try.

Two minutes after his shift started, he got another message.

Langa: I can’t sleep.

Reki: Omg

Langa: Send me a picture.

Reki: I already sent you a picture today.

Of his ankle, specifically, which had taken Langa two guesses to figure out what it was.

Langa: Send another one.

Reki: Only if you promise to go to bed.

Langa: I can’t help it if I can’t sleep.

Reki: You have to be sleeping sometime, Langa.

Langa: I nap when you’re asleep sometimes.

Langa: Japan time.

Reki: Shouldn’t you be getting over the whole jetlag thing?

Reki: I doubt your family appreciates you sleeping in the middle of the day.

Langa: Please send a picture?

Reki: Ugh, fine!

Rolling up his pants, he took a close-up of his knee.

Langa: Hm.

Langa: Your back?

Reki: No.

Reki: You won’t guess it.

Langa: Your torso somewhere?

Reki: Nope.

Langa: …

Langa: Oh!

Langa: It’s your knee.

Reki: How’d you know?!

Reki: It just looks like a patch of skin!

Langa: That little freckle.

Langa: I recognized it.

Reki: You recognized

Reki: one freckle?

Langa: You only have a few.

Reki: I guess that’s true.

Reki: I’ll have to avoid them from now on.

Reki: Since you apparently recognize them on sight!

Langa: I like your freckles.

Langa: They’re neat.

Reki: I don’t.

Reki: They’re so dark.

Reki: Are they even really freckles?

Reki: They’re more like icky spots.

Langa: They are not!

Langa: Why would you say that?

Langa: Nothing about you is “icky.”

Reki: Says the guy with perfectly clear, snow-white skin.

Langa: Your skin is gorgeous, Reki.

Reki: I’m tan.

Reki: Too tan.

Reki: Because we spent so much time outside this summer.

Reki: The freckle beside my eye is super dark.

Reki: I’ve been thinking of getting it removed.

Langa: Your beauty mark?

Reki: It’s not a beauty mark! Lol!

Reki: It’s just a spot.

Didn’t one have to actually be beautiful for a freckle to be considered a beauty mark?

Langa: Don’t remove it.

Langa: Please.

Reki: But I hate it!

Reki: I used to get teased in school for it all the time.

Reki: And it’s so, you know, obvious.

Reki: It’s on my FACE!

Langa: I love your beauty mark, Reki.

Langa: Please, please don’t remove it.

Reki: You “love” it?

Langa: Yes.

Reki: It’s just a spot…

Langa: It’s a perfect spot.

Reki: Fine. I won’t remove it.

Reki: Yet.

Reki: But the mole on my arm, that has to go at some point.

Langa: Reki.

Langa: Leave your skin alone.

Reki: Only if you go to bed.

Langa: Reki…

Reki: Go to bed or you might slowly get pictures of all my freckles disappearing.

Langa: You couldn’t afford to remove all of them.

Reki: I’ll start with my “beauty mark.”

Langa: Fine, I’ll go to bed.

Reki: Goodnight!

Langa: …

He did sleep, Reki hoped, for at least four hours. It took him that long to start talking again, Reki still at work with nearly half his shift remaining. But, supposing that he’d do best to pick his battles, Reki accepted it as a win. Besides, it was a slow day and having someone to talk to was definitely preferable.

Langa: Are you home yet?

The question that was waiting for him after his trip home that night.

Reki: Yeah.

Langa: Can I call you?

Reki: Of course.

His phone was ringing shortly after.

“Why don’t you like your freckles?” Langa asked him, not even half a second after they’d exchanged greetings.

“What?”

“You’re not seriously thinking of getting rid of your beauty mark, are you?” He sounded so deathly serious that Reki couldn’t help laughing. “Reki!”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, as he plopped down in his desk chair. “I mean, I guess I’ve always sort of ‘fantasized’ about it not being there, but I’m not exactly self-conscious enough to care.” A lie, but he didn’t have the courage to admit that he’d always hated his face spot. He’d even tried to hide it once, with his sister’s makeup, but then he’d been so self-conscious about the fact that he was wearing makeup that he’d scrubbed it all away.

“You can’t get rid of it. It’s part of what makes you unique.”

“I don’t really want to look ‘unique,’ Langa. Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“Yes. And I don’t mean that you look ‘unique,’ I’m just trying to say that you’re…”

“Strange looking?”

“Beautiful.”

Reki sputtered, his cheeks flaring as he spun in his chair. “That’s a bit of a stretch.”

“No, it’s not,” Langa said, sounding so absolutely certain. Which sort of annoyed Reki, frankly. He was pretty realistic about his looks, he thought, and didn’t exactly appreciate someone as effortlessly attractive as Langa coming in and saying things that… that weren’t…

“You don’t have to say those kinds of things to me,” Reki said. “I’m not worried about how I look.” It didn’t matter, right? Being handsome or pretty wasn’t going to help his skating, or make his boards higher quality, or make him a better artist.

“I’m not saying it to be nice,” Langa said straight. “I’m telling you the truth.”

“Whatever. Can we talk about something else.”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

“Why are you self-conscious about the way you look?”

“I’m not—I just told you I don’t care.”

“You clearly do.”

Reki sighed. “It’s not a big deal, Langa. You wouldn’t understand anyway.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Growling, Reki pushed himself to his feet and paced shortly across the room. “It means you have great skin and hair and your face is all handsome and your body is perfect, with the shoulders and the abs and… and so you don’t get it.”

“I’m not perfect, Reki,” Langa rebuked. “And what don’t I get? You have shoulders and abs too, and a great body. And—”

It was Reki’s scoff that cut him off.

“What?” Langa asked.

“Nothing.”

“What did I say that you think is wrong?”

“I said nothing.”

“You do have a great body.”

“Sure.”

“You do! How could you not, with all the skating you do? You have just as much muscle as I do. More, in some places—in most places.”

“Yeah, and as you get older, you’ll keep putting on more muscle in all the right places,” Reki griped, as he sat back on his bed. “And I’ll keep putting it on in all the wrong places.”

“What does that mean?”

Reki huffed, his cheeks burning again. “It means my shoulders aren’t nearly as broad as yours and they never will be. And my thighs are huge, which means my hips…” He couldn’t bring himself to say it, the reason he’d taken to wearing sweatshirts and baggy pants all the time. He knew it was dramatic, but he didn’t like his proportions. If he covered them up, then he didn’t have to look at them. He wasn’t so worried about it that he wouldn’t go to the beach with his friends or whatever, but it was still something that niggled at the backs of his thoughts.

“Your shoulders are fine, Reki,” Langa said, voice softer. Which only made Reki feel all the more embarrassed. “And I don’t know where you get the idea that I’m going to keep putting on muscle in ‘all the right places.’ It’s taken a whole life of snowboarding to get the muscle I do have and I’m still skinny. I’ll always be skinny because I’m built just like my grandpa and he’s a skinny old man. Which means my shoulders are always going to look too big—I’m not going to ‘grow into them’ or whatever, and I’ll never have the muscle in my arms that you do, so it’s basically a lost cause.”

Snorting, Reki smiled to himself.

“And I don’t know why you’re acting like having ‘huge’ thighs is a bad thing,” he continued. “As well as whatever else comes along with that. I barely have a butt at all, you know. The only reason I’m not totally flat back there is because I’m athletic.”

Reki sniggered.

“I won’t have any butt by the time I’m old.”

“You’ll be skin and bones and I’ll look like my mom,” Reki countered.

“At least you’ll be warm.”

“Ha!”

“You do have really great arms, though, for the record,” Langa added. “Especially when you roll your sleeves up.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Keep in mind that you’re beautiful too.”

Reki hummed noncommittally, shifting some with insecure discomfort.

“You are.”

“Okay, okay, stop,” Reki muttered and flopped onto his back, his whole body feeling flushed with heat. “You’re so embarrassing sometimes.”

Thankfully, Langa dropped the subject, but that didn’t stop Reki from thinking about the conversation as he loitered in the bathroom later that night. Standing at the sink, shirtless, he stared critically at his reflection in the mirror.

Keep in mind that you’re beautiful too.

He was blushing again just thinking about those words. Why would Langa say something like that? Was that the kind of thing friends said to one another? Well, when it came to Langa, probably. That speech he’d given when they were making up during Adam’s tournament had started it, Langa being so ready to tell Reki how amazing and talented he thought he was. While it wasn’t a regular thing by any means, Langa didn’t shy away from showering Reki in compliments when the opportunity presented itself.

When he thought Reki needed to hear such things, perhaps.

Leaning in close to the glass, Reki reached up and covered his “beauty mark” with one finger, staring long and hard at his face as he tried to get an idea of what he’d look like without it. A pretty normal thing for him to do, when he happened to find himself in front of a mirror.

A pointless exercise, as it was still there when he pulled his finger back, looking all the darker for the attention he was paying it. And yet, despite how Reki had always hated the little spot, Langa claimed to “love” it.

What did that mean?

Heart beating fast and loud in his chest, Reki glared at his reflection a little longer, before eventually forcing himself to turn away and return to his bedroom.

Langa: Are you awake yet?

The message Reki woke up to the following morning.

Reki: Yeah, just now.

Langa: Send me a picture.

Rolling his eyes, Reki hummed as he looked up and down his body, which was bare aside from his briefs. He’d said the day before that he was going to avoid taking photos of his freckles because he didn’t want to give Langa any help in his guesses, but, then again, he was also kind of curious to see if his best friend really could recognize his freckles.

He had another of the little spots on his left wrist, so he took a close-up there and sent the picture on.

Langa: Wrist.

Langa: Left wrist.

Reki: You’re so weird.

Reki: Why do you know that?

Langa: I spend literally every day, all day with you.

Langa: Why wouldn’t I know?

Reki: I don’t know if you have any freckles!

Langa: I have a few, but they’re really faint.

Reki: Ah.

Reki: Not noticeable, like mine.

Langa: I have a giant birth mark on my upper thigh.

Reki: No way!

Langa: My mom says it’s shaped a bit like Hokkaido.

Reki did sputter out a laugh at that.

Reki: I want to see, but your camera is broken!

Reki: Lame!

Langa: Later.

Langa: I’ll show you.

Langa: Next time we see each other.

Reki smiled softly to himself.

The rest of his day was spent mostly skating, and texting, and pressuring Langa to go to sleep at around noon Japan time. He did, for maybe three and a half hours. His short bursts of rest were getting less and less reassuring and Reki hoped he really was napping during the times Reki was also asleep. Otherwise…

Langa: Distract me.

Reki: It’s ten in the morning there.

Reki: What do you need a distraction from?

Reki: Go DO something.

Reki: Hang out with your grandparents.

Reki: Go hiking.

Reki: Ride a moose.

Reki: I don’t know.

Langa: Are you busy?

Reki: No.

Reki: But you should be.

Langa: Well

Langa: I’m not.

Reki: Langa.

Reki: You should be making the most of being there.

Reki: Not talking to me all the time.

Langa: I like talking to you.

Reki: And I like talking to you.

Reki: But I feel like we talk nearly all day.

Langa: So what?

Reki: So it’s a bit much, isn’t it?

Langa: Oh.

There was a generous pause while he typed, those ellipses appearing. Only for the message he eventually sent to mean absolutely nothing.

Langa: Okay.

And that was it. No more messages for the rest of the night. Reki waited, but nothing was ever added to the conversation. Which made him feel both bad and confused. He hadn’t meant that they couldn’t talk, just that Langa ought to be enjoying his time in Canada.

It was the longest they’d gone without talking since Langa had left—nearly a full twelve hours. It was disconcerting, especially when Reki woke up the next morning and there wasn’t even a message asking if he was awake.

Huffing, he took a picture of a freckle he had along his collar and sent it along.

Langa: Collarbone.

Reki: Amazing.

Reki: What are you doing?

Langa: Lying in bed.

Langa: It’s late here.

Langa: There’s nothing else I should be doing.

Tapping his phone against his forehead, Reki sighed.

Reki: I didn’t mean you couldn’t text me, you know.

Reki: Before, I mean.

Those ellipses faded in and out.

Langa: If I’m bothering you, all you have to do is say so.

Reki: You never bother me.

Reki: I just

Reki: want you to have a good time while you’re gone, that’s all.

Langa: I guess.

Reki: You guess?

Langa: Can I call you?

Reki: I have to leave for work soon…

Langa: Just

Langa: Just a few minutes.

Langa: I just need to hear your voice.

A repeated claim that took Reki back a bit, a frown creasing his lips as he stared down at his phone. He “needed” to hear his voice? Why? What was going on?

Reki: Okay.

His phone rang shortly after and he picked up the call immediately. “Are you okay?” he asked, instead of offering up an appropriate greeting.

There was silence, before Langa finally said. “Yeah, I’m fine.” His voice sounded… rough. Thick, perhaps.

“You’re not,” Reki dared to say. “Langa, what’s going on with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Langa…”

“I shouldn’t have called—you have to get ready for work and I should go to bed. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Langa!”

But he’d already hung up, which left that to be about the weirdest phone call Reki had ever received. He almost texted him—almost—but then thought, if he wastrying to sleep, then he didn’t want to interrupt.

So he went to work, ever watchful of his phone, and at around 1:30 in the afternoon—4:30 in the morning Langa’s time—he finally got another text.

Langa: Distract me please.

Langa: No one else here is awake, so there’s nothing to do.

Somehow, Reki knew his last statement was a defensive excuse. Still, he couldn’t very well refuse Langa’s plea, so he took a picture of the three freckles he had on his shoulder—having to pull his shirt aside to do so—and added it to the chat.

Langa: Shoulder.

Langa: That one’s easy.

Reki: Which shoulder?

Langa: Left.

Reki: You’re right, that one is easy.

Reki: I should have taken a picture of one super close so you couldn’t see the other two.

Langa: I’d still figure it out.

Reki: I’ll find one you’ve never seen before soon enough.

Reki: Then I’ll win.

Langa: Bet.

Reki: Long distance beef.

Langa: Are you going to “S” tonight?

Reki: Yeah, of course.

Reki: Though it probably won’t be all that exciting.

Reki: Miya already told me he wasn’t going this time, and Shadow doesn’t have a board right now, as far as I know. Not one that goes with his “image” anyway.

Reki: Never know if Cherry and Joe will show.

Reki: And since you’re not here…

Langa: You can still skate.

Langa: Take pictures if anything fun happens.

Reki: I’ll try.

Reki: Langa?

Langa: Yeah.

Reki: Why won’t you tell me what’s going on?

Langa: What do you mean?

Reki: Don’t play dumb.

Reki: You’re no good at it.

Langa: Nothing’s going on.

Langa: I’m fine.

Langa: Don’t worry about it.

But he did. He worried. A lot. Mostly because he wasn’t sure what he should be doing in this situation. Sure, he and Langa had been mostly inseparable for close to two years, but in all that time, he’d never had to deal with Langa being in any kind of mood or having a hard time. He got sad when snowboarding or his dad came up in conversation, and he could get a little distant when he spoke of Canada, but it was always short-lived. Generally, he was laid back and chill, even when it came to beefs. Passionate, sure, but never one to really get upset.

What should Reki do?

Nothing?

Would Langa tell him if he needed something or…?

What was going on?!

He tried to ask again, later that night, after he decided not to go to “S” after all, because it’d started to rain rather torrentially.

Langa: I’m fine, Reki.

Reki: Really?

Langa: Yes.

Langa: I’m telling you, it’s the jetlag.

Langa: I already feel better now than I did a few days ago.

Maybe he was right. Maybe it was the jetlag. Not like Reki had any history dealing with such things.

Reki: Okay.

Reki: Sorry.

Reki: But you’ll tell me, right?

Reki: If anything’s wrong?

Langa: Nothing’s wrong.

Langa: You’re paranoid.

Reki: Alright…

Was no answer the same as saying no?

He never would have pegged Langa as the type to try and hide his problems, not like Reki had a bad habit of doing. Unless he really was making a mountain out of a molehill, letting his anxiety get the better of him.

But some of the things Langa had said…

It wasn’t adding up.

Langa: You awake?

Reki was relieved to see that message when he got up in the morning.

Reki: Just now.

Langa: Send pic.

Reki: A bit demanding, aren’t we?

Langa: Send pic!

Reki: And if I say no?

Langa: Why are you being mean to me?

Reki: Omg you’re dramatic.

Reki: Here.

He already had a picture on file, one that he’d struggled to take with the help of a mirror the night prior.

Langa: Back.

Reki: Be more specific, please.

Langa: Lower back, right side, even between hip and spine.

Reki: You’re kind of creepy.

Langa: So sorry.

Langa: I won’t help you put sunscreen on the next time we go to the beach.

Langa: You can roast.

Reki: I tan.

Reki: Well, I burn in the places that don’t normally see the sunlight, I guess.

Langa: Exactly.

Reki: You’d never let me “roast.”

Langa: You’re right.

Langa: I would never.

Reki: Wow, you gave in easy to that.

Langa: I don’t want you to get sunburned.

Langa: Sunburns are terrible.

Reki: You would know.

Langa: …

Reki: So?

Reki: What’d you do today?

Langa: Nothing.

Reki: Really?

Langa: Yup.

Langa: I’m going to bed now.

Langa: Night.

Reki: Oh.

Reki: Goodnight…

It rained pretty heavily for most of the day, the weather having carried over from the night before. Reki hung around the house as a result. He watched television for a while, seated at the low table in the main living room, phone always nearby. He checked it pretty regularly, but no new messages appeared.

That was good, he reasoned. It meant Langa was getting back on a regular sleep schedule. So long as he was actually sleeping…

Of course he was sleeping. Why wouldn’t he be? Better yet, why did Reki have the audacity to assume he wasn’t?

“Whatcha doin?’”

Pursing his lips in annoyance, Reki flicked his attention to where Koyomi had just plopped down beside him. She was wearing her favorite pink dress, her hair tied in low pigtails. She was really starting to grow out of her kid-like girlyness, the first year of upper secondary school really hammering home that she wasn’t his “little sister” anymore.

“Waitin’ for Langa to call?” she teased, grinning and leaning in far too close.

“Go away,” he said and shoved her back by the shoulder.

“I hear you talking to him some nights,” she continued. “You must really miss him.”

“He’s my best friend, of course I…” He scowled. “Do you need something?”

She shrugged and leaned back on her hands. “Not really. Just thought I’d come and see what’s up with you. I have so many extra curriculars these days that we hardly see each other.”

Reki hummed.

“You, on the other hand, don’t seem to be busy at all.”

He side-eyed her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m just saying, you’re nineteen years old, you’ve graduated. What are you doing hanging around here?”

He gestured back toward the door. “It’s raining!”

“That’s not what I mean.”

Reki knew what she meant. It was a fact of his life that had been hovering over him for some months now. Usually, it was easy to ignore. Usually, Langa was with him, and so they could lead their aimless, lackluster lives together.

“Buzz off,” Reki settled for saying.

“Fine.” Huffing, she got to her feet. “I’m just saying, without Langa here, you’ve been extra pathetic, you know?”

“Go away!”

She stuck out her tongue, but finally sauntered off.

Turning back to the television, Reki tried to ignore the insecurities she’d stirred up, but they started chipping away at him anyway. So, he abandoned the television and returned to his room in search of a diversion.

“There’s got to be one he wouldn’t guess,” Reki muttered to himself, as he took his mom’s hand mirror and started getting a look at the more elusive parts of his body, searching for freckles that even he might not be aware of. He found one under his right arm, up near his armpit, and so he took a picture with the aid of said mirror.

He found another on the back of his neck, but supposed it was pretty likely Langa would recognize that one. Still, he took a picture, just in case. Having long since removed his shirt, he also took a picture of the two spots sitting beside his right nipple. It was pretty safe to assume Langa would recognize those ones as well, but as he was looking everywhere, he might as well take a picture of every freckle he’d yet to use in their “game.”

There was a single freckle sitting on his upper thigh, and he thought it might be pretty safe to assume Langa wouldn’t know about that one. It’d have been covered by his underwear most of the time, thus it wouldn’t even have been revealed in the locker room at school.

Curious, Reki hummed to himself before deciding he might as well check. Shoving his pants and his underwear down around his thighs, he pulled the mirror back and twisted himself around until he could barely see the reflection of his rear in the glass.

“Aha!” he said to himself, upon noting that there was, in fact, a single freckle on the underside of his left ass cheek. Never would Langa guess that one. Well, unless the picture was very obviously his ass, which it probably would be given the shape, even if he got up close.

Tapping his chin thoughtfully, Reki stumbled to his door—nearly tripping over his pants, which were still around his thighs. Sliding the lock over, he then shucked off his clothes entirely, before moving to his bed. Sitting down on the edge of his mattress, he pulled his left leg awkwardly up into the air, nearly toppling to the floor in the process. His efforts weren’t for nothing, however, as his clumsy acrobatics stretched the lower area of his ass enough that the thick flesh smoothed out. Biting his tongue and continuing to angle his leg into the air, he maneuvered his phone down along the under-side of his thigh until he could get that elusive spot on the screen. Getting close enough that the whole composition appeared as benign as his back or stomach, he finally snapped the picture.

“He’ll never guess,” he said to himself, smirking as he lowered his leg and stared down at the picture of skin and freckle.

Unless…

Was this weird?

Even if it didn’t look like his ass, this was still very much a picture of his ass. His bare ass, as he was suddenly very much aware of the fact that he’d had to strip down to take said picture. On one hand, if he sent Langa the picture and he couldn’t guess, then he could have a good laugh about teasing him until revealing it was, in fact, his butt, which could be funny. Or it’d be…

Inappropriate?

Langa would probably find it funny, though, even if it was also inappropriate.

But then, Reki would still be sending him a picture of his ass. Which wasn’t something friends did, right? Well, for the sake of humor, they might. Yet, somehow—even if Langa and Reki both found this funny—it didn’t feel quite… funny enough to really be justified. Or maybe the fact that Reki had a huge crush on said friend made a secret ass picture feel rather underhanded, somehow.

But then, it wasn’t a dick pic or something.

Glancing down between his legs, Reki did note the tiny spot he had at the very base of his penis. More so curious than anything else, he zoomed his phone camera down onto it and took as close a picture as he could, before pulling it up for inspection.

“Oh yeah,” Reki muttered. “You can definitely tell that’s a dick.” Even so close, there was no escaping that fact.

Not that he’d ever intended to send Langa a picture of his dick freckle. Now he knewthat would be inappropriate.

Sighing, Reki flopped back on his bed and stared up at his ceiling.

He missed Langa. Missed his voice, his face, his small smiles. He missed when they sat close, and the ways in which he tended to lightly tap Reki’s arm when he wanted his attention. And how he sat so near their thighs brushed, or their knees knocked, or their shoulders bumped. The softness of his eyes when he turned Reki’s way, and the breadth of his shoulders when Reki hung all over him. The power in his legs when he skated, and the tension in his core—his strength.

He missed his warmth, and the shocking thrill that was sent up Reki’s body every time they touched.

How he wanted to touch Langa, and how he wanted Langa to touch him.

Hand having long since snaked down between his legs, Reki frowned at his own weakness. Gaze dropping, he ran his fingers lightly up and down his hardened shaft, his dick twitching until his was fully erect, familiar heat surging down through him.

He shouldn’t. Every time he rubbed one off thinking about Langa, he felt guilty afterward. Yet, it happened so regularly these days that he wasn’t sure there was even any point in trying to reason himself out of it. He oftentimes found himself wondering what Langa would think, if he knew of all the private hours he’d spent jerking off to idea of them being together.

“Why are you even naked in the first place?” That was what the Langa in his head was asking him, as he sank down between his parted knees and smiled up at him.

“For you,” Reki would say to him. “To get all those pictures you’re constantly asking for.”

“You should send something a little more… obvious.”

“Yeah, right,” Reki actually said aloud, still lightly stroking his dick. More so bitter than actually considering the idea, he pulled his phone up and settled it on his stomach, before snapping a picture that was far less inconspicuous than the one of his dick freckle. Rather, his entire dick was framed in the image, even as the freckle was also visible.

What would Langa say if he sent it to him?

“Guess where this freckle is!” Reki mocked to himself. Before he dropped his phone to the side and groaned miserably. Wiping his hand down his face, he finally gave in and started stroking his hard-on more fully, eyes closing. He imagined that it was Langa holding his dick, his long fingers wrapping around the shaft, his firm, muscular body pressing against Reki’s own.

It was a normal fantasy, one that usually crept up on Reki during the night, not in the middle of the afternoon. Time of day didn’t really matter, though. Langa’s imaginary breath on his face was still the same, his whispered words in Reki’s ear ever-present. Saying things to him that the real Langa had said before, only with… different intentions.

“You’re so amazing.”

“You never cease to surprise me.”

“You’re beautiful.”

Biting his lip, Reki scrunched his eyes closed and stroked faster. More vigorously. He felt bad, doing this, even as it also felt so, so satisfying. Though it happened far more often than he’d ever admit, he tended to get through it as fast as possible. If he couldn’t stop himself fantasizing about Langa—about his best friend—then the least he could do was get it over with quickly.

Sitting up, he kept stroking even as he reached for a box of tissues sitting beside his bed. Flushed and panting, he kept going, once again tormented by the image of Langa. Langa, who would come up behind him. Who’d wrap his strong legs around him and reach between his legs, pumping his dick in the way he knew Reki would want. Because of course the Langa in his head knew.

“Ugn, Langa,” Reki muttered under his breath, his brain supplying the image of Langa’s hand wrapped up with his own. While somehow, some way, Langa’s fingers were also trailing over his lower back, dancing dangerously close to the heat between his ass cheeks.

Groaning deep in his throat, Reki came, the tissues used to catch the mess as his orgasm rolled through him. The fantasy of Langa faded with his arousal, leaving him breathing hard into the empty room and feeling even colder and more alone than he had before.

Slumping, he dropped his tissues into a nearby trashcan, before leaning his elbows down on his knees and covering his face with his hands.

His crush, or whatever it was, felt so much worse without Langa there. At least when they were together—hanging out and having fun—he could get lost in the thrill of it. In their shared laughter and inside jokes and easy conversation. Being alone, it just left him all the more focused on everything he didn’t have. Everything he wanted so badly. That he wasn’t really the type to develop crushes that often only made it all worse, because he had no idea how to deal with his feelings.

Was this what the rest of his life was going to feel like? Would he have to keep everything bottled up for eternity? Or would it just burst out of him one day, potentially destroying the most important relationship he had?

Why did he have to feel this way? The first real friend he’d had in a long, long time and he’d done something as stupid as falling in love with him.

Why couldn’t these feelings just go away?!

Muffled by the sheets, his phone buzzed nearby.

Sighing—to himself, not at the idea of talking to Langa—Reki flopped onto his side and fished his phone out of the folds of his bed.

Langa: Are you there?

Reki: Of course.

Reki: What’s up?

Langa: Distract me.

Caught between smiling at Langa’s demands and frowning as he wondered what could have inspired them, Reki stared sideways at his phone and awkwardly navigated to his photos. Not quite confident enough to send him the butt freckle, Reki decided to go for the one on his upper thigh, which ought to be at least a little challenging.

Selecting the photo, he sent it along as soon as it appeared in his message box, his fingers tapping habitually even as his insides went cold and shriveled in on themselves.

“No!” Reki yelled, as the little progress bar beneath his photo slowly crawled across the screen. “No, no, no, NO!” Sitting up, he whined and watched powerlessly, the slow seconds ticking by. “Unsend!” he yelled at the screen, as the photo flashed into the chat between him and his best friend. “FUCK!”

Had he seriously just accidentally sent Langa an unsolicited picture of his hard, erect dick?!

Feeling acutely like he might die at any moment, Reki choked on another helpless, mortified whimper.

Chapter Text

Wide-eyed and stunned, Langa sat abruptly up in bed, comforter falling down around his waist. It was completely dark aside from the glow of his phone, which was ignited with…

Gaping, Langa pulled his phone closer to his face and tapped at the image Reki had just sent him, so as to spread it across the entirety of his cracked screen. He had to be absolutely sure that, yes, it was, in fact, a picture of a dick. A hard, erect, very nice looking dick.

Was it… Was it Reki’s dick?

Heart skipping, arousal spiking, Langa stared severely at the picture. The visible skin around the cock, it was that slightly golden hue that Reki tended to be when he wasn’t tan, which would make sense because the parts of his body visible in this picture wouldn’t normally see the sun. And the pubic hair, it was darker than the red on his head. Less vibrant, but still, it could be his…

And the dick, it was… good sized. Nearly the same as Langa’s, though perhaps a little thicker. Somewhat darker than Langa’s own, with a cute little freckle at its base. It was soft looking, and…

And had Reki really sent him a dick pic?

Wha…

Why?

Well, it certainly was a… nice distraction…

His phone vibrated with incoming messages and caused him to jump in place, before he cleared the image away to read whatever was waiting.

Reki: SHIT!
Reki: I DID NOT MEAN TO SEND YOU THAT!

Reki: I AM SO SO SO SORRY!

Reki: IT WAS AN ACCIDENT!

Reki: Omg

Though he was buzzing with arousal, the entirety of Langa’s insides dropped in palpable disappointment. Not to say he’d been longing for a dick pic from Reki, but if he’d sent it by accident, then that meant he didn’t…

Like whiplash, Langa’s hopes had skyrocketed, only to plummet once again.

Reki: Please say something.

Reki: I seriously didn’t mean to send that.

Reki: Fuck…

Langa: It’s

Langa: fine.

Langa: Just… surprising.

Their messages had pushed the image up off the screen and Langa nearly scrolled up enough to see it again, but then found himself hesitating, finger hovering. If Reki had sent it by mistake, then he… shouldn’t keep looking at it. No matter how badly he wanted to, it’d be wrong. Reki was his best friend—he didn’t want to violate his privacy by gawking at an image that he’d never meant to send in the first place.

Drooping with even more disappointment, Langa dropped his phone—and his hands—into his lap, his own dick nearly half-hard behind his sweats.

Reki: I was trying to send you a normal picture and I hit that one by mistake.

Reki: I’m an idiot.

Reki: Sorry sorry sorry.

Langa: It’s okay.

Langa: Not like I’ve never seen a dick before.

Reki: Ha…

Reki: I guess that’s true.

So, if he hadn’t intended to send Langa such a picture, then why… why did he have it in the first place? Why had he taken it, rather? A person only took dick pics if they planned on sending them to someone, right?

Was Reki… sending sexy pictures to someone?

Who?

He’d never mentioned liking anyone…

Had he—Had he met someone while Langa was gone? In the short time since he’d left?

Heart beating fast and shoulders feeling even heavier than they already did, Langa pursed his lips and tried to push back on the horrible heartbreak that wanted to rip through him. He wanted to ask—he had to. He had to know.

Even if the answer was horrible.

Langa: Why did you take that picture?

Langa: Are you going to send it to someone else?

Reki: NO!

Reki: Omg that’s disgusting.

Reki: I wouldn’t send that to anyone.

Langa: Then

Langa: why did you take it?

Those ellipses faded in and out a few times, before he finally replied.

Reki: I just took it in a moment of stupidity.

Reki: I shouldn’t have.

Reki: I’m not that kind of person, I swear.

Reki: I don’t send people unwanted dick pics.

Reki: Ever.

Langa: I know that.

Langa: I wasn’t

Langa: Never mind.

So he wasn’t sending it to someone else.

That was…

That was good.

That made Langa feel more relieved than he had any right to.

Reki: You’re not mad, right?

Reki: I seriously would never send that sort of thing to someone.

Langa: I’m not mad.

Langa: It’s okay, really.

Reki: I just don’t want you to think I’m some kind of

Reki: pervert or pig or something.

Langa: I would never think that of you, Reki.

Langa: It’s just a dick pic.

Langa: Plenty of people send them.

Reki: Gross people…

Langa: Not all dick pics are gross.

Langa: Only the ones people don’t ask for.

Reki: You didn’t ask!

Reki: I’m sorry…

Langa: I’m really not upset.

Langa: And it was a

Langa: nice distraction.

Langa: So…

Reki: I can’t believe I did this.

Langa: You need to calm down.

Langa: I can practically see your anxiety through the screen.

Langa: It’s okay.

He waited some thirty seconds, but Reki didn’t respond.

Langa: Reki?

Still nothing.

Concerned despite his own deep-seated disappointment, Langa pulled up the menu in order to hit the call button, before he held his phone to his ear. It rang four times before Reki finally picked up.

“Why are you calling me?” he asked, sounding miserable.

“Because you stopped talking and it made me worried.”

“Just let me wallow in my misery…”

“That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?” Langa asked, as he leaned back on his free hand. “It’s just a picture. It could have been worse—you could have sent it to your mom or something.”

“Ugh, don’t say that. I deleted it, so there’s no risk of me sending it to anyone else.”

The only place the picture existed was in their chat, then. Somehow, that made Langa want to look at it even more.

But he couldn’t. That was wrong.

“All the more reason you shouldn’t stress,” Langa replied. “Not a big deal if I’m the only one that’s seen it.”

“It’s still a shitty thing to have sent you,” Reki muttered.

It was a claim that caused Langa pause. Chewing at his bottom lip, his heart pattered uneasily. Was Reki saying as much simply because unsolicited dick pics were always a shitty thing to send? Or…

He’d specified Langa, hadn’t he? “You?” So was he saying that it was even worse to have sent it to him? “Shitty,” because…

He had to know. Reki was pretty intuitive—far more so than Langa. He had to have figured it out. He knew… He definitely knew how Langa felt. Had probably known for a long time, but had the grace to never mention it. To continue being his friend in spite of it.

Despite not feeling the same way.

Once again, his insides felt like they were collapsing, Langa unable to mask the shaky breath that exhaled painfully from his chest. As if he’d been stabbed or hit hard in the back.

Pathetic…

“Langa?”

“Sorry,” he said gruffly and forcefully cleared his throat. “I’m just—I was—It’s nothing.”

A pause between them, before Reki softly said, “How come you get to call me and be worried, but you keep avoiding me every time I try to do the same thing for you?”

He wasn’t avoiding him, he just…

“I don’t wanna talk about it, Reki,” he murmured.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s—Because talking about it isn’t going to make anything better.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

He didn’t even want to think about… “it,” let alone talk. Just the idea of either was…

“Langa…”

He’d rather focus on the pain that was strictly between him and Reki than everything else—the pain he’d brought on himself with his foolish feelings. That horrible ache—the inescapable longing—even that was a better distraction than…

“That picture,” Langa started, nerves surging—a feeling that was both nerve-wracking and relieving. At least, it was in comparison to the blanketing emptiness he was constantly trying to break away from.

He never succeeded. Not really.

“Can’t we just agree to never talk about it again?” Reki asked, still sounding embarrassed.

“Can I…” Langa pushed ahead, even as his body flushed with shame. “Can I look at it?”

“Can—Can you…” Reki audibly struggled to speak. “What?”

“I won’t if you don’t want me to—if it makes you uncomfortable,” Langa continued quickly, feeling all the more ashamed and small and, honestly, disgusted with himself. “I know it’s probably weird and—and creepy, but it’d be a… nice distraction, I guess. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be—and it’s not—you’re not…”

Langa supposed it was reasonable that Reki wouldn’t know what to say.

He shouldn’t have asked.

What was he thinking?! Being in Canada again had him all kinds of messed up!

“You can… You can look at it,” Reki said quietly, after what sounded like multiple attempts to speak. He cleared his throat. “That’s… fine…”

Was it? Or was he only giving Langa permission because he felt bad for him?

“I won’t if you don’t want me to,” Langa repeated, before saying, quite staunchly, “You can be honest with me.”

“It’s cool,” Reki assured. “You’ve already seen it anyway, and, well… I really don’t mind or—or anything.”

“I’m sorry,” Langa said again, voice quiet.

“I don’t know why you’re sorry. I’m the one who sent it in the first place.”

“I know, but…”

“I’m flattered you’d wanna look at it again, or… something.” He laughed awkwardly.

Flattered. The trademark word of rejection.

“I’m happy to give you a distraction, Langa. All you have to do is ask.”

Smiling weakly to himself, Langa nodded even though Reki couldn’t see. “You’re a good friend, Reki,” he whispered.

“I mean, am I? I did send you that picture in the first place.”

Langa chuckled. “A forgivable offense.”

“If you say so.”

They were quiet for a few moments, Langa hoping the silence wasn’t too awkward for Reki. On his side of things, he didn’t mind.

“Do you want to hang up now, or…” Reki eventually asked. A reasonable question, given that they weren’t saying anything.

“Even if we’re not talking, it feels like you’re closer on the phone,” Langa murmured. “I know that doesn’t make sense, but…” He knew, rationally, that they were on nearly opposite sides of the globe, but that was such an incredibly long distance to try and wrap his head around. It was easier, in fact, to believe that Reki was actually nearby.

“It makes sense…” Reki said gently. “I’m sorry that being there is so hard for you. I wish there was something I could do.”

“You’re doing more than you know,” Langa admitted, voice thick. “You always have.”

“I—”

Langa could hear voices in the background, and shuffling, and Reki squawking something about the door being locked.

“I gotta go,” Reki said, once he’d returned to the conversation. “Mom wants me to watch the twins.”

“Okay.” Langa supposed it was inevitable. He couldn’t keep Reki to himself.

Reki… Reki would never be his. He’d long accepted that reality.

“You’re okay, right? You’ll be…”

“I’m fine, Reki,” Langa assured—lied. “I’m probably gonna go back to bed.” He probably wouldn’t, but he didn’t need to put that on Reki. Already, he felt like he was putting so much on him—whether he was okay with it or not.

“Okay…”

“I’ll talk to you later.”

“Yeah… Bye.”

“Bye.”

When the line died, Langa was all the more aware of how alone he was. The house was so big, and so empty. His grandparents were there, he knew, but in the quiet of the night, and with the darkness so close, he felt as though the shadows were closing in. Were strangling him, wringing him dry until nothing was left.

Knowing he wouldn’t find sleep despite how exhausted he was (how he wished he could just sleep the days and nights away), Langa turned his attention back to his phone. To his conversation with Reki, which ignited the tiniest of flames in his gut. As if his whole world were out of power and that flame was all he had, he cradled it close and encouraged it to grow, no matter the shame that came along with it.

Scrolling up in their chat, he reached the infamous picture and, without any hesitation, tapped to enlarge it across the entire screen.

Knowing for certain, now, that he was staring at Reki’s dick, sent a far more acute surge of heat down between his legs. Slipping his free hand into the front of his sweats, he was stroking his own dick until it was fully erect, his thoughts wandering down paths that were both familiar and new.

New, because he had before him evidence of Reki being turned on by something. While he did sort of wonder what had put Reki in that “mood,” he was more afraid of the answer. So he didn’t keep wondering, instead allowing himself to invent the reason for himself. To imagine that Reki had been thinking of him—of the two of them, together. Of Langa’s hand around his dick instead of Reki’s own, pumping him through the pleasure, their naked bodies twined together in Reki’s bedsheets.

Just the thought had him stroking his own dick faster, as he slipped it out from behind the waistband of his sweatpants. Though he kept his focus half on that picture, the other half gradually transformed the fantasy of being in Reki’s bedroom to Reki being there with him. Moving through the darkness until he was crawling up into bed with him, hands sliding along Langa’s thighs and his amber-red gaze aglow. He would sit down between his thighs and reach down for Langa’s dick, just as Langa was reaching out for his—a dick he could now envision with considerable accuracy.

“I’m here,” Reki would murmur as he leaned in close to his ear, fingers ghosting around Langa’s cock. “I’ll stay with you, I promise.”

Whimpering in the back of his throat, Langa stroked faster and faster, breath hitching as he kept his gaze on his phone. On the image Reki hadn’t meant to send, but that was giving him more to think of in those moments than he’d had since he’d landed in Vancouver.

Reki had given him permission to look at the picture. He had to know what he was going to do with it. Despite not returning Langa’s affections, he’d given him the go-ahead. He knew, he knew. Somehow, that pushed Langa even closer to the edge, the idea that Reki must realize he was masturbating to a picture of him. Assuming Reki knew how Langa felt, he must figure that Langa got off thinking about him, but this situation was so much more transparent than that.

There was nothing else Langa could possibly want this picture for, something Reki had to of known when he’d given him permission to look at it.

Dropping his phone atop his comforter, Langa’s dick throbbed against his palm, his insides fluttering as he reached down and pulled the lip of his pants back up to cover himself as he came. He let lose inside his sweats, groaning quietly and breathing hard.

Huffing, he stayed slumped in place for a few moments, catching his breath, before he moved his phone aside and flopped back atop his pillow. Staring up into the empty darkness, the heady remnants of his arousal pulsed through him, what little focus that wasn’t slipping through his fingers zeroing in on the weighted mess in his pants. All of which was better than everything else waiting in the wings.

He was able to fall asleep for a few hours, lulled into rest by thoughts of Reki.

Reki, the best comfort he’d found after…

The crunching, it was so loud—he thought a bomb had gone off. But then he was straining against his seatbelt, thrown as far and painfully forward as was possible as the breath was rushed out of him. And the trees, they were coming at them so fast, flashing inside the glow of the truck’s headlights.

Screaming, Langa tightened his hold around his father’s hand.

Gasping, Langa surged up in bed. His hand was gripping at his chest, entire body trembling as he struggled to catch his breath. His skin was slick with sweat and his head, it throbbed so painfully that he was left groaning as he hunched forward.

The room was spinning and he was already nauseous, leaving all his focus to zero in on keeping what little was inside him down. He could feel it rising up his chest, rolling uncontrollably. The sensation was so horrible and suffocating that it brought tears to his eyes.

Don’t throw up, don’t throw up, don’t throw up.

Just breathe.

In and out.

He could breathe. It was okay.

It wasn’t… It wasn’t okay, but—

He was alive.

Violently shivering, Langa was eventually able to open his eyes again, as the room settled more firmly into place. Early morning sunlight was filtering in through the windows, igniting his bedroom, and he could see the floating specs of dust dancing about inside the light. Hugging his arms around his middle, he sat and stared at that dust for a long time, entire body wound so tight that he was certain he’d snap in half at any second.

He kept shaking, so he stared harder and harder into the sunlight, the minutes slowly passing until his body realized the shock wasn’t real. The fear, the adrenaline, those were real, but unnecessary. His reality wasn’t the accident—he was sitting in his bedroom, years later.

Still somewhat trembling, heart beating fast, Langa fumbled around on the bed until he found his phone, the tears once again gathering around his eyes as he desperately tapped at his chat with Reki, before typing away with his thumbs.

Langa: Are you busy?

Reki: Twins are watching a movie, so not really.

Releasing a shaky breath, Langa blinked back the tears, and the pressure, and instead reached back for the yellow sweatshirt he kept near his pillow. Cradling it in the crooks of his arms, he started typing again.

Langa: Send a picture.

Anything. Please. Give him something else to think about.

Reki: You sure?

Reki: Didn’t end well last time…

Huffing, Langa allowed a weak smile to try and pull at his lips, even as his insides continued twisting.

Langa: You have another dick pic on file to accidentally send?

Reki: NO!

Langa: Then what are you worried about?

Reki: Ugh

Reki: Fine.

He sent another freckle picture, Langa staring at it critically for a long while, cataloguing all of Reki’s freckles in his brain. The ones he’d seen, anyway. But this…

Langa: I don’t think I’ve ever seen that one before.

Reki: Uh oh.

Reki: Someone’s about to lose.

Langa scoffed.

Langa: There’s only so many places it could be that I haven’t seen before.

Langa: I can guess.

Reki: You only get three chances.

Langa: That’s never been the rule!

Reki: Three chances.

Langa: …

Langa: Butt.

Reki: NO!

Reki: Why is that your first guess?!

Langa: You sent me a picture of your dick.

Langa: Why wouldn’t you send one of your butt?

Reki: You know, I specifically remember asking that we never talk about “that” again.

That was true, he had.

Langa: Thigh.

Reki: You need to be more specific.

Langa: Because there’s so much ground to cover on your thighs?

Reki: Are you

Reki: making fun of me?

Langa: You said it yourself that you have really muscular thighs.

Langa: Seems unfair to expect specifics.

Reki: Well, try.

Reki: Jerk.

Langa: I’m not being a jerk.

Langa: I like your thighs.

Langa: I bet you could crush things with them.

Hm, that might have been a step too far, Reki’s ellipses fading in and out multiple times. Until, finally:

Reki: I don’t even know what to say to that.

Reki: Is that supposed to be a compliment or…?

Langa: Yes, it’s a compliment.

Langa: Who wouldn’t want to be able to crush things with their thighs?

Reki: Omg, lol.

Reki: Just guess, you idiot.

Humming, Langa thought long and hard about his last guess. Given what had happened with the dick pic the day before, he doubted Reki would send him something even bordering on inappropriate—he’d be too embarrassed. So no inner thigh. And while the back of said thigh was viable, it was harder to get a look at. So that left front and side as his best options.

Langa: I’m gonna go with

Langa: Upper, outside thigh.

Reki: Are

Reki: Are you serious right now?

Langa: I guess?

Reki: WHICH ONE?!

Langa: What?

Reki: RIGHT OR LEFT!

Langa: Oh.

Langa: Uh…

Langa: I’ll go with

Langa: right.

Reki: This

Reki: This isn’t fair…

Langa: Did I get it?

Reki: I don’t wanna talk to you anymore.

Langa: I’m really good at this game.

Reki: Of course you are.

Reki: You’re good at everything.

Reki: It’s so annoying…

Langa: I’m not.

Langa: But thanks.

Reki: I guess that’s true.

Reki: You can’t draw for shit.

Reki: And your handwriting is terrible in English and Japanese.

Reki: You can’t cook very well either.

Reki: Your omelets are alright, though.

Langa: Just because I’m good at your game doesn’t mean you should insult me.

Reki: You insulted me first!

Langa: When?!

Reki: About my thighs!

Langa: I told you I wasn’t insulting you!

Reki: You were making fun…

Langa: I wasn’t.

Langa: I was trying to compliment you.

Langa: I know you’re insecure about that part of your body.

Langa: I would never make fun.

Langa: I’m sorry if it came across that way.

Reki: For real?

Langa: Of course.

Langa: I would never try and make you feel bad, Reki.

Reki: Yeah, I know.

Reki: Sorry.

Reki: I’m just

Reki: After you

Reki: It doesn’t matter.

Langa: After I what?

Reki: It’s nothing.

Reki: I’ve been thinking too much.

Reki: You know how I get sometimes.

Langa: Yeah…

He almost said that Reki could still talk to him about it—whatever he’d been “thinking” about—but faltered, afraid that Reki would turn around and demand the same of him.

Reki: Any big plans for the day?

Langa: My uncle and cousin are coming over.

Langa: But no, not really.

Reki: Sounds like big plans to me.

Langa: Maybe.

Reki: I’m sure you’ll have a good time.

Reki: Unless you don’t like them?

Langa: They’re fine.

Langa: I don’t know my Uncle Owen that well.

Langa: And Patrice, well…

Reki: Patrice?

Langa: She’s okay.

Langa: Sometimes.

Reki: Rave reviews.

Langa: My family’s not like yours.

Reki: Close and annoying and around all the time?

Langa: Exactly.

Reki: You lived with your grandparents though, right?

Langa frowned. He didn’t remember ever telling Reki that.

Langa: How do you know that?

Reki: You said you have a room there.

Reki: In their house.

Right…

Reki really was very perceptive sometimes.

Langa: Grandpa and Nana are different.

Langa: We lived close to them for a while.

Langa: Before my mom and I lived with them.

Reki: Oh.

Reki: That’s nice.

Not really.

Reki: Why did you live with them?

The question he was afraid Reki would ask. It was rather disheartening, the fact that no matter what Langa tried, their conversations kept coming around to things he didn’t want to think about. Like the cloud bearing down on him was dragging Reki and Okinawa and everything good into its shadow.

It wasn’t fair…

Langa: It’s a long story.

Langa: I need to go take a shower and stuff before they get here.

Langa: My uncle and cousin, I mean.

Reki: Oh.

Reki: Sorry if I said something I shouldn’t have…

Langa: You’re fine.

Langa: Don’t worry about it.

Reki: Okay…

Sighing, Langa reached up and rubbed his temples, feeling guilty for not being totally honest, especially when Reki knew he wasn’t telling him something. A lot of things.

Yet, still, that guilt was easier to grapple with than…

Placing his phone on the bedside table, he stood and dragged his feet to the door in the corner of his bedroom, which opened up into the bathroom. It was a shared bathroom between his room and the one across the hall, but seeing as no one was currently occupying the other room, he was on his own. His grandparents’ bedroom was on the main level, on the other side of the house.

Stripping down, he climbed into the shower and leaned his head against the tile wall, allowing the steaming water to stream down his body for a good forty minutes. Eyes closed, he focused on his breathing, and then—when other things tried to encroach—he thought instead of the picture Reki had sent him the night before, thankful for the warmth that swelled inside him as a result.

Jerking himself off again, the relief that came with his release relaxed him slightly. Finally pulling up the gumption to wash his hair and scrub himself down, he eventually found himself back in his bedroom and dressed. He nearly headed out in just a t-shirt and jeans, but then his attention caught on Reki’s sweatshirt.

Slipping it on over his head, he headed out into the hall and then down the stairs. It was quiet as he moved from the bottom step and then to the right, beneath the arch that opened up into the kitchen.

Like the rest of the house, the kitchen was decked out in cedar trim with matching cabinets, the floor the same stone as the entryway, the counters speckled in warm grays and browns. There was a large island at the center of the room, upon which sat a covered plate of pancakes and bacon. Beside it was a note.

Nana and I are stopping by the garage and going to the grocery store. Eat up, Bubble Gum! – Grandpa

Side-eyeing the plate, Langa huffed before reaching out and removing the wrapping over top, which released the heavy smell of the food. His stomach turned, much to his own distress. He was so hungry, but his worsening exhaustion and the constant dreams left his insides unpredictable and unbalanced.

He managed to eat a few bites of bacon and tore off a chunk of pancake, before he finally dumped the lot of it in the trash. Hungry, but still feeling somewhat sick, he retreated to the living room that abutted the back side of the stairs. It was a tall, grand room, stretching the entire two stories. The vaulted ceiling was lined with the same cedar beams that decorated the rest of the house, and the back wall was lined with windows, french doors leading out onto the balcony.

Moving across the patterned rug that was stretched out over the stone floors, Langa flopped down on the far sofa, which was pressed right up against the windows. Sitting so he was facing backward, he curled his legs up underneath him and leaned forward atop the sofa-back. Placing his nose in the crook of his elbow, he stared blankly out across the backyard, then onto the mountainous horizon, the familiar scent of Reki’s sweatshirt overtaking the sweet smokiness of the house.

Closing his eyes, he found himself wishing he was back in Okinawa, spread out on Reki’s bed. He’d have his face buried in Reki’s pillow, listening quietly as he chattered on beside him, probably about whatever skating video they’d been watching.

Langa loved the sound of Reki’s voice. It had a sort of easy enthusiasm that made everything he talked about sound so exciting and fun. Like there was always something to look forward to. So long as they were together, then…

“It’s only two days,” Oliver said gently. “Then we’ll be together again.”

Sniffling, Langa reached up and rubbed at his eyes, unable to hold back his tears.

“Hey,” his father said gently, before he crouched down in front of him. Reaching up, he placed his large hands on Langa’s thin, eight-year old waist, eyes soft as he stared at him. “You’ll be okay. Nana and Grandpa are gonna be here with you the whole time.”

“But you and mom won’t be here,” Langa said, voice weak from his crying during the entirety of the car ride there.

Lips pursing, Oliver reached up and carefully wiped at his face. Around them, the warm summer air hung heavily, a light breeze passing between the deck railings and brushing up against his grandparents’ big house.

“This is what we’ve been working on, right?” Oliver asked him. “You spent the whole day with Nana and Grandpa last Saturday and everything turned out fine. This won’t be any different.”

“But I want to be with you,” Langa continued to insist, the tears ever-coming.

“I know, buddy, but we have to work on this. The therapist said you’re doing better, remember? You know you can’t be with your mom and I all the time.”

“I—I know.” His whole chest hiccupped. “B—But I’m s—scared.”

“Then let’s talk about it,” Oliver said, his hand dropping back down to Langa’s waist. “What are you scared of?”

“Wh—Wh—What if something h—happens to you guys and then—and then—” The tears came all the faster.

“Nothing’s going to happen to us,” Oliver assured. “We’re going to drive straight home, and then we’re going to stay there all weekend. Then, tomorrow, we’ll come back and pick you up. You know exactly where we’ll be all the time, I promise.”

Langa was already shaking his head, his chest hiccupping so badly he could barely breathe. “I don’t wanna s—stay, I wanna go home with you. Please, please, I wanna go home!”

His father sighed. “Langa…”

“Don’t go,” he begged, as he reached out and circled his thin arms around his father’s neck. “Don’t l—leave me here.”

Pulling him in, his father wrapped him up in a hug, Langa shoving his tear-stained face into his neck. He kept crying—sobbing—as his father reached down and hefted him into his arms. Legs framed around his father’s hips, Langa clung to him all the tighter as they moved to one of the patio chairs, before his father sat down, Langa cradled in his lap.

“Take a deep breath,” his father encouraged. “Like you do in therapy, remember? When Mom leaves the room?”

He tried, but it was so hard.

“We’ll count,” Oliver murmured, rocking him in place. “Up to ten, then backwards.” He counted. Up and down, over and over, even as Langa continued to cry and cry and cry. Eventually, the numbers started to penetrate, Langa knowing he was supposed to breathe in slowly to ten and breathe out back to one. It didn’t work so well at first, not with him being so upset, but he tried, he tried . And hoped that, if he tried hard enough, his parents would just take him home with them.

“Doing a little better now?” Oliver asked some time later, his hand running gently up and down his back. Nodding weakly, Langa was still rather shaky, but he wasn’t sobbing anymore, even if a few tears still trickled down his cheeks.

“Let’s compromise, then, hm?” his father said, as he tugged Langa into sitting back, so they could look at each other. “Maybe you’re not ready to stay the night. So how about we do what we did last weekend and you just stay here for the day? Your mom and I will come pick you up around seven, just after dinner.”

Just like last Saturday…

Langa didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at all, his sniffling once again beginning to grow worse.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Oliver assured. “Remember what I told you last weekend?”

“N—No…”

His father chuckled, before reaching up. Tapping Langa lightly on the nose, he then pointed up at the cloudy sky. Which, naturally, drew Langa’s gaze that way. “It doesn’t matter how far away we are, when your mom and I look up there, we see the same thing you do, right?”

Swallowing hard, Langa nodded.

“We’re under the same sky, so in a way, we’re never very far,” he continued. “We’re still with you, always.”

Nodding, Langa leaned in and laid his head on his father’s shoulder.

“So, do you think you can stay here for the day?” Oliver asked, once again rubbing his hand up and down Langa’s back.

“I don’t want to…” Langa muttered.

“I know.”

Despite being scared, Langa nodded, even as yet more tears came streaking down.

“We’ll be together again tonight,” his father said, as he placed a kiss against Langa’s hair. “I promise.”

Heavy lids lifting, Langa’s attention snagged on the sound of footsteps behind him, even as he continued to stare blankly out the window. His whole body felt weighed down, like something was sucking him into the couch. He didn’t have the energy to turn around.

“Hello, Langa.” It was Patrice, her soft, mousy voice less an interjection than it was a reminder that he couldn’t let himself get so caught up—not when there were potential eyes on him.

She sat down beside him as he flicked his gaze her way. When he’d left for Okinawa, she’d been sporting a somewhat dated, punk fashion, but must have graduated to full goth in the last two years. Her black tank-top was lined with ties down the sides and her arms were covered in fishnet sleeves. Heavy silver jewelry adorned her neck and wrists, while a few chains were draped down upon her black pleated skirt. She had on black tights underneath, and her chunky black boots looked like they’d come right out of a nineties high school film.

Her light, mint-colored hair was pulled back in a high ponytail, revealing her striking face. Huge brown eyes—eyes bigger than any Langa had ever seen—gave her a perpetual doll-like look, as did her pale complexion and naturally pursed lips. Some people thought she was pretty, while others found her features rather alarming.

Langa didn’t think anything—she was his cousin and they shared enough between them to make that clear. She was tall and thin, like him, their skin the same alabaster white, and most people said they even sounded similar. They had the same soft, gentle cadence to their voices, apparently.

“Hello, Patrice,” he replied, as he flicked his gaze back to the window.

She hummed softly. “You’re still depressed,” she said.

Langa frowned and glanced back at her. “I’m not.”

She was staring at him, unblinking, and so Langa stared right back.

“Okay,” she eventually said.

He returned his attention to the window.

“Uncle Owen brought me here today, to see you,” she went on to say, her eyes focusing elsewhere. “I have a driving permit, but he drove. I don’t think he even thought that perhaps I should.”

“Did you ask him?”

“No,” she admitted. “I didn’t think about it either.”

Langa hummed.

“He’s outside talking to Grandpa and Nana,” she went on. “They pulled in behind us.”

“They went to the garage,” Langa supplied. “And the grocery store.”

“Oh.”

A momentary pause.

“I brought my sketchbook,” she said, abruptly turning toward him again as she revealed the pad that must have been sitting on her other side. “Would you like to see?”

Langa pondered the idea for just a second, before saying, “Sure.”

Truth be told, he didn’t mind Patrice. She was quiet, like he could be, and didn’t mind sitting in silence. While she might make observations, she didn’t normally press subjects in an annoying way, or demand answers the way everyone else tended to. She was weird, but then, Langa supposed he was also rather weird. Especially when he was around someone that couldn’t counter his weirdness, as Reki did.

When he was with Patrice, he sometimes thought they came across as even weirder than when they were alone.

“You make me doubly weird,” he told her straight, as he turned around to face forward and she handed him her sketchbook.

“That makes sense,” she agreed.

Flipping open the sketchbook, Langa raised his eyebrows some at the picture that greeted him, as he turned the pad to get a look at it horizontally. While the subject matter might be what pulled a reaction out of some people, Langa wasn’t surprised by her macabre sense of design. Bones, dead animals, winged bugs, wilting flowers, torn flesh. She rarely used blood, instead giving any open wounds a sort of dried, overly detailed, floral aesthetic, like blooming flowers. It was all very intricate and finely inked, the colors calm. Very pretty, and somehow lacking in the darkness that such topics might normally exude.

It was also very expected. It wasn’t the subject of the art that had Langa’s eyebrows going up, but rather, the skill level.

“You’ve gotten really good,” he said seriously, as he flipped to the next piece.

She smiled just a little, which was a considerable expression coming from her. “Thank you,” she said simply.

Langa kept flipping through the sketchbook, the two of them comfortably quiet, until Langa’s phone buzzed in his pocket.

“Who is that?” Patrice asked curiously, as he took a moment to check his texts.

“My mom,” he said honestly. They didn’t text back and forth as regularly as he and Reki did, but still did so every day.

“Aunt Nanako is coming for the wedding?”

“Yeah. For a week. She can’t take too much time off work.”

“You have a job now, right?” she asked. “At a skateboard shop?”

He nodded. “Manager Oka doesn’t mind when we have to take time off.” Since he’d be gone for three whole months, that was a blessing.

“You skateboard now—Nana told me.”

“I do,” he confirmed. “My friend taught me.”

“Your friend?” she asked.

“His name’s Reki,” Langa explained, more than happy to talk about him. “We’re best friends and work at Dope Sketch together. He likes to draw too, but mostly he works on board designs and stuff like that.”

“Oh…” She looked thoughtful. “You two are best friends?”

“Yeah.”

“I see…” She twined her fingers some in her lap. “That must be very nice.”

“He’s amazing,” he went on, able to push back on everything else when he was thinking of Reki. “He made my board and knows so much about skateboarding—I’ll never know as much as he does.”

“You must miss him.”

Langa glanced up at her, his cheeks barely pinking. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Because you’re here so long.”

Langa frowned again. “We text, and talk sometimes.”

She looked back over at him, her head cocking slightly. “You text him?”

“Sure.”

“But I thought you hated texting.”

He shrugged and turned his attention back to her sketchbook. “We have to talk somehow.”

“Oh, of course…”

Another long silence, as Langa continued to peruse her work.

She really was very talented.

“Can I have your help with something, while you’re here?” she asked abruptly, once again drawing his attention up. She was twining her fingers in her lap again.

“Sure.”

“There’s a deer that died in the woods nearby, last year. I’d like to collect the bones.”

“Oh.” Langa shrugged. “Alright.” He’d helped Patrice collect bones before. Nana didn’t quite get her fascination with dead things and Grandpa tended to get a little dramatic about it. They’d help if she asked, of course, but Langa knew it’d be more efficient if he just did it.

Besides, helping Patrice with her hobby sounded a lot less daunting than hiking with Nana, or any of Grandpa’s unconventional ideas. She was always good about just… letting him be.

The sound of everyone else coming inside drew their attention up, Grandpa squawking loudly about something as the groceries were carried into the kitchen. Supposing it would do well to help, Langa carefully closed the sketchbook and handed it back to Patrice, before both of them stood and made their way over.

“There’s not much,” Nana said, when Langa asked if they needed help. “You two go back to whatever you were doing.”

Turning toward each other, Langa and Patrice shared a look, but didn’t retreat. What were they expected to be doing, exactly?

“Oh, it’s so wonderful to see you two together again!” their grandfather practically squealed as he moved around the kitchen island. Stepping up between them, he wrapped one arm around Langa’s shoulders and the other around Patrice’s, before tugging them in close to his sides. “My beautiful chocolate-chip mint and bubble gun babes!” He kissed Patrice on the cheek, then Langa.

“I thought you were bringing your boyfriend, Patrice,” Nana said, as she folded up a few reusable bags.

Patrice—still flush against Luis’s side—pooched her lips to the side and dropped her gaze to the floor. “We broke up.”

Luis gasped and held both Patrice and Langa all the tighter. “That’s terrible! What happened?!”

Patrice shrugged. “He said it freaked him out that one of my necklaces was made of real animal teeth, so I ended it. Given my interests, I foresaw things not working out between us.”

“Tragic,” Luis said, nodding in understanding. “But probably for the best.”

“I suppose…”

“Well!” Luis finally dropped his hold on them, hands clapping with a sense of finality. “I suppose that means our plans to bamboozle him will have to be forgotten, right, Bubble Gum?”

“Oh, right,” Langa said, having practically forgotten about said plans. Well, mostly they’d been his grandfather’s plans. He’d had a hard time really getting invested, but—lucky for him—Luis generally didn’t need much encouragement beyond his own determination.

“That does, however, leave more time for the question of the day!”

Behind the island, both Nana and their Uncle Owen sighed.

“As has been long established in the household,” Luis started, “dogs do, in fact, talk when they bark. BUT!” He held up an important finger. “When they’re barking, do they think they’re speaking the native language of the humans around them or are they aware they’re speaking in bark? Go!”

“Speaking in bark,” Langa said swiftly, because it was obvious.

“Speaking the language their humans speak,” Patrice decided.

Langa frowned.

“A diverse array of opinions, as expected,” Luis said and clapped his hands together again. “This will require a proper debate. Gather your evidence, young scholars, we have much work ahead of us!”

“While this is all very riveting,” Uncle Owen cut in, voice gruff, “I would like to have a word with Langa before you start making bulletin boards and graphs and what have you.”

“You know how important visual aids can be,” Luis pointed out.

“Sure, Dad.” Owen gestured to Langa. “Come on.”

Supposing he didn’t really have a choice, Langa spared his grandfather a quick shrug before trailing his uncle back into the entryway. Slipping his shoes on at the door, he didn’t bother tying them as they made their way out onto the front landing.

“Just wait here,” Owen said as they reached the stairs, so Langa sat down and watched as his uncle moved across the driveway to his car.

As he’d told Reki, Langa didn’t actually know his Uncle Owen that well. He was the youngest of his three siblings, being nearly eight years younger than Oliver had been, as the eldest. When Langa had been born, Owen had only been sixteen. He’d worked at the Whistler Police Department as an officer for a long time after he’d graduated from university, and recently moved to Vancouver for a new job as a detective. He was a stoic, quiet personality, and had never said much to Langa overall. Even when he’d regularly gone snowboarding with Langa and his father, Owen had kept to himself—at least as far as Langa could remember.

He retrieved what looked like a few different envelopes from his car, before he turned and started heading back toward the house. He was a tall, wiry man, with shaggy gray hair and simple clothes that hung off his body as if he’d bought them purposefully too big. Like Langa and Luis, his face was thin, his features narrow, which was quite different from Oliver, who’d possessed a thicker build all around.

His expressions were generally unfriendly, but Langa was hardly bothered—he was no better.

“These are for you,” Owen said, as he came to join Langa on the stairs again.

Frowning curiously, Langa took the offered envelopes, which were quite large, heavy, and all addressed to him. Each of them had been cut open already. “What are they?” he asked, as Owen sat down beside him.

“College acceptance letters,” Owen replied brusquely, arms propped on his knees and hands folded together. He had a voice like gravel.

Langa didn’t understand. “I didn’t apply to any colleges.”

“I know. I applied for you.”

He still didn’t get what was going on. “You can do that?”

“Not supposed to, but since you weren’t.” He shrugged.

Langa peered back down at the letters. One was from University of Toronto, another from University of Alberta, and the last from the University of British Columbia.

Both his father and Uncle Owen had graduated from UBC…

“You start in the spring,” Owen said. “At whichever one you decide to go to.”

Langa eyed him critically. “I live in Okinawa.”

“You’re messing around in Okinawa.”

Though his expression merely twitched, Langa was rather taken aback by such a claim.

“We talk to Nanako,” he said. “We know you graduated with high marks and that you failed to take any entrance exams. What are you doing?”

“I’m…” Langa had no idea where this was coming from, or how to deal with it. He and Reki, they had plans. They had fun. He couldn’t… go to college.

In Canada.

No way.

“It’s been two years since you left,” Owen continued strictly. “You had your little… vacation. It’s time to come back to the real world.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You think Oliver wanted you to end up like this?” Owen asked, causing Langa to flinch away from him. “Working part-time at some dead-end skateboard shop, no plans ahead of you?”

He had plans. He and Reki both had plans. They’d saved up to make those plans happen. And yeah, Langa had ruined it, but when he returned, they were going to go ahead with their trip. That was plan enough for him. “I can’t go to college,” he said strictly. “I have plans this spring.”

“Plans for what?”

“For… a trip.”

Owen huffed. “And what about after this ‘trip?”

“I don’t know.” Langa turned away. “I’ll figure it out later.”

“So you’re content to keep living with Nanako and pursue nothing?”

“I’m not pursuing nothing,” Langa rebuked, beginning to grow irritated. “Reki and I both skate, and—”

“And you’re not competing in any amateur skateboarding events,” Owen pointed out. “You could, but you’re not. Just like with snowboarding.”

“Snowboarding is a totally different issue,” Langa said coldly.

“It’s the same—something you’re throwing away. You could have been in the Olympics by now.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You have an entire future set up for you here.” Owen gestured to the university letters. “Don’t throw that away.”

“A future I didn’t ask for and don’t want.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to go to school here.”

“Then why didn’t you take any entrance exams in Japan?”

“That doesn’t mean I want to be here.”

“Your family is here.”

And Reki was in Okinawa.

“I’m not doing it,” Langa said stubbornly, before shoving himself to his feet. “Forget it.” Turning on his heel, he marched up the steps, the letters crinkled tight in his fists as he pushed back through the front door. Shucking off his shoes, he was thankful no one met him, though he could hear voices further off in the house.

Going to the stairs, he quickly and quietly scaled to the top and turned swiftly down the hall. Once inside his bedroom, he closed the door and found himself leaning heavily back against it.

Heart beating loud in his ears, that familiar nausea assaulted him once again. Somewhat shaky, he swallowed hard and slowly sank to the floor. Dropping the letters, he pulled his knees up, wrapped his arms around them, and buried his face.

Like an ever-present cloud, that suffocating emptiness surged up around him, eating away at everything—even his irritation and anger—until he couldn’t feel anything anymore.

He hated it, he hated it, he hated it! This horrible, drowning claustrophobia. Staying in Canada, it wasn’t an option. It just wasn’t. Not like this. Not when everything reminded him of—

Not if he couldn’t escape…

Breath trembling, he reached into the pocket of Reki’s sweatshirt and pulled out his phone.

Langa: Distract me.

Reki: I thought you were supposed to be hanging out with your family today.

Langa: Please, Reki.

Reki: Alright, alright.

Reki: You want a picture?

Reki: I have a few more freckles you might not know.

Heart fluttering—surging up in his chest—Langa hesitated just long enough for desperation to break through, making him brave. Or foolish, perhaps.

Reckless.

Langa: Could you

Langa: send me

Langa: another

Langa: nice distraction?

Reki: Nice distraction?

Pressing his forehead against his phone, Langa closed his eyes against the painful embarrassment that prickled at his face. Humiliation, really, and shame, but feeling those things was better than feeling nothing.

He was so scared of feeling nothing.

And the pressure, it was…

He needed a release.

Daring to peek at his phone again, he noted that Reki was typing, ellipses fading in and out, in and out. Before they vanished completely, which left Langa on the verge of apologizing. He was just about to start typing, to quickly begin backtracking, when Reki’s ellipses appeared again.

Reki: Sure.

Reki: I can do that.

Eyes closing, Langa took in a deep, uncertain breath, and waited.

Chapter Text

Reki: Sure.

Reki: I can do that.

Reki: Just

Reki: give me a minute.

Langa: Okay.

Standing awkwardly in his garage-turned-workshop, Reki looked around, feeling abruptly rushed. Or under pressure, perhaps. Because Langa… Langa had just asked him for—for a dick pic. Right? That was what was happening?

Staring back down at his phone, Reki almost asked—just to make sure—but was then afraid that might make the whole thing more awkward than it already was. More embarrassing, maybe.

But, shit, if he wasn’t already getting hard…

Langa wanted a dick pic! From him!

Glancing down at the growing bulge behind his jeans, Reki found himself caught up in the confusing euphoria of it all—much as he had been earlier, when Langa had asked for permission to look at his accidental dick pic. After all, there were only so many explanations for such a thing. Either Langa was some strange… penis picture collector (doubtful), or he was actually interested in seeing Reki’s dick.

Which could mean…

“But I don’t know how to take a dick pic,” Reki muttered to himself. The picture he’d sent before had been a mistake. The photo itself hadn’t even been that great—the lighting had been poor, the angle not entirely flattering. Why would it have been? He hadn’t been taking it seriously.

But this development, this was serious.

How did someone make a dick pic look good? He could just snap a picture, he supposed, and send it along willy-nilly, but, somehow, the significance of this moment left him wanting to care more. This was his body, after all, that Langa was asking to see.

His body…

“Oh, god,” Reki muttered, abruptly assaulted by self-consciousness alongside everything else. Still staring at the bulge between his legs, he found himself barraged by questions he’d never asked before. Did he have a nice dick? It was decently sized, he knew, but did it actually look nice? Then again, Langa had already seen it, so maybe that was a moot point.

Wow, this had gotten really stressful really fast.

But he also didn’t want to disappoint Langa. After holding in his feelings for so long, this felt like “the moment.” It had to be.

He had to take advantage of it.

In his hand, his phone buzzed, causing him to jump.

Langa: You don’t have to if you don’t want to.

Langa: Not if it makes you uncomfortable.

Reki gulped.

Reki: I’m just

Reki: trying to figure out

Reki: how to do it.

Langa: Oh.

Though they were texting, Reki could feel the conversation going stale.

He needed to do something!

He could, he supposed, just yank his dick out and snap a picture. The lighting in his shop wasn’t bad and if he got it over with, then he wouldn’t have to think so hard about it.

Thing was, he did want to think about it. And he wanted it to look good. Not cheap or rushed or tacky. Thoughtful, in a way, if dick pics could be considered “thoughtful.”

What he needed to do was calm down. Take a deep breath and just… think. He was an artist, and a designer. He should be able to figure out how to take a good dick pic. It wasn’t rocket science.

“Okay,” Reki muttered to himself. “You can do this.”

Taking another couple of deep breaths, he finally reached down and undid the button on his jeans, before pulling down his zipper. Which left his purple briefs peeking out, the outline of his dick visible behind the soft fabric. Just barely, as his pants weren’t even pulled down yet.

Like…

Like a taste.

A tease.

Okay, he could work with this.

Leaning lazily against his work bench, he flipped his phone camera so he could get a look at the composition, before he shifted one side of his t-shirt so that the crease of his left hip was visible—a little sliver of skin. He then slid his briefs down a bit lower—just enough to be slightly more revealing, but still keeping his visibly hard dick covered.

Adjusting the angle of the phone until he decided it was good, he finally snapped the picture.

Yanking his phone up to his face, he stared critically at the photo for some seconds, before deciding—with a decisive nod—that it would do. Stomach flipping, he returned to his chat with Langa and, fingers shaking, finally sent the picture along.

Reki: This what you want?

He was practically shivering as he waited for Langa’s response.

Langa: A bit modest in comparison to what I’ve already seen, don’t you think?

“Is he…” Reki murmured to himself. “Is he flirting with me?” Though, knowing Langa, he likely wasn’t doing it on purpose. He was probably just being honest.

Reki: We agreed not to talk about that again, remember?

Reki: Why would you deserve anything more than this if you can’t even follow the rules?

Langa: You’re the one always making up new rules.

Reki: It is my dick.

Langa: Indeed.

Langa: That’s a good portion of the appeal.

Reki’s heart literally flipped in his chest, his whole body going jittery. Langa had never talked to him like that before. Even in text, there was no escaping the suggestiveness of such a statement.

Reki: So

Reki: if it was someone’s else’s dick

Reki: you wouldn’t be interested?

Langa: You know the answer to that.

Reki: I do?

Langa: While I certainly like dicks in general

Langa: I do have a bit of a bias.

Reki’s entire jaw dropped, breath choking.

Had Langa just… come out to him? So casually?

“You would,” Reki muttered bitterly. “Like coming out is easy. Jerk.”

Reki: You’re probably just trying to flatter me.

Reki: You know, get the goods without doing any of the work.

Reki: I’m doing all the heavy lifting here.

Langa: Prove it.

Reki: I don’t think I appreciate your tone.

Langa: Reki…

Smirking, Reki bit nervously at his bottom lip as he shoved his jeans a little further down his thighs, just enough that his dick was freed of their constraints. He then resituated said dick inside his underwear, until his briefs were very obviously tented, his tip straining and thinning the purple fabric.

Setting his phone aside, he double-checked that the garage door was securely closed, before he pulled his shirt up over his head and set it aside. He then leaned lazily against his work bench again, picking up his phone and surveying the image from his abdomen down to his upper thighs. Making sure to flex his core as he took the picture, he was once again pulling his phone up to his nose in order to look at every section of the image, before he deleted it and resituated himself slightly, to improve the lighting. The second picture, he decided, was superior, and—once again spiking with nerves—he sent it along.

Reki: This better?

Langa: Better.

Langa: But leaving a bit much to the imagination.

Biting his bottom lip, Reki couldn’t help giggling as he typed back, his whole body flushed with both arousal and delight.

Reki: It’s classier to leave something to the imagination, don’t you think?

Langa: I’m not interested in “classy” at the moment.

Reki: No?

Reki: You have always been more the type to get directly to the point.

Langa: If you know me that well

Langa: then why are you teasing?

Reki: Because it’s more fun for me.

Langa: So you get to have fun while I have none?

Reki: You don’t think this is fun?

Langa: …

Reki: You’re coming across a little desperate, if I’m being totally honest.

Langa: I am desperate.

Reki: That makes you pretty vulnerable.

Langa: I don’t like this game.

Reki: Too bad.

Reki: I feel like this is a game I can finally win.

Reki: So

Reki: what are you gonna do for me?

Langa: What

Langa: do you want?

Reki: Hmm…

Reki: HMM!

Langa: :(

Reki: I think

Reki: you should

Reki: beg for it.

Langa: Are you serious?

Reki: I think I am.

Reki: Whenever you’re ready.

Langa: I don’t

Langa: even know how to

Langa: For real?

Reki: For real.

Langa: Reki.

Reki: Langa?

Langa: Fine.

Langa: Reki

His ellipses faded in and out, causing Reki to snigger.

Reki: Yes?

Langa: Please, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, send me a picture of your dick.

Reki scoffed.

Reki: That’s the worst begging I’ve ever seen.

Langa: It’s weird over text!

Reki: Do you even know what begging is?

Reki: This makes me want to pull my pants back up.

Langa: No

Langa: Please

Langa: Don’t do that.

Reki: Better.

Langa: I don’t know what else to say.

Reki: Yup, pants are going back on.

Langa: Wait!

Langa: I’ll do better.

Reki: …

Langa: Reki

Langa: You are

Langa: amazing

Langa: and talented

Langa: and so smart

Reki: This is flattery, not begging.

Reki: While I appreciate it, I have to say…

Reki: Strike two.

Langa: Strike two?!

Reki: One more shot.

Reki: Don’t blow it.

Langa: Please

Langa: Reki

Langa: just one more picture

Langa: please

Langa: I want to see your cock so bad

Langa: I’ve been thinking about it all day

Langa: I’m hard right now

Langa: just knowing that you are too

Langa: Please

Langa: I need to see it

Langa: I need to so bad

Reki’s whole body was flushed now, eyes wide as he watched those incoming messages. Should he pinch himself? He felt like he should, because this couldn’t be real. Was he actually sexting with Langa or was he dreaming? Or maybe this was some kind of elaborate joke. There was no way Langa would actually…

No, he couldn’t lose his cool! Stay calm! This was his chance!

Reki: Much better.

Langa: Good enough?

Langa: Please?

Feeling a bit like he might implode, Reki weighed whether or not to keep teasing the issue, but he wasn’t sure he could withstand much more of this, even as he feigned nonchalance. He feared he was going to have some kind of mental breakdown over how unbelievable this whole situation was, if he didn’t give in soon.

Reki: I suppose.

Reki: Give me a minute.

Langa: I am waiting impatiently.

Reki: Noted.

This was it. Heart hiccupping in his chest, Reki glanced down at his bulge again, noticing the wet spot at his tip, where he was leaking precum already. Of course he was, given what was happening. He still wasn’t sure if this whole thing was a dream-come-true or a nightmare, and his head felt so stuffed with cotton that he was almost dizzy.

But he had to get Langa his picture, even as his whole body throbbed with near-painful heat.

Gulping and pulling up his courage, Reki slipped his free thumb inside the waistband of his briefs. Shoving them clumsily down out of the way, he surveyed his bobbing cock, noting that the wetness around his tip was rather obvious. He almost reached out to wipe it, but then…

Maybe not.

Leaning back against his bench, he experimented some with the potential angles, before deciding that something nearly profile would do. So that it was obvious just how turned on he was, or something. Situating his phone, he spread his legs—to look more casual, maybe—and brought his free hand down into the frame, to lightly wrap his fingers around his pulsing shaft.

Only then did he finally take the picture.

“It looks good,” he muttered, more so as a means of convincing himself than because he believed it. “Just send it,” he continued, as he moved to his chat with Langa and opened up his gallery. There the image was, staring back at him. “Just click it. Just… send it. Just do it!”

Tongue running nervously along his lips, he finally managed to get one of his shaky fingers to select the image, which pulled it up into his input box.

Letting out a hitching breath, he held his phone back away from him, cringing, as he hit the final button to send it along.

As soon as that loading bar started across his screen, his heart flipped and jumpstarted twice as fast inside his chest. One eye closed, he watched as it appeared inside their chat, holding his breath.

Holding, and holding, until, finally, he had no choice but to breathe.

Slumping in place, he gripped his phone with both hands and waited. He knew Langa had seen the picture—his little icon had made that clear right away. But…

Nothing.

Fingers tapping, Reki looked at the picture again. Had he done it wrong? Somehow? Or…

Why wasn’t Langa saying anything?

Reki: Langa?

Reki: Is this right?

Finally, those ellipses appeared.

Langa: Yeah

Langa: Perfect

Langa: Sorry

Langa: Busy

Busy? He hadn’t been “busy” since he’d gotten to Canada and now he was suddenly preoccupied?

Such a claim didn’t exactly make Reki feel altogether confident.

Reki: Doing what?

Langa: Uh

Langa: Jerking off?

Reki’s eyes went wide. Because of course that was what he was doing! Duh!

“I’m an idiot,” Reki muttered, once again awash with embarrassment and arousal all at once—a stingingly painful combination.

Langa: Is that

Langa: okay?

Langa: I’ll stop

Langa: if it’s not.

Reki: It’s fine!

Reki: Sorry to interrupt!

Reki: My bad.

“Ugh, you’re so stupid!” Reki muttered at himself and dragged his hand down his face. He felt like he was being stretched in two different directions—as if someone was twisting his arm into unthinkable humiliation on one side, while the other was leaving him sparking with jittery arousal at the fact that, literally—at that very moment—Langa was getting off to a picture of his dick.

Which meant that… that it was only fair that Reki also rub one out thinking of Langa, right? He didn’t have a picture, but he had the knowledge of what else was going on “between” them. If Langa could be so… unabashed about it, then…

Besides, if he gave himself this, then they’d kind of be doing it… together.

Dropping his hand to his still hard, throbbing cock, Reki bit his bottom lip as the expected shame started to creep up on him. Shame caused by the idea of doing this at all while thinking of his best friend. Yet, for the first time, he had a defense to push back on such feelings. Langa was doing the same thing, so there was no reason for Reki to feel bad about his own needs.

Taking in a steadying breath, he closed his eyes and slowly started to stroke his hand up and down his shaft. Instinct told him to make it quick—to get it over with as fast as possible—but he staunchly pushed back, wanting to enjoy this the way he’d enjoyed jerking off before he’d linked such activities to Langa and the shame that tagged along.

He let his mind wander—he imagined what Langa must look like, wherever he was, as he did the same thing. It was difficult, because he had no real reference, but just knowing it was real was more than enough. Though he was trying not to rush, he found himself sprinting toward the finish line anyway, spurred on by the reality of what had just happened. As he finally managed to accept that, yes, his best friend—the same best friend he was in love with—had asked him for nudes and was getting off on them and…

And it was all actually happening.

Groaning in the back of his throat, Reki reached back for one of his work rags as he came, covering the head of his dick just in time to avoid a huge mess.

Breathing hard, he leaned back against his bench and—for a few moments—simply sagged in place, heart beating loudly in his ears. He felt almost dizzy—both with the remnants of his release and the euphoria still thrumming inside him. Euphoria that was both exhilarating and terrifying, and that left questions he was still too afraid to ask knocking against his brain.

He didn’t even realize his phone was buzzing until nearly two minutes later, head still ringing.

Tossing his rag into a nearby waste bin, he grabbed up his phone and clumsily tripped his way over to the nearest stool. Still with his pants around his ankles, he sat his bare ass down and finally turned his attention to the incoming texts.

Langa: Is this really okay?

Langa: I don’t want you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.

Langa: This is a lot to ask.

Langa: I shouldn’t have.

Langa: I’m sorry.

Langa: Reki?

Reki: It’s fine, really.

Reki: Sorry I took a minute to reply.

Reki: I was, uh…

Reki: “busy.”

Langa: You’re really okay with this?

Reki: Yeah, I guess.

Reki: You asked for the picture so

Reki: like you said

Reki: it’s not weird then, right?

Langa: Right…

Langa: You were “busy?”

Langa: Really?

Reki: Sure.

Reki: I mean, if you were doing it, then why not?

Langa: That makes sense.

Langa: Reki?

Reki: Yeah?

Langa: Thank you.

Frowning, Reki tapped his fingers on the sides of his phone. Kind of a strangely polite thing to say given what they were doing, but then, Langa was a strange guy sometimes. With limited social skills.

Reki: Sure, no problem.

Reki: It was sort of fun, wasn’t it?

Langa: Yeah.

Langa: It was.

Reki: Reason enough, then.

Langa: That’s true.

Langa: You’re a really great friend, Reki.

“Friend?” Right, they were… friends. But this complicated that, didn’t it? What they’d just done? It had to…

And yet, Reki was too afraid to ask. So much was happening, it was… overwhelming.

Reki: Aw, thanks.

Langa: I mean it.

Reki: I know.

Langa: Really.

Langa: I can’t even tell you how amazing you are.

Langa: For doing this

Langa: and

Reki: Okay!

Reki: I get it.

Langa: I just want you to know how much I appreciate you.

Reki: I know…

Reki: I “appreciate” you too.

Smiling softly to himself, Reki watched as Langa’s ellipses faded in and out, before he sent a simple smiley face. Which Reki promptly returned, if only because he wasn’t sure what else he could send. Whether this whole thing was exciting or not, it was also incredibly awkward. In a way that was unavoidable, he supposed.

Reki: Hey.

Langa: Yeah?

Reki: You’re really okay?

Once again, those ellipses went in and out, Reki wondering if Langa’s indecision in answering echoed of unease, or hesitance, or a great many other things Reki couldn’t even hope to guess without seeing his face.

How he missed seeing Langa’s pretty face every day…

Langa: I’m okay.

Langa: Right now.

Surprised, Reki latched onto that last text. It was the closest thing to a bone Langa had thrown him concerning whatever was “going on with him” since he’d left for Canada.

Reki: Right now?

More hesitance, but Reki waited patiently.

Langa: The last time I was here

Langa: it wasn’t

Langa: good.

Langa: That’s all.

Reki faltered then, before deciding to go for it.

Reki: Because of your dad?

Langa: Yeah.

Langa: Can we not talk about this?

Reki: Of course.

Reki: Sorry.

Maybe he had pushed it too far, because Langa didn’t say anything in response. Which left Reki feeling all the more worried and confused on top of everything else. Langa’s dad had always been a touchy subject—one of the few that Reki generally veered away from. Since they’d met, it’d been something Langa had avoided talking about. Was Langa upset he’d dared to bring it up, or…?

Biting at his lip, Reki stared down at their chat, trying to think of something that would rectify his wrong, if it’d been a wrong at all. Or that would bring the mood back to its previously fun back and forth. Something…

Blushing furiously, Reki typed and then deleted, typed and deleted again, aware that if Langa was still paying attention to their conversation, his indecision would be obvious. But though a great many more… intimate statements came to mind (namely, confessions), Reki was too mortified to send them. Even after what had just happened between them, it was… nerve-wracking.

Eventually giving in to a sigh, Reki hung his head, his phone dropping atop his bare thigh.

Sensitive to the things he’d just been typing, the chat box presented a few different suggestions to him—as if aware of his struggle. The last one was a simple red-heart emoji.

Still jittery with nerves, Reki allowed his thumb to hover a few seconds, before he tapped down, the heart unfolding into his input box. Staring at it critically for a long while, he was just on the verge of deleting it when a new message from Langa filtered into the chat.

Laughing—butterflies let loose inside his chest—Reki stared down at the carbon copy heart Langa had just sent him. It was the exact same heart Reki had been on the verge of throwing away.

Finally, he hit the send button, pushing his own little heart along as well.

His face burned furiously.

They didn’t say anything more after that, not for a while. Which was probably for the best, because Reki needed some time to really wrap his head around the situation. Redressing himself, he went back to the maintenance he’d been doing on his board when Langa had originally texted him, his hands carrying on habitually as his thoughts wandered.

The biggest question that lorded over him was, naturally, did this mean that Langa felt the same way he did? Once upon a time, he’d thought he did, only to second-guess that entire understanding. Had he been wrong? Or initially right, as it were? Because Langa… he wouldn’t be asking for these kinds of pictures unless he had feelings for Reki too—that was the logical conclusion to come to.

And yet, Reki had a hard time fully believing such a thing. No matter which was more rational, is was difficult to just… accept that the person he loved also, maybe, liked him back. After wanting Langa for so long, it hardly seemed possible.

He didn’t know, but then, he also found himself excited. And terrified.

Ugh, it was all too much and not enough at the same time. He should just ask Langa, but…

That was scary too. What if, somehow, he was reading this all wrong? It was possible…

But then, anything was possible.

Nearly jumping out of his skin, Reki reached so quickly for his phone when it buzzed that he nearly sent it flying across the garage. Fumbling to get ahold of it, he stared down at the screen with near-crazed focus.

Unknown number: Hello.

Unknown number: Is this Kyan Reki?

Pooching his lips curiously, Reki hummed and forcefully calmed his fast-beating heart, having to quell his disappointment at the text not being from his best friend. Not that he couldn’t text Langa himself, but still…

Reki: Yup!

Reki: Who’s this?

Unknown number: Oh, good.

Unknown number: This is Hasegawa Nanako.

Unknown number: Langa’s mother.

Startled, Reki found himself all the more curious. While he’d met Langa’s mom on a few different occasions, they’d never really said much to each other. The two boys spent more time at Reki’s house than Langa’s, if they spent time at such places at all.

Reki: Oh!

Reki: Hi!

What else was he supposed to say here?

Langa’s mom: I’m sorry to text you so suddenly like this.

Langa’s mom: Langa gave me your number ages ago, just in case I needed some other way to get ahold of him.

Langa’s mom: I’ve never had occasion to use it till now.

Reki: It’s totally fine.

Reki: Do you

Reki: need something?

Langa’s mom: I was wondering, actually

Langa’s mom: if you’d talked to Langa lately?

He’d done a lot more than that.

Reki: Sure.

Reki: We text all the time.

Reki: Has he, like

Reki: not texted you or something?

Reki: Cuz I’ll get on his case.

Reki: He can be really bad about replying.

He hadn’t been lately. Not with Reki, anyway. But normally, he had a bad habit of reading texts and never responding.

Langa’s mom: No, it’s not that.

Langa’s mom: I talk to him most days.

Langa’s mom: I was actually wondering if

Langa’s mom: well…

Langa’s mom: Has he said anything to you about

Langa’s mom: That is, does he seem to be

Langa’s mom: doing alright?

A question that left Reki perplexed, his thumbs hovering over his keyboard.

He wasn’t quite sure how to answer. On one hand, he did know that Langa was struggling. And while his instincts had him worried, he was also unsure whether or not those instincts were totally justified. Langa insisted he was okay despite having a hard time, which didn’t necessarily mean other people needed to get involved.

But then, Nanako being worried didn’t exactly instill much confidence in the situation on the whole. She wouldn’t be texting Reki at all unless she was actively concerned about Langa, right? So that meant Reki should be even more worried. Not that he wasn’t already worried, but this just fueled the unease he’d previous been trying to push back against.

Then there was Langa, who must not be telling his mother anything about how he was feeling—much as he wasn’t telling Reki—so, as his friend, Reki shouldn’t go spouting about his own deductions. If Reki did, by chance, know more about how Langa was feeling than other people in his life (which wasn’t saying much at that point, as Reki practically had to pry even the barest of hints out of him), then he certainly wouldn’t appreciate Reki blabbering on about it. Not without the two of them talking about it first, anyway, which would probably be a crapshoot unto itself.

He didn’t want to, like, lie to Langa’s mom, especially if she was worried enough to text him—as if he was somehow a better source—but he also didn’t want to betray Langa’s trust. Then Langa really wouldn’t tell him anything about what was going on.

Ugh, he was getting a headache.

Reki: What do you mean?

Perhaps he needed to bate the situation a bit.

Langa’s mom: I’m worried he might be having a hard time away.

Langa’s mom: He’s been doing really well since moving to Okinawa.

Langa’s mom: But his grandparents told me that he’s been rather down, since he arrived there.

Langa’s mom: And they say they see him texting a lot.

Langa’s mom: So I assume he must be talking to you.

Wow, she’d really just come out and said it. Not at all like how Langa was constantly dodging the issue. And if his grandparents had noticed…

But then, there was a lot Reki didn’t know—stuff he hadn’t really ever thought about before.

Reki: We do talk a lot.

Reki: But usually about stupid stuff.

Reki: You know.

Langa’s mom: He hasn’t said anything to you?

Langa’s mom: About how he’s feeling?

Cringing, Reki debated once again, weighing his options back and forth. He really didn’t want to say anything that Langa wouldn’t appreciate, but…

Reki: I guess it depends on what you mean…

Langa’s mom: I realize you’re trying to be on his side.

Langa’s mom: But if he’s depressed, we need to know.

Reki felt his insides go cold.

Reki: He’s only been there a little while.

Reki: Would he really be depressed?

Langa’s mom: I don’t know.

Langa’s mom: He’s been doing so well.

Langa’s mom: I thought he’d be alright going back.

Reki: Was he depressed before?

Langa’s mom: Has he not told you?

Shit, maybe he shouldn’t have been that obvious.

Reki: We don’t really talk about when you guys lived in Canada.

Reki: I don’t think he likes talking about it.

Reki: And I don’t push it.

Langa’s mom: But aren’t you two close?

Her doubt was kind of offensive. And made Reki feel guilty for reasons he couldn’t explain. But also defensive. And oddly protective. Of Langa? Of their relationship? He wasn’t sure.

Reki: We are.

Reki: But it’s not a topic that comes up very often.

Reki: And like I said, I don’t like to push him when I know it makes him upset.

Langa’s mom: So he hasn’t said anything to you since he left?

Reki: Like I said, that depends on what you mean.

Was he arguing with Langa’s mom? Kind of?

This whole thing was weird and he had no idea how he should be handling it.

Langa’s mom: If he hasn’t told you, then I might have been wrong to text you.

Reki: And if he hasn’t said anything to you, then why would say anything?

Oh no, that was nasty, wasn’t it? Crap, crap, crap!

Reki: I’m sorry.

Reki: I’m not trying to be rude.

Reki: But I also don’t entirely know what’s going on.

Langa’s mom: It’s not your fault.

Langa’s mom: I assumed Langa had told you.

Told him what?! Now he wanted to know, desperately.

Maybe he did just need to be honest, if this was a… serious situation.

Reki: I feel like he wants to tell me something.

Langa’s mom: You talk to him a lot, you said?

Reki: Yeah.

Reki: All day, sometimes.

Langa’s mom: And you’re not worried? You think he’s okay?

Reki: I never said that.

Langa’s mom: Then he’s not okay…

Reki: I don’t know.

Reki: I don’t know what I’m supposed to be looking for.

Langa’s mom: I suppose that makes sense.

Langa’s mom: He was

Langa’s mom: After his father passed, he was depressed. For a while.

Langa’s mom: We just want to make sure he’s not back in that place.

Frowning, Reki stared down at her texts a few moments, feeling acutely like there was still something he was missing. Even if Langa had been depressed (a reasonable reaction after his dad died), and was not doing so great right then, the fact that Nanako had messaged him at all made the situation somehow… urgent.

What were they afraid was going to happen?

Reki: What “place?”

Langa’s mom: Just

Langa’s mom: a dark place.

Langa’s mom: He talks to you more than he talks to anyone.

Her sentence hung, the implication clear: If he found out anything that could be described as concerning, then she wanted him to tell her. Which put him in kind of an awkward position. He wasn’t about to volunteer to break Langa’s confidence. That felt… wrong.

Reki: I’ll keep that in mind.

Langa’s mom: Thank you.

What weren’t they telling him?!

Truly nursing a headache by that point, and feeling acutely like he’d gone through multiple sessions of whiplash in less than an hour, Reki dropped his phone to his work table, leaned back, and closed his eyes. Of course, his worries about Langa had been present for a while, but this conversation only added to it. On top of everything else that had only just happened—the photos, the… sexting.

But maybe the status of his and Langa’s relationship shouldn’t be at the top of his priority list. What he knew for certain was that Langa was his best friend and that people in his life that cared about him were just as worried as Reki. Only they knew more, which potentially gave them reason—a terrifying variable.

And now he had this… weird conversation with Langa’s mom to deal with. And the fact that she’d told him things Langa never had.

“Shit,” Reki muttered, as he stared up at the ceiling.

He and Langa, they trusted each other. Reki trusted him more than he’d ever trusted anyone, and while there were clearly things in Langa’s life that he didn’t like to talk about, Reki had never assumed that was because there was trust lacking on Langa’s side. He’d always just figured it was… too hard to talk about.

Would Langa be upset if he knew what Nanako had told him? Maybe. But then, Langa was pretty chill. Perhaps he wouldn’t be that bothered.

Not that it mattered. The longer Reki sat, pondering, the more he realized that he couldn’t not tell Langa about what had just happened. If his own mom texted Langa and started talking about him, he’d want to know. Not because he’d be angry with Langa over it, but because the act of not saying something about such an odd occurrence felt actively deceitful.

While Reki had a bad habit of talking around his own problems, he didn’t like lying. And given what else he and Langa had started doing—and the potentials that, maybe, came along with that—he didn’t want to start then.

Groaning, he flopped back forward and grabbed up his phone, before opening his chat with Langa again. For a few seconds, he did nothing, instead enjoying the sight of those two little heart emojis staring back at him. Before he took in a huffing breath, gathered his courage, and hoped he wasn’t about to make everything worse.

Reki: Hey…

Langa: Hey.

Why did this feel awkward even when they weren’t actually around one another?

Whatever—that awkwardness could wait.

Reki: I just felt like I should tell you

Reki: that your mom texted me.

Langa: Why?

Reki: Because she’s worried about you.

The next response came quite quickly. Too quickly.

Langa: What did you tell her?

Reki: Nothing she wasn’t already figuring out herself.

Reki: I promise.

Langa: What does that mean?

Reki: Just that she’s worried about you.

Reki: Like how I’m worried about you.

Langa: I’m fine.

Langa: I keep telling everyone that I’m fine.

Reki: Okay…

Reki: I just wanted you to know.

Reki: I don’t want to keep secrets from you.

Reki: That’s all.

Langa: Oh.

Langa: Thanks.

Reki: She also said

Reki: that

Reki nervously chewed at the inside of his cheek.

Reki: you’ve had a history being depressed

Reki: and that’s why she’s worried.

Langa: She shouldn’t have told you that.

Reki: It’s okay.

Langa: It’s not.

Reki: She’s just worried.

Reki: Besides, why haven’t you told me?

Langa: Why would I?

Reki: Because it feels like something I should know?

Reki: Since we’re best friends?

Langa: I didn’t want you to know.

Reki: Why not?

Langa: Because

Langa: that part of my life

Langa: I don’t want you to be part of that.

Reki couldn’t help the dejection that stabbed at his chest, leaving him helpless to know what to say. Had he been… wrong? About how close he and Langa were? Why would Langa…?

Reki: I don’t understand what that means.

Reki: Don’t you trust me?

Langa: Of course I trust you.

Langa: It’s not about trust.

Reki: Then what’s it about?

Langa: Nothing.

Langa: I don’t want to talk about it.

Reki scoffed.

Reki: What the hell, man?

Langa: What?

Reki: That’s not fair.

Reki: Why are you being like this?

Langa: Like “this?”

Langa: Like what?

Reki: I know you know.

Langa: I don’t.

Langa: Maybe you should mind your own fucking business.

Gaping, Reki stared down at his phone, honestly shocked. Langa had never… talked to him like that before. He was having a hard time believing he was talking to Langa at all, at that point. Sure, Langa could be inconsiderate sometimes—unintentionally—but he was never…

Pursing his lips, Reki swallowed back—as best he could—the suffocating hurt that was welling up through his chest.

Reki: Well, fuck you too, Langa.

Waiting for a response despite how his insides starting twisting, Reki watched—tense—as Langa’s ellipses yet again faded in and out, until, finally, they just… disappeared. Reki must have stared down at his phone for a full minute or more, waiting, but… nothing.

Slumping atop his stool, he considered only shortly saying something else himself, but then, the ball was in Langa’s court now, wasn’t it? What else could he say?

Besides, he was…

He was upset, he realized. Huffing, he dropped his phone face-down on his work table and yanked his skateboard closer, intent to work on it again despite the rapid blinking of his eyes. He wasn’t… angry, per se, but he was frustrated. And hurt. He and Langa, they very rarely fought about anything. Since they’d met two years prior, they’d had only one real fight to their names, and that was the whole debacle during Adam’s tournament. Reki wasn’t the type to get upset over the small things, which was to Langa’s benefit, as he wasn’t always sensitive to said small things. They worked well in that way, neither of them being grudge holders.

Which was what made this situation all the more distressing. Reki didn’t know what to do. He felt like he was wading in unknown waters, because Langa was acting so outside his usual character, and dealing with things he’d never told Reki anything about. Which was… fine, he supposed. Langa was entitled to his privacy…

Except that Reki wanted to know. He didn’t have any horrible tragedies in his life—he had a big family, all of whom were in a good health, and had grown up not rich, but comfortably enough not to reasonably complain. He didn’t know what it was like to have been in Langa’s position and suffered the loss he had, and then to have figured out an entire new way of living. Because that was one thing Reki did know for sure—that Oliver’s death had rocked Langa and his mother’s world to the point that they’d moved halfway around the world.

Was he a bad friend, for not having pushed Langa to tell him more? Before? Or was this sort of thing never his business, as Langa had so said?

At the end of Adam’s tournament, when Langa had won despite how dangerous the whole ordeal had been, Reki had asked him what… what it’d been like.

“Cherry said that you guys were in the ‘zone’ or something,” Reki said, the two of them sitting just outside the mine, long after the crowds had cleared away. The sky was getting lighter—they’d been out all night.

“Yeah, I guess,” Langa replied with a shrug of one shoulder.

Reki picked at his fingernail. “What was it like? Being like that, I mean.”

“It was horrible,” Langa said quickly, which honestly surprised Reki.

“It was?”

“It’s this… hyper-focused state of mind,” Langa explained. “You don’t… care about anything but skating, or anyone, or yourself. You feel… nothing.”

“But… your skating was…”

“I love skating, and competing, but… feeling nothing, it’s…” He shook his head and stared down between his knees. “If that’s what makes someone the best, then it’s not worth it.”

Somehow, his words were relieving.

“I’m glad you snapped out of it,” Reki continued. “When you fell, I had faith in you, but it was still…” Scary.

Langa’s expression went soft, before he turned his head up to look at Reki. “You’re the one who pulled me out of it,” he said softly. “I thought of you.”

“Of me?” Reki asked, his cheeks stinging with red. “Well, that’s…”

“You make skating fun,” he went on. “You make everything…”

“… Langa?”

Turning away again, his visibly swallowed. “I—I thought of my dad too,” he said quietly. “I normally try not—but it… it was okay, this time. Because… because you were… I…”

Though he was listening, Reki honestly no idea what Langa was trying to say. Whatever it was, it was difficult, and so, Reki reached out and laid a gentle hand on his arm, smiling when Langa looked his way again.

“Thank you,” Langa whispered.

Reki just nodded.

Though it’d been quite some time since then, Reki still had no idea what Langa had been trying to get across. Should he have asked him to explain, back then, when he’d nearly been willing? Should he have pushed? Would that have been the better thing to do?

He didn’t know. He didn’t know anything. The only area of life where he was even relatively competent was skating, and even then, he knew he fell short. Which was… fine. He’d come to terms with that reality, and while he loved skating with Langa, they were—as Manager Oka had said—different sorts of people. Langa was the star, and that was okay. Reki didn’t want to be—making boards, enjoying his life with his best friend, that was where he found his happiness, and where Langa claimed to do the same, no matter their differences.

It was Langa’s claim to this “happiness” that usually kept so many of Reki’s insecurities at bay—the whisperings inside his head that wanted to tell him he wasn’t good enough or smart enough or competent. That he’d never measure up. Truth was, he didn’t have much to recommend himself. He’d never been the smartest, or the most talented, or the bravest, or the most attractive, or anything like that. He was painfully average when at his best, and far less so at his worst.

Which, again, he’d come to accept. At least, most days. It was harder, though, without Langa there. He didn’t depend wholly on Langa, but it was easier to believe he was something worthwhile when he had his best friend at his side.

The two of them fighting, however, made him doubt everything despite how irrational he knew such thoughts to be. His deepest fear—the one he rarely allowed to surface—was that Langa would someday realize just how useless he was and leave him. That he’d grow tired of their friendship and seek out better things.

Though he knew—he knew—that Langa going to Canada wasn’t at all related to such false insecurities, their trip being cancelled so Langa could leave had only left such things all the more uncovered. Well, not just that. Graduation, too, had made it worse, initially. Then it’d been better, when he and Langa had stuck together like glue afterward, but now…

He shouldn’t think about it—shouldn’t let it get to him. It was just a fight, even if he and Langa never fought. It wasn’t the end of their friendship or something so ludicrous—Reki wasn’t that insecure (usually). And he also knew, logically, that Langa being so nasty wasn’t even about him. Fact of the matter was, Reki had poked at a sensitive issue and Langa had gotten defensive. Whether that was okay or not aside, Reki knew that was probably the cause. Not like he was one to criticize, as he had his own history there.

And yet, just knowing something was actively wrong between him and Langa scattered his well-fortified defenses as if they’d been no thicker than paper.

Langa was back home, wasn’t he? Where he’d lived a majority of his life? In his bedroom, in his grandparents’ house? What if… What if he decided to stay? There was clearly something bothering him about being there, but he still had far more history in Canada than in Okinawa with Reki. Besides, what was there for him in Japan anyway? What few, insignificant plans they’d had were easily tossed aside, clearly. And he hadn’t taken any college entrance exams despite having had the ability to pass them (especially since his reading and writing had improved), unlike Reki. Reki, who’d always had poor marks, had graduated with poor marks, and who hadn’t even bothered with entrance exams because he’d known he wouldn’t pass any.

Their friendship, and skating—which went very much hand in hand—was all Langa had waiting in Okinawa. His mom, sure, but even then…

Langa could do so much more with his life, and yet he chose not to. He chose to waste his time away with Reki.

When would he get tired of him? When would he move on to better things?

Was that an inevitability, or was Reki letting his anxiety get the best of him? Was Langa’s… lashing out at him the beginning of that inevitability?

He knew he shouldn’t, and that it was unhelpful and unhealthy, but Reki found himself drowning in these thoughts—in this upset—for the rest of the day. He’d reason himself as best he could out of it, only to glance down at his phone and be reminded that Langa still hadn’t texted him back, which would start it all over again. That, on top of how worried he now was about Langa, left him with no appetite and hardly any sort of good mood.

He went to bed early that night, and slept very poorly, constantly wondering if he should be the one to try talking, to Langa. But then, he also didn’t want to be so brutally rejected again.

It was at four in the morning that the buzzing of his phone startled him awake, easily disturbed as he’d barely been sleeping in the first place.

Blinking against the darkness, he stared for a few seconds at said phone, which was lying screen-down beside his pillow, before he gathered his courage and reached out for it.

Langa: Reki?

He was so relieved he thought he might cry, which was stupid, but whatever.

Reki: What?

Langa: Are we

Langa: Are we still friends?

A question that took Reki so aback that he had to read it at least four times to make sure he was reading it right at all. While he had his own fears about the future, he hadn’t fathomed that their fight would be the end of their friendship. The beginning of the end, if his worst fears were ever realized, but not in a way that would justify this sort of question. From Langa’s side of things, no less.

It’d almost be silly, had Reki’s own anxieties not been haunting him all day.

Reki: Of course we’re still friends.

Reki: Why wouldn’t we be friends?

Langa: Just

Langa: the last time we were fighting

Langa: we stopped being friends.

During Adam’s tournament.

Reki: We’re still friends.

Langa: Then

Langa: are you mad?

Reki considered his answer for a moment, his phone the only thing aglow in his bedroom.

Reki: I’m confused.

Reki: And hurt.

Reki: But I’m not mad.

Langa: Oh.

Langa: Okay.

Okay? Okay?! Was that really all he had to say? Then again, Langa was considerably unaware when it came to interpersonal cues, though Reki would be a bit bothered at having to walk him through even the simplest of—

Jumping, he found himself staring down at an incoming call, phone vibrating in his hands.

Then again, perhaps it was too soon to give Langa so little credit.

Answering, Reki initially said nothing as he brought his phone to his ear, feeling oddly nervous. Langa didn’t say anything either, however, and Reki supposed that if he didn’t at least let him know he was there, then he might think no one had picked up.

“Langa?” he questioned, voice low—barely above a whisper.

Perhaps startled by the sound of his voice, he heard Langa take in a troublingly shaky breath.

Any defensiveness Reki had been feeling dropped away like useless baggage.

“Langa,” he said again, not quieter, but more gently.

Another hitching, painful breath, followed by the helpless sniffling that always went along with crying. Reki thought his own heart might break at the sound of it.

“It’s okay,” he murmured. “Whatever it is, I’m here. I’m with you.”

Chapter Text

Langa: Maybe you should mind your own fucking business.

Reki: Well, fuck you too, Langa.

Staring down at his phone, Langa forced his breathing to steady, even as the painful ringing in his ears grew louder and louder. He tried, vainly, to think of something to say, even going so far as to mindlessly type, only to delete it all a second later. Until absolutely nothing was filtering into his thoughts, as if the passage that allowed him to think at all had narrowed and closed, leaving him numb and helpless.

Why would his mother have said anything to Reki? Why would she have opened a door that he was so desperately trying to hold closed? He didn't want to revisit that time, and he definitely didn't want Reki to get dragged into it. Moving to Okinawa, leaving everything behind, it'd put a very clear, concise line between what was and his current life. He didn't want the two to be mixed together—he didn't want his past to drag down what he'd built since, no matter how little that was. And he definitely didn't want Reki to know anything about any of it. There was no point, not when Langa had no interest in going back. Besides, if Reki found out, if he knew…

He couldn't know—no one that didn't already know ever needed to know.

He couldn't bear it.

Yet, where did that leave him? Reki knew something and had been trying to get Langa to talk since he'd arrived in Canada. His mother had backed him into a corner now. Texting Reki… If he did, Reki would want him to explain. Somehow, Langa was certain he wouldn't let it slide this time.

Why couldn't he just let it slide?

Please?

"Langa?" Taking in a quick breath, Langa glanced up from where he was sitting in his bed, to his bedroom door. It was Patrice on the other side, her soft voice carrying only far enough to be heard.

"What?" Langa asked quickly, hoping he didn't sound too short or startled.

"Would you like to go with me, to gather those bones in the back woods?" she asked, making no attempt to try and push her way inside. Which was a relief.

"Um, sure," Langa choked out. "I'll be down in a minute."

"Okay."

Dropping his attention back to his phone, Langa reread his and Reki's last messages to one another, distress thrumming weakly behind the growing numbness. He should say something—needed to. He'd been nasty and Reki hadn't deserved that, but…

He couldn't… face it. And everything was fogging over, until his insides were so stuffed that his entire body felt almost nonexistent. Like all he could do—all he could manage—was to physically exist. Anything else was… beyond him.

Gently, he placed his phone face-down on the bed, staring at it only a moment longer before he stood and pushed himself to the door. Everything inside him had been thinned—suffocated to the very edges—and so he drew himself down the hall and then down the stairs in silence, barely registering his own footfalls as he met Patrice at the door. Habit, it carried him through the process of slipping on his shoes and reaching for his fall jacket, which was hanging on the hook in the entry.

Did Patrice look concerned as she watched him? He didn't know—didn't look at her enough to get a clear idea.

He wanted to care—he wanted to do better at hiding everything he wasn't properly feeling.

But why would his mother tell Reki anything? Why would she ruin everything good he'd managed to find since…?

It was a chilly day, winter ever on the cusp, but still at bay. The sun shone occasionally through the thick cloud cover, but mostly the day was gray. Trailing behind Patrice, Langa didn't look up to see if she had spared him any looks, his attention weighed down upon the backs of her thick, booted heels. They moved around the front of the house, to a drive that branched off from the circle at the front and led down the bank of the yard. Through a path lined with pine trees up each side, before opening onto a grassy flat, upon which sat two buildings.

The smaller, on the right, was the storage shed, where Luis generally kept all his odds and ends for his projects and events. While on the left was an old, large, two-story barn. It'd been refurbished some time before—when Langa had been just a kid. Once red and dilapidated, it was now entirely fixed-up and painted a dark blue with white trim. While it might have once housed animals, to Langa's knowledge, his grandparents had never used it in that fashion. Once again, it was a storage space, though set up more to meet Nana's needs than anyone else's.

It was in through the side door of the barn that Patrice led them, which had already been partway open. The lights were on as well, details Langa only realized were significant when Patrice started talking to someone.

"I was just looking for a wheelbarrow," Patrice was saying, as Langa attempted to focus in on the conversation. A conversation between Patrice and Nana, who was walking down between the bays and wiping her hands on a grease-stained rag.

It was Nana's workshop, so to speak. She'd made her living as a mechanic, first with her own father, then as the owner of the garage she'd inherited. To Langa's knowledge, it'd been a business that had always struggled, even for a majority of his Nana's career. Until she'd finally started making a name for herself as a professional restorer, which had eventually started bringing in considerable money. Enough for their house and property, and for her to keep the plethora of cars lined up and down the barn, some of them on ground level, others elevated above on lifts.

While Langa's father had worked with Nana in the garage during the second half of Langa's life, Langa himself hadn't absorbed much in the way of car knowledge. Obviously, he knew how to drive—both automatic and stick—but he couldn't tell anyone much about his Nana's collection. He knew most of her cars were old, expensive, and collectable. Otherwise…

"To go gather your dead animal parts?" Nana asked, sounding none too impressed by the idea.

Not that Patrice was dissuaded. "Yes!" she said, in the soft way she could be excited. "Langa has agreed to help me."

Nana cast him quick look, her severe countenance ever in place. It was a look that Langa only thought to return once she'd been staring at him a bit too long, which probably wasn't to his benefit, but his brain felt like it was working at half speed.

"Well, it'll be good for him to finally get out of the house," she said, as she glanced back to Patrice. "I think the wheelbarrow is in the side room. Make sure to wear gloves."

"Of course, Nana," Patrice said, before she turned and made her way between two of the car bays, toward a door placed in the wall on the other side. Langa followed, vaguely aware of the way Nana stared at his back, but too exhausted to do anything about it. He felt almost sick again, and a little bit weak—probably because he hadn't been eating right for days.

They did find the wheelbarrow and some work gloves in the tool room, which Patrice then pushed out another door at the back side of the barn. Before them was a shallow yard, beyond which stretched the woods. The shadows of the pine trees kept everything shrouded as they headed in, the cloudy day made only darker as they passed into the shade.

"We shouldn't have to go too far," Patrice assured, ever walking ahead. "I don't think anyway."

Langa didn't reply, more focused on his own feet as he stepped across the needle-littered forest floor. One thought—like a single, slow bubble—popped into his head.

Was Reki… mad at him?

It was a question that inspired more of these gradual concerns, which struggled upward like used bottles that had been dropped off the side of a boat, left to bob uselessly at the surface. Aimless. Empty.

Of course Reki was mad at him, he figured. They rarely fought about anything, but, naturally, when they finally did, it would be Langa's fault. Just as it had been during Adam's tournament, when they'd stopped being friends altogether. Reki blamed himself some for that, but Langa had—over the years—come to terms with his own thoughtlessness during the situation. He didn't mean to be inconsiderate, and Reki knew that now, but even so…

That self-awareness didn't justify his nastiness earlier that day. Reki had only been worried. Yet, how Langa wished people would quit worrying. He didn't want that kind of attention—didn't want the questions or the pitying looks or…

Ahead of him, Patrice had come to a stop, her finger tapping lightly at her chin. "I thought it was right around here," she said softly, as she slowly looked around through the thick trees. Beyond their bows, the sun had broken through the clouds and was momentarily slotting past the branches, igniting the mossy swaths of ground at their feet. Only quickly, before the cascading light was once again cut away, leaving them in the misty, damp shade.

"Maybe something dragged it off?" Patrice murmured. "I suppose that's possible." She turned suddenly back to Langa, big eyes blinking only once as he pulled his gaze from the ground to look at her. "Perhaps we should split up and look? It can't be far."

"Sure," Langa agreed quietly.

"We could exchange phone numbers," she continued quickly. "And text one another when we find it?"

Langa placed his hand atop his pocket. Oh, right.

"I left my phone back at the house," he said.

"Oh…" Patrice dropped her gaze to the ground. "That's okay. I'm certain it's nearby—we can meet back here, if we find it, and then go."

Langa nodded, while Patrice left the wheelbarrow as a means of marking their meeting location. They knew the property and the woods, so getting lost wasn't much of a threat. Yet, even so, Patrice loitered in place, watching him with her head slightly cocked. So Langa yanked his gaze away and started off into the trees going west, thankful when he knew he was far enough away that she couldn't see him anymore.

If he and Reki were fighting, then would they end up in the same place they had been before? Because of the tournament? It was an idea that left Langa flashing with nausea, what with him being so weak to the feeling as it was. He couldn't stomach it, the idea of him and Reki falling out. But then, Reki had been asking for days what was wrong, questions Langa had been stubbornly refusing to answer. And then there'd been the pictures.

His stomach flipped all over again, doubling down on the queasiness. He never should have asked Reki for those pictures, or asked to look at the original that had started it all. Reki must think him so… wrong, to want that from him. Not because he was gay—Langa had grappled with that reality a long time ago—but because they were friends and Langa…

Did Reki think poorly of him as a result? He acted like it was fine, but Reki always acted like everything was fine. Add that on top of Langa's avoidance and coinciding clinginess, and then his nastiness. He wouldn't blame Reki if he didn't want to talk to him at all anymore, or even…

What would he think if he found out the truth?

Tripping over a root, Langa stumbled, barely catching his balance in time to avoid a face full of pine needles. Reaching out, he placed a shaky hand upon a nearby tree, balancing himself as he blinked back at the dizziness ever-present in his head. Before he forced himself to take a steadying breath and push onward.

Reki couldn't know. He'd never look at Langa the same way again. Langa knew that from experience. His whole family, they…

No, he didn't want to think about that. He didn't want to go back.

Don't make him go back.

A chilly breeze cutting across his face drew his attention back to the real world, where he found himself on the edge of the wood. Before him was a flat, shallow plain, the brown, autumn-worn grass wavering.

Of course he recognized this place—he'd spent dozens of afternoons with his father, hiking through these woods. Exploring, plotting everything out.

He knew this place well. So well it scared him.

Pushing off out of the trees, he slowly wandered his way through the grass, sneakers catching, his open jacket flapping around his body.

He didn't want Reki to be angry with him, or for their friendship to be over, yet, even as he claimed such things, he couldn't bring himself to… care. He did care, of course, but it was so hard, in those moments, to feel… anything.

He hated it.

He hated every minute.

And he hated himself for it.

Eventually, the grassy plain came to a severe, slicing end. He stopped, the toes of his shoes only a hair's breadth off the diving cliff edge. Sharp and unforgiving, it cut straight down, precariously steep and littered with boulders below, which gradually blended into the gravelly ground leading into the forest beyond. While out ahead of him were the mountains, jagged and foggy and painted with trees, their snowy peaks spiking up into the heavy clouds. Mist drifted between them, as ever-present as the spiraling breeze.

Langa didn't pay much attention to the view, however, his gaze instead drifting to the rocks below.

He'd taken on cliffs and their terrors before—snowboarding, and skating at "S." When he'd raced Adam that last time, and that bridge had cracked underneath him, he could have fallen to his death. Would have, had he not pulled himself free of that emptiness.

Around him, the falling snow had gotten more severe, and yet, he couldn't bring himself to register the change. It was all a blur. He couldn't hear anything—couldn't see anything. Couldn't feel his own heart beating, even as his hand gripped tight at his chest.

Just like when he'd been dragged into that place with Adam—the "zone," or whatever they'd all called it. His "S" friends, they hadn't seemed to realize what a terrifying mindset it was to be in—they'd all thought it was the mark of him being some kind of great athlete. They didn't know the truth—hadn't lived through it the way he had.

When had he last felt anything? A single emotion? Everything was this fuzzy haze, just like the snow fluttering down upon the mountains. Blinding him to everything—to the cliff edge, and the trees and rocks, and the view beyond it all.

What was the point? If this joyless emptiness was what his life had become, then…

No, there had to be more to it. There had to be something else that could…

But the air, it was knocked out of him, was rushing past him, and the white, it was—

Everywhere.

Was he flying? Or falling?

Did this mean… he was gonna die?

Closing his eyes, Langa reached up and gripped at his chest, his other hand coming up to his face. Shoving the sleeves of his jacket up past the edge of the yellow sweatshirt, he brought it to his nose and took in a deep breath. The familiar scent of Reki was starting to fade, getting overtaken by his own. Which he'd known would happen, but even so, just having the article of clothing with him was something. Even if Reki was mad at him, or if their friendship was broken, at least he had the evidence that it'd happened at all. That he hadn't dreamed his move to Okinawa—that he hadn't been living in an empty fog the entire time, since his father had died.

He'd started feeling things again—good things. So many fun and wonderful things. So why would his mother have told Reki anything? Have dragged his best friend into it?

Langa didn't want to go back. And he didn't want Reki to know…

If he found out—

"LANGA!"

Eyes snapping wide, Langa took in a sharp breath and whipped his head around over his shoulder, the sheer intensity of the panic in the voice behind him momentarily startling him out of the numbness—like he'd only quickly been able to pull his head up above water.

"Get away from there right now!" his Nana ordered, the panic still ringing in the high pitch of her voice. Reflected, too, in the pale tightness of her expression and the stiffness of her posture as she stood back at the edge of the trees.

Where was he?

Oh, right, the cliff.

… Fuck.

He turned around fully. "Nana, I wasn't—"

"I said get away from there!" she practically shrieked, which had his insides jolting once again. The sound of his typically level and collected grandmother in such a state was enough to jerk him into action. She had her hand held out toward him, so he shuffled through the grass to meet her, eyes wide and his insides twisting.

"Nana, I wasn't doing anything," he said weakly, as he reached her. At which point she grabbed him by the arm, her hold so tight in pinched. He didn't dare voice any objections, however, not with the horror and fear still plastered across her face.

"Why are you out here?" she snapped, her voice caught somewhere between anger and distress.

"I… just walked out here," Langa said honestly. "But I wasn't going to do anything, I promise."

His assurances did little in quelling her upset. Still holding tight to his arm, she pursed her lips, her breath shaky, before she swiftly turned and headed back off into the woods, dragging Langa along at her side.

All the while, the numbness otherwise pervading Langa's person was slowly shaking loose. But not in a good way—not in a way he would have preferred. More akin to someone taking a jackhammer to his insides and drilling through hardened skin, he felt any and all defenses chipping violently away, leaving his heart clattering inside his chest like a bird trapped in a cage.

He knew his family thought about it—that every time they so much as looked at him, they thought about it. Like this rain cloud over his head that he'd never be rid of, it haunted every step he took.

This was why he didn't want Reki to know. If he found out—

"Did you find it?" Patrice's airy voice drifted through the trees, before she appeared from around a large tree, gliding like some kind of ethereal rebel fairy.

Nana spared her only a quick look, before saying, "We're going back to the house. Now." She never stopped, continuing to pull Langa along, held ever-close. It was clear from her tone that when she said they were going back to the house, she meant all of them. Which had Patrice looking only slightly curious as she trailed after, silent as she stared at their backs.

"Nana," Langa tried again, voice soft and somewhat shaky. "I'm sorry…" Sorry for dredging this up, for being a source of concern in the first place. And maybe for everything else too—his moodiness, his lack of appetite, his isolated attitude. He was sorry, but he also didn't know what to do about it.

Just like with Reki.

All he knew for certain was that he'd done something wrong. Just like he had years ago, when this whole mess had started.

His Nana didn't respond, instead releasing a shaky huff and continuing to hold tight to his arm as they made their way through the woods and back out into the yard behind the barn.

Langa stayed silent the whole way. Dread was slowly pounding into place inside him, until it was so heavy that he couldn't bring himself to so much as look up as they finally came to a stop, his chest heavy with guilt.

"Nana?" Patrice asked, still looking wholly puzzled as they stood silent atop the grass, the trees wavering in the wind behind them.

Finally, Nana released her vice-like grip on Langa's arm, leaving sore marks behind that Langa chose not to rub even as they throbbed beneath his clothes. He wasn't looking at his grandmother, who was still facing away from him, but he heard her trembling breath, so broken that it hit Langa like the final hammer blow, his brittle shields shattering fully.

Chin and lips trembling, he bit down hard on the inside of his cheek and blinked furiously against the pressure that wanted to burst out of him.

"Patrice, take Langa up to the house," Nana finally ordered, having regained some of her typical austerity.

"Okay," Patrice said lightly.

Once again, Langa didn't object, silent as Patrice gently reached out and tugged on his jacket, directing him to follow her. Staring at his feet, he walked on behind, thankful that she released her barely-there hold on him as they made their way around the barn to the drive.

She didn't say anything to him, though she did keep looking back, even as he failed to meet her gaze. He was too busy trying to keep everything down, afraid that the pressure and the nausea would leave him in a state that would only draw more unwanted attention.

Unfortunately, there was no safety from more eyes falling his way. As he and Patrice found themselves rounding back to the front of the house, they spotted more vehicles parked in the driveway. A motorcycle and some kind of sports car.

More people had arrived. No one had told him more people were coming over. He didn't want more people. He didn't know what he wanted, but the weight of more eyes definitely wasn't it.

Just breathe. Just blink back on the pressure and breathe.

Don't let them see.

What was Reki doing? How he wished he was back in Okinawa, where none of this mattered.

"There he is," his Aunt Odette said as he and Patrice became visible from the porch, making their way closer. She was a thin, spikey sort of person, in both fashion and personality. Leaning against the support pillar at the top of the steps, she held a lit cigarette between two fingers and looked at Langa like she knew something he didn't—quite normal for her, as she looked at nearly everyone in the same manner. She wore a black biker jacket—leather, with silver detailing—over a white t-shirt, with worn black jeans and boots of a matching aesthetic. Her gray hair was cut into a short pixie style, and her thin, cat-like eyes were the same blue as Langa's, though with darkly shadowed lids.

"Hello, Aunt Odette," Langa said as he and Patrice arrived at the steps, hoping he was doing a convincing job of hiding the turmoil otherwise assaulting his person. In one cracking moment, he'd gone from one side of the spectrum to the other—from feeling nothing to being assaulted by everything. Everything he'd been so desperately trying to keep a lid on these last few years. Neither option was better—they were both terrible. It took everything he had to keep himself steady.

"Hello, Mom," Patrice added, smiling in her blank sort of way. "I didn't know you were coming."

"Well, with Langa having already been here so long, I thought it the decent thing to do." She took a drag of her cigarette, sharp eyes never leaving Langa. He made sure not to meet them.

"You're taller than the last time we saw you," the other of their new visitors said. Richard, his father's best friend. He was sitting on the top step, smoking much the same as Odette, only Langa was quite certain—from experience and the smell—that he was handling a joint. Weed was his poison, as his father had used to say.

"What's your poison, Dad?" Langa asked, turning up to Oliver.

He laughed. "Your mother," he said simply.

"I might have grown a bit," Langa replied, flicking his gaze only quickly to Richard, before focusing down on his feet. He did his best to ignore the anxious thrumming of his entire body, realizing—much to his continued distress—that he'd have to remain amongst his family. If he attempted to retreat when so many people were there to see him, specifically, then they'd all know something was wrong. More wrong than they were already figuring, that was.

"A 'bit,'" Richard agreed, sounding humored and releasing an easy smile. He had a relaxed personality, never too bothered by much of anything. Having grown up wealthy and then inherited his livelihood from his father—some sort of supply company—he'd never been hard up for much of anything. Not that such made him conceited or pompous. Though he wasn't Langa's uncle by blood, he'd always been friendlier than Owen.

He possessed a sort of casual attractiveness—like he'd been an ace athlete in high school and aged without much change. Sporting an untucked button-up shirt, well-fitting khaki slacks, and brown boat shoes, Langa assumed he'd only just gotten off work. His dark purple hair was combed loosely over on top, before fading down short the rest of the way. His skin had the golden tinge of someone who'd spent the previous summer in the sun. Due to a break in his youth, his nose was slightly crooked, while his brown eyes were so light they occasionally appeared amber.

Though Richard had never been one for snowboarding, he'd been around far more than any of Langa's relatives when Langa had been a kid. Mostly due to the time he and Oliver had spent together. He'd even been Langa's babysitter some of the time, when he'd finally been able to cope with being away from his parents for extended periods of time.

Yet, despite any sort of habitual ease Langa might have had with Richard over Odette or Owen, he wasn't feeling any of it then. All he really wanted to do was retreat to his bedroom, but that wasn't going to be possible.

"So, what have you been up to?" Odette asked, arms crossing over her chest, cigarette still poised between her fingers. "I hear you skateboard now, and you've graduated."

"Uh, yeah," Langa agreed, the silence that followed dragging almost painfully.

"That's all very exciting," Odette said after the pause, perhaps accustomed to extended silences. She had grown up with Owen, after all, who was then sitting in the swing at the corner of the porch, his suit looking all the frumpier as he slumped in place, stared off across the yard, and contributed nothing to the conversation. "You have a friend that taught you? To skateboard? That's what Dad said." Luis, that was.

"Yeah, he did," Langa replied.

"Is this the same friend you're always texting?" she asked. "I've heard you text an awful lot, since you arrived."

Langa frowned.

"Don't be so nosy," Richard scolded, as he leaned back on his elbows.

"I'm just curious," she reasoned. "He is my only nephew." She grinned and pressed on. "So, you have this friend. Do you have a girlfriend?"

"No."

"A boyfriend?"

Langa's frown screwed up only quickly . "No…"

"I guess they are more conservative about that sort of thing in Japan," she said. "Even Patrice has a boyfriend."

"Maybe he doesn't want a girlfriend," Richard reasoned, before adding, "or boyfriend."

"I'm just curious," Odette said with a shrug.

"I broke up with my boyfriend," Patrice interjected softly.

"Did you?" Odette frowned. "Sorry, baby."

"It was for the best."

Taking another drag, Odette nodded. "It usually is. Not that you're alone, mind," she continued. "Poor Owen here has been unlucky in love recently as well."

Finally, Owen looked their way, expression none too impressed.

"Cindy broke things off, did she?" Odette asked him, turning toward her brother.

"Who told you that?" Owen asked gruffly.

"Mom." She turned back to Langa and Patrice, before muttering, "Apparently, he was a bit too clingy."

"Why are you telling them that?" Owen asked harshly, a glare overtaking his face.

"Why not? Shouldn't they learn from our mistakes?"

"They're not my kids," Owen snapped. "I don't see how my life should be relevant at all."

"Apparently Cindy told him she 'needed more space,'" Odette continued, while Owen huffed. "Who knew someone so prickly could be so overbearing?"

"I'm not—You know what? I'm not doing this." Hands raised, Owen marched down the porch toward the door.

"It is a little sad," Odette added. "He always was rather clingy as a kid, but it was cute back then."

Owen growled. "Can you stop?"

"I'm just telling it how it is."

"Or you could just mind your own goddamn business."

"Guys, guys, please," Richard interjected half-heartedly, but Owen was already headed off, the front door slamming closed as he disappeared into the house.

"Oh, touchy," Odette muttered.

Richard sighed and glanced up at her. "Why are you like this?"

"I don't see what the big deal is," she countered. "We all know what Owen is like, and we all knew Cindy would never have the patience to deal with someone like him."

"Someone like what?" Patrice asked, head cocking.

"Someone who's…" Odette appeared to be searching for the right words, before quickly giving up. "Oh, never mind. Ah, Mom!" She'd turned her attention to Nana, who was approaching from the same way Langa and Patrice had.

Insides wringing, Langa stood all the stiffer, continuing to keep his gaze strictly on the ground as his grandmother passed him by.

"You're just the person I was waiting for," Odette claimed, as Nana climbed the steps.

"Not now," Nana said briskly. "Where's your father?"

"Inside, I think," Odette replied. "Attempting to order pizza. Why?"

"I need to talk to him."

"About what?"

Nana didn't answer, instead continuing on into the house.

Langa barely breathed.

"Well, nice to see you too," Odette muttered.

"Not everyone can spare you all their attention," Richard said flatly.

"I know that," Odette replied, as she snuffed out her cigarette in the ashtray sitting on the nearby banister. "Why do you think I'm getting married?"

Richard chuckled. "Where is Taylor?"

"Oh, you know, working late, like usual."

"Huh." Richard shrugged. "Can't relate."

Odette hummed in feigned humor, before turning to head on inside as well. Patrice followed, leaving Langa alone with Richard. Which he didn't want, because the less people there were around, the more those who remained felt at liberty to ask questions. He ignored Richard's curious gaze as a result, instead forcing himself in behind Patrice.

The rest of the day slowly dragged on in much the same manner—Langa full of twisting anxiety while his family continually dished out random questions. Thankfully, short, modest responses were expected of him, so he could hide much of his stress behind his "quiet" personality. Yet, the looks both Nana and his grandfather would occasionally cast his way left him perpetually on edge, no matter how he tried to rationalize himself out of it. His grandparents wouldn't bring up finding him at the cliff with everyone else around—assuming Nana had told Luis about what had happened—though that didn't mean they wouldn't address it later, after everyone was gone. Which left Langa torn between wanting everyone to go away and desperately hoping they'd stay as long as possible. He didn't want to "talk" about what had happened—there'd been enough talk about it in years prior and he had no desire to revisit the subject. But like the slow pounding of a battle drum, the inevitability of such discourse was closing in. He felt suffocated, like someone had wrapped their hands around his throat and were slowly squeezing, so slowly that it was taking the entire afternoon to put him down.

Not even thinking of Reki and Okinawa offered any relief, because every time he did, he found himself stressing over his last conversation with Reki. He still didn't have his phone, which left him wondering whether or not Reki had texted him again. He hoped he had, but then was left fretting over what he might have said.

The visit passed in a blur as a result, Langa struggling to keep up with everything—the anxiety, the ever-present threat of emptiness that was continually—and painfully—whipped aside by his throbbing distress, the nausea that was made only worse when he tried to eat. He felt sicker by the time everyone was leaving than he had that morning, which was just another detail he had to struggle to hide.

He wasn't good at hiding, especially in front of people that knew him. Everyone there must have been able to see it—he felt as transparent as a window.

When Odette and Patrice finally left—after Owen and Richard had said their farewells half an hour before—Langa felt himself roped so tightly into place that he couldn't even look at his grandparents, even as they all stood silently in the entryway.

Eventually, Nana sighed. "Langa—"

"I told you I wasn't doing anything," he snapped, his previously shattered defenses barely holding together.

His grandparents were both quiet—sharing a look between themselves—before Luis gave into a slumping sigh.

"We believe you, Langa, of course," he assured.

Then why did they keep looking at him like that?!

"I'm really tired—I'm going to bed," Langa decided, taking his grandfather's words as a means of escape. Unable to face them, he kept his gaze unfocused as he turned and headed quickly up the stairs. Still plagued by equal amounts of dread and anxiety, he moved down the hall to his bedroom, making sure the door was closed securely behind him.

Heart thudding painfully in his chest, he hesitated only a second, before desperation drove him onward. Going to his bed, he grabbed up his phone and tapped at the screen to bring it to life.

He didn't have… any alerts.

Reki hadn't texted him at all.

Stones were dropping into his gut, his whole body growing heavy. To the point where he had to sit, the mattress creaking under his weight as he stared at his phone.

Had what he'd said really been that big of a deal? Of course it'd been nasty, but he hadn't thought it'd be enough to jeopardize their friendship. Then again, Reki had been putting in a lot of effort, trying to get him to talk—to explain—while Langa had continually blown him off.

Why would Reki have texted him, after such an exchange? It was Langa who'd been in the wrong. Reki had even told him about the texts he'd gotten from Nanako—he'd wanted to be honest. This whole time, he'd been nothing short of a wonderful friend—going above and beyond in so many ways—and Langa had repaid him with harsh, ungrateful words.

He had to fix this, but if he did, would Reki keep asking questions? Like so many others did? Langa wasn't in any state to deal with those questions, but the idea of Reki being mad at him, or disappointed, or even done with him altogether… He couldn't deal with that. Not right then. Not after such a horrible day.

He had to talk to Reki. He just had to, even if the idea scared him.

Swallowing hard, breath shaky, he pulled up his chat with Reki, practically flinching away from the sight of their last exchange. Before he gave in and started typing.

Langa: Reki?

It took a few seconds, but…

Reki: What?

Supposing it was better to start at the bottom—to deal with the worst—Langa's anxiety swelled within him as he typed.

Langa: Are we

Langa: Are we still friends?

He didn't want to believe that they weren't, but then, he'd been so mentally fucked up recently. Between his shitty attitude and the photos and the distance, maybe Reki had reached the point of having had enough.

Reki: Of course we're still friends.

Reki: Why wouldn't we be friends?

Langa: Just

Langa: the last time we were fighting

Langa: we stopped being friends.

That last time he'd fucked up, their entire relationship had fallen apart.

Reki: We're still friends.

Assurance that brought Langa considerable relief, even as his apprehension continued to spike. Reki still hadn't texted him all day, and while Langa had been the one initiating their conversations of late, this fact still made him anxious. He hated feeling anxious. Generally, he wasn't the type. Reki was the ball of nerves between the two of them most of the time, but so many big and small things had been adding up, even as Langa had found himself stranded in that horrible emptiness. Almost like the lid over the pit in which he was trapped had gradually been piled with everything he hadn't wanted to think about, until the weight had become too much and it's collapsed in on top of him. Now he was stuck in this hole, drowning in everything he didn't want to talk about with no realistic escape.

Langa: Then

Langa: are you mad?

Reki: I'm confused

Reki: And hurt.

Reki: But I'm not mad.

Hurt?

He'd hurt him. Reki. Like he had before, during the tournament without even realizing. Like how he hurt his family, constantly, with his neglect and his isolation and his past. He didn't want to hurt Reki—he didn't want to hurt anybody, but he just kept doing it. Over and over and over.

He needed to apologize, right? But how did he do that without explaining himself? He didn't want to go down that road—didn't want Reki to go down that road with him—yet, the day had been forcing him in that direction.

And he was so sick. And so tired.

Langa: Oh.

Langa: Okay.

He needed to say more—had to. But everything inside him felt like it was falling apart and all he really wanted was to hear Reki's voice.

Teeth gritting at the effort needed to keep himself from breaking completely, Langa blinked quite rapidly and stopped fighting the urge to call. His thumb clumsily navigated through his menu, until his chat with Reki had transformed into an outgoing call, the screen blurring as tears finally started breaking from his eyes. Lips pursing in his struggle to keep himself controlled, he held his phone to his ear and waited.

The ringing was eventually interrupted, there was silence, and then—

"Langa?"

The last of any remaining support broke at the sound of Reki's quiet voice, everything inside Langa bending over in the middle and sending his control crumbling. Eyes closing, he took in a shaky breath that he knew Reki could hear.

"Langa." He said his name again, more softly, and Langa knew that continuing to fight would be a losing battle. He was crying, though he hated it, and of course Reki could hear his weak sniffling and continued struggle to breathe.

"It's okay," Reki murmured. "Whatever it is, I'm here. I'm with you."

But he wasn't. For so long, Langa had grown accustomed to Reki being at his side, and now he was back in Canada—forced to face everything he'd been turned away from for so long. It felt like he was completely alone. The only small relief was hearing Reki's voice. Maybe, if he closed his eyes and just… listened to Reki talking…

"It's okay," Reki continued, while Langa's crying persisted. Not loudly—he wasn't that kind of crier. Maybe it'd be better if he was, but even the active sniffling, and hiccupping of his breath, and continual tears felt like too much. With each hitch of his chest, he grew weaker. Until his whole body was trembling and his head was wavering with dizziness.

"Try to take some deep breaths," Reki said through the phone. "I can hear that you're having a hard time breathing."

He was. To the point where he was getting lightheaded. He'd gradually leaned to the side, then collapsed backward, until he was lying on his bed, curled up, which probably didn't help, but the idea of getting up felt impossible. Like he didn't have any strength. All he could do was hold the phone to his ear, and even that…

"It's alright to cry, you know," Reki continued. "You say that to me, when I get upset. And it does feel better, if I just stop fighting it."

But Langa didn't want to be upset. Because if he was, then there was something others would think was worth being upset about. And that meant questions, and explanations. Yet, perhaps it was all too late for that now—there was no way he could convince Reki nothing was wrong after this.

Maybe he did have to stop fighting, but if he was honest—

If he told Reki the truth…

"Whatever it is, you can tell me," Reki said then—exactly what Langa didn't want him to say. "Don't hide from me anymore. Please."

Managing breath enough to fuel words, Langa choked out, "I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because—" Just thinking about it left him riddled with shame and guilt. "If you knew…"

"Then what?" Reki kept pushing—albeit, very gently.

Eyes scrunching, Langa shook his head, rubbing his tears all over his comforter.

"Langa…?"

"I don't want you to know," he admitted upon the single breath he managed to take in.

There was momentary silence on Reki's side, before, finally, "There's nothing you could tell me that would change anything between us."

His assurance wasn't comforting, because how could he say that about something he didn't know?

"I can't, I can't," Langa repeated uselessly. "I don't want you to—"

"Want me to what?"

"To—" Langa practically choked on the words. "To look at me… the way they do."

He was saying too much—toeing too close to the line—but there was nothing to stop the words coming up out of him. It was only his limited ability to talk around the subject that was saving him. And yet, he knew, if he kept talking to Reki, it'd overflow out of him. He should stop—he should end the whole conversation. But Reki's voice, it was the only soft spot amongst all the… jagged horribleness.

He didn't know what to do—everything was slipping out of his control. What little control he'd ever had.

"The way who looks at you?" Reki asked, his voice ever subdued—like he was talking to a child! Or one of his siblings! But then, if Reki was taking the time to bother with him, to talk so carefully to him, then that meant he cared, didn't it?

"Everybody who knows," Langa replied, still unable to stop his steady crying.

"Langa, I promise, nothing you say could change the way I look at you. There's nothing you could have possibly done."

"That's because you don't know!"

"I know you," Reki said, sounding so certain. "And I know what you're capable of, and what you're not. And if it…If it makes it any easier for you…" He paused, his own breath sounding slightly shaky, "I've already considered the worst, in the back of my mind, after—after talking to your mom. So… it's okay. To tell me."

The worst? Had he, really? Was it that obvious after talking to Nanako? Or was he simply not going down the road far enough? Both options were unsettling, and made Langa feel even worse.

"I promise it's okay," Reki persisted. "We're best friends, and you—you went through something horrible. I know that."

Another flood of tears cascaded down his face. "I was… really messed up," Langa said, not defensively, but like he had to at least try and justify his actions. "My head, it was—and…" Not that he was doing a very good job.

"That's okay—we're all messed up sometimes."

He didn't understand! Langa had been—the accident—

Maybe that didn't matter. Maybe he was simply trying to come up with excuses where there were none.

"That doesn't mean most people try to… kill themselves!" Langa finally said, another huge wave of stifling emotion assaulting him, carrying that horrible pain, anxiety, fear—everything. It left him shivering so badly he nearly dropped his phone.

On the other end of the line, Reki audibly took in a deep breath of his own, still sounding as if it trembled, but only slightly. Like he had to have time, to digest. Not a great sign? Or maybe everyone would need that time?

Langa had no idea. He'd never told anyone before. Everyone who knew had found out by default of what he'd done being exposed to them outside his control, not because he'd chosen for them to know. Not that he'd "chosen" for Reki to know, not really, but it'd been rolling up through him whether he'd wanted it or not.

"It's okay," Reki finally said, after a pause that was too long and felt like torture. "Well, I mean, it's not okay, but it's okay that you told me. That I know, I mean, because nothing between us is different, I promise."

A statement that sounded nice, but that Langa found very hard to believe.

"Do you… want me to ask what happened?"

"W—What?"

"I'm not going to ask you for details unless you want to tell me—I figure that's probably not something you… want to describe."

Langa floundered for a moment, before bracing himself and saying, "I don't remember, exactly. Just… flashes. I don't remember a lot from that time, actually." He'd been so injured from the accident—it was hard to parse through what he could recall, let alone what he'd been thinking or what had actually happened.

"Okay," Reki said simply. "I do… I do have to ask one thing, though."

Langa scrunched his eyes closed again and said nothing.

"You're not… suicidal right now, right?"

Langa curled up on himself. "No," he was able to say, with conviction. He couldn't recall the thought process that had led him to being at that point, though he knew what had contributed, obviously. It was a dark sort of low that he had a hard time entertaining presently. So far removed from his life in Okinawa, but then, if he was forced to live in Canada, in the condition he was then, for months…

"And—And if that changes, you'll tell me?" Reki continued.

Langa's heart flipped with nausea and he said nothing.

"Langa, promise me," Reki insisted, sounding stern and almost… nervous. "I don't care whether it's now or fifty years from now, if you start to feel that way, you have to tell me. Swear that you'll tell me."

Langa swallowed hard, trying to get such a terrible pill down where it needed to be. "I promise," he whispered.

"Good." Reki huffed. "Is this what's been so hard for you? Since you got there?"

"Some…" Langa replied. It wasn't everything—there were too many other variables to tie it up so neatly.

"Your family, they're the ones that… 'look' at you differently? Or did something happen?"

Reki and his intuitive deductions. Then again, Langa was in bed, crying, so perhaps it was logical to assume there'd been some kind of catalyst beyond what he'd been dealing with otherwise.

"I went to the place, where I… And then my grandmother found me there, and… it just made it worse. I keep—keep hurting them. You. Everyone."

"Nothing you've done to me is so bad that you need to be concerned about it now," Reki replied. "I know we don't fight that often, but it's bound to happen sometimes. And you're not… you're not hurting your family, Langa. If they're looking at you a certain way, it's probably because they're worried, that's all."

"I don't want them to worry. I'm not going to do anything!"

"I believe you," Reki replied quickly. "I'm not saying you will, I just… I don't know. I've never dealt with this kind of thing before. I'm sorry. Tell me what to say. I just want you to feel better—I want you to be okay."

There was nothing to say. Langa had inflicted a scar across his entire life when he'd done… what he had. Across his whole family too, and there was no going back now. He knew, rationally, that his family only looked at him the way they did because they cared, and yet, he hated it. Hated what he'd done, hated that it was what they inevitably thought of when they looked at him. Like his whole existence had been warped by some… fragmented, lost second of his life. But then, when that second had nearly ended his life—after having brushed so close to death only months before—maybe it was a second that could never be escaped.

He hoped not. He kept hoping that, somehow, it'd eventually disappear.

"Just tell me it can all go back to normal," Langa said quietly. "Tell me this can go away."

Reki, who wouldn't tell him something untrue, sighed. "It will go away, eventually. Time, it… it makes things fade. It hasn't been that long since you… I assume it hasn't been, anyway. The more time you spend with your family, the more memories they can make that don't involve that point in your life. And then it won't be what they think about when they see you. Just like it will never be what comes to mind first when I'm with you."

But it would, now, come to mind. Even if it was only sometimes, it would, and Langa couldn't put that reality back where it'd come from. It was too late for that.

"Please, just… stay with me—talk to me," Langa pleaded. "Anything, I don't care. Just… distract me."

"I can do that," Reki assured. "I can always do that."

Chapter Text

Reki did his very best to distract Langa. While it wasn’t the sort of “nice” distraction that had led them down other, more risqué paths, he did talk about anything and everything for the next two hours. A lot of skating, but other topics too, when his mind wandered. Langa would occasionally offer short responses, or grunts of acknowledgment, but mostly it was Reki simply rambling. Which was actually quite normal, the only difference being that usually they were together. Most people didn’t bother listening to Reki when he went off, but Langa always had—always did.

“I like the sound of your voice,” Langa had once told him, much to Reki’s flustered distress. “You’re so clever.”

Reki wasn’t sure if that was true or not, but if his chatting offered Langa any kind of reprieve, then he wasn’t about to start acting on his doubts.

It did, eventually, come to his attention that Langa had stopped interjecting. Speech coming to a slow stop, Reki listened a moment, before asking a quick, “Langa?” Which got him no response. Allowing the silence to continue, he was able to make out the light huffing of Langa’s breathing. Easy breathing, which was a relief. Both because it sounded like he’d stopped crying and because he was also likely asleep.

Proof, then, that he really did rest sometimes.

For some minutes, Reki found himself unable to hang up, even as the silence stretched between them. Instead, he stared down at his phone in his lap, the early morning sky outside his window gradually beginning to lighten. But then, what point was there in keeping the line open if Langa was sleeping? Besides, Reki needed… a moment. Some time to himself, where Langa couldn’t overhear. Not because he wanted to hide anything, but because the tightness in his chest hadn’t let up since the beginning of their conversation and he needed a bit of a break to gather himself.

Though he hesitated, he did ultimately whisper a quiet, “Sleep well, Langa,” into his phone, before he hung up. He then pulled up their chat and quickly added:

Reki: You can text me when you wake up, or call me, if you want to.

Reki: I’ll keep my phone on me.

He then stared down at his phone’s black screen for another few seconds, before the strain of… everything had him reaching up and pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes closing. He sat, simply breathing, for some time, before a punching wave of exhausted emotion swept so quickly through him that the tears leaked down from the corners of his eyes before he could even try and stop them.

He knew, rationally, that if Langa’s… attempt… had succeeded, he’d never have known the difference, because they’d never have met. Yet, that wasn’t how things had panned out. Reki had met Langa, and they’d become friends, and Reki had fallen in love. Whether those feelings were returned or not didn’t matter in that moment, because he was still despairing at the fact that the person he adored above all others had nearly ended their own life.

Maybe it was an unexpected thing to grieve, but Reki couldn’t help it. It scared him, that Langa had ever found himself in such a low place. That he’d seen no other escape from whatever pain and misery had been plaguing him. That Langa had gone through such agony at all was heartbreaking, and left Reki feeling irrationally helpless to do anything about a situation that was long passed.

He wished, more than anything, that Langa was back with him in Okinawa, safe, maybe dozed off beside him. Not halfway around the world where Reki’s access to him was choppy and inconsistent. True, Langa had assured him that he wasn’t in any current danger of repeating his previous actions—and Reki believed him—but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still suffering. Far away, in a place Reki didn’t know.

It was this amalgamation of feelings that left Reki crying for nearly ten minutes, his hand covering his mouth so as to prevent anyone else in the house potentially hearing. Langa would never, ever know what he was doing then, because he’d blame himself and that was the last thing Reki wanted. It wasn’t Langa’s fault that Reki was upset. Rather, it was the depth at which Reki valued him that was the source—because he couldn’t even begin to fathom his world without Langa in it, not anymore. The two of them being separated was bad enough, let alone something worse.

He did feel somewhat better afterward. While crying did usually leave him with a headache, it did tend to have the benefit of relieving his tension and stress. He was able to take in a few calming breaths, wiping his eyes and settling into the acceptance that Langa had once tried to end his life and that was okay. Not that the act itself was okay, but the fact that it’d happened and it didn’t change anything between them. Everybody had a past and Langa’s was, Reki knew, far more tragic than his own. Baggage came with that—baggage that Reki was more than willing to take on, if Langa would only let him.

Not that he wasn’t thankful to have something of the truth, finally. He knew there was more going on than just this, but it was a start. A considerable start, in Reki’s opinion, no matter how devastating.

Making sure to carry his phone everywhere he went, he moved to the bathroom to wash away the evidence of his tears and get ready for the morning, before returning to his bedroom to get dressed. Somewhat disgruntled that he still couldn’t find his yellow sweatshirt—his lucky sweatshirt—he instead settled for the purple one, before sitting back on his bed to wait for breakfast, as he was up rather earlier than usual.

He spent the extra time researching, which didn’t help significantly in how he should be reacting to what Langa had told him. The best things he could do—apparently—were make himself available and create a “safe space,” if Langa needed such in relation to the subject. Which was a relief on one hand, because that meant he’d reacted in the right way, but then a little disappointing as well, because he felt almost like he should do more.

“What’s wrong with you?” Koyomi asked him at breakfast.

“Hm?” Reki glanced up at her, having been deep in his own thoughts. “Oh, nothing. Just thinking.”

She sneered. “About your precious Langa?”

Glaring, Reki released a vicious growl.

“Leave your brother alone, Koyomi,” their mother said as she placed more food down on the table, to be shared between all four siblings and their grandmother. “It can’t be easy, the two of them being away from each other so long.”

“We’re both fine,” Reki lied.

Masae and Koyomi shared a knowing look, which had Reki wondering whose side his mother was really on.

Shoveling the remainder of his breakfast into his mouth as fast as possible, Reki was soon headed out on his skateboard, supposing that getting to work early was worth it if he could escape his annoying family.

It took over half his shift—a good five hours—before Langa finally texted him.

Langa: Hey.

Reki: Hey!

Reki: You just wake up?

Langa: Yeah.

That meant he’d gotten just over six hours of sleep. The most at one time that Reki had measured since he’d arrived in Canada. But then, a breakdown like the one he’d suffered would knock anyone out for a decent chunk of time.

Reki: You fell asleep while we were talking.

Reki: But I’m glad you stayed that way.

Langa: Right.

Langa: Sorry

Langa: about that.

Reki: You don’t have to be sorry.

Reki: I’m sure you were tired.

Langa: I guess.

A long pause.

Reki: Langa?

Langa: Sorry about

Langa: everything else too.

Frowning, Reki leaned down on the work counter, glad there were currently no customers to distract him.

Reki: You don’t have to be sorry about that either.

Reki: I’m glad you told me.

Reki: We’re

Reki: best friends.

Reki: I want you to feel comfortable telling me anything.

Langa: I don’t think there’s anything worse I could tell you.

Reki: That’s not what I mean.

Reki: It doesn’t have to be worse or better or anything.

Reki: Just

Reki: anything you ever want to tell me.

Reki: I’m here.

Reki: No judgement.

Langa: Um

Langa: Thanks.

Langa: Really.

Reki: Do you feel any better now?

Langa: A little.

Reki: A little is better than nothing, right?

Langa: Maybe.

Langa: Look

Langa: I know you keep saying that it’s okay to tell you things

Langa: but I am sorry to drop this on you.

Langa: The last thing I wanted was to drag all of this up again.

Reki: I really wish you wouldn’t feel sorry.

Reki: I get why you do

Reki: but I

Reki: want to know your problems.

Reki: Not like you don’t know enough of mine.

Langa: I just don’t want to be a bother to people.

Reki: You’re never a bother, Langa.

Reki: Not to me.

Though his whole face pinched as he blushed, Reki pulled up one of those red heart emojis and, his own heart flipping in his chest, dared send it along.

Langa’s ellipses faded in and out only shortly, before a matching heart was sent back.

Reki grinned like a lovesick idiot.

Their conversation, unfortunately, fell rather stagnant after that. Permeated by awkwardness because, despite his assurances, Reki assumed Langa still felt uneasy. Best, maybe, to try and get things back to normal.

Going to his photos, Reki made efforts not to look at his previous nudes and instead scrolled back to a few of the remaining freckle pictures he hadn’t yet used, before tapping one and sending it along.

Langa: Is this supposed to be challenging?

A fair question, as Reki had sent the one of his nipple, with the three freckles along the side. On one hand, there was no guessing to really be had, but on the other… it was his nipple. Were nipples sexy? Was that what he was going for?

He really had no idea what he was doing.

Reki: I figured you could use a freebie.

Langa: I don’t appreciate handouts.

Reki: Jeez.

Reki: Prideful.

Reki: Fine, I’ll disregard any potential points.

Langa: You have a point system?

No, but Langa didn’t know that.

Reki: Of course.

Reki: But since you’re not interested in free points…

Langa: No

Langa: I want the points.

Langa: I know it.

Langa: It’s your right nipple.

Snorting, Reki rolled his eyes.

Reki: Got a regular Sherlock Holmes on our hands.

Langa: How many points do I have?

Reki: Seriously?

Langa: How many?

Reki: That’s for me to know and you to agonize over.

Langa: Reki!

Reki: When we’ve gone through every freckle, I’ll tell you.

Langa: I will win.

Langa: I will get all the points.

Reki: Not if you’ve already lost some.

Langa: When did I lose points?

Langa: I’ve guessed every single one correctly so far!

Reki: We’ll just have to wait and see.

Reki: My point system is very meticulous.

Reki: And I can’t claim that I’m not swayed by unfair biases.

Langa: You should be biased in my favor.

Reki: Depends on my mood.

Langa: This is not a fair game.

Reki: Yet you keep playing.

Langa: I want to win.

Reki: Of course you do.

Unfortunately, Reki got sidetracked by some customers shortly after, and then was left to filter through a steady stream of interruptions for the rest of his shift. He and Langa kept chatting in-between, but it was hard to keep up a coherent conversation when Reki kept being pulled away.

More than ready to leave when his shift ended—Manager Oka taking over—Reki headed off to the nearby skatepark, where he whittled away the hours at practice or, oftentimes, sitting to the side, texting. The conversations between him and Langa didn’t feel fake, per se, but Reki could tell that Langa was putting in efforts to avoid what had “happened” the night prior. Which was fine for now—Reki didn’t want to push him. Langa could be a stubborn bastard when he wanted to be, so better not to poke at sensitive subjects so soon after they were exposed. He had a feeling that might only cause Langa to dig his heels in deeper, as far as feeling like he was bothersome to Reki somehow. Breathing space might do him some good.

At least, that was what Reki told himself the first day after Langa’s breakdown. Yet, as the week wore on, he gradually started to grow frustrated. On multiple fronts. One, because it started to become clear that Langa was, yet again, trying to hide any and all distress he might be feeling. Reki asked him, every day, how he was doing, and while he didn’t answer with his previous “fines,” he had settled on “alright,” “okay,” or “the same.” Maybe he was telling the truth, but even so, there was a way in which he immediately changed the subject that spoke of something skittishly defensive. Once again, Reki begrudged not being able to see his face.

The other frustration came with the fact that their previous sexting wasn’t brought up at all. They continued playing their freckle game, but it never went further than that. The only notable change was that Langa had developed a new habit that left Reki… somewhat puzzled.

Langa: Send picture.

Reki: You could say please.

Langa: Please send picture.

He had a freckle on the underside of his wrist, so he snapped a pic and sent it along. Within half a second, Langa was responding.

Langa: Butt.

Reki: That is clearly NOT my butt.

Langa: I still have two guesses.

Reki: I suppose you do…

Naturally, he’d guessed right on his second go. But then, the following day…

Langa: Distract me.

His use of the word “distract” had sent Reki’s heart into his throat, until he’d rationalized that there was a big difference between one of their normal distractions and the otherwise “nice” distractions.

He had a small freckle on his ankle, one that Langa would no doubt recognize, and yet…

Langa: Butt.

Reki: WHAT?!

Langa: I have two more guesses.

Langa: Left ankle.

Reki: I know you knew that one!

Langa: Anyway.

Anyway! Anyway?! What did that even mean?!

The next day, Reki found a new freckle—well, new to him—on the underside of his right knee. When Langa, predictably, demanded a picture, he sent it on.

Langa: Butt.

Reki: Omg

Langa: Two more guesses.

Reki: I KNOW!

He guessed right, of course. Because why wouldn’t he? Reki, however, wasn’t quite finished with the topic.

Reki: Why do you keep guessing butt even when you know it’s not my butt?

Langa: Because it’s fun.

Reki: How?! Is that fun?!

Langa: Because you always get so offended.

Reki: So you’re trying to offend me?

Reki: With stupid butt jokes?

Langa: Maybe one day I’ll get lucky and be right.

A comment that left Reki gaping as he stared down at his phone, his cheeks flooding with red. It occurred to him, in a heated flash, that, maybe, Langa was… flirting with him? In a very indirect, strange way?

So Reki decided to give the idea a try, even as his heart skipped in his chest.

Reki: You wish.

Langa: So what’d you do today?

Like whiplash, the conversation shifted. Or was yanked out from under him—Reki honestly couldn’t tell which. Should he not have made such a suggestive comment back? But then, Langa had literally asked him for dick pics, which he—Reki—had willingly delivered, so why…?

What was even happening?

Langa: Distract please.

Yet another morning, another typical demand. Reki sent along a very vague freckle that was clearly on the palm of his hand.

Langa: Butt.

Reki: I certainly hope my butt isn’t that wrinkly.

Reki: I’m kind of annoyed you’d even suggest it.

Langa: How should I know?

Langa: I don’t know what your butt looks like.

Reki: You think my butt could be that wrinkled?!

Langa: Well, no.

Langa: Of all the things I think of when it comes to your butt

Langa: that’s not one of them.

Reki was once again left gaping. That… That had definitely been suggestive. There was no escaping it, no excusing it.

Langa: Also, it’s the palm of your right hand.

He continued on before Reki could even think of an adequate response.

Langa: I watched that skating video you sent.

Langa: You said Joe was going to teach you that trick?

Langa: You should take a video, when you finally nail it.

Reki: Yeah, he said he’d take me through it at “S.”

The butt topic was left in the dust, Reki not knowing how to get back to it without being totally obvious. He did start to consider, though, that if this was Langa’s way of flirting, then was his constant referencing of Reki’s butt some kind of under-the-table way of saying he wanted a picture of Reki’s butt? If that was what he wanted, though, why wouldn’t he just ask? He’d asked for dick pics, so why would this be different? But then, they hadn’t talked directly about the sexting either…

This was all very confusing.

Langa: Butt.

His predictable response when Reki sent him a picture of what was clearly the freckle on his face.

Reki: …

Reki: Are you serious?

Langa: I know it’s your beauty mark.

Reki: You’re so annoying.

He’d meant it in jest, but—

Langa: Sorry.

Langa: I was only joking.

Reki: I know.

Langa’s ellipses faded in and out, before the topic was, once again, waylaid into skating. Which Reki was normally fine with, except he was feeling, more and more, like he was missing something.

This feeling only increased when the next picture he sent was of a freckle on the inside of his finger and Langa threw him for a total loop.

Langa: That’s the inside of your left ring finger.

No “butt” guess. Maybe he forgot? But then, when Reki sent another picture, later that day—of a very small freckle along his side (he’d long run out of big freckles)—Langa still didn’t guess “butt,” though it did take him all three guesses to get to the correct answer (“Is that even a freckle?” “I’m running out of options, here!”).

“What is going on?!” Reki muttered fiercely down at his phone, causing the person standing beside him at the crosswalk to look over in concerned suspicion.

The following morning, as Reki woke up and looked at his phone to see Langa’s question of whether or not he was awake, he felt his insides tighten with apprehension.

Reki: Yeah, just woke up.

Reki: Have to go to work.

Langa: Soon?

Reki: In a few hours.

Langa: Send pic now.

Reki: Calm down!

Langa: Send pic right now!

Reki: You’ve gotten awfully pushy about this.

Again, a comment meant in jest, yet—

Langa: Oh

Langa: Sorry.

Sighing, Reki stared up at his phone and tried to configure the best response. Why was it that sometimes Langa would respond to things flirtatiously and other times he defaulted to apologizing? What part of this was Reki missing?

Reki: I was just teasing.

Langa: You don’t have to keep sending me pictures if you don’t want to.

Reki: Why wouldn’t I want to?

Reki: We play this game every day.

Langa: It’s still okay if you get tired of it.

Why would he be tired of it?

I just don’t want to be a bother to people.

Was this all coming back around to his previous claim? That would make sense. For someone who was generally never very sorry for anything he did, Langa had been apologizing a lot of late. For small things that neither of them would normally care about. Ever since his breakdown, like he was, what, paranoid that Reki would stop talking to him if he was too much of a “bother?”

How Reki wished he could see Langa’s face, and his body language. It was so easy to hide behind texts. If he could just see him, he’d have a much better idea of how he was actually doing. As they were, his options were to either carry on like usual or… he could take a chance. It’d been a few days—maybe it was okay to press the subject a bit. Just a little.

Reki: I wish you’d stop feeling guilty.

Langa: What?

Reki: You keep apologizing for things even when you haven’t done anything wrong.

Reki: Normally I can’t get an apology out of you for anything.

Langa: I’m

He didn’t say anything else, which left Reki sighing as he sat up in bed.

Reki: Can I call you?

Langa: No.

Langa: Don’t do that.

Reki: Why not?

Langa: I don’t want to talk.

Though he was once again plagued by frustration, Reki kept himself from saying something that, while more expressive, might push Langa away.

Reki: Are you upset about something?

Reki: Is that why you don’t want me to hear your voice?

Langa: I’m not upset about anything.

Langa: I’m just

Langa: tired.

Reki: You’re lying to me.

Langa: I’m not.

Reki: Even through text, you’re a terrible liar.

Langa: I’m not upset.

Langa: I’m the same as I have been.

Reki: Which isn’t good.

Langa: So what if it’s not?

Langa: There’s nothing to do about it.

Langa: I don’t want you involved.

Reki: I want to be involved.

Langa: And I don’t want you to be.

Langa: Because

Langa: if you are

Langa: then every conversation we have

Langa: is going to end up like this

Langa: and I don’t want that.

Reki: Is that why you keep apologizing?

Reki: And stopped calling me?

Reki: Because you’re trying to

Reki: stop our conversation from going somewhere you don’t want it to?

Because it’d been working, to an exasperating degree.

Langa: I just

Langa: Talking to you

Langa: I don’t wanna mess it up more than I already have.

Reki: You haven’t messed up anything.

Langa: But I could.

Langa: And if we start fighting again, or if I make you uncomfortable, then we might stop texting and

Langa: I can’t deal with that right now.

Sitting up, Reki sighed, feeling an awful lot like he was banging his head against a wall.

Reki: I thought you liked calling me?

Liked hearing his voice.

Langa: Please, Reki.

Langa: Not now.

Langa: Please.

So Reki gave in, mostly because he was at a complete loss on what to do otherwise. He’d thought—hoped—that Langa opening up to him would make it easier to talk about things. Anything, be it Langa’s issues or whatever was going on between them. Yet, it seemed to have done the exact opposite. Langa was more distant than ever.

“Oh my god, I can’t even stand to look at you like this!” Frowning, Reki glanced up at Miya, who was sitting at the table across from him, beside Shadow. Well, he wasn’t “Shadow” then, as he was sans his clown makeup and still wearing his work uniform. Hiromi, then. “What?” Reki asked, having pushed his empty plate of food aside, so he could put his elbow on the table, his head in his hand, and sigh as he stared out the window. They were sitting in Joe’s restaurant, which had just closed. He always closed early on “S” nights, but allowed their little group to stick around and eat free food. Reki wasn’t sure when the ritual had started—probably around the time Langa had beaten Adam in the tournament. Cherry even showed up sometimes, before they all left for “S” together.

“You’re so pathetic!” Miya griped.

“I’m not!”

“You kind of are,” Hiromi agreed, even as he remained focused on his food. “You’ve been totally lovesick since he left.”

“I’m not lovesick!” Reki rebuked hotly, his cheeks turning pink.

Hiromi started making kissy sounds and pooching his lips. “You just miss your little Langa so much!”

Reki growled.

“Do you miss your sweet Langa smooches?” Miya tacked on, looking downright devilish in his teasing.

“Langa and I don’t ‘smooch,’” Reki snapped. “We’re not like that and you guys know it!” Clearly, the whole dick pic thing brought some of that claim into question, but neither of them knew anything about that.

“Poor Reki is so forlorn without his better half,” Hiromi persisted, causing Miya to laugh.

Scowling, Reki glared at them, said, “At least I have a better half!” and then scooted his chair back and shoved himself to his feet. Hands in his pockets, shoulders slumped, he shuffled across the restaurant to the bar, behind which Joe looked to be tallying up numbers. Placing himself in one of the stools, Reki folded his arms atop the bar and leaned his chin down atop them.

Joe didn’t look up right away, instead continuing on with his math for some seconds, until he was finished. Only then did he look up, expression gently questioning. Unable to meet his gaze, Reki sulked and turned to look down the length of the bar.

“It’s okay to miss him, you know,” Joe said.

“It’s not that,” Reki muttered. “I mean, I do… miss him. A lot.” An admission that left him swelling with emotion that he had to quickly check. “But I’m also…” Pursing his lips, he wondered at the ethics of saying more. Langa wouldn’t want anyone else to know what was going on, yet, Reki was at a loss. Nothing he said seemed to make Langa feel any better. And he was… worried. Really worried.

“It’s just…” He finally glanced up at Joe. “Langa, he’s—It’s hard for him, being in Canada.”

Joe’s expression turned thoughtful. “I assume it’s because of his father?”

“I think so, maybe,” Reki replied. “I’m really worried about him, but nothing I say helps. If anything, the more I try to talk to him about it, the more he… pushes me away.” Despite also clinging close. It was a strange, confusing dichotomy that was getting more and more exaggerated as time went on.

“Maybe he doesn’t want to talk about it,” Joe replied with a shrug.

“Well, yeah.” Reki already knew that. “And I try not to push him most of the time, but it’s seriously getting to him.” In a concerningly bad way.

Joe hummed and crossed his broad arms over his chest. “Well, maybe all you can do is try and comfort him, if he really is struggling.”

“But how am I supposed to comfort him if he won’t talk to me?” Reki asked, his frustration leaking through.

“Talking isn’t the only way to comfort someone,” Joe reasoned. “I think people assume that ‘talking things out’ is always the right thing to do, but it doesn’t work that way for everyone. I’m not saying people shouldn’t talk through their problems—oftentimes, that’s exactly what needs to be done—but it doesn’t always bring everyone the same kind of… relief, I guess. It can give someone perspective, but…”

“So I shouldn’t talk to him?”

“If talking isn’t helping…”

It wasn’t. If anything, Reki feared it was making things between them even worse.

“He’ll talk to you if he gets to the point where he really needs to,” Joe continued. “But, let’s be real, ‘talking’ isn’t exactly the way Langa approaches, well, life. You and him are different in that way—talking through something tends to help you, but for Langa, it might not be quite the same.”

“Then what do I do?” This was sounding more and more hopeless by the second.

“Comfort him in a way that he responds to,” Joe replied. “Do that and he’ll probably feel better about talking, even if he doesn’t want to. Talking can be really overwhelming for some people, so maybe he needs a break, assuming something’s… happened?”

“Yeah, you could say that,” Reki muttered. “I keep telling him that he can tell me anything, that I want to help…”

“Telling you might not be the issue.”

“I think I’m starting to get that,” Reki said slowly. “So… when he’s… upset, I shouldn’t push him to explain?”

“Well, I don’t want to say that,” Joe countered. “But you’re an intuitive guy—you can probably tell when he really needs to talk and when he just wants comfort. The problem, I think, that some people have with talking, is that it oftentimes leads into this narrative that the problem needs to be fixed. But, sometimes, life just sucks and nothing anyone says is going to make it better, so the best thing to do is find an outlet that’s relaxing, or distracting.”

Distracting…

“Langa trusts you, we all know that,” Joe continued. “And when he wants to talk—when he needs to—he will. But you can’t fix something if it, well, if it can’t be fixed, and going in thinking that’s the solution? It’s a losing battle, every time.”

“I just… want him to be okay.”

“I know.” Reaching out, Joe placed a heavy hand on his shoulder. “The best thing you can do is, simply, what he asks of you. That’ll do more good than you know.”

What he asked of him…

“I suppose,” Reki agreed slowly.

Joe frowned. “Is he just… having a hard time being away from home, or…?”

“Not… really? I think being back in Canada just… reminds him of things he doesn’t want to think about.”

Once again crossing his arms over his chest, Joe hummed. “Was his father’s death particularly traumatic?”

Reki didn’t know. Clearly, what Langa had tried to do to himself had been extremely traumatic, but he wasn’t about to reveal that detail to anyone else. As far as Oliver, though… “I don’t actually know,” he admitted. “Langa’s never told me what happened.”

“Huh. Well, I guess it’s hard to know anything with so little to go on.”

“Yeah…” Story of Reki’s life of late.

Still, Joe’s words stuck with him for the rest of the evening, even during “S.” He sent pictures to Langa from the mine, mostly as a means of restarting their conversation from its previously sour end. And while Langa replied willingly enough, Reki found himself all the more puzzled by the time he was back home.

Langa hadn’t once asked for a freckle picture. Reki had come to expect it once or twice a day, when the opportunity arose. There’d been more than one chance for him to do so, yet, no mention of it.

Or maybe Reki was merely overthinking.

Except, the next morning, after Langa asked if Reki was awake, he still didn’t ask. He moved right on to skateboarding, their typical teasing of one another completely forgotten. Reki almost brought it up, but then stopped himself, wondering if that was, in fact, the problem.

Langa didn’t usually care about being teased—didn’t usually care about much of anything that anyone said to him. But then, this was different, wasn’t it? Reki was now tied up in the problems Langa was dealing with, which was exactly what Langa hadn’t wanted even as he’d told him. He didn’t want to be a bother, didn’t want to make Reki uncomfortable. Didn’t want to be looked at the same way his family did.

Was that what this was all coming back to? Paranoia that because Reki now knew some about his past, he was afraid things would change between them?

Then every conversation we have is going to end up like this.

And if we start fighting again, or if I make you uncomfortable, then we might stop texting and I can’t deal with that right now.

Was he really so anxious as to fear that telling Reki the truth would alter their friendship? To the point where Reki’s teasing—or even the slightest hint of a confrontation between them—had him bowing out? It was so incredibly unlike him…

But then, that was how anxiety worked. And of course Langa was anxious after his breakdown. Reki knew he was, despite assuring him over and over that it was fine—that he wouldn’t treat him any different.

Joe had said the best thing he could do was whatever Langa asked, but Langa was slowly weeding out everything he had been asking for. The pictures, the phone calls, any potential “nice distractions.” As if the mere activity of asking anything of Reki was now off limits. While Reki, he kept asking if he was okay, and pushing the conversation when he thought doing so might be advantageous. Which, generally, didn’t end well.

A losing battle, like Joe had said.

Maybe… he needed to approach this differently. Langa had come to him when he’d truly needed him. Had called specifically to hear his voice when he’d been at his worst. Otherwise, “talking” hadn’t really been something he’d asked for, outside of wanting to listen while Reki talked. And now he was pulling back on everything else too, probably afraid that Reki was going to demand more talking.

Reki had, before, when he’d told Langa that he wished he’d stop feeling guilty, which had immediately soured their exchange and resulted in silence for most of the day.

He didn’t want Langa to be afraid that he’d bring it up every time they talked, or that, suddenly, the things they’d been doing might not be okay. Yet, in order to get that across, he…

Reki had to be the one to initiate it now, he realized. Which was… scary. Langa was the brave one between the two, usually. Unabashed and unashamed. Except, he was in a bad place currently. In a place that required Reki to be the brave one.

For Langa, he’d have to at least try stepping outside his comfort zone, if only to stop the ever-growing distance between them. If he didn’t do something soon, he feared Langa would eventually stop talking to him altogether, no matter that being Langa’s ultimate fear. He didn’t want that—he wanted Langa to feel safe with him, not lump him together with his family, and the “looks” they gave, and his past.

He got it now, why Langa hadn’t wanted him to know—this was exactly what he was so afraid of, even if he was also causing it to happen.

Sighing into the mirror as he stood in the bathroom late that Saturday morning, Reki stared down at his phone and the once more stagnant chat box between himself and his best friend. Before he determinedly opened up his camera roll. Scrolling back some, he found the freckle picture from the week before that he’d never sent. The one he’d gone to so much effort to take—stripping down, stretching his leg up, nearly falling off his bed. Staring at it for a few heavy seconds, he took a steady breath to gather his nerve, before he tapped the picture and sent it to Langa just as swiftly.

Within seconds—and much to Reki’s relief—Langa was typing back.

Langa: I’ve never seen that one before.

Reki: Nope!

Reki: But it should still be easy.

Langa: Why’s that?

Reki: Just

Reki: given your history of guesses.

Langa: My history?

Supposing he needed a moment to pull it all together, Reki waited. Albeit, with nervous impatience that had him gnawing on the end of his nail. He wanted to be able to tease him. He hoped that, in taking the initiative himself, it’d be okay again. Like they were meeting in the middle.

Langa: Oh!

Langa: Butt.

He sent the word so easily—so casually. Reki was painfully red in the face while Langa was so entirely unmoved. It was infuriating, but also relieving.

Reki: You got it.

Reki: Shocking.

Langa: You really have a freckle on your butt?

Langa: Where?

Reki: I thought we’d just established that it’s ON my butt.

Langa: Where though?

Langa: Where on your butt?

Reki: Aren’t you the one that’s supposed to be guessing?

Langa: Left cheek.

Reki: Nope.

Langa: Right cheek.

Reki: I require a little more precision.

Langa: Upper right cheek?

Reki: Wrong.

Langa: Um

Langa: Outside right cheek?

Reki: Wrong again.

Reki: That’s three and you’re out.

Langa: What?

Langa: No!

Reki: I practically handed this one to you on a platter and you somehow screwed it up.

Reki: Gotta say, I’m disappointed.

Langa: Where is it though?

Reki: You didn’t guess right.

Reki: Why would I tell you?

Langa: But I wanna know.

Reki: Maybe I’ll save it back and you’ll have to try again later.

Langa: No, not later!

Reki: If I tell you, then you have to forfeit all points you could have earned from this pic.

Reki: If I save it back, you have the chance to recoup some later.

Langa: …

Reki: Do you want to know or do you want to win?

Langa: This is a very hard decision.

Reki: Is it?

Langa: Yes.

Once again, Reki gave him some time to mull the whole thing over.

Langa: I think

Langa: that

Langa: in this case

Langa: knowing is winning.

Reki: That’s definitely not how the game works.

Langa: Knowing is winning.

Langa: Now tell me.

Reki nearly started typing, about to give in and tell him exactly where it was. But then, as he caught his naked reflection in the mirror (he’d been showering previously, since he’d been so late getting in the night before and hadn’t had the chance), he was left red-faced at another idea. While Langa hadn’t asked for nudes recently, the fact still stood that he had asked for them before. He’d be receptive to something similar then, right? Unless sending Langa a picture of his ass, unsolicited, would be too much, the vague, zoomed-in version of his ass freckle notwithstanding. They had discussed the cons of sending nudes that no one had asked for, so maybe that wasn’t appropriate. Besides, what would it be suggesting, exactly, if Reki sent him a picture of his bare ass?

He wasn’t entirely sure. On one hand, it might not be any different than the dick pics, but—on the other—it might give Langa the idea that he, well, wanted—Not that he’d be against Langa getting that idea, per se, yet…

No, he couldn’t send it. Not without checking that it was even okay. Which was more embarrassing than the pic itself. But, if he didn’t take the initiative—if he didn’t let Langa know it was okay—would he ever ask for nudes again? What if he never did?

That idea was palpably disappointing.

Langa: Reki?

Reki: Uh

Reki: That is

Tell him or ask? Tell him or ask?!

Reki: do you want me to tell you

Reki: or do you

Reki: just want another pic?

Cringing, one eye closed, mouth screwed to the side, Reki’s heart pounded so loudly as to echo in his ears, his stomach twisting as he waited.

Langa: Another pic?

Langa: You

Langa: want to send one?

Reki: It doesn’t make me uncomfortable, if that’s what you’re asking.

Rather, it did make him uncomfortable, but not in the way Langa was thinking. Probably?

Langa: A pic would be more

Langa: specific.

Langa: A nice pic.

Like a “nice distraction.” So… he wanted one. Stomach flipping again, though for entirely different reasons, Reki supposed that was permission enough. Having a look around the bathroom, he turned so the best lighting he could manage was hitting his back, before he craned himself around to hold his phone within picture range of his ass. Moving it some, until the composition suited him, he then cocked his hips to one side and reached back with his other hand, so he could lift his right ass cheek just enough to reveal the notorious freckle.

He then snapped the picture, a nervous shock shooting through his veins as he pulled his phone back to his face to get a look.

His body was only visible from his lower back down to his upper thighs, his damp, water-stamped ass sitting between. His skin gave off a sort of shimmering, sweaty look, which was… sexy, right? And he did like the effect of his fingers lifting his ass cheek, the freckle pulled quite nicely into the light. He thought that the outline of his balls between his thighs was a good tease too, maybe.

His dick was half hard, so that wasn’t going to be on display, even subtly.

Tapping his fingers on the sides of his phone, he found himself hesitating, as expected. He was the one starting it this time—wanting it. And while Langa was receptive, those constant insecurities still whispered in the backs of his thoughts. They were as difficult to ignore as they were irrational.

Langa: Send a pic?

Langa: Please?

Well, that certainly helped with his confidence.

Despite his persistent nerves, Reki finally uploaded the picture to their chat and, doing as Langa wanted, sent it along.

He wasn’t trying too hard at this, was he? Hopefully not.

Reki: This make things any clearer?

Langa: Very.

Langa: Perfectly.

Langa: Exquisitely.

Reki: That’s a bit much.

Langa: It’s really not.

Langa: Why would you ever be self-conscious about this part of yourself?

Langa: You’re beautiful.

A compliment that sent dizzying butterflies loose in Reki’s stomach, his body flashing so severely with heat that he was left rather unbalanced, forcing him to reach out and steady himself on the sink. Of course, Langa had called him beautiful before, but never in the context of his naked body.

Reki: Um

Reki: Thanks.

Reki: Lol.

Ugh, talk about a lame response.

Langa: Are you sure this is okay?

Reki: Yeah, it’s

Reki: definitely okay.

Reki: I don’t mean to be awkward.

Reki: This is all just very

He struggled to find the right word.

Reki: Very new, I guess.

Reki: In a good way.

Langa: Really?

Reki: Well, sure.

Reki: I’ve never sent anyone nudes before.

Reki: Except the other time

Reki: with you.

Acknowledging what they were actually doing—no beating around the bush—made Reki just as nervous as taking and sending the pictures in the first place. Somehow, it felt equitably exposing, though in an entirely different way. An even scarier way, maybe.

Langa: Yeah, I’ve never done this with anyone either.

Langa: I like doing it with you, though.

Reki’s heart did a summersault.

Langa: Even if you are a tease.

Giggling despite himself, Reki bit at his bottom lip.

Reki: I sent you the pic, didn’t I?

Langa: After I begged you for it.

Reki: Maybe I like making you beg.

Reki: It’s good for you.

Langa: Oh yeah?

Langa: Does begging make you more willing?

Reki: Depends.

Reki: What do you want?

Langa: While your modesty is endearing

Langa: I wouldn’t be upset to see some of it go.

Langa: Unless that makes you uncomfortable.

Reki: Modesty?

Reki: Did I not just send you a picture of my naked ass?

Reki: What’s modest about that?

Langa: You’re right.

Langa: Never mind.

Reki: No, don’t

Reki: I’m just teasing you.

Reki: Please stop assuming the worst.

Reki: Tell me what you want.

His ellipses faded in and out a few times, and then disappeared completely for almost ten seconds, before fading in and out again. He was struggling, and Reki feared that if this carried on much longer, they were going to find themselves stagnant once again.

He had to get Langa out of this paranoid nervousness.

Though it sent his heart into his throat and left his skin tingling, Reki opened his menu and hit the call button. Holding the phone to his ear, he waited in bated breath. It rang three times before Langa finally picked up.

“Reki…”

“Tell me,” Reki said, hoping his voice didn’t sound as shaky as he felt, “what you want.”

“I know you’re trying to make me feel better,” he murmured. “But I don’t want you to do anything just for that.”

“I do want you to feel better,” Reki admitted. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not… enjoying this just as much as you.”

“You are?” Langa asked, sounding almost meek. “You… You want this?”

Reki’s whole body surged with heat. “Of course I do,” he murmured, feeling acutely like he was saying a great deal more than he actually was.

“Oh…” Langa’s breath trembled through the phone.

“Yeah, so,” Reki cleared his throat, “tell me what you want, Langa. Please.”

“What I—” Another trembling breath. “I want…”

“Yes?”

“It’s… easier to text this sort of thing.”

“Weren’t you the one that said texting makes this weird?”

“The whole thing is weird!”

“Alright, fine.” Reki released a very put-upon sigh. “I’ll just assume you’re fully satisfied then. A pity.”

“Stop teasing.”

“It’s not teasing if it’s true.”

“It’s not true.”

“Then maybe you should be a bit more articulate.”

“You know that’s not exactly a strength of mine.”

“So, once again, I’m doing all the heavy lifting.” Reki clicked his tongue. “Can’t say I’m surprised.”

Langa huffed. “Fine. I want to see… more of you.”

“More of me?” Reki did his best to keep his voice steady, even as the butterflies in his gut shifted.

“From that… angle.”

Reki was pretty sure he knew what he meant, but… “What angle?”

“From… behind.”

“Oh, I see.” It took all of Reki’s strength not to giggle like an idiot, though he didn’t fare nearly as well in preventing a stupid grin. Langa couldn’t see him, though, so he didn’t have to worry so much about that.

“Good,” Langa said staunchly. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

“Well, actually,” Reki went on, “I might need a bit more detail, if I’m to deliver properly.”

“What kind of detail?” Langa asked, voice somewhat dark. The shift had Reki’s dick twitching to the point of being fully erect.

“Just… general ideas.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Well…” Turning, Reki leaned down on the bathroom counter, his fingers tapping atop the tile as he kept the phone propped against his ear. “Tell me, do you—” His cheeks were stinging with red, but he pressed on. “Do you… fantasize… about my ass?”

If he weren’t so turned on, he might have died.

“I don’t see how that’s…relevant to you… delivering,” Langa reasoned.

“I guess it’s not, but, like I said, if we’re to keep this up, you have to work for it.”

“Right…”

“So?” Reki pressed. “Do you?”

Langa sighed, and it sounded somewhat pained. “Yeah,” he said flatly. “I have certain… fantasies.”

“Hmm, fascinating. Tell me more.”

“How much more?”

“Lots more. I’m very interested.”

“I’m honestly surprised at this side of you.”

So was Reki, if he was being honest with himself. “Too bad it’s not the side of me you want to see so terribly.”

Langa barked out a laugh. “Yeah, too bad.”

Snickering, Reki waited.

“Are we talking fantasies specific to your ass?”

Reki shrugged. “Sure.”

“Well, I certainly think about seeing it, for one. More of it, that is.”

“As we’ve established.”

“Yes, right. And… I… think about…”

Heat throbbing down between his legs, Reki fidgeted. “Just say it,” he muttered.

“I think about grabbing it.” Pause. “And I think about fingering you. And fucking you.” Reki’s entire body was pumping with arousal, and, honestly, shock. In a good way. A wonderful way. “And…”

“And?” Reki asked, his voice somewhat breathy.

“And I really like the idea of you sitting on my face.”

Reki released a ragged breath into the phone. “Wow, that’s…”

“Something you’re not interested in?” Langa asked, as if tentative.

“No, I’m—I’m definitely interested.”

“For real?” Langa said, sounding surprised. “You are? You’re into that?”

“Why so shocked?”

“I just… didn’t know that you were.”

That he was definitely a bottom? Well, not totally—he did have the occasional stray thought of it being the other way around, but he wasn’t the one currently under fire. And wouldn’t be, because he still held all the cards.

“Well, no matter, because we’re here to talk about what you want, not me,” he countered. “So I’m getting a clearer idea now, of what you’re looking for. However…”

“What?”

“If you want another picture, you’re going to have to work a littleharder.”

“Was what I just told you not work enough?”

“Not even close.”

Langa growled, which sent all kinds of shivers up and down Reki’s body.

“Are you hard?” he dared ask.

“Of course I’m hard.”

“Are you… desperate?”

“…Yeah, you could say that.”

“Then I think you have some begging to get to.”

“Goddammit, I knew you were gonna say that.”

Reki didn’t bother trying to hold back his giggling then. “Best get on with it then.”

“Give me a moment.”

“I’ll wait.”

Langa hummed, their conversation pausing for a few seconds, before he audibly took in a preparatory breath and cleared his throat. “Reki,” he started. “Please, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, would you send me a more revealing picture of your ass. Please.”

“This sucks,” Reki said simply.

“I’m working up to it!” He cleared his throat again, but then, no more words came.

Reki sighed.

“This is hard, okay?”

“I won’t be soon, if you don’t get your act together.”

“Reki…”

“I might go take a nap.” He yawned, just for effect.

“Don’t go,” Langa said then, sounding a little more like he ought to.

“You’re not giving me much reason to stay.”

“Please,” he continued. “You have no idea how hard I am right now—it’s—”

“Are you touching yourself?”

“I—Yes?”

“Stop.”

“What?”

“Stop touching yourself.”

Something like a whine echoed through the line.

“You can’t touch yourself until you give me what I want to hear. Do that, and I might give you what you want in return.”

“Please, Reki, please,” Langa started anew, with far less attitude.

“Please what?”

“Please send me another picture. I want it. I need it.”

“And what are you going to do with it?”

“Look at it and—”

“And?”

“And jerk off.”

“But you’re not touching yourself now.”

“No.”

“You’d better not be lying.”

“I’m not, I swear.”

“What is it that you want to see so badly?”

“I want to see you. I want—”

Reki waited once again.

“I… want to see your tight little asshole. It’s perfect, I know it is. Please, I need to see it, Reki. I’m begging, like you want. I’ve thought about it so many times—dreamed about it. Please, please let me see.”

“So you can look at it and touch yourself?”

“Yes.”

“And think about fingering me.”

“Yes, please.”

“And… eating me out.”

“Uh huh.”

“And fucking me.”

“Yes! Yes, please, Reki, I wanna fuck you so bad. And touch you and taste you and—”

“Keep going.” Reaching down with his free hand, Reki started stroking his own erection, his blood throbbing so severely that he knew he wouldn’t last very long. Yet, even so. “Keep talking.”

“I’ll do anything you want, I promise.”

“For just a picture?” Reki asked, his own breath hitching as he stroked himself faster.

“Yes, yes, I swear.”

“Tell me how you’ll fuck me.”

“I—I’ll, um,” a difficult question to answer, seeing as Reki was pretty positive Langa was as much a virgin as he was. “I’ll… fill you, and stretch you, and—and fuck you so hard. And deep. Fuck, Reki, I wanna be inside you so bad. I wanna know what it’s like to be surrounded by you. I bet you’re so fucking tight, and warm, and—and I want you so much.”

Huffing into the phone, Reki closed his eyes and kept pumping his own dick, each word sending him closer and closer to the edge.

“I’ll get as deep inside you as I can, and fuck you so good. So good, Reki, please, please.”

The heat between Reki’s legs started contracting, leaving him whimpering into the phone.

“I’ll learn to fuck you for hours, Reki,” Langa continued. “I’ll make you fucking scream.”

With a choppy, desperate moan, Reki came, hand barely in time to cover the head of his penis as his load erupted. Which left his palm and fingers (and dick) a sticky, disgusting mess, but better than having to wipe down other parts of the bathroom.

Trembling with the aftershocks of his orgasm, all he could hear for a few moments was the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears, his vision somewhat blurred and speckled. He nearly dropped his phone, the way it wanted to slide from his hand reminding him that Langa was still there. Was still speaking.

Was really, and truly, desperately begging.

“Please, please, Reki, let me touch myself. Just hearing you—I need—I—” He whined again, the noise sounding honestly pained. “I’m begging you, anything, anything, please.”

Taking a deep breath, Reki tried to pull his composure back to the forefront, even as he held his hand up to the sink and ran it under the water.

“Reki, please!” He almost sounded on the verge of tears.

“Just a little longer,” Reki murmured, before daring to take his phone from his ear. Though his fingers shook, he kept Langa on the line (able to hear the fuzziness of his continued begging) as he shifted through his apps to his camera. Once again turning so the light was at its most flattering, he twisted himself around and held his phone a little closer to his ass, before using his free hand to grab his right cheek and tug it to the side. Legs spread wide, he made sure the image captured all of what Langa was asking for, before he snapped the picture and quickly pulled his phone back up to make sure it was “appropriate.”

It was… definitely a close up of his asshole, which was a very weird thing to now claim he had a picture of. But, as far as assholes went, it was… okay, he thought. When he’d hit the age that he’d started touching himself down there (one of many hints that he might not be totally straight), he’d gotten into the habit of shaving the area as well, because he hadn’t liked the feeling of what little hair he had getting in the way. So that was one thing he didn’t have to worry about (if it was worth worrying about in the first place? Probably not). He’d also just gotten done showering, so… maybe that counted for something?

Whatever. It would do given the circumstances, and maybe next time (next time?!) he’d set his camera up to get a… broader take.

Pulling up his chat with Langa, he sent the picture along, before finally replacing his phone at his ear.

Langa’s voice had fallen quiet, though his heavy breathing was more than apparent. “I sent you the pic,” Reki told him, still rather out of breath himself.

“Ugn, fuck,” Langa hissed. “It—You—You look so good, Reki. You’re fucking perfect.”

Now that he wasn’t nearly as turned on, Reki had room to feel embarrassed. “Um, thank you.”

“Can I touch myself now? Please?”

Supposing such a question did not justify the sappy smile on his face, but having one anyway, Reki said, “Yeah. Go ahead.”

Ever-listening, Reki’s own arousal buzzed some in his gut as Langa huffed and whined urgently into the phone, Reki able to pick up on his hasty, clumsy rhythm just from the sounds he made. He didn’t last long—which made Reki feel somewhat better about the short duration of his own efforts—and when he came, he released a groan that sounded half as though it’d been Reki’s name.

Following, they both simply breathed across the line. Far apart, but together.

“Wow…” Langa said after about a full minute had passed, his voice sounding weak.

Chuckling, Reki offered up a feeble, “Yeah,” of agreement. He wasn’t sure what else to say. This had definitely gone a lot further than he’d imagined it would when he’d sent Langa the vague image of his butt freckle.

Did Langa really… fantasize about him? That couldn’t be something he’d have simply said in the moment. It had to be true. So did that mean he—

“Reki.” Langa practically breathed his name into the phone.

Inside his chest, Reki’s heart pattered nervously. “Yes?”

“I, um—You—We just—”

“We did…” Reki agreed quietly.

“Huh.”

“Are you okay?” Reki asked, his question both general and specific to their current situation.

“Yeah, I’m… great, right now.”

Reki smiled. “Good.”

“Reki!” Nearly jumping out of his skin, Reki whipped around on the door, upon which Koyomi was very loudly banging. “Are you done in there yet?!”

“Yeah!” Reki called back. “I’ll be out in a second!” He returned his attention to his phone. “I gotta go,” he muttered.

“Oh, um… okay.”

“We’ll talk later,” he assured. “Try and get some sleep—it’s like two in the morning there.”

“That’s true…”

They were both quiet, before Reki added. “Text me when you wake up?”

“I will.”

“Okay. Bye.”

“…Bye.”

Though he didn’t exactly want to, Reki did hang up, before he took a steadying breath and held his phone against his chest. “Holy shit,” he muttered.

“REKI!”

“I’M COMING!”

Chapter Text

While he had gotten some sleep as a result of his “conversation” with Reki, Langa was in a bit of a daze when he woke up some four hours later. It wasn’t the depression kind of daze he’d been grappling with since arriving in Canada, however. As it would turn out, if there was one thing that could distract him from everything else, it was phone sex with Reki. Well, sort of. They’d talked about sex, anyway, even if they hadn’t gotten fully into the, what, “character” of phone sex? Langa had no idea.

No matter, he’d be thinking about it for a little while at least, which would hopefully help in passing the time.

He honestly hadn’t anticipated that anything like this would happen. Sure, Reki had sent him dick pics previously, and they’d even sexted, but he’d kind of assumed that Reki had only been doing it to, what, humor him? Maybe that was rather insecure of him, looking back. But he’d been in love with Reki so long, it was scary, entertaining that maybe he also felt something similar.

Just thinking about it—about their discussion—was turning Langa on again. Well, turning him on more, as he was already sporting morning wood.

Reaching out, he retrieved his phone off the bedside table, his stomach flipping with anticipation instead of anxiety—what he’d been feeling the last week despite still needing to talk to Reki—as he pulled up their chat.

There it was, that picture. That very intimate picture of one of Reki’s most private parts. Taken for and gifted to him.

It was still a lot to take in.

Langa: Hey.

Reki: Hey!

Reki: Sleep well?

Langa: Yeah, not bad actually.

Reki: Good!

Smiling to himself—for what felt like the first time in days—Langa made efforts to keep the conversation light. He didn’t want this incredible moment to slip through his fingers—to be overshadowed by everything else in his life that he wished he could forget.

Langa: Send pic!

Reki: Don’t you have enough pictures of me by now?

Reki: Besides, I’m running out of freckles.

Langa: No more butt freckles?

Reki: Not that I’ve noticed.

Langa: Too bad.

Langa: I’ll have to take a closer look when I get back.

Reki: Omg

Reki: That’s pretty bold of you.

Langa: Says that guy that was demanding I beg and ordering me around.

Reki: Ugh, I don’t know how I did it.

Reki: I’m so embarrassed now.

Reki: And I’m working!

Reki: Don’t bother me with these salacious details!

Langa: You don’t

Langa: regret it, do you?

Reki: Nah.

Reki: Do you?

Langa: No.

Langa: Not at all.

Langa: Now send me a pic!

Reki: Of what freckle?!

Reki: I’m out!

Langa: Just send a pic of something else then.

Langa: Some other part of you.

Reki: I’m told you I’m at work!

Langa: I’m not saying it has to be dirty.

Reki: Oh

Reki: Right.

A picture loaded into their chat box shortly after, the sight pulling Langa’s smile all the wider. It was a selfie, specifically of Reki’s face. He’d pooched his cheeks out like a chipmunk, his big eyes gazing upward. Almost like he was trying to be cute. He didn’t need to try, naturally, but Langa appreciated the effort nonetheless.

He quickly made the photo his phone background, replacing a selfie of both himself and Reki. Given the activities they’d partaken in of late, he figured it was okay to have just Reki as his background.

Langa: You’re so cute.

Reki: Oh god

Reki: I’ve created a monster.

Langa: I’m just telling the truth.

Reki: Well, stop!

Reki: You’re so embarrassing!

Reki: I told you I’m at work!

Langa: I’m not saying anything dirty.

Reki: That’s not the point!

Langa: If you have the same reaction either way

Langa: then why can’t I say dirty things too?

Reki: I’m going to stop talking to you.

Langa: No, don’t do that.

Reki: Then behave yourself.

Langa: :(

He wasn’t actually upset, feeling more invigorated than he had in a while as he finally sat up and moved into the bathroom. Reviewing the photos Reki had sent him previously, he then had a pleasant enough time rubbing one out in the shower, which left him more hungry and less nauseous than he’d felt in weeks.

Pulling on his jeans and a t-shirt, he wavered as he reached for Reki’s sweatshirt. He’d been wearing it a lot, something he was starting to think his family would notice. On one hand, he had washed it recently, as Reki’s smell was gone and there wasn’t anything he could do to get it back. But, on the other, he didn’t really want to draw too much attention to it.

After what he and Reki had done the night before, though, he wasn’t sure he could go without it.

Ultimately slipping it on, he smiled as he pulled the well-worn sleeves down around his hands, supposing if his family ever did ask, he could just claim that it was the only sweatshirt he’d brought with him. It was cold in Canada, after all.

Still chatting back and forth with Reki—more casually for the sake of Reki’s embarrassment—he moved on out of his bedroom and down the hall to the stairs. Once at the bottom, he followed his nose to the kitchen where—as usual—his grandfather was standing behind the counter, making breakfast.

“Oh, good morning, Bubble Gum!” he said, as Langa slid onto one of the stools at the counter, beyond which sat the stove where Luis was working. “You’re looking… chipper today.”

Managing a flat shifting of his mouth that might have become a smile were he less uncomfortable, Langa folded his arms atop the bar and leaned his chin down atop them.

The last week had been… straining, between himself and his grandparents. Since Nana had spotted him standing at the cliff, there’d been a lot of bloated air between them—a white elephant in the room that none of them were acknowledging. It’d resulted in Langa avoiding them far more than he knew was appropriate, which was only compounded by the fact that he hadn’t been any fun to be around since he’d arrived anyway. The last few days, he’d at least made the effort to come down for breakfast, if only to try and get his expected social interaction out of the way.

It wasn’t okay, and he felt terrible about his moods and behavior, but he also didn’t know what to do about it. He knew they were worried—just like Reki and his mom were worried. Mostly, he wished everyone would stop worrying and let him be, but that was probably unrealistic.

He did feel a bit better that morning, however, so maybe…

“Are you hungry?” Luis asked. “I’ve got some sausages and some eggs ready and waiting, if you’re interested. Oh, and toast. And some mixed fruit—strawberries, blue berries. And potatoes, if you want some. I haven’t put them on yet, because Nana is always going on about how overboard I’m going, but I don’t know what she thinks I’m supposed to be doing in my retirement if not making delicious breakfast food. Can’t beat breakfast food, really, no matter the time of day.”

“Okay,” Langa said simply, as he did every morning, before going on to eat very little. Another facet of his behavior that was throwing his grandparents, as they knew as well as he did that his appetite was usually insatiable. Granted, they’d been apart for years now, so some changes were expected. It was this fact that had stopped them from commenting on his diet, he was pretty sure—as they were refusing to comment on a lot of things they knew weren’t right.

Nothing about him felt right anymore, except when he was talking to Reki.

If Luis looked relieved when he ate more that morning, Langa didn’t acknowledge it. For the first time since arriving, he cleared his plate and even asked for seconds. It still wasn’t as much as he could put away back in Okinawa, but still, it was something. Something that, honestly, made him feel a little bit better too. He wasn’t himself, but he wasn’t… nothing. He felt warm, in his chest, like tiny flowers were blooming, slowly and carefully. The emptiness of everything else wasn’t gone, but he could focus on those determined little blossoms instead. On Reki.

Reki: YES!

Langa: What?

Reki: I finally nailed that trick that Joe was teaching me!

Langa: I thought you were working?

Reki: I took a break.

The breaks they always took when the store was slow, where they went outside and goofed around on their boards.

Langa: Video?

Reki: I’ll get Koyomi to take one when I get home to send you.

Despite himself, Langa smiled.

“Who’re you always talking to?”

Snapping his head up, Langa blinked twice, while Luis leaned intently atop the counter, eyes narrowed suspiciously and a cat-like grin pulling at his lips.

Langa frowned. “Reki…”

“Ah, yes, the infamous skateboarding friend.” Reaching up, Luis stroked his chin. “Or is he?”

Head cocking, Langa’s frown deepened. “What?”

“You know I’ll get to the bottom of this eventually,” Luis said.

“The bottom of what?”

“Of that look on your face.”

“There’s no ‘look.’” Hoping he was telling the truth—and that his cheeks weren’t as red as they felt—Langa slid off the stool and shoved his phone defensively into his pocket.

“I’ve already opened an investigation, you know,” Luis continued. “I have on file, thus far, that Reki—who’s surname is still very mysteriously unknown—lives in the same town as you, builds skateboards, and possesses moderate to acclaimed art skills.”

Langa pursed his lips. “You can’t open an investigation on me.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because we’re supposed to be partners,” Langa rebuked. “This is treachery.”

“I’ve created a second position in your absence.”

Langa scoffed—he knew where this was going. “You said Patrice lacked an investigative skillset.”

“She works in internal affairs—an entirely different department.”

“You can’t do that.”

“I’m the CEO—I can do whatever I want.”

“And what does HR have to say about this?”

“HR is very curious to learn about Mr. Reki as well.”

“She’s okay with this?”

“She’s neutral, as expected.”

Unbelievable. “I’m cancelling your investigation.”

“As Vice CEO, your power is limited in that regard. I’m sorry, but I must overturn your request. We will proceed as planned.”

“Proceed with what?”

“I’ve scheduled you for an interview after breakfast today.”

“I didn’t get any notice.”

“I just decided, ah, right now.” Luis looked down at his wrist like he was wearing a watch, which he wasn’t.

“I’m… not interested.”

“You’ve already arrived.”

Langa’s nose curled. “Well…”

Luis raised his eyebrows expectantly.

“I’m… going to storm out,” Langa decided. With one final, sulking look at his grandfather, he turned and walked from the kitchen. He didn’t exactly “storm,” as Langa wasn’t sure he knew how to “storm” anywhere, but he did refuse to look back, even when Luis called after him to say, quite jovially, that Patrice would be over again that day, and that Richard had mentioned stopping by as well.

For the first time since he’d arrived, he wasn’t altogether bothered at the idea of having to see people. It might be okay, just for a little while. Besides, if he socialized with Richard and Patrice, maybe his grandparents would stop looking at him like he—

His thoughts came to a rapid stop as he found himself caught between the stairs and the entryway, his grandmother having appeared from the hall leading into the other side of the house.

While Luis oftentimes made attempts to hide his concern—to cover it with rapid and unrelenting conversation—Nana was not so gifted. The last week had been particularly tense between them, as her tight-lipped worry often hit Langa like a punch to the chest. It flashed across her expression then, as they met, and Langa only barely managed to flick his gaze down to the ground to avoid most of it. Unlike Luis, she struggled to mask what she was thinking, to the point where Langa—who was notoriously bad at reading people in general—could get a clear idea of what was going through her head.

The cliff, that was what plagued her. Over and over, which left Langa thinking about it too. And feeling guilty, and ashamed.

“Are you going back up to your room?” Nana asked, struggling to push through the heavy air between them.

“I…” He had been—he spent a lot of time in his room, doing nothing, thinking nothing. Yet, that morning, with his thoughts of Reki so strong… “I was going to go outside for a bit, actually,” he decided, still refusing to look at her. “If that’s okay.”

She audibly shifted. “Where are—” She cut the words off before they could come fully to fruition, Langa having to hold back flinching. “Of course,” she settled on instead. “It’s nice out—probably one of the last nice days we’ll have. You don’t even need a jacket.”

Nodding, Langa wavered in place only a second longer, before he jerked toward the entryway. Ignoring the weight of his grandmother’s gaze on his back, he slipped on his shoes and moved a little too swiftly out the front door.

The slight chill of the morning breeze was bracing, causing him to take in a quick breath as he continued on across the porch and down the stairs. Somewhat aimless in his direction and wanting, mostly, to get out of sight of the house, he veered first to the right, toward the drive that led to the back of the property, before wondering if going that direction would alarm his grandparents if they saw him. So he turned left, but… there wasn’t much to do to the left.

To the right, then.

Langa: Are you still skating?

He waited, but there we no response. As Reki was working the afternoon shift, he was probably busy. Sighing, he eventually slipped his phone back into his pocket, his feet carrying him down the pine-lined drive, to the barn and shed. He considered going for a walk in the woods—a rather normal thing to do, really—but then was apprehensive to be found there, alone, by either of his grandparents. Not wanting to return to the house either, he moved on down to the barn before pushing his way inside.

He checked his phone again, as he stood in the silent darkness, but Reki had yet to even see his text.

He sighed again and continued on. Leaving the lights off, he eyed the different cars, which barely shimmered in the dim light filtering in through the windows, and walked on down between the bays. There was another room at the end, which was completely dark. His grandmother’s work room. While just before, to the right, was a set of stairs leading up into the loft.

Ever drawn to high places, Langa wiped at his nose—which was running as a result of the slight cold—and started up the stairs.

There were a few windows up in the loft as well, the sterile light igniting the slow-floating specs of dust. Utilized as a less formal storage space, Langa detoured around boxes of unused car parts, old toolboxes, and grimy furniture that his grandparents had failed to get rid of over the years, until he was at the far side. Reaching out, he jiggled the old wooden lever that kept the loft doors closed, until he’d managed to jimmy it upward. He was then able to push the doors open.

Hanging far, far above the ground, they swung on squeaky hinges, a rope attached at each corner which was then tied to a ring in the floor so the doors could be pulled closed again. While, once again, Langa was hit by the brisk outside air.

He was high enough—standing in the open doorway—to see out across the tops of the trees as they declined down the bank and into the mountains. The sun—which had only been around sparingly in recent days—was able to glitter down through the thin cloud-cover, occasionally casting the scene in a warm glow before shifting back into a gray chill.

Standing at the edge, Langa stared out across the sight for some minutes, eyes tracing the familiar lines and divots of the mountains, even as they were obscured by clouds and fog. Until, eventually, his attention dropped back to his phone.

Reki still hadn’t seen his message.

Langa frowned. Releasing a third, rather heavy sigh, he crouched and then sat back on his butt, dropping his legs over the lip so they were hanging, heels tapping against the side of the barn.

He stared down at his phone for a long while, supposing it was possible that—any second—Reki would finally see his text and respond. But then, if he was busy with customers…

“I figured I’d find you out here.” Glancing up, Langa watched as his father came to stand beside him at the cliff’s edge, before he released a slight huff and sat down beside him. He allowed his legs to dangle over in much the same manner Langa’s were, as he cocked his head and offered up a small smile.

Langa returned the expression only quickly, before he turned to stare out across the tops of the trees.

“You know, a couple years ago, we’d have been hard pressed to leave you anywhere on your own, and now you’re wandering off all by yourself.”

“Doesn’t mean I want to be by myself,” Langa admitted.

His father kept smiling, and then asked, “You nervous?”

“I don’t know,” he replied. “I don’t feel nervous.”

“That’s good! All you can do is your best, after all.”

“Or I can win,” Langa said firmly.

“Well, that too,” Oliver said, chuckling. “But just remember to have a good time.”

“You always say the same thing,” Langa replied. “I’m fourteen now—I’m not a sore loser anymore.”

“No, I suppose not. But, even so,” his father eyed him knowingly, “winning should always be secondary.”

“I know…” Pause. “Hey, Dad?”

“Hm?”

“Does it… Does it bother you?” Langa flushed a bit, as he pulled at the grass beside his thigh.

“Does what bother me?”

“Well, me,” Langa said. “That I’m…”

“That you’re?”

Langa’s insides flinched and, instead of what he’d intended, he said, “That I’m a better snowboarder than you.”

Tossing his head back, Oliver laughed. “No,” he said, after taking a moment to compose himself. “It doesn’t bother me. You’re young and have far more room to grow than I do, so I want you to go as far as you can. The only thing I care about is that you have fun, no matter how good or bad you are. When it stops being fun, well, then you’ve done something wrong.”

“Okay…”

The pause between them was longer then, Langa still pulling at the grass.

“Langa?” Oliver eventually asked, his gaze heavy.

“Yeah?”

“Are you going to say what you really wanted to ask me?” he said gently. “Or are you not ready for that yet?”

Langa swallowed, supposing there was no reason not to ask, because his father probably already knew. He always knew things. How did he always know?

Chin trembling, breath shaky, Langa took a deep breath in through his nose and refused to look up. It took him a few long, nervous seconds, but the words did eventually struggle up his throat. “Does it bother you,” he whispered, “that I’m—” Pressure welled up behind his eyes. “That’s I’m… gay?”

The tears fell in tandem with that word, which he’d never said out loud—not in reference to himself—until that very moment.

“No,” his father said immediately, while Langa reached up to wipe his eyes. “It doesn’t bother me at all.”

“R—Really?”

“Really. I love you no matter what you are.”

Swallowing hard, Langa tried to take a deep breath, to control his tears, but they wouldn’t stop coming. And only got worse when his father reached out and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Thank you,” Oliver murmured. “For telling me.”

“Please don’t tell Mom,” Langa found himself saying rather hastily, for reasons he couldn’t quite explain.

“I won’t,” he agreed. “You can tell her when you’re ready.”

Nodding weakly, Langa sniffled. “Thank you…”

Oliver offered him another easy smile.

Once again glancing down at his phone, Langa tried not to despair too terribly at Reki’s slow response. He was probably really busy—it happened sometimes. Or he was dealing with a particularly demanding customer, the types that had to ask about every detail of everything and that managed to slip their whole life story in while doing so. Reki always dealt with these types of people—Langa inevitably ran out of things to say.

He hadn’t told Reki he was gay, not explicitly. He’d thought about doing so quite a few times, but had always chickened out. That sort of thing was more “sensitive” in Japan than in Canada, and Langa had never been able to determine how Reki would react. Even with Reki knowing about his “crush”—with Reki reasonably knowing he was gay (or something like)—he’d been hesitant to say it out loud. Afraid it would change things between them in a way that keeping silent hadn’t.

Now, though…

Langa: You’re probably really busy with customers or something.

Langa: But I just wanted to tell you

Langa: that I’m gay

Langa: even though that’s probably pretty obvious by now.

Langa: I still wanted to tell you, because I never did, I guess.

Langa: That’s all.

That made Reki the third person he’d officially come out to. First his Dad, then his Mom (accidentally, but whatever), and now his best friend. It was kind of getting easier every time, but it still left him rather uncomfortable—like there was a big rock rolling around in his gut.

Reki… Reki had to be gay too, right? Or something similar? It was a weird possibility to consider, because Langa had never really allowed himself to entertain such before. He’d hoped, for a while, and then eventually given that up in favor of settling for Reki’s friendship, despite how his feelings had ripped at his insides.

It was different between them now. It had to be, after their “conversation” the night before. Reki was so modest and shy, especially when it came to the concept of dating. Granted, their friendship had probably aided in both their comfort levels during their last call, yet, even so, Reki wouldn’t have participated in those sorts of activities unless he felt…

Langa’s heart tumbled in his chest and he instinctively reached up to grip at his shirt.

“Ah, there you are.”

Whipping around, Langa’s attention landed on Richard, who was standing about a meter off from him, joint in one hand and his other lazily in his pants pocket. He was wearing a pink polo shirt, white slacks that were cuffed at the bottom, and the same boat shoes as the weekend before.

“How’d you find me?” Langa asked, less accusatory than he was curious.

“I followed the trail of open doors,” Richard replied, as he took a drag. “Besides, you’re always squirreling yourself away in the highest, most dangerous places.”

“It’s not dangerous up here.”

Richard eyed the open doorway with very obvious skepticism.

“Anyway,” he continued. “Your grandparents said you were out here somewhere, so I thought I’d take a walk.”

“Are you going to tell them where you found me?”

“Not… if you don’t want me to?”

Gaze dropping, Langa said nothing. He didn’t think Richard would say anything, but then, when people thought they were looking out for someone…

Audibly taking in a deep breath behind him, Richard shuffled a little closer, which drew Langa’s attention back up to him. He watched, then, as Richard crouched down and very gingery scuffled his way to Langa’s side, cringing as he peered only quickly over the edge. He didn’t allow his legs to dangle as Langa’s were, instead crossing them as he sat down. He sat very close to the wall and took another long drag of his joint.

“You want?” he asked, then holding the joint out.

Langa had never smoked anything before, and so shook his head, not finding himself altogether interested.

“You just look like you could use it,” Richard reasoned, as he pulled the joint back again. “You alright?”

The question on its own was enough to start chipping away at Langa’s improved mood, no matter the good intentions behind it.

“I guess that’s kind of a stupid question,” Richard went on. “You’re clearly not.”

Langa huffed.

“Not that it’s any of my business,” he said, and coughed shortly. “I gotta ask, though—”

Did he really have to?

“—this doesn’t have anything to do with Owen, does it?”

Not the question Langa had anticipated at all. “Huh?”

“Because he told Odette and I about his scheme to get you into a university here and, well, I’m actually kind of surprised he managed it at all.”

“Oh, that.” Langa had nearly forgotten about the acceptance letters.

“Well, based on your response, I’m assuming that’s not what has you so bummed.”

“It is annoying,” Langa admitted.

“Yeah, well, knowing Owen, he probably wasn’t very generous when he talked to you about it. Probably said something about coming back to the real world and how you should stop messing around in Japan?”

“Yeah…”

“Figures.” He took another drag.

“I’m not messing around, though,” Langa added. “I like living in Okinawa.” Well, he liked being anywhere Reki was. Okinawa was actually a little too hot and humid sometimes, but that was beside the point.

“You don’t have to prove anything to me,” Richard replied. “As long as you’re happy, then…”

“Uncle Owen thinks I belong here, because my family is here.”

Richard hummed noncommittally. “Owen thinks a lot of things. Not that he’s… Well, he cares, I guess, and is just trying to do what he thinks is best. But, you know, best to always take that kind of thing with a grain of salt.”

Langa didn’t understand.

“Thing is, if people really care about you, then they’ll support you doing whatever it is that makes you happy.”

“I don’t think it’s that simple…” Langa said quietly. The thing that would make him happiest would be to fly back to Okinawa, but he couldn’t do that. His family wanted to see him, and they’d put in a lot of effort to get him there. It wouldn’t be right.

“Well, no,” Richard agreed. “But as far as your future, I mean. When it comes down to it, you’re the one who has to live your own life, so you have to live it how you want. Otherwise, you’ll be miserable. And if people in your life are okay with you feeling that way, well… I guess I’ll just leave it at that.”

“I don’t think anyone wants me to be miserable,” he muttered. That was half the problem—he was miserable and his family didn’t want him to be.

“Nobody wants people they care about to be miserable, but, most of the time, people can’t see past the end of their own noses. All I’m saying is that you shouldn’t change your plans because Owen’s being a dickhead.”

One corner of Langa’s mouth pulled up into a smirk.

“Learn a lesson from me,” he continued. “I spent a majority of my life being miserable because I was taking a backseat and doing what everyone else thought I should be. And, well, I’m not saying I’m happy now, but at least I finally tried to do something about it, and maybe, someday, I will be happy, or whatever.”

“My dad,” Langa started quietly, “he always used to say that if you weren’t having fun, you were doing something wrong.”

“I’ll tell you something about your dad,” Richard said, as he cleared his throat of some of its smoky gruffness. “He was a lot of good things—all the good things you remember—but he was also one of the most selfish bastards I’ve ever met.”

Langa whipped his head up in alarm.

“I’m not saying that’s a bad thing,” he went on. “Watching your dad live his life is where I learned to take control of my own. Now, I’m not complaining about my lot—I grew up rich, I got into University because my parents pulled some strings, and I inherited the family business despite barely graduating. But there’s something to be said for the kind of carpet you become when everyone plans your life for you. And your dad, he wasn’t about to let anyone do that to him. Most of the time, if someone tried to tell Oliver to go one way, he’d do the opposite just because he could.”

“I didn’t know that…”

“That’s because the best parents only ever let their kids see what they want them to see. But you ask Odette or Owen, or Nancy, now that you’re older, and they’ll tell you the truth.”

“I don’t think I want to know the truth.”

Richard hummed. “Then don’t ask. The truth’s overrated anyway.” He took another long, drawn-out drag and leaned back against the edge of the doorway.

“Do you think…” swallowing hard, Langa ran his finger up and down the outside seam of his jeans, “that my dad, that he’d be… disappointed in me?”

“Disappointed in you? For what?”

“For… giving up snowboarding. And not going to University. And…” And for having as hard a time as he was.

“Your dad wouldn’t give a shit about any of that,” he said, with a great deal of certainty. “Oliver was so proud the moment you came into the world, you could be standing on stage picking your nose and he’d think you were the most brilliant kid in the universe.”

Langa couldn’t help snorting, once again managing a small smile. “I don’t know about that.”

“Well, he’d at least think it was funny.”

“Yeah, that’s true.”

They fell quiet, Langa’s mirth dying in favor of the clasping loss that was suddenly holding tight around his heart. Talking about his dad always left him feeling this way, victim to this…pointless longing, because he’d never be able to make it go away. It was a feeling that existed outside of everything else, like a dagger that would occasionally puncture through his chest straight to his heart. If he didn’t think about it, then he was normally okay, but…

“Hey,” Richard said—not gently, but with the same casual bluntness as everything else. The gentleness came in how he slid a little closer and lightly rubbed his hand in circles atop Langa’s back. “It’s okay to be sad, you know.”

For this long? And this helplessly? And despite everyone being so worried?

“I miss him,” Langa whispered.

“I know you do.”

They sat in silence for a while then, Richard continually rubbing his back as Langa stared blankly out, feeling particularly distant and stretched out. He didn’t mind Richard being there, but what he really wanted was…

Reki.

Glancing down at his phone, he noted with growing disappointment that Reki still hadn’t even so much as seen his texts. He wasn’t ignoring him, was he? No, he wouldn’t do that. Things between them were a little weird right now, but…

Gaze snagging, Langa’s attention flicked up as movement in the yard below caught his attention. Coming around the corner of the barn was Patrice, once again dressed from head to toe in black, though she was donning a pair of oversized trousers with decorative suspenders instead of a mini skirt. She didn’t notice them initially, apparently set on heading out into the woods, but after a few steps, she paused and then rather dramatically turned to look up at them.

Moving his hand from Langa’s back, Richard waved, which inspired Langa to do the same. Patrice returned the gesture, smiling blankly before turning and continuing to hike on toward the woods.

“She’s probably looking for bones again,” Langa said.

Richard grunted in acknowledgement.

“I told her I’d help.” It hadn’t been a promise, exactly, but Reki would be disappointed in him if he didn’t keep his word.

“I’m getting cold up here anyway,” Richard decided, before scooting back some. Only when he was a safe distance from the edge did he stand, brushing dust from his pants as Langa swung his legs around and did the same.

Together, they headed down the stairs, Richard saying he’d see him when he came back to the house before heading off to the front, while Langa detoured to the back and then out into the yard.

So much for avoiding the woods. But then, if he found and stayed with Patrice, he’d probably be alright.

It took him about twenty minutes to find her. She was crouched down between some bushes at the base of a dead tree, already holding a collection of dark, dirty bones under her arm.

“You found it?” Langa asked as he came up behind her.

She didn’t startle at all, instead turning a brightly blank smile up at him. “Something did drag it away,” she explained lightly. “This is only part of it. The rest must be somewhere else.” She didn’t sound upset or disappointed, and Langa wondered if this somehow made the whole experience more fun. He couldn’t relate enough to gauge, and so shrugged before crouching down to assist. Patrice immediately reached out and blocked his hand. “Wear these,” she said, and produced another set of gloves from one of her oversized pockets.

Pulling them on, Langa was careful not to get Reki’s sweatshirt grimy as he started collecting.

“Because of the climate here, everything has mostly decomposed,” Patrice told him happily, once they were holding enough bones to justify returning to the wheelbarrow, which had been left out in the woods from the weekend before. It had some rainwater and pine needles floating around in it, and so they emptied it before carefully setting the bones down inside.

They then hunted around the area nearby where Langa had found her, Langa eventually locating what looked like half a ribcage, while Patrice excitedly reported back with a whole thigh bone.

“The skull is still missing, though,” she said some time later, and so that was their ultimate goal. Wearing the dirty gloves kept Langa from constantly checking his phone, which was probably a good thing, because he was pretty sure it’d yet to vibrate with a response from Reki. He focused on their hunt as a result, finding the skull about ten minutes later, tucked under a bush.

Patrice was so thrilled that she practically buzzed with glee.

“Is the whole thing here?” Langa asked, once they’d put the skull atop their collection inside the wheelbarrow.

“No, but I don’t think we’re going to find much more,” she said.

Time to go back, then, and so Langa took hold of the wheelbarrow’s handles and started pushing it back through the woods behind Patrice. Near the edge of the trees, he thought he felt his phone vibrate, and so attempted to keep pushing the wheelbarrow with one hand (a very difficult feat) while shucking off his glove and reaching for his phone with the other.

What he actually ended up doing was tripping over a tree root just as he’d been opening his chat with Reki. The wheelbarrow went sideways, but didn’t topple, thankfully, though the same couldn’t be said for Langa. Eyes wide, his phone went flying out of his hand as his shoe caught on the root, leaving him to fall flat on his face in the pine needles, ankle twisting in the process.

“Langa!” Patrice said, only moderately more loudly than her usual voice as she turned back to him.

Pushing himself back up off the ground, Langa was spitting dirt from his mouth as Patrice crouched down beside him and ruffled pine needles out of his hair. Until Langa turned to look back, his foot still somehow wedged against the tree root.

“My shoe…” he muttered, sitting back in order to pull it free. The sole had been peeled away, separated from the rest as the root had wedged up between. He’d had these chucks for years—they were his favorite shoes. And now, they were ruined.

“Your phone,” Patrice said, as Langa slumped back on his butt and flopped the sole of his shoe back and forth. Glancing up, he watched as she picked it up out of the pine needles. Before she paused, her head cocking as she stared down at it.

“What?” Langa asked.

Her gaze shifted back up to him, pale cheeks somewhat pink. “Um…” Moving closer, she handed it down to him.

Only for Langa to see that his chat with Reki was still open. He must have accidentally scrolled upward when he’d tripped, because it wasn’t at their most recent exchange. Rather, half of Reki’s last nude was visible at the bottom of the screen.

Langa’s entire body flared with embarrassment, his skin going so red it stung.

“Sorry,” Patrice said above him, her voice barely audible in its softness. “I suspect I wasn’t supposed to see that.”

Langa had no idea what he was supposed to say, even as he scrolled back down to the bottom of the chat. Only to find that Reki had not, in fact, texted him.

“So… you and your friend, Reki,” Patrice continued. “You’re not just friends?”

Langa glanced awkwardly back up at her. “Uh, I don’t know,” he admitted, because he was still fumbling with how he should be responding to this at all. It wasn’t even his body that she’d seen, which made it worse. Reki would be really upset, he realized. “Please don’t tell anyone you saw this,” he added.

“Oh, is it a secret?” she asked, her head cocking.

“Well, maybe.” He had no idea. “But, actually, it’s that Reki wouldn’t appreciate you seeing it.”

“I see,” she said. “I won’t say anything to anyone.”

“… Thanks.”

“Are the two of you friends with benefits?” she asked then.

Langa’s face flushed even redder. “What?”

“I asked if you’re not just friends and you said you don’t know,” she continued. “So if you’re not in a relationship, are you, instead, friends that send each other those sorts of images?”

“It’s…” She was asking questions that he was in no way prepared to answer. “We only started doing this recently—we haven’t… talked about it. And I’m not sending any—He’s only—There aren’t any of me. That wasn’t me.” It seemed important to clarify that the image his cousin had seen had not been of him.

She nodded. “Okay.” Smiling again, she held out her hand. “Do you need help up?”

He glanced quickly between her face and her hand, before muttering out, “Nah,” and shoving himself to his feet. His ankle stung a bit, but not enough to be overly concerned about. He was far more upset about the state of his shoe, and, of course, what Patrice had seen.

She was staring at him again. “That’s not very fair.”

He looked at her again, having no idea what she was talking about.

“That you haven’t sent any pictures of yourself, if he’s sending them to you.”

“Oh, I guess,” he muttered. “I can’t send any back, though—my camera is broken.”

She nodded, paused only shortly, and then asked, “But you would?”

“Would what?”

“You’d send him pictures back, if you could?”

His stomach did a tiny flip, his face reddening anew. “If he wanted them, sure,” he mumbled.

“Would he not want them?”

“I don’t know.”

Another pause, before she lightly shrugged and reached out to take charge of the wheelbarrow. Limping behind her—due to his broken shoe, not his ankle—Langa was caught between his unease over what had just been discovered and his disappointment over the fact that Reki still hadn’t texted him.

He hadn’t changed his mind about what they’d done, had he? He’d said earlier that he hadn’t regretted it, and certainly he’d have said something if his opinion had changed, not defaulted to ghosting.

It was more likely that he was busy.

But for this long?

Still feeling rather uncertain and embarrassed, Langa said nothing as he and Patrice made their way back into the barn. Silent, he mimicked her motions as she started pulling bones from the wheelbarrow and lining them atop an old, wooden table at the side of the tool room. It was just as they were finishing that she hummed and said, “I don’t have a problem with it, you know.”

Langa merely looked at her.

“With you and your… friend, doing the things you’re doing.”

“Oh.” Langa hadn’t even thought of that. “I know you don’t.”

“Okay.” She smiled. “I just wanted you to know that.”

He nodded, muttering out a quiet “thanks” as he stared down at his busted shoe.

“Aha! There you both are!”

Turning, they looked to the interior door, where Luis was stepping out with a broad smile on his face. “Richard said you’d gone bone hunting and I thought I’d come see how you were getting along. Everything—Everything alright?” His eyes shifted very conspicuously between them.

“Yes!” Patrice nodded. “Langa was very helpful.”

Langa, who frowned just slightly. Had his grandfather come out to check on him? Luis had always expressed being rather dismayed at Patrice’s hobby—something about how real bones weren’t meant to be seen—so he wouldn’t have willingly come out to help.

Still, better their grandfather be keeping tabs on him than Nana. At least he hid what he was doing a bit better, and moved on to other subjects more efficiently.

“So?” Luis asked then, eyes narrowing as he settled his attention on Patrice. “How did ‘it’ go?”

“It went well!” Patrice replied.

Luis narrowed his eyes even further, leaned closer to her, and stroked his chin. “But how did ‘it’ go?”

Patrice frowned and cocked her head, clearly confused.

Langa listened in silence.

“You know, ‘it!’” Luis reiterated and gestured his head in Langa’s direction.

“I don’t understand,” Patrice admitted readily enough.

Luis sighed, slumping rather dramatically. “You know, what we talked about before you came out here? In case you met dear Bubble Gum here?”

Patrice thought long and hard, before, finally, “Oh!” Smiling again, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a small sheet of paper. “The list of questions!”

“Questions?” Langa asked.

Luis face-palmed himself.

“Grandpa’s list of interview questions he told me to ask you if—”

“You’re not supposed to tell him, Minty,” Luis interjected. “You’re supposed to be subtle and suave.”

“Like you?” Langa asked him flatly.

“Check your attitude, Bubble Gum,” he said.

“I haven’t asked him any yet,” Patrice admitted and held up the sheet of paper importantly. “But I can try now.”

“No, no, no,” Luis griped. “Now he knows, so he won’t tell you anything.”

Patrice turned Langa’s way. “You won’t?”

He silently shook his head.

“Oh,” Patrice said, frowning again.

“You really didn’t get anything out of him?” Luis asked, hands on his hips. “Nothing about Mr. Reki’s favorite type of sock or his sky-color preference?”

She took in a sudden breath, as if struck, before she looked quickly to Langa. Langa, who was assaulted by the sudden fear that she’d reveal what she’d learned only shortly before.

“Don’t tell,” Langa reminded her.

“Yes, tell!” Luis countered.

Patrice looked between them—back and forth, back and forth—before rocking once onto her heels and humming a bit to herself. She then said, “I didn’t find out anything actually.”

Groaning, Luis leaned his head back in frustration.

“But!” she continued. “Langa did break his shoe.” She pointed down at said shoe.

“Did you?” Luis asked, gaze following her gesture down to Langa’s poor, dilapidated shoe.

“I fell,” Langa said simply.

“And…” Patrice wiggled a bit in place, “his phone is broken.”

“Your phone is broken?” Luis asked him.

Before Langa could confirm, Patrice added, “The camera is broken so he can’t send his friend any pictures.”

“Patrice!” Langa said tightly—warningly.

Giggling, she slapped her hand over her mouth.

Slowly, Luis crossed his arms over his chest, surveying them both through critical eyes. “Something is going on here,” he determined.

“No, it’s not,” Langa rebuked, hoping his cheeks weren’t as red as they felt.

“I’m honestly devastated at your decision to switch sides,” Luis continued, looking specifically to Patrice this time. “I took you under my wing and this is the thanks I get?”

Patrice shrugged.

“Oh well,” Luis said through a great sigh and then looked to Langa again. “I suppose we should go into town, then. So you can get shoes and a new phone.”

Langa blinked stupidly. “Huh?”

“Did you bring another pair of shoes with you?”

“No…”

“Well, there we go.”

“I can’t afford a new phone,” Langa objected.

“Not to worry, I’ll take care of it,” Luis explained. “I need to butter you up some anyway.”

“No, Grandpa, it’s okay,” Langa replied. “Phones are expensive.”

“What car should we drive, Minty?” Luis asked, completely ignoring any objections as he turned and waltzed back into the main part of the barn, Patrice skipping in after him.

Huffing, Langa trailed lastly.

“One of Nana’s cars?” Patrice asked, as Luis flicked on the overhead lights. “But I thought you didn’t drive anymore.”

“I don’t,” Luis replied. “But! I’m not going to drive.” He turned a grin on them. “You two are.”

“Will Nana be okay with that?” Patrice asked.

“Doesn’t matter!” Luis said loudly. “Pick a car, Minty! You can drive there and Bubble Gum can drive back.”

“Pick a fast one,” Langa said fiercely.

“I want a fast one!” Patrice agreed.

“Ah, yes, teenagers and fast cars.” Luis nodded gravely. “Always a good combination.”

“Fast, fast, fast!” Patrice chanted.

“Fast, fast!” Langa joined in.

“Fast it is,” Luis agreed tightly and drew his hand down over his chest in silent prayer.

They ended up in what Patrice said was a mustang from the year 1970. She’d wanted to go with the white firebird (also from the 1970s, apparently), but it didn’t have enough seating. A mustang, she argued, wasn’t altogether the most exciting of the classic muscle cars “in her opinion,” but it’d certainly go fast. Colored bright yellow with black stripes, they put the convertible top down despite the chill, while their grandfather opened the huge barn doors. Retrieving the correct set of keys from Nana’s office, they were soon clambering in, Luis in the back, Langa in the passenger side, and Patrice driving.

The car was incredibly loud as Patrice skillfully pulled it out of the barn and into the drive—there was no way they were going to get away without Nana noticing.

They saw her, as they pulled out from beneath the pine trees and into the circle drive at the front of the house. She was standing on the porch, looking none too pleased with her hands on her hips.

Patrice waved as she drove by, which inspired Langa to do the same.

Luis blew her a kiss.

“Ready?” Patrice asked, as they reached the end of the driveway, one hand on the wheel and one on the manual shifter.

“I’ve made my peace,” Luis said from the back, having to speak quite loudly to be heard over the engine. “I wouldn’t have married your grandmother had I not been prepared for madness.”

“Oliver, please,” Nanako said, one hand braced on the center console of the car and the other on the inside of the door. “You’re not on the dragstrip or… in a race!”

“Life’s always a race, my love,” he countered, turning a dazzling smile on her, one hand on the wheel and the other on the shifter.

“Oliver…”

“Go fast, Dad!” Langa called from the back, where he was strapped into his booster seat.

“That’s sounds like an order,” Oliver said.

Nanako sighed. “I can’t stop either of you from doing… ill-advised things on the slopes, but seeing as I am also a passenger in this car...” She eyed Oliver very purposefully.

“Come on now, Nanako,” Oliver continued. “You knew what you were getting into when you married me.”

“I married you because you knocked me up,” she said through her teeth.

“What’s that mean?”

“Nothing, Langa,” she added. “And I swear, if I die in this car, I will kill you.”

“You were going to marry me anyway—let’s not pretend otherwise,” Oliver countered. “And you also know that there are only a few select… activities… that I think warrant a slow pace. Driving, love, is not one of them.”

“I wanna go FAST!” Langa shouted, legs kicking out into the seat ahead of him.

“He wants to go fast,” Oliver reasoned.

“Oliver, I swear…”

“Swear what?” he baited.

“I swear that you’re crazy!” she hissed.

“Well…” Oliver leaned across the center console, smile turning downright manic, “what’s life worth without a little madness?”

“GO, GO, GO!” Langa yelled.

Oliver flexed his hand over the shifter, offering Nanako only the lightest of shrugs, before the car’s engine roared and they were screaming off down the street.

Grinning, Langa turned to Patrice and nodded, even as his hand rested inside the pocket of his yellow sweatshirt, holding tight to his phone and awaiting the telltale vibration of an incoming text.

With the subtle twitching of her feet on the pedals and her hand on the shifter, Patrice had the car peeling out of the drive and on down the road.

Chapter Text

Langa: You’re probably really busy with customers or something.

Langa: But I just wanted to tell you

Langa: that I’m gay

Langa: even though that’s probably pretty obvious by now.

Langa: I still wanted to tell you, because I never did, I guess.

Langa: That’s all.

“FUCK!” Reki yelled, gripping hard at his phone, which he’d just plugged into the charger at his desk. Dropping himself down into his rolling chair, he continued muttering English profanities under his breath as he started typing.

Reki: I’M SO SORRY, LANGA!

Reki: I forgot to charge my phone before I went to work because I didn’t realize how much talking had drained the battery

Reki: and it died while I was there!

Reki: I looked everywhere because I thought maybe Oka would have a changer!

Reki: But I couldn’t find one!

Reki: I’m SO SO SO SORRY!

Feeling absolutely terrible, Reki groaned as he sank inside his chair, his eyes darting back up to what Langa had sent him previously. Of course he’d be this stupid the day Langa decided to willingly confide something so entirely important. Did Langa think he’d been ignoring him? Shit!

He was beyond relieved when Langa started typing back almost immediately.

Langa: It’s okay.

Langa: I’m just glad you’re alright.

Reki: It’s not okay at all!

Reki: I promised I’d keep my phone on me all the time and that I’d always be available

Reki: and then I wasn’t…

Langa: I don’t think you promised.

Langa: Besides, I don’t expect that, Reki.

Langa: It’s a nice thought, but it’s not really realistic.

Reki: …

Reki: I’m sorry.

Reki: I’m an idiot.

Langa: No, you’re not.

Langa: Don’t say that.

Reki: But you told me something really important.

Langa: I mean

Langa: you’d probably already figured it out.

Well, he’d certainly figured something out. A few things, one could argue.

Reki: That’s not the point.

Langa: So

Langa: it doesn’t bother you?

Reki: Why would it bother me?

Reki: Pretty sure I’m the one that was sending you naked pictures.

Langa: I know

Langa: but

Langa: this kind of stuff is different in Japan.

Reki: I mean, don’t go telling everyone.

Reki: I’d like to keep what we did

Reki: you know

Reki: private.

Langa: …

Langa: My cousin may have seen one of the pictures you sent.

Reki: WHAT?!

Gaping, horror dropped swiftly down through Reki’s entire body.

Reki: WHICH ONE?!

Langa: Does that matter?

Reki: YES!

Langa: The one before last…

So one of the dirty ones.

Reki: What the fuck, Langa?!

Langa: It was an accident!

Langa: I was looking at my phone

Langa: and I tripped

Langa: and dropped it

Langa: and she picked it up

Langa: and the picture was there.

Reki: Why was it “there?”

Reki: Why are you looking at my dirty pictures around your family?!

Langa: I wasn’t!

Langa: I was

Langa: looking to see if you’d texted back.

Langa: And then I tripped.

Langa: I broke my shoe.

Reki: I don’t care about your shoe!

Reki: Your cousin has seriously seen

Reki: THAT picture?!

Reki: The picture that only YOU were ever supposed to see?!

Langa: I’m really sorry, Reki.

Langa: I think she only saw half of it…

Reki: I can’t believe this.

Reki: Those were private, Langa.

Langa: She promised not to tell anyone.

Reki: So what?!

Reki: She still saw it.

Reki: She saw me!

Reki: In a way that…

Reki: That only you were supposed to.

Langa: I know.

Langa: I’m really, really sorry.

Langa: It was honestly an accident.

Langa: I just

Langa: am always talking to you

Langa: and then it was there.

Dropping his phone to his desk, Reki covered his face with his hands and forced himself to take deep breath after breath, not wanting to get further upset. Honestly, he would have preferred this cousin to have seen one of the other photos—the dick pics, he meant, selfies and freckle pics aside (though one of those definitely would have been better). But from what Langa was saying, she’d seen the picture of his…

That wasn’t a part of himself he was all that interested in advertising. It was even more private than the other nudes, because it said a lot more about him, the fact that he’d… shown off that part of his body.

Fuck, someone other than Langa had seriously seen his asshole. He was starting to understand why nudes were such a bad idea.

Langa: Reki?

Reki: Yeah, what?

Langa: Are you mad?

Reki: I’m upset.

Reki: I sent you those pictures thinking you’d

Reki: I don’t know

Reki: protect them?

Reki: It wasn’t easy!

Langa: I know.

Langa: And I will protect them.

Langa: I’ll protect you.

Langa: I promise.

Reki almost typed back that it was a little late, but caught himself before he could. No matter how upset he was, he did realize it’d been an accident. He had faith that Langa would not, in fact, go around showing his nudes off to everyone he knew. And he had been honest about what had happened, which he easily could have avoided doing. Though, truthfully, Reki wasn’t sure if it was better that he knew or not. What if he met this cousin someday? What would he even say to her?

Ugh, this was too much. And to think he’d rushed home under the impression that he’dfucked up. Well, he had—Langa’s fuck up didn’t negate his own—but, whatever!

Reki: I don’t wanna talk about this anymore.

Langa: I am sorry, Reki.

Reki: I know.

Reki: Let’s just

Reki: move on.

He didn’t want to stress about this any more than he already inevitably would.

Langa: Um

Langa: Okay.

Langa: How was your day?

Langa: Before now, I mean.

Reki snorted, supposing Langa was the last person he should ask to come up with inventive conversational transitions.

Reki: Pretty boring, actually.

Reki: When I wasn’t freaking out about my phone.

Langa: Right…

Langa: You said you nailed that trick Joe was teaching you though.

Langa: Did you get a video?

Reki: Not yet.

Reki: I’ll get it tomorrow.

Langa: Oh…

Langa: Okay.

Langa: I can’t wait to see it.

Langa: I bet it’s really awesome.

Sighing, Reki supposed he should make more of an effort despite his distress. Langa was clearly trying, almost like a puppy that knew it’d been bad and was very timidly attempting to get back into the good graces of its owner.

Reki: You do anything interesting today?

Langa: Not really.

Langa: I got new shoes.

Reki: Because you broke your other ones?

Langa: Yeah.

His ellipses faded in and out then, Reki gradually sinking into a worse and worse funk as he watched. Maybe he shouldn’t send Langa any more photos. It was kind of risky, he supposed. It’d been fun in the moment, but what if someone, like, hacked Langa’s phone or something? Or his own? Then his photos could end up all over the internet. Well, probably not. He wasn’t a celebrity or someone similar, so it was unlikely that anyone would care, or even be interested, but still!

Langa: Do you

Langa: wanna see?

Reki: See what?

Langa: My new shoes.

Reki: Oh.

Reki: Sure.

“Wait,” Reki muttered. “Isn’t his camera broken?” Maybe he was just going to send a screenshot from an online shop? That was probably it, though whether or not that would make for a riveting dialogue was—

Eyes bugging, Reki was left gaping in shock as the picture flashed up into their chat box.

Langa: I got a new phone too.

Pulling his phone closer to his face, Reki tapped on the photo, so it spread across the entirety of his screen. Langa was, in fact, wearing what looked like a new pair of sneakers. Sneakers, and nothing else.

He was lying back on what Reki could only assume was his bed, the dark navy sheets contrasting significantly with the paleness of his bare skin. Light blue hair splashing out around his face, he was staring coolly at the camera, his far arm bent lazily around his head while the other looked to be holding a selfie-stick. Hence, the entirety of his body fit inside the frame.

The profile of his broad chest was fully exposed, cascading with taut muscle, pink nipples visible. While his strong legs were pulled up, folded casually into the air as if to coyly show off his gray and blue sneakers.

The curve of his ass as it rounded up into his thighs was absolutely striking, and, yeah, the top half of his dick was definitely visible, the base hidden between his legs. But it was there, and erect, and…

“Wow…” Reki muttered to himself, his own body buzzing with heat. Staring at the photo a while longer, he allowed himself to greedily trace the curves of Langa’s naked body, realizing that this was the first he’d actually “seen” of his best friend in weeks.

His fingers were a tad shaky when he finally minimized the image, thumbs fumbling as he tried to fight through the fog in his brain in order to think of something to say.

Reki: Those are some very nice looking shoes.

He knew he was supposed to be upset—and he still was—but that didn’t stop a small grin from crawling onto his face.

Langa: Yeah, I like them.

Langa: I got a new pair of chucks too

Langa: but I figured I’d send you something you’ve never seen before.

Reki: Ha!

Reki: Very smooth.

Langa: Was it?

Langa: Do you

Langa: like it?

Reki: Like, on a scale of one to ten?

Langa: No

Langa: Just

Langa: is this

Langa: something you want to see?

Reki: Oh.

Reki: Yeah.

Reki: Definitely.

Reki: Very

Reki: um

Reki: sexy.

Langa: You think I’m sexy?

Reki: I think most people in the world would think you’re sexy.

Reki: Especially in this photo.

Langa: But YOU think I’m sexy?

Tapping the sides of his phone with his fingers, Reki chewed on the inside of his cheek.

Reki: Of course I think you’re sexy.

Langa: I think you’re sexy too.

Reki: Oh jeez.

Reki: Don’t ruin it.

Langa: How is that ruining it?

Reki: Just

Reki: you and your compliments.

Reki: I can’t take it.

Langa: So you can call me sexy

Langa: but I can’t say the same about you?

Reki: It’s

Reki: That’s not

Langa: Reki…

Reki: Fine, fine.

Reki: Have it your way.

Langa: …

Langa: Can you send me a picture like this?

Reki: What?

Langa: I want a picture of you like this

Langa: if that’s okay.

Langa: All the pictures you’ve sent so far

Langa: None of them have your face.

Reki: I sent you a selfie earlier.

Langa: That’s not what I’m talking about.

Reki: I can’t take a picture like that.

Reki: I don’t have a selfie stick.

Langa: Please?

Reki: I don’t know…

Reki: This is, like, a pin-up picture of you.

Reki: I don’t know how to look like that.

Taking pictures of different parts of his body was doable, but posing like this? Naked? That sounded a lot more intimidating. And harder to… control. Besides, this was the sort of picture that, well, hot people would take. Anyone with a penis could take a dick pic, but to show off his entire body in one go?

Langa: It’s not that difficult.

Reki: For you.

There was a pause, Langa’s ellipses fading in and out again, before—

Langa: Okay.

Langa: I don’t want you to do it if it makes you uncomfortable.

Langa: But just know

Langa: I think you’re beautiful.

Langa: Every part of you.

Pursing his lips, Reki blinked back against the swell of pressure behind his eyes.

Reki: Thanks…

Langa: I mean it.

Reki: Alright!

Langa: What are you doing?

Reki: Right now?

Langa: Yeah.

Reki: Ah, hanging out in my room?

His phone started buzzing a second later, alerting him not to a regular call, but to a video chat. Heart flipping, Reki couldn’t hold back his grin, even as he was also swamped with nerves. He hesitated a few seconds, though he couldn’t justify why, before he finally accepted the call. Butterflies practically burst inside his stomach when Langa’s face showed up on the screen.

“Hey!” Reki said, smiling wide while also biting at his bottom lip. Langa appeared to be sitting up somewhere, what looked like a headboard in the background. His bed, then. And his shoulders, they were… they were bare.

Was he… naked? From the photo he’d sent? Still?

Reki wasn’t sure he had the courage to ask, though the pulsing heat between his legs was practically daring him to.

“Hey,” Langa replied, sounding a bit distant through the twang of Reki’s phone speaker, but after weeks not seeing each other, it was more than enough. They were finally talking to one another face to face, after so many texts and pictures and phone calls.

All of a sudden, everything they’d been doing flooded up into Reki’s system, leaving him red-faced and jittery. It was a bit… strange, seeing each other after, well, seeing so much more of each other than they had before Langa had left. Well, more of Reki, mostly, though he now had his new “pin-up” of Langa.

Based on the way Langa’s gaze flicked back and forth—from the screen and back again—he was feeling something similar.

“So…” Reki said, which was always the worst way to start any conversation.

Langa finally focused in on him, still looking nervous, before he licked his lips and said, “I’m really glad to see you.”

Though his nerves remained, something heavy and… soft, dropped in Reki’s chest, which calmed him considerably.

“Me too. Feels like it’s been forever.”

“Yeah…”

“You look…” He looked thin. In the photo he’d sent—with his upper body having been stretched out—it hadn’t been as obvious, even with him being naked. But straight on, his face looked so much sharper than Reki was used to.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Reki threw on a careless smile, even as his stomach twisted with worry. “I just can’t believe I’m looking at you.”

Just the faintest of shy smiles stretched across Langa’s lips. “It really does feel like it’s been forever.”

“Well, we did used to spend, like, every day together. So quitting cold turkey was probably a bad idea.”

Langa frowned. “So anytime either of us goes away, we need to, what, slowly stop hanging out as much?” He looked downright offended.

Reki laughed. “No, no, that’s not what I meant.”

“I don’t ever want to stop hanging out with you.”

Cheeks stinging with red, Reki tried to come up with something coherent to say, but all that came out was, “Haha, yeah, wow, right?”

Langa was frowning again. “This is weird.”

“No, it’s not.”

“It is.”

“It’s not,” Reki insisted, and sighed. “Well, maybe it is, but that’s to be expected. Doesn’t mean it’s bad, so no need to pull the pouty face.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

Langa hummed, his gaze falling. “We should probably talk about it.”

“About what?”

“Reki…”

“There’s a lot we could talk about!”

“We were literally texting about the nude I sent you a few minutes ago.”

Reki scoffed, feeling quite at a loss for coherency again. “Tch, yeah, okay. So what?” The question came out as more of a challenge, which inspired a flash of determination across Langa’s face, before he slumped in place.

Saying nothing, Langa then cocked his head and stared off to the side, Reki unable to do much more than watch him. Until, finally, he turned his attention back to his phone.

“Can we…” he started, voice slow. “… play a game? Like… a distraction?”

What kind of distraction? “What kind of game?” Reki asked, his own words far too fast by contrast. “I told you I don’t have any freckles left.”

Langa shrugged one bare shoulder. “You have better ideas than me most of the time,” he reasoned. “Whatever game you want.”

“Whatever game… I want,” Reki repeated, warmth once again throbbing through his body, sparks igniting in his veins.

“Sure.” Lange glanced back up. “Whatever you want.”

They stared at each other, silent as Reki rolled the idea around in his head. Langa’s eyes, they were very intent, very… suggestive. Reki knew that, of the potential “games” he could come up with, there were plenty that would come across as innocent. He could pick to do something harmless, yet, based on the way Langa was looking at him…

“How about,” Reki started slowly, “we play… a story game.”

“A story game?”

“Yeah. I do this with my little sisters sometimes.”

Langa frowned. “Oh.”

“So it goes like this,” Reki continued. “I’ll start the story and then you have to, like, continue it.”

Langa was still frowning, but nodded.

“So, once upon a time there were… two boys.” Reki wasn’t quite sure where he was going with this—and he definitely had no idea where it’d end up—but he wanted to continue. Was excited to. “And they were best friends. They liked to skate together, and they worked together, and…”

“And?”

“And…?”

“What?”

“You’re supposed to continue the story, Langa.”

“Oh. Um, well…” He glanced around in a deeply thoughtful manner. “They…”

“Yes?”

“Uh…”

“Langa.”

“What? This is hard. I’m not good at, like, being creative.”

“You can try.”

“I am!”

Reki’s heart skipped at what he dared to say next. “You told me you had plenty of fantasies—I don’t get why this should be difficult.”

Langa blinked at him, looking momentarily stunned, before his cheeks filled ever so lightly with pink. Not that Reki was one to criticize, of course—he was pretty sure he’d been blushing for the entirety of their conversation.

“Right, I did,” Langa mumbled.

“Unless you… actually don’t?” Reki asked, spirits dropping.

“No, I… do, just—You want me to—to tell you more?”

“You don’t have to,” Reki replied, sinking some in his seat. “Not if you don’t want to. I thought that we were—That you wanted us to—Maybe I read this situation wrong.” Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck—

“No, you—you didn’t,” Langa replied, which had Reki releasing a silent breath of relief. “I’m just worried you’ll think I’m…”

“What?”

“Creepy? I guess?”

Reki cracked half a skeptical smile. “Why would I think you’re creepy?”

“Well, because…” Langa shifted uncomfortably. “Because of all the times I… think about you.”

In a sexual way? That was the implication Reki got, which did—of course—make him rather flustered. His normal defensiveness nearly had him laughing off the idea, which would likely not make Langa feel more comfortable. But, before he could, a nervous sort of courage surged in his gut. It was hard, to be brave, but then, if there was anyone he could make a fool of himself in front of, it was Langa.

“Sexually,” Reki said, hoping his voice sounded more confident than he felt.

“Uh, yeah…”

“How—How long have you had sexual fantasies about me?” Heart picking up in speed, Reki waited quite on the edge of his seat for Langa’s answer, his hands tightening around his phone.

Langa stared at him through the screen—deliberating, perhaps.

“Tell me,” Reki pushed.

“Since—Since a few weeks after we met,” Langa muttered.

Reki gaped, eyes going wide as his stomach flipped. “That long?”

“Sorry.” He sounded defensive now. “You asked.”

“I’m not—It’s fine, I’m just surprised,” Reki admitted, skin going tingly. “All this time you—you’ve…”

Langa’s face deepened another shade. “I… dream about you. All the time.”

Leaning forward, Reki scooted his chair so he could lean his arms down atop his desk. “Do you?”

“And think about you constantly,” Langa continued. “Nearly every second, you’re on my mind.”

“Sounds intense,” Reki muttered, no trace of mocking in his voice. Not like he was any different, even if he couldn’t bring himself to say so aloud.

Langa’s stare took on that suggestive glint again. “I’m obsessed with you.”

Reki felt lightheaded. “Keep going,” he said, voice breathy. “I want to know.”

“I told you already,” Langa said weakly. “On the phone last time.”

“You didn’t, not really,” Reki replied. “You have to finish the story now.”

Give up the details.

“The story,” Langa repeated. “…Okay.”

Reki tried not to look too entirely eager.

“So…” Langa cleared his throat. “These two boys, they… were sometimes out late, skateboarding. Till, like, past midnight. And…” Langa stared upward thoughtfully, “sometimes, they would sleep over at each other’s houses. Well, one house in particular, really.”

Reki’s house. Because Langa’s apartment was more out of the way on “S” nights, so it’d become somewhat of a tradition that they’d crash in Reki’s bedroom.

“One time, they stayed up even later, watching videos,” Langa went on. “And I—oops, I mean ‘one of the boys,’” they both smirked, Reki even snickering, “fell asleep in his friend’s bed, which didn’t normally happen.”

Because, usually, Langa slept on the floor. Though, him falling asleep in Reki’s bed wasn’t a one-off thing either. It had, in fact, occurred quite a few times. It was a subject that Reki had never pursued, because they spent hours lying in bed watching videos and talking anyway, so what was a few hours of sleep beside one another? That’d always been his logic, anyway.

“Except that,” Langa continued, clicking his tongue once before he was able to continue, “it wasn’t—the boy wasn’t actually asleep, this one time.”

“Oh really?” Reki asked.

Langa grinned. “No. He was pretending, because he didn’t want to leave the bed.”

Reki snorted, even as his stomach fluttered.

“And so he pretended to be asleep until the other boy fell asleep. And then…”

Cocking a skeptical eyebrow, Reki waited.

“He just… watched his friend sleep for a while, thinking about… things.”

“What things was he thinking about?” Reki found he really, really wanted to know.

Anxiety flashed quickly over Langa’s expression, before he swallowed hard and continued once again. “He thought about—He wondered what would happen, if he just… reached out and slipped his hand down—” Langa went really red, “—down the other boy’s pants.”

Reki’s dick twitched with heat. “What then?”

“He’d… grab hold of his—grab hold of your—” Langa huffed, while Reki sniggered again. Eyeing him rather reproachfully through the screen, Langa once again glanced quickly around his own room, before he flopped backward. Landing amongst navy blue sheets, he kept his phone up at shoulder level as he started speaking again.

Those bare shoulders—he had to be naked.

“I’d reach into your pants and grab your cock,” Langa said, sounding far more confident now than he had in the beginning.

“Is it hard or soft?”

“Your cock?” Langa asked. “Hmm, hard I guess.”

“Oh yeah?”

“You’re not really asleep either.”

“Ah, so we’re both fakers.”

“Basically.”

Cheeks tight with heat, Reki asked, “Then what happens?”

“I… lean in closer to you, because you’re looking at me. And—And you don’t say anything, so I, um…”

“You what?”

“I… squeeze a little tighter, and…”

“And?” Keeping his phone held in one hand, Reki pulled the other down beneath the desk, between his legs, where he quickly undid the button on his jeans. In order to free himself from his clothes, he had to momentarily shift around in the chair, which Langa could see him doing, as he was staring through the screen with near-hungry intensity. He couldn’t see anything beyond the upper part of Reki’s body, but, even so…

Settling back into place once he’d shoved his jeans and underwear down around his knees, Reki wrapped his own hand around his dick, squeezing gingerly in what he imagined Langa had envisioned.

Through the screen, Langa’s breathing was a tad harder.

“And?” Reki asked again—pointedly.

“And… you…” Langa blinked himself back into the conversation. “You reach down and shove your pants out of the way, so that I—so that I can see what I’m doing.”

“It’s probably dark,” Reki countered, just to be a tease.

“The moon is out so I can see,” Langa said through his teeth.

Laughing only shortly, Reki took a deep breath against the nerves that were buzzing frantically around under his skin, before he shakily sat back in his chair. Taking a few more seconds to compose himself, he then lowered his phone to his knees, angling it so the camera dragged down from his face, until he could see that it was his erect dick—still in his hand—that was showing up in the corner monitor—that would be reflected across Langa’s phone.

Langa sat up again, at the same time, staring all the more attentively through the screen.

Reki could hear as he resituated himself on the sheets.

“You better not be touching yourself,” he warned, thankful that Langa couldn’t see the gleeful grin that crossed his face—a grin that turned to a cringe when Langa growled.

“Again?” Langa asked darkly.

“You’re the one touching me in this story,” Reki pointed out. “Not the other way around.”

“We could be touching each other.”

“Nah, I don’t think so.”

Another growl.

“So? What next?”

Langa huffed. “I… start slowly, ah, stroking my hand up and down your cock.”

“Like this?” Reki asked, doing much the same with his own hand.

“Yeah.” Langa nodded weakly, his mouth hanging open ever so slightly. “And… twist, as you go up.” Reki did, still keeping the pace slow even as his own breathing became something he had to keep in check. He couldn’t help being overly turned on—Langa was literally watching him masturbate. He wanted to put on a good show, but then, every time he looked at his phone—at Langa’s face—pressure washed through him, muscles tensing, vision going spotty.

“And I’d… touch the—I’d run my thumb over the head,” Langa continued to explain. “And go—go a little faster.”

Breathing in time with his strokes, Reki sped up just slightly, again wanting to keep some semblance of control. His dick was hot and throbbing in his hand, and the air around him felt so much colder than it had minutes before. Pre-cum leaked from his tip, which he then spread up and down his shaft as he kept stroking.

“Your balls,” Langa said suddenly. “I’d—I’d dip down enough to hold them, as I…”

Nodding despite the fact that Langa couldn’t see him, Reki reached for them on the downstroke, lifting his hips some in his seat so they were more fully exposed. He held them gingerly, barely squeezing, before once again stroking upward.

“I—I want—”

“W—What?” Reki asked.

“I’d—I’d lean over, I’d—Fuck, I want you in my mouth.”

Reki grunted, another wave of heat flashing through him. “A nice thought,” he muttered between hard breaths, “but I don’t think I can suck my own dick.”

“I want to suck it,” Langa practically begged. “I wanna blow you so bad. And touch you. And—”

“Ugn, Langa,” Reki groaned, once again picking up his pace, until he was jerking his hand more harshly, ever layering his thumb over his tip. “Keep going.”

Keep telling him all the things he wanted to do to him.

“I’d lick your cock all over, and—and suck on the end, and then jerk you off as I pulled as much of you as I could into my mouth. I’d suck on you until you—you came in my mouth. I want to so bad, Reki. I’ll learn to give you the best head and then—then I’ll…”

Reki stroked faster, his gaze trained on Langa’s flushed face in his phone.

“And then I’ll go lower and—and I’ll lick you inside, Reki. I’ll kiss every inch of you that I can.”

Gasping, muscles contracting, Reki tensed in his chair, rubbing his hand up and down a little more rapidly. Just enough, that—

“I’ll eat you out, Reki, I promise.”

Instinctively, Reki wanted to somehow cover his dick, so as to prevent a mess, but he was still holding his phone with one hand and, well, didn’t want to rob Langa of the sight. It was for this reason that he decided not to even attempt to cover himself, instead giving into the desire to be seen. Seen as that explosive surge burst out of him, streaming upward and splattering the front and underside of his desk.

That was easily wiped down, and so he allowed the entirety of his load to land there, his eyes watching Langa as Langa watched him, mouth still hanging open, his breathing labored, pale cheeks filled in with red.

Reki had to blink away the fogginess of his orgasm in order to keep Langa in his sights, an effort that was not wasted, as Langa released a pathetic whimper in tandem with Reki’s climax, his expression downright pained. Aching, rather, because they…

There was so much distance between them.

“Reki,” Langa pleaded. “Please…”

“I know,” Reki said, trying to stay in the moment even as his mind threatened to drift. “Just…” Fuck, where were they? Should he just let Langa go or—

No, calm down and breathe.

“We’re in bed,” Reki said, as he pulled his phone back up to his face and leaned once again atop his desk. “Right? We’re lying beside each other?”

“Uh huh,” Langa agreed, barely.

“Can you—Can you put your phone down, but somewhere I can still see you?”

The camera flashed around rather chaotically, before Langa settled it into place again. He’d propped it up somewhere—or against something—on the bed, flashes of pale skin moving across the screen, before Langa was sliding back, to the point where nearly the entirety of his body was within the frame.

And yeah, he was totally naked. Beautiful, and naked, and his dick was so hard Reki could practically see it pulsating through the screen.

“Lie down,” he commanded, the words coming to him like fire up through his system.

“What?”

“Do what I say and lie down,” Reki repeated. “On your stomach.”

Faltering only shortly, Langa then reached out and turned his phone so the camera was horizontal, before doing as he was told. Reki kept his gaze trained on his own phone, admiring the curves of Langa’s body—of his graceful spine and muscular ass—as he settled into place. He was visible from his head down to about his knees, which was just fine with Reki.

“Close your eyes,” he ordered.

So Langa did, even as he grabbed the bedsheets, fist flexing around the thin fabric.

“Imagine it,” Reki continued. “We’re in my bed still, and—and you climb on top of me. So we’re face to face.”

Soft lips parting around his panting breaths, Langa nodded into the pillow he’d pulled into the frame, his hips shifting down atop the mattress.

“I’m underneath you, and then I—” He had to quickly decide where to go with this. “I grab your hand, and pull it down between my legs. I—I guess I… got ready for you before we started,” which didn’t make narrative sense, but that didn’t really matter when it was all in their heads, “because I’m—”

Breathing hard, Langa tucked his hand in underneath his own body, his hips still rubbing against the sheets.

“I’m ready for you—for you to fuck me, Langa,” Reki continued. “I want you to fuck me.” His whole body jolted as he said it, like he was admitting to something wrong and secret, that he wanted his best friend to fuck him.

Groaning, Langa’s back bowed, ass momentarily in the air as he grabbed his own cock, before he thrust downward in tandem with the jerking motion of his hand, his body thrusting down into the bed. Arm still tucked under his body, he continued to rub himself against the sheets, humping in place—into his hand—as Reki watched.

“Yeah, like that,” Reki encouraged breathily, his own arousal stirring once more in his belly. “Keep going. Keep—” Keep thrusting himself into the mattress, like it was Reki he was thrusting into. “Harder, Langa.”

His motions became more deliberate, knees shifting forward as he pulled his ass up off the bed and more fully pushed himself back down, still into his own hand and hard atop the mattress.

“Faster, Langa,” Reki ordered, his own dick twitching back to life, while his hole, it was flexing, his own body reacting to the shared fantasy of Langa fucking him. Filling him, stretching him, and pistoning into him in the exact same fashion in which he was then rigorously humping his bed.

Groaning again, loudly, Langa half buried his face in his pillow, before his voice echoed with, “Reki,” as he plunged his body downward. “Reki, Reki,” over and over in sync with his harsh rhythm, before something akin to a moaning whimper escaped his throat.

The noise sent all of Reki’s blood back down between his legs, his whole body throbbing to the point of leaving him lightheaded as he kept his eyes focused on his phone.

“Keep going,” Reki said to him. “I’m—I’m tight and—and hot around you, and you’re going in as deep as you can. And—” Reki allowed his own imagination to fill in the gaps, which was so much more vivid than what he was saying. Like a horrible, aching hook in his stomach, he found himself wishing desperately that he could be there with Langa. That all the things he was saying could be real. The longing flared so painfully up through him that he was left weakly whimpering, even as Langa did the same and kept hopelessly humping his otherwise empty bed.

Words failing him, Reki continued to simply watch, mesmerized by the way Langa’s body rolled atop the sheets, his huffing, groaning breath echoing in Reki’s ears, the sweaty sheen over his skin sparkling in the light of the room. He was absolutely beautiful—wonderfully stunning. It was an image Reki was certain he’d never forget, the fact that Langa was thinking of him—that the idea of being with him was putting him in this state—imprinting the experience all the heavier into Reki’s thoughts.

And then, with a shiver that ran up and down his entire body, Langa tensed, hips elevated so Reki could see the way he was grasping his cock—holding it as he released a shuddering moan and came. Spilling from the tip of his dick, his cum shot down into the sheets, first in one great wave and then, as his whole body shivered again, in another shorter burst. It left him trembling on his knees, dick dripping, face buried in his pillow.

Reki was hard again—because of course he was—and stroking his own erection. Which didn’t last long, not with the heat fluttering so swiftly under his skin and his insides contracting. He came again as Langa finally dropped his body back onto the bed. Not as intensely as he had before, but enough that he was left just as shaken as Langa as he slumped atop his desk.

His whole body felt light and empty, warmth wavering around the edges as he put what little focus he had on keeping his phone upright. Even as he laid his head down on his desk, he stared at the screen, blinking away the fogginess and keeping Langa’s prone form in his sights.

His heartbeat thrummed loudly in his ears. How he wished they were actually in bed together, so he could reach out and simply…

Gaze losing some of its dazed gloss, Langa slid a bit closer to his phone, until he could reach out and grab it. Pulling it closer, he then shifted back and dropped his head atop his pillow again, phone held out sideways so only his face, shoulders, and upper chest were in the frame.

Lazily, Reki’s focus snagged on the sight of the single pink nipple that was visible, supposing he was—at that point—allowed to look.

“Is this…” Langa started quietly. “Is this really happening?”

Reki wasn’t sure what he meant—where the overarching implications of their actions were taking them—but, no matter the case, something was definitely happening. Something new and exciting and, well, fun.

“I guess so,” Reki said, grinning just slightly—as much as his depleted energy would allow.

Langa returned the expression, part of his face coyly obscured by his pillow. Before he giggled. Which was adorable, and led to Reki doing the same, until they were just… laughing. Together. Mindlessly. Enjoying one another, even as they were on opposite sides of the planet.

They were eventually left having to catch their breath, still smiling stupidly.

And then Langa said, “I miss you so much.”

Reki’s expression faltered, that ache once again pulling at his insides. “Me too,” he choked out, grip on his phone tightening. “But I’m glad we can do this, at least,” because he didn’t want to focus on sad things, not knowing the delicate state Langa was actually in. “It’s nice to be able to see you again.”

“This feels a lot less weird now,” Langa added.

“Yeah, well, I think we kind of kicked all that weirdness right out the window.” It was harder to feel “weird” when they were still in the midst of recovering from their foray. Besides, awkwardness required a lot more energy than either of them had in those moments.

“Hah, yeah, that’s true,” Langa said. “Reki?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“Why do you keep thanking me? I think it’s safe to say I’m getting just as much out of this as you.”

“I guess, but…”

Reki waited, hoping his concern didn’t show too obviously.

“I feel… better… when I’m talking to you. Like now, I’m thinking about you and not…”

“Everything else?”

His grin faltered. “Yeah.”

“I’m glad,” Reki admitted. “I like being your… distraction.”

Langa snorted.

“And hey, now that you have a new phone, you can send me pictures too,” Reki added.

“Why send pictures when we can do this instead?”

“Well, for one, I can look at pictures whenever I want.” Were it not the worst idea ever, he’d make his new pin-up of Langa his phone background. “And second, not every photo you send has to be dirty.”

“Oh, right, I guess that’s true.”

“I don’t even know what Canada looks like,” Reki added. “You have so much catching up to do.”

“It doesn’t all have to be photos,” Langa countered, before flipping his camera around and giving the room a once-over. “Here’s my bedroom.”

“Wow, riveting,” Reki mocked, despite being very interested. It was a large, open space lined with big wooden beams. The furniture matched the architecture, leaving the whole room very cabin-like, at least as far as Reki knew of such things. “Hey!” Reki said suddenly. “You should give me a tour!”

“Of my bedroom?”

“Of the house!”

“Oh.”

“C’mon, I wanna see!”

“Um, okay.” Langa sat up, the camera flashing around his bedroom, before he dropped his phone somewhere that left Reki staring up at the ceiling. “I gotta get dressed.”

“Okay. I gotta, uh, clean up anyway.”

“Yeah, that too,” Langa’s voice said through the speaker.

Grinning, Reki set his own phone aside, before leaning back to get a look at his desk. Supposing it could be worse, he rolled back so he could lean down and retrieve the box of tissues he had sitting beside his bed. He then wiped himself down, before standing and pulling his pants back up into place. With everything properly tucked away, he took another generous wad of tissues and crouched down in front of his desk. Quickly, and with careful efficiency, he wiped away all the evidence of what they’d been doing, dumping all the tissues into the nearby trashcan.

Grabbing up his phone, he checked to find that Langa was still busy, and so said, “I’m going to go to the bathroom and then change real quick.”

“Can I watch?” Langa’s distant voice asked.

“Watch me go to the bathroom?”

“No!”

Reki laughed. “No, you can’t watch me change. Jeez, pervert.”

“Haven’t I seen all of you there is to see by now?”

“I can’t give you everything you want all the time,” Reki reasoned. “That’d be too easy.”

Langa scoffed. “God forbid.”

Snickering, Reki placed his phone back down on the desk and left to take care of his evening routine. Once back in his bedroom, he changed into a fresh t-shirt and sweatpants, before grabbing up his now charged phone and flopping down onto his stomach in bed.

Langa’s phone was sitting in a different position now, but was still inactive.

“Langa?” Reki asked.

“Yeah, one sec,” Langa’s voice replied. “Stripping the bed.”

“Gotta wash those sheets, huh?” Reki said. “Pretty gross.”

“Your fault.”

“I guess I can take some responsibility,” he decided, grinning again as butterflies shifted around in his stomach. The two of them weren’t doing anything dirty, but the fact that they had and were now able to just… chat with one another was a whole new level of exciting. Like maybe it was normal, or could become normal.

Reki wanted that so badly. It was yet another sort of longing inside of him, sitting parallel with all the rest.

When Langa finally picked up his phone again, he looked to be wearing one of his normal black turtlenecks and button-up shirts. Very classic—very Langa.

God, Langa was so fucking hot. So effortlessly hot. Reki might be jealous were he not so hopelessly attracted to him.

“What?” Langa asked, perhaps having noticed some kind of odd expression on Reki’s face.

“Ah, nothing,” Reki lied, face flushing anew. “Just… thinking.”

“About what?”

“Things I shouldn’t be. Now—”

“But what things—”

“—I want a tour!”

“What things, though?”

“Focus, Langa.”

He frowned, but Reki didn’t give in to the cute poutiness of his expression. If he gave in every time Langa looked even the slightest bit adorable, they’d never make it anywhere outside his bedroom.

“Why do you want a tour anyway?” Langa asked, the background behind his head shifting as he moved across the room.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Reki asked. “It’s where you are now, and it’s where you used to live. I’m curious.”

“It’s just a house,” Langa reasoned, the shadows of the screen going dark as he walked through a doorway. “And we only lived here a short while, after…”

After his dad had died, Reki presumed.

“It’s your grandparents’ house,” Reki said, pushing onward in the hopes that they wouldn’t get stuck on a difficult subject. “And it’s probably totally different from any house I’ve ever been in.”

“I guess,” Langa agreed, the light on the screen abruptly brightening, Reki assuming he’d just walked out of a hallway or something. The camera was then flipped, so Langa’s face was no longer visible and instead Reki was granted a sweeping view of a broad, open room supported by huge wooden beams and lined with tall windows. They were up on some sort of second story balcony, or so he could see when Langa held the phone out over the banister, giving him a view of the living space below.

“Wow, it’s really big,” Reki said.

“Your house is big.”

“Sure, but it’s also filled with people and junk and… people.” This house was like the sort one would see on western advertisements for, like, mountain living without getting dirty or something. All rustic and open, but somehow still possessing cabin-like coziness.

“There’s people here too,” Langa reasoned.

“You and your grandparents.”

“Richard and Patrice are still here,” Langa said, as the phone swung around and he made his way down a generously wide—and intricately carved—wooden staircase.

“Who’s Richard?” he asked. Patrice was the cousin, Reki remembered. The now dreaded cousin.

“Family friend,” Langa explained as he reached the stone floor and moved around the staircase. “He was, ah, my… dad’s best friend.”

“Who was?” a voice called, Reki’s eyes going wide as his heart jolted. Whipping around, Langa’s camera flashed from the living space to the huge, sprawling kitchen on the right, where an older man with fading hair—hair that might have once been the same color as Langa’s—came into the frame. He was tall and thin, and old, and Reki figured he had to be Langa’s grandfather. They did look strikingly alike, minus the Japanese features Langa had that this white guy clearly didn’t. The man’s eyes were narrowed suspiciously and he skirted closer like some kind of timid cat.

“Um, Richard,” Langa said in response.

“What about him?” the man asked quickly.

“I was… just saying how he was best friends with my Dad?”

“Ah, yes.” The suspicion cleared from the man’s face, his bright blue eyes going wide as a fond smile crossed his lips. “They were childhood friends, you know. I used to work for Richard’s father and—” The suspicion returned swiftly to his face. “Wait a second, who are you talking to? Why are you telling them all the family secrets?”

“It’s not a secret though,” Langa countered, Reki continuing to silently listen.

“It could be.”

“But it’s not.”

“Who is it?!” the man insisted, coming forward so as to block the camera with his very loud and colorfully printed sweater. Reki imagined he was shaking Langa by the shoulders, based on the way his phone was shaking. “Why are you jeopardizing the security of this household?! I never should have bought you that phone!”

“Grandpa, I’m not telling any secrets,” Langa replied, while doing absolutely nothing to halt whatever physical exchange was happening. “Do we have secrets?”

“Clearly none that you can know! Who are you talking to?! Tell me!”

Covering his mouth, Reki tried to keep himself silent. Given Langa’s personality, this was not the grandfather he would have envisioned for him.

“I’m just talking to—”

“No, don’t tell me!” the man said suddenly. “You’ve done enough damage!”

“What damage?”

Staggering back, the man placed the back of his hand against his forehead rather dramatically. “I can’t believe you’d so flagrantly expose us! I’ve never felt so betrayed! Except earlier, by Patrice, when she refused to tell me all the things she learned about your friend, Reki. But other than that!”

Reki cocked a curious eyebrow, but then was assaulted by horror. Certainly “Patrice” wouldn’t tell Langa’s family what she’d seen, right? Then again, that was the whole point of what Langa’s grandfather was saying, that she hadn’t said anything about whatever she knew, but why was the fact that she knew anything at all a topic in the first place?!

“That’s who I’m talking to,” Langa said.

“Who?”

“Reki.”

“What about him?”

“He’s on the phone.”

“Your new phone?”

“Yes.”

His grandfather’s demeanor changed completely as he visibly perked up, losing all remnants of his previous dramatics. “Really? Can I talk to him? Let me talk to him!” He made grabby hands in Langa’s direction.

There was a pause, and then Langa said, “No.”

“Bubble Gum, don’t be cruel.”

“Bubble gum?” Reki asked. He wasn’t particularly struggling to keep up with their English—his own English was quite good with all the practice he’d been doing with Langa over the years—but why bubble gum? What did that mean?

“This was a bad idea,” Langa decided, as the camera flashed away from his grandfather and back toward the living room.

“You cannot escape me in my own house!”

“Bye, Grandpa,” Langa said flatly, moving away. He was not pursued as far as Reki could tell.

“What’s ‘Bubble gum?’” Reki asked.

“Chewing gum that you can blow bubbles with,” Langa said simply, in the knowing voice he used whenever Reki asked him about something to do with English.

“No, I know what it is!” Reki rebuked. “Why did he say it?”

“Oh, that’s what he calls me.”

“Really?” Reki grinned. “Why?”

“It’s a nickname.”

“But why ‘Bubble Gum?’”

“For bubble gum ice cream, I think.”

“Huh?”

“It’s blue.”

“Oh…” Reki supposed that made sense. “I thought you didn’t have an embarrassing family.”

“What’s embarrassing about it?”

“You’re not—You didn’t think that was—Then why did you leave?”

“Because he wants to know more about you—he’s been bothering me about it all day.”

“And that’s… bad?”

“He’s very nosy. I thought it would be best to avoid him.”

“By… literally avoiding him.”

“That’s what I just said.”

“You have no tact, Langa. Now he’s going to think you’re hiding something.”

“I am hiding something.”

Sighing, Reki laid his face down on his pillow and shook his head. “Never mind,” he muttered.

“What?”

“I said it doesn’t matter,” he said more clearly, as he leaned back up to look at his phone. “Your grandpa seems… nice.” And maybe a little bit loopy. “Why does he want to know more about me?”

“I think he’s just curious.”

“Why?”

“Uh, I guess because…” Langa cleared his throat. “Because I didn’t really have any friends before, so…”

Right, he’d mentioned that.

“And you don’t want him to talk to me?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want him to win. I want to win.”

Reki was so confused.

“That’s Richard and my grandmother,” he said a second later, the phone held up to a glass door that led out onto the deck, which looked to be lining the outside of the house. The two were leaning against the banister, talking, both holding cigarettes. Well, the older woman was holding a cigarette, while the man…

“What is he smoking?”

“Weed.”

Reki blinked stupidly. “Like… marijuana?”

“Yeah. He smokes a lot. For anxiety, I think.”

“Your dad’s best friend?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Did… Did your dad do… marijuana?” Reki was flabbergasted. He knew, of course, that plenty of people took lots of different drugs, but it was such a taboo subject in Japan that seeing someone just… smoking marijuana out in the open like it was nothing was absolutely mindboggling.

“Sometimes, I think?”

“For real?!”

“I guess… I mean, not that much. My mom didn’t really like it.”

Reki was gaping. “Wait, have—have you done it?”

“No.”

“Oh…”

“Reki?”

“Sorry, just… I’ve never seen anyone doing that before.”

“It’s just weed.”

“You don’t get it, man,” Reki replied. “Marijuana is a big deal in Japan.”

“I guess…”

“Who’re you talking to?” The camera whipped around—presumably because Langa did so—and Reki came face to face with a young woman. She had long, mint green hair tied up in a high ponytail and about the biggest brown eyes he’d ever seen on any person, ever. As in, they were big enough to be notable, not just something complimentary about her face. Combined with her narrow chin and small lips, she looked a bit like a mouse.

There was something familiar in her features, however. At least below the nose.

“Oh, hey, Patrice,” Langa said nonchalantly, just as Reki was realizing this had to be the dreaded “cousin.” The cousin who had seen his picture. Who knew, much to Reki’s growing distress, what certain private parts of his body looked like.

“Who are you talking to?” she asked again, voice airy and quiet.

“Reki,” Langa said simply, before Reki could shush him. Huffing, he covered his face with his hand—despite the fact that Patrice couldn’t see him from where she was positioned on the other side of the phone—and desperately tried to swallow back his embarrassment.

“Oh!” she said, her posture visibly straightening, or so Reki could see as he stared at his screen through his fingers. “Hello!”

“Ah, hi,” Reki said lamely.

She clasped her hands behind her back. “Are you glad Langa got a new phone? Now you can both send pictures to each other.” She smiled so brightly about it, her voice the epitome of innocence, while Langa said, well, nothing. Reki wished he could crawl into a hole and never be seen by anyone ever again.

There must have been something telling on Langa’s face, because Patrice’s smile wavered. Looking altogether too curious, she cocked her head and opened her mouth to say more, but before a single sound could escape, they were interrupted.

“I have my list!” Langa’s grandfather hollered from somewhere nearby. Phone shifting, Reki got a sideways view of the older man practically skipping toward them, a wide, manic grin on his face and a sheet of paper in his hands.

“What list?” Patrice asked airily.

“My list of Mr. Reki questions!” he announced.

Eyes wide and blush still painfully in place, Reki honestly considered hanging up. Not like he didn’t have a foolproof escape if necessary.

Thankfully, Langa was two steps ahead of him (for once, but wanting to “win” tended to put him more on his toes).

“Sorry, no time,” Langa claimed, already moving to avoid his grandfather. “Reki wants to see… the barn.”

His grandfather drooped. “But why?”

“Because of the…”

“Because of the cars!” Patrice added.

“Yes,” Langa said staunchly.

“Well, I’ll go with you,” his grandfather insisted. “We can walk and talk.”

“Uh…” And then Langa was audibly out of what limited ideas he’d had.

“Aren’t you prepping dinner though?” Patrice asked.

“Oh, right…”

“Yup,” Langa said. “So… I’m going outside. Bye.”

With great swiftness, Langa moved across the room, around the stairs, and into what Reki thought was maybe an entryway, though the phone was flashing about so much that he never got a totally clear idea. Only once they were outside did Langa fully right the camera, Reki once again intent as he got a view of the driveway, a big yard, and a great many pine trees lining the property. Before Langa whipped the phone around to take in the house itself.

“That’s a huge house!” Reki squawked, Langa having to continue stepping back to get more of it into the frame.

“It’s really not much bigger than your house,” he countered.

Reki didn’t believe him. “Oh, your cousin is coming,” he noted, watching as Patrice followed them out the door, tapping the heel of her big black boot atop the deck before she hopped down the stairs.

“What?” Langa asked her, as she joined them.

“I want to go with you,” she replied.

“Why?”

She cocked her head again. “Well, because I…”

“I’m just going to show Reki the barn,” Langa replied, ever stoic and brisk.

“I know…” She frowned.

Wearing a similar expression, Reki tried to piece together what was happening. Why was Langa being so rude? The last thing they needed was to be on Patrice’s bad side—girl was clearly clever.

“She can come,” Reki said through the phone. “What’s this about cars?”

“Our grandmother restores old cars,” Langa explained, Reki still unable to see his face as the focus on the phone was removed from Patrice and instead set on following the drive down a path shrouded in more pine trees.

“Restores, like, fixes up?” Reki asked. “What kind of cars?”

“Uh… old ones,” Langa said unhelpfully, which had Reki rolling his eyes.

“Classic muscle cars, usually,” Patrice supplied. “That’s her job.”

“For real?” Reki asked. “Your grandma? That’s awesome!” He’d never even met a woman mechanic before, let alone someone’s grandma. Granted, he was aware that Japan was a bit behind in some social respects, but even in other counties, a woman with that kind of skill was rare.

“She’s very knowledgeable,” Patrice continued. “I’ve been trying to learn as well, but it’s a very in-depth education.”

“That’s super cool!” Reki assured.

“Yes, I think so,” Patrice agreed. “Nana will need someone else to inherit her shop someday, since Uncle Oliver, um…” Her words dwindled, Reki hoping his own alarmed concern didn’t show too obviously on his face.

But then, Langa did bring up his father sometimes, in passing if not directly.

“My dad used to work with Nana,” Langa supplied. Reki could hear a bit of strain in his voice, but it could be worse. Best to press on.

“So your dad was a mechanic,” Reki said, “but you can’t even handle a screwdriver? What’s that about?”

“That’s not true,” Langa rebuked.

“I handed you a screwdriver one time when we were in my shop together,” Reki continued, “and you somehow managed to rip your shirt with it.”

“That is not what happened!”

“That is exactly what happened.”

“Nana says Langa has no mechanical instincts,” Patrice supplied.

“I have so!”

“No, you really don’t. There’s a reason I don’t let you in my garage by yourself.”

Langa huffed.

“Nana also says Langa’s not even fit to be a gopher,” Patrice continued.

“What’s that?”

“Someone who goes around fetching tools when they’re told.”

“Oh, yeah, he couldn’t do that,” Reki agreed.

“Seriously?” Langa asked flatly.

“Truth hurts, man.”

“At least I can drive a car,” Langa muttered petulantly.

“I could get a license if I wanted to,” Reki reasoned. “But why bother when you take me everywhere?”

“That’s true.”

“Langa!” Reki scoffed. “You’re not supposed to just give in!”

Patrice tittered.

“But it’s true.”

It was. While Langa wasn’t always forthcoming in being “considerate”—as in, he didn’t offer rides unprompted—he had never once refused Reki when he’d asked to be taken somewhere.

“You two are quite charming with each other,” Patrice said, just as they were reaching a huge, blue barn outside the path of pine trees.

“Charming?” Reki asked, caught between being confused by her word choice and embarrassed by what he was assuming to be the implication.

“Yes,” was all she said, though her airy voice did sound somewhat distant.

The phone went momentarily dark then, as they stepped up into the barn, and before the camera could adjust, the overhead lights flicked on, revealing bays and lifts, inside and upon which were parked a great variety of old western cars.

“Wow, that’s so awesome,” Reki said, leaning in closer to his phone as Langa made his way down the center aisle. He didn’t know much about cars, but he could tell the display was carefully cultivated and well taken care of. Which was a viewpoint he could relate to, what with him being a technical sort of creator himself.

“This is the one we drove today,” Langa said as he stopped beside a yellow car with black stripes down the middle.

“You’re allowed to drive these?” Reki asked.

“Allowed?” Langa asked. “I don’t know—Nana didn’t stop us.”

“Sounds dangerous,” Reki muttered, and cringed. “I bet you’d drive something like this way too fast.” While it was neat to look at, Reki didn’t fancy riding in one, especially with Langa at the helm.

“I like to go fast,” Langa agreed.

“Me too,” Patrice tacked on.

“Yeah, you two are definitely related.”

“Was that in question?” Patrice asked.

“No, no, never mind,” Reki said quickly.

“I don’t think we look very much alike,” Langa said.

“You do,” Reki replied. “From the nose down, you two look exactly alike.”

There was silence, though Reki could imagine the two of them staring at one another, probably with matching frowns of befuddlement.

“And you’re both unfairly gorgeous, so there’s that too,” he added without thinking, perhaps because he was talking into a phone and so didn’t have the weight of an actual human presence to remind him to keep his mouth shut. Eyes bugging, he reached up and slapped his hand over his mouth, once again drenched in embarrassment.

“Oh, thank you,” Patrice said in response, sounding wholly unbothered.

“Reki, you’re gor—” Langa faltered, probably at the scathing look Reki was giving his phone. He couldn’t see Langa, but Langa could definitely see him. “I mean, thanks.”

“I find that most people think my appearance unnerving,” Patrice continued.

“Because of the eyes?” Reki asked outright, deciding to approach Patrice in much the same way he did Langa—directly. “People like that suck anyway. Not worth your time.”

“That’s what I tell myself,” Patrice reasoned, before adding, “You’re English is very good.”

“Ah, yeah, Langa helps me with it.”

“And he helps me with Japanese,” Langa explained.

“I wish I could find someone to talk with me in Japanese,” she said, sounding rather down.

Reki frowned. “You speak Japanese?”

“I’ve been learning for a few years now, because it seemed logical since part of our family is Japanese,” she said. “But it’s difficult when there’s no one to talk to.”

“I don’t understand,” Reki continued. “Why don’t you talk to Langa?” Like, wouldn’t that be the obvious solution?

“I would like to,” she said, voice so quiet Reki could hardly hear it. “But… we don’t…”

While Langa had mentioned that he did, in fact, have a cousin once or twice over the years, he’s never spoken of her like they talked on a regular basis. Clearly, she wanted to be closer to him, so why…?

“Langa’s not much for conversation anyway,” Reki went on. His claim wasn’t exactly true, as Langa talked a great deal to him. As far as other people, though, he generally kept to himself. “I know! I’ll give you my sister’s info. She’s always whining about not having anyone to practice her English with.”

Langa had turned, Patrice appearing inside the camera frame just as she was perking up. “Really?”

“Sure. I think you two are about the same age.”

“I’m sixteen.”

“Yeah, you’re the same age. Do you have your phone?”

Patrice looked almost painfully thoughtful, before she slumped and said, “No. I left it in the house. I’ll go get it!” Turning quickly, she practically scurried back the way they’d come.

It wasn’t until she was safely out of range that Reki released a very unimpressed huff.

“What?” Langa asked, flipping the camera so his face finally appeared across Reki’s screen.

“Dude.”

Langa was oblivious.

“Why are you so mean to your cousin?”

Langa reared back slightly, his nose curling. “I’m not.”

“She clearly wants to hang out with you and you’re totally blowing her off.”

“I am not,” Langa said, even as confusion flashed over his face. “I was just with her.”

“After I invited her to come because you were trying to get her to go away!”

“I wasn’t trying to get her to go away.”

“Coulda fooled me.”

Langa gaped.

“Do you not like her? I thought you said she was fine. She seems alright.”

“She is fine, I just… We don’t know each other very well.”

“That’s why you should hang out with her more.”

“How can I do that? I live in Okinawa now.”

“Well, you could be nicer to her when you’re in Canada.”

“I am nice to her…”

Reki rolled his eyes. “Look, you’re the cooler, older one. And since you guys don’t have any siblings—she doesn’t, right?”

“No.”

“That makes you the closest thing she has to an older brother. You gotta, like, include her in things. And, you know, talk to her. She decided to learn Japanese because you’reJapanese—she obviously wants to be closer to you.”

Langa looked downright perplexed by Reki’s words. And, honestly, a little hurt, but Reki figured he deserved it, clueless jerk.

“But… I don’t know how to do that,” he admitted quietly. “The only reason you and I became friends is because… you did it.”

“She’s trying pretty hard, man. You probably don’t have to do much aside from, like, willingly be around her.”

“Hey, I have,” Langa rebuked. “I helped her out in the woods earlier, and we went to buy stuff together.”

“Yeah, and then she tried to hang out with us and you were mean.”

“I wasn’t mean!”

“You totally were.”

Langa scoffed, and petulantly said, “I was not…”

Supposing there was no point in continuing to press the subject—he’d made his point—Reki decided to move on. “Show me more cars,” he ordered.

Langa flipped the camera back around, before panning to a car nearby.

“What kind is it?” Reki asked.

“It’s… a blue one,” Langa said.

Reki snorted with laughter.

They continued meandering, until they reached a set of stairs at the end of all the bays.

“Where’s that go?” Reki asked.

“Up to the loft.”

“And that door?” he asked, as Langa’s phone flashed quickly across a door situated just beyond the stairs.

“That goes into Nana’s workshop,” he replied.

“So, like, is she working on something right now?” Like, a half done-up car?

“I dunno.”

“Can we see?”

Langa made a noncommitting noise—like an audible shrug—before moving on past the stairs to the door. He tried the worn, metal knob—Reki able to see as much—which turned out to be unlocked. Squeaking just slightly on its hinges, the door was easily pushed in. All that existed beyond was shrouded in shadows.

Langa stepped in and was fumbling for the light switch, which promptly had the room igniting in bright fluorescents.

The phone jolted as Langa glanced around, focusing first on a dated orange car along the left wall, the hood removed and much of the insides having been gutted. Parts were laying around in what might initially appear haphazard, but then, upon looking closer, everything was labeled and laid out on the floor or on tables in a very specific manner.

Twitching, the phone then moved to the right, snagging on another vehicle tucked in the corner.

“Whoa,” Reki said. “I don’t think there’s any fixing that.”

It was a black truck, or might have been, once. As of then, it was little more than a shredded hunk of metal and other parts. The front was utterly crushed and ripped apart—unrecognizable—and the windshield was shattered to the point where the crisscrossing web of broken glass was completely saturated into white, the shape of it bent and warped. The sides were mangled—the driver’s side more so than the passenger’s—and the top was dented severely down, nearly collapsing. The frame was totally bowed, so the truck itself was curved, while the box was fully crushed up from behind, like something had rear-ended it. Hard.

There was more, but the damage was so varied and abundant that Reki had a hard time cataloguing it all in the few seconds he had to take it in, before Langa’s shuddering breath was pulling his focus.

“Langa?” he asked, the phone trembling some even as it remained pointed at the truck.

“Why…?” Langa’s voice has gone totally hollow. “Why is that here?”

Reki’s insides drained of warmth in response to the empty shock in Langa’s voice, his nerves sparking back to life and running rampant along his skin, chilling him to his bones.

“Langa…?”

“Why does she have that?” he asked, his voice turning somewhat frantic now, going up an octave. “Why is it here?”

“Langa, just leave,” Reki said, trying to remain composed despite how his heart skipped. “Turn around right now and go.” He didn’t know anything about that truck, but given Langa’s reaction, it didn’t take a genius to put the pieces together.

Unfortunately, Langa didn’t do as he said. Didn’t even respond—didn’t so much as move.

“Langa!” Reki snapped more loudly.

The phone, it dropped. The scene fell away, before Langa’s phone clattered to the ground. It landed face-down, dousing Reki’s view in darkness.

Sitting up in bed, Reki held his own phone tighter and yelled, “Langa!” He no longer cared if his fear and panic came through in his voice, if he could just get Langa out of there.

Yet, no response.

“LANGA!”

But there was nothing. Just Reki, alone and stranded in his bedroom in Okinawa.

Chapter Text

“Dad?”

Vision fading in and out, Langa tried to blink away the blurriness, even as his ears were ringing and his body was throbbing from the whiplash. It was his head that was the worst, aching horribly—as if someone had hammered nails along the sides of his skull. He had a hard time even remembering where he was. It kept slipping away, reality, even as he attempted to keep hold of it. Like darkness, it wavered just on the edges of his thoughts.

“Dad,” he croaked out again, the only feeling that was keeping him truly anchored to the present being the weight of his father’s hand around his own. Nothing else was right—not the way the world had been turned upside-down, nor the crushing weight of his own body, hanging precariously in place. There was no light, no noise outside his own labored breathing. Like he’d been sucked into a black hole. A terrifying, numbing black hole.

So he held tighter to his father’s hand, even as his father failed to hold back.

Hands up, Langa wavered backward, eyes closed and his fingers submerged in his hair as he shook his head, willing the memory to go away. To be locked back up wherever it’d come from. He didn’t want to see this—he didn’t want to open this box.

Flashing lights, they had Langa’s lashes fluttering open, even as fatigue left them drooping. There were voices, but they sounded almost like they were underwater. Slow and thick and lined in the painful ringing that was ever-echoing in his head. It hurt terribly, and with each throb, it became harder to keep his eyes open. To breathe, even.

Everything was fading, even as the voices got louder and the flashing lights seared across his face.

For a moment, the air around him was ignited. Shining from one side of the cab to the other and reflecting off the figure beside him. Familiar, beneath the shadows and the blood and everything that was broken. Hanging much as he was, upside-down, what little remained of Langa’s focus was struck as he met those blank, empty eyes. He knew them, in theory, as they stared ahead and saw nothing.

He held his father’s hand, only fleetingly aware that he was the only one holding on now—that he was the only one actually left inside the cab of the truck, even as two bodies remained. It was a terrifying, shocking thought, and didn’t last long before it slipped away, just like everything else. Overtaken by the resounding agony.

“No!” Langa yelled, beating his head with his fists, hair still twined between his fingers. “No, no, no, no!”

So many voices he couldn’t understand. They were all so loud, and the lights were so bright, and he felt so tired. Every time he was rocked, he felt as though an avalanche was piling on top of him. He wanted them to stop. He tried to open his mouth to tell them.

Just let him lie there. Let him be.

“Let me go!” The screaming voice, it pierced through everything. Not because it was louder or higher, but because it was familiar. “That’s my son!” she screamed, momentarily dragging Langa back to ground level. He couldn’t move his neck, nor his body. He was strapped down, laid out flat, and the flashing lights were ricocheting off the trees, bouncing around like strobes. “Langa!? Langa! Oh god, he’s bleeding! Where is all the blood coming from? Is he okay?!”

“He needs to get to the hospital,” someone said, as Langa started to fade again. “He’s suffered considerable head trauma. He needs to go right now.”

“Langa? Can you hear me?”

Mom ?

“Oh god, my baby, oh my god!”

Was that her? Above him? He couldn’t tell. Everything was fading again, and there were so many shadows.

“Where’s Oliver?” His mother again, her voice once more pulling him back. “Owen, where is he?”

“Go—Go with Langa to the hospital.”

“Owen!”

“Just go, Nanako. You… You don’t wanna see it. Just go.”

“Oh—Oh god,” she said, her voice breaking fully. “He—He’s dead, isn’t he? He’s dead.”

“Go with Langa.”

“Oh my god…”

“Stop!” Langa screamed, stumbling back into the wall, his fists still rapping harshly against his head. Atop the wide, dented scar that he normally didn’t think about, because it’d long been covered by his hair. Yet, in that moment, it was practically throbbing he was so aware of it. Throbbing like it’d used to, when he’d hardly had the strength to live, let alone think or remember from one day to the next.

“L—Langa?” His mother’s voice again, inspiring in him the strength to open his eyes. Just barely, as he was jostled upward. His mother, she was there beneath the glaring light, tear-streaked and shaking as she held his hand. As she climbed up beside him. While, beyond, beneath the flashing lights, he was granted only a fleeting glimpse of the sight at the base of the trees. Shimmering, crumpled metal. Tires in the air, broken everywhere else. Before he was slid back into place and once again doused in blurry shadows.

“Stop it!” he shrieked, holding so tight to his hair that it hurt, tremendously, but he hardly noticed. Sliding down the wall, he landed hard on his butt, legs folding up to his chest as he curled in on himself and tucked his face between his knees. Instinctively hiding, perhaps, but unable to escape. Not when the nightmare was in his own head.

“Keep looking at me,” his father ordered, words slow and severe, but safe. Safer than the blaring of the truck behind them, coming up fast and loud and bright.

“No, I don’t want to remember!” Langa yelled. “Stop it!”

It was an explosion when they were hit. So much louder than Langa ever could have imagined such a thing would ever be. He was straining against his seatbelt, screaming as the trees came barreling toward them. Another, worse explosion as the truck hit and buckled, the glass of the windshield slashing into a thousand tiny pieces, barely holding together. The outside of the truck, it’d folded out around them, crinkling and breaking and bending. Attempting to hold, but unable to stand up to the weight of the blow.

Having slid slightly sideways, the truck took the hit from behind and from the trees for only a few seconds, before the pressure broke and it jerked to the side.

For a moment, Langa’s heart was in his throat, the air once again snapped out of him as the shadowed view outside was caught and sent spinning. Rolling, each crash of the truck as it hit the ground feeling as though it was sent faster. Over and over, the airbag shifting and suffocating everything around him as he was yanked and rebounded and wrenched against the seatbelt.

It lasted forever, this rolling, tumbling torture going on and on and on, never ending. Until, like the crack of a whip, it was over. All Langa knew was pain. Horrible, white, ringing pain, the world sucked away in a flash.

“Stop, stop, stop,” Langa begged—sobbed—as he curled himself up as small as he could, rocking in place and still holding tight to his hair. “Please!”

“Langa?”

Someone was calling to him. He willed himself to open his eyes, but it was… so hard.

“Langa.” The voice was weak. So weak that it was barely more than a murmur. “Langa… look—look at me…”

He was floating, and everything was fuzzy. Like snowflakes on a broken television.

“L—Langa.” The voice coughed. “Langa, p—please… wake up. Please wake up.”

Was he asleep?

Maybe that’s why everything felt weird.

Perhaps… Perhaps he was dreaming.

“Langa!”

Pain, it echoed up his arm. From his fingers. Something was crushing his fingers.

And his head…

His head, it… it felt so…

Heavy.

“L—Langa, you’re okay,” the voice rasped. “Please be okay. Please be alive. L—Look at me!”

He couldn’t. He couldn’t look anywhere.

“No…” The words were choked. “Wake up. Wake up, buddy, please.”

His hand—his whole arm—was being shaken now, but everything inside him had come to a standstill. He didn’t know how to budge it—didn’t know how to get anything moving again.

“I’m sorry.” The words were growing weaker, punctuated between quick, thick breaths. “I’m so sorry, baby. Oh god, I’m s—sorry.”

Sorry for what? What was going on?

A sound like a desperate sob, his fingers once again stinging with pain. “You… You’re the most… the most important… the most precious—” Another strangled sob. “I’ll be—I’ll be with you soon, okay? Wherever you’ve g—gone, I’ll—I’ll be with you soon. I won’t leave you alone ever again. Just… wait… a little longer…”

He hated being alone—it scared him.

“Wait for me, baby,” he whispered. “I’m coming for you, okay? I’ll…”

Where were they going?

“I’ll stay with you. Always.”

Labored, desperate breaths. They sounded so harsh, so pained. So…

Nothing.

Silence.

Whimpering, Langa kept his eyes firmly closed. For all his issues since the accident, he hadn’t wished to know what had really happened. He’d never wanted to remember. Not when he knew, theoretically, how bad it’d been. Losing his father had been hard enough, even without…

“Dad?”

“What, baby?” Oliver asked, the two of them outside just as the first snow was falling. Propped up in his father’s arms, Langa sat on his father’s hip, while Oliver was situated just at the edge of the street. It was very early in the morning—the darkness of night still remaining—and no one else in the park was outside their trailer but them.

“Why do we have to move?” he asked, picking at some of the snow on the collar of his father’s old work shirt.

Oliver sighed. “Why do you want to know?”

“Because…” Langa said quietly. “I don’t want to go.”

“Well…” His arms tightened around Langa’s skinny body. “Your mom and I… It’s our fault.”

Langa frowned.

“We don’t… We don’t have the best track record as far as… always making good decisions,” he said. “And that used to be okay, when it was just her and I. But… we have to think about you, and your future, and we can do a lot better if we move to Whistler.”

“Like Nana is always saying when we visit?”

Oliver laughed. “You heard that?”

“She was very mad.”

“She wasn’t mad. She was just… She wants the best for you.”

“I like being here best.”

“I know.”

“I thought mom said you got a—a better job here,” Langa dared say, despite being nervous about all the things he’d overheard.

“I did, but…” He resituated Langa in his arms—he was getting too big to be held like this, he’d said, before picking him up anyway. “It was a job where I’d be gone all the time. And even though your mom would be home with you, I don’t want to be over the road for weeks at a time. My dad had to do that when I was your age and he missed out on a lot.”

“You can’t find a different job that’s still here?”

“You don’t like change at all, do you?” his father said, laughing again. “I’ve tried, buddy, but your mom and I… We’ve made some bad choices, and if we move to Whistler, and I work with your grandma, we can make things better. Don’t you want to live in a bigger house? With a bigger bedroom? And a yard?”

Langa shrugged. “I like the trailer…”

“That’s just because you don’t know any better.”

“If you and mom knew your choices were bad, why did you do them?”

“The golden question, that,” Oliver replied. “Carelessness, selfishness, stupidity, there are all kinds of reasons why people do the things they do, and they don’t usually make any sense.”

“You and mom aren’t stupid…”

“Your confidence is reassuring.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing, never mind.”

“I wish we could stay here…”

Sighing again, Oliver crouched down until he could set Langa atop the light layer of snow. Still bent at the knees, he reached out and laid a warm hand along his cheek.

“It’s for the best,” he said gently. “For you. And for your mother and I too. It was okay when we made things difficult for ourselves—when it was hard for just her and I—but you don’t deserve that. We brought you into the world, so we need to do everything we can to take care of you. You’re the most important—the most precious part of our lives—and I won’t mess things up for you the same way I did for myself.”

Despite his words, Langa couldn’t help the feeling that twisted in his gut. “Is this my fault?” he whispered.

“What?”

“If—If mom could work too—if she didn’t have to stay home with me—then…”

“No, Langa,” Oliver said swiftly. “That’s not the reason.”

“But—But other kids, they go to school regular and—and they don’t get all scared like I do, and they don’t have to go see special doctors, and—”

“That’s not it at all,” Oliver said strictly. “Just because we’re doing something so it’s best for you doesn’t mean it’s your fault. The… struggles you have, they’re not your responsibility, they’re ours, and you don’t need to worry about any of it.” His other hand came up so he could gently cradle Langa’s face. “The only thing I want you to worry about is being a kid. Your mother and I will make sure everything else is okay.”

Somewhat trembling, Langa nodded as he continued to pick at his father’s collar.

“You’ll like living in Whistler,” Oliver assured. “Nana and Grandpa are there, and we’ll be closer to the slopes than we are here. We’ve already got a few houses lined up to look at too—all of them much bigger than the trailer.”

“I don’t care how big our house is,” Langa muttered.

“Well, what do you care about?”

Shifting a little closer, Langa moved his hand up to play with his father’s graying hair. “You and mom,” he muttered. “That’s all.”

“And us moving—this change—won’t effect that,” he assured. “We’ll still be with you, no matter where we go.”

“Promise?”

He nodded. “Always.”

Gasping—choking on his breath—Langa buried his face in his knees, tears squeezing along his lashes and leaking freely down his cheeks.

He didn’t want to think about this. He didn’t want to relive the moments he’d been denying. It was too much, and too painful. But, even so, the dam had broken. After years—after thinking he’d found his happiness and moved on—the pressure still gave way. He was caught in the current and there was nothing he could do to escape.

“Wait for me, baby. I’m coming for you, okay? I’ll… I’ll stay with you.

“Always.”

He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t feel. The world around him had faded in favor of the horror that—for so long—had been out of reach. In one narrow shift of his mental faculties, that clawed hand that had always haunted him—that had held tight at his back even as he’d ignored it—had been allowed to slip inside.

There was no getting away now.

“Langa?”

Nearly jumping out of his skin at the sound of a voice so nearby, Langa whipped his head up. Wide-eyed, trembling, and his body echoing of terror, he barely made out the sight of Patrice beside him. She was down on her knees, her hand barely outstretched, as if to touch him.

Blinking, he tried to keep her in his sights, to stay focused on the present, but the scar along his skull was pulsating and the darkness was closing in again.

“Langa, are—are you okay?”

Reki.

That was Reki’s voice.

In her other hand, Patrice held his phone. Gaze snapping to look at it, Langa supposed he must appear downright desperate, because she only hesitated a moment before holding it out to him.

Hand shaking, Langa took the phone from her, before turning it over so he could get a look at the screen. Reki’s face was there, pale and lined with concern as his eyes darted back and forth. Langa tried to stay focused on him, but his head still throbbed and there was so much trying to close in around him.

“Flip your camera, Langa,” Reki said to him, but Langa was too busy staring at him—trying to think of literally anything that would distract him. His home, Okinawa, skating, but it kept slipping away. “Langa, please.”

He hardly noticed when Patrice reached out and tapped her finger on the button that would do as Reki had asked, nor did he much care. Pressing the top edge of his phone against his forehead, he closed his eyes and whimpered weakly, his whole body shivering.

“Langa…”

“Please talk to me,” he begged softly. “A—Anything, I don’t care.”

Take him away to somewhere else.

There was only a short pause, before Reki cleared his throat and started into some story about “S.” It didn’t matter whether Langa knew the story or not, or if he’d even been there. He could barely make out Reki’s words at all. Rather, he latched onto the familiar sound of Reki’s voice, clinging to it like a drowning man eager for the surface, desperate to stay afloat even as everything inside him threatened to pull him under.

His memory kept attempting to run him ragged, like a rat on a wheel, but he held tight to Reki, blinking furiously as tears continued to stream down his face. Until, eventually, the throbbing of his skull gave way to the drone of Reki’s voice. Like a numbing salve, he allowed his focus on Reki to spread over everything else, covering it up and leaving his head fuzzy. Empty, unfeeling, which wasn’t great, but was better than where he’d been before.

He was left tired, and weak, leaning back against the wall and watching his phone through heavy eyes.

He wasn’t totally sure what happened from there. Patrice was still beside him, while Reki remained on the phone. Somehow—perhaps together—they encouraged him to his feet. Like his body and mind had been completely separated, his legs carried him while his thoughts remained swollen with cotton. In one hand he held his phone, while Patrice held the other, slowly guiding him back through the barn. Outside, his skin registered the chill, but his brain hardly noticed it. All the way up the drive, back into the house, and then up the stairs. Had anyone else seen them?

He didn’t know—didn’t care.

He was sitting on the edge of his bed. And then he was lying down. Patrice was there, and then she wasn’t. The whole time, he kept his phone held firmly in hand.

His fingers tingled with pain and he couldn’t tell if it was because of how tightly he held his phone or if the phantom memories were once again trying to break through.

Someone—his grandfather, perhaps—came in to see him at one point, but he was so far removed from… everything, that he could hardly bring himself to acknowledge him outside of noting he was there. Maybe he ran his hand through his hair, maybe he said something. Something to Langa? Or to Reki? He didn’t know—his whole body was filled with concrete, weighing him down and making it impossible to move.

Luis eventually left. He said something as he did, but Langa had no idea what it was.

The sun was sitting low on the horizon—afternoon light slotting past the clouds and into his window—by the time everything in him started to thaw. Just slightly—just enough for him to blink his crusty lashes and shift his gaze around the room. Throat dry, tongue like sandpaper, he ignored as best he could the congested throbbing in his temples as he dropped his focus to his phone. It was still in his hand, resting on his chest, and as he shakily pulled it up, he was faced with the image of Reki.

Hours must have gone by, but Reki was still there. He was in bed, phone cocked sideways as he dozed atop his pillow.

The sight of him had Langa’s lips quivering, his insides swelling with anguish. Slowly, he rolled onto his side, unwilling to end his call with Reki even as he held his hand to his mouth in attempts to stifle the hiccupping sounds of more crying.

“Langa?”

“S—Sorry,” he said, still staring at his phone as he murmured through his fingers. Reki had blinked his eyes open, looking rather like he hadn’t gotten any rest at all. It was early morning in Okinawa, which meant that Reki should be sound asleep.

“You don’t need to apologize,” Reki said quickly, righting his phone as he sat up. “Are you okay?”

He clearly wasn’t, yet, even so, a defensive “fine” nearly rose to his lips. But then, lying about something so obvious would be even more exhausting. It’d been exhausting before, when he’d constantly been trying to assure Reki that he was doing better, or that everything in Canada was perfectly normal, so why try to do it then, when Reki clearly knew he was most definitely not okay?

“No,” he said weakly, eyes squeezing shut as another wave of tears dropped down his face.

“I’m so sorry, Langa,” Reki said brokenly. “If there’s anything I can do, please…”

“I wish you were here,” Langa said, holding his phone closer. “I just wanna be back in Okinawa with you. I just wanna be with you.” Sniffling, he once again leaned the top of his phone against his forehead, as if that would somehow bring them closer.

“I know,” Reki choked out. “Me too.”

It didn’t get better. Sleep evaded him; food tasted like sand. It was like he’d been stranded back in that terrible, empty place he’d found himself trapped in right after the accident. His head wasn’t as messed up, but it didn’t matter. Back then, he’d hardly been able to think at all, but now, every time he closed his eyes, he was assaulted by the memories that’d long been locked away.

He was… scared, to sleep. Scared of the nightmares that’d wake him up, of the knowledge he’d be privy to that he hadn’t been before. He didn’t want any more details, didn’t want to remember, but every time the darkness started closing in, he found himself back in the cab of the truck, hanging from his seatbelt while his father…

The only solace he found was in Reki. He knew it wasn’t fair, and that he was a burden, but he didn’t know what else to do. He was calling Reki constantly, to the point where they spent more time face to face than they did texting. Reki, for his part, didn’t complain, and picked up any and all of Langa’s calls right away, even when he was at work. It wasn’t okay and it wasn’t healthy, but Langa was at a loss.

“You need to sleep,” Reki said to him during one of their calls. “You haven’t slept in, like, two days.”

But Langa couldn’t.

Reki wasn’t the only one that knew something was seriously wrong with him. How could he be? Of course his family came to the same conclusion. The whole house was tense, and both his grandparents were checking in on him regularly. They tried to get him to eat, and he did his best to do so when they brought plates up for him, but it was so difficult.

He hated it. He hated that everyone was worried about him, and that they were going out of their way to try and take care of him. Not because he thought they were wrong to do so, but because he didn’t want to be in a state that required such attention. He hated himself more so than anything else, and tried his best to force himself to get up. It was difficult—like his entire body weighed four times as much. Only to barely have the energy to make it down the stairs, or into the kitchen, or the living room, or the bathroom.

He was bringing everyone down, but he didn’t know how to break away from this hollow emptiness, or the fear, or the overwhelming anxiety. Not even Reki’s attempts at “distraction” did much good anymore. Langa just… didn’t have the will to wholly participate. He did, admittedly, enjoy watching Reki jerk off, or other related activities—photos, a little bit of sexting—but on his end, he didn’t have the will to get involved. He wanted to, but then he was faced with the cold screen of his phone and was acutely aware of the distance between them.

Everything… Everything was a blur.

Constantly.

Inescapably.

“I just got off the phone with Nanako.” Nana said. It was what Langa heard as he stood at the bottom of the stairs, having dragged himself—with Reki’s encouragement—from his bedroom after promising to try and eat something. Anything, Reki practically pleading with him.

Freezing, he listened, his heart dropping as he gripped his phone all the tighter.

“Langa?” Reki asked.

Langa didn’t respond.

“I told her that he hasn’t improved over the last few days,” Nana continued from the kitchen. “If anything, he keeps getting worse.”

“You should have gotten rid of that truck years ago,” Luis said, sounding oddly deep-voiced and serious. Very rarely had Langa ever heard him sound so.

“The point,” Nana said strictly, “is that this can’t go on. Nanako can’t get here without putting her job at risk. His old doctor is here, so we make an appointment and get him back on medication.”

Pursing his lips, Langa grabbed hold of the banister and slowly sank down until he was sitting at the base of the stairs.

“You guys can’t make him do anything—he’s eighteen.” Another voice—his Aunt Odette. “I think you should just send him home. He was clearly doing okay before he came back here.”

“This is his home.” Uncle Owen was there too? “What’s he going to do? Avoid coming here for the rest of his life? That’s not okay either. He needs to learn how to deal with this—the rest of us have.”

“I would wager it’s a little bit different for him,” Odette snapped. “He’s the one that lived through it.”

“And I’m the one that pulled Oliver out of that truck, in pieces!” Owen snarled back. “You learn to move on!”

Taking in a shaky breath, Langa felt any semblance of his appetite vanish, leaving him nauseated and unbalanced.

“Because that’s what you’ve done?” Odette rebuked. “‘Moved on?’ Please. None of you have ‘moved on.’ Sometimes I feel like everyone but me is still waiting for him to come walking through the front door! It’s no wonder Nanako had to get out of here—it’s no wonder Langa can’t stand to be here!”

“Enough,” Nana issued swiftly. “We’re not here to talk about Oliver. We need to deal with Langa before he…”

“Maybe Detty has a point,” Luis said. “Maybe the best thing we can do is send him back to Okinawa.”

“I don’t know if that’s going to help,” Nana argued. “He’s better off here if he’s going to need treatment—all of his doctors from after the accident are here and mental health care is going to be… better, than in Japan.”

“Or you just don’t want him to go,” Odette added bitterly.

“Why are you so nasty?” Owen asked.

“I’m sorry that you think honesty is the same thing as nastiness.”

Owen growled. “Of course we don’t want him to go—he hasn’t been home in years!”

“This isn’t his home anymore!”

“Of course it is!”

Odette scoffed. “Why do you even care, Owen? You didn’t give two shits about him until Oliver died. And now you’re trying to play godfather? Please. There’s a reason Oliver chose Richard over you.”

“Fuck off.”

“Enough!” Nana said more loudly, causing Langa to flinch. “If you two can’t keep your barbs to yourselves, then you can leave, because neither of you are being helpful.”

“I just don’t think that coddling him is the solution,” Owen continued. “Oliver is dead—that’s the way it is. He needs to get over it.”

“Get over it?” Odette asked. “Really?”

“He has to start living his life!”

“You really aren’t one to talk.”

“What the hell does that mean?!”

“You both need to go,” Luis said swiftly. “Nancy, Nanako, and I will figure this out.”

Owen huffed. “Dad—”

“Now,” Luis said firmly. “Let’s go. Move it out. Come on.”

Not wanting to be seen at the base of the stairs, obviously eavesdropping, Langa forced himself shakily to his feet and quickly toed his way back up. Heart beating fast in his throat, he was ducking into the darkness of the hallway just as he heard his Aunt and Uncle—still bickering under their breaths—reach the entryway.

Leaning back against the wall, he took in a few trembling breaths, before sinking down and sitting atop the hardwood floor, just as the front door opened and closed.

For a few moments, the house was completely silent, Langa holding his phone—with the ever-present image of Reki across the screen—like it was his last and only lifeline.

“Langa?” Reki murmured again.

From below, Langa could barely make out the sounds of his grandmother quietly weeping.

“I’m ruining everything,” he whispered.

“That’s not true,” Reki countered quickly. “None of this is your fault.”

Then whose fault was it? Why was it happening?

Why couldn’t he do like Uncle Owen had said and move on?

Later, after Langa had removed himself to his bedroom, his grandfather knocked twice on the door before gently pushing his way inside. Langa was sitting on his bed, cross-legged and listening as Reki told him about a new board he was designing. He fell silent as soon as he heard the other voice enter the room, which in turn had Langa glancing blearily upward.

“Hey, there, Bubble Gum,” Luis said softly, as he moved to the bed and sat himself down on the edge.

Gaze falling back to his phone, Langa murmured a quiet, “Hey,” of his own.

“Gotta talk to you,” Luis said straight. “About what’s been going on.”

Langa grit his teeth. “I know.”

Luis took a preparatory breath. “We can’t force you to do anything, but Nana thinks you should go see your old doctor. And I think, well, that you should do whatever you think is best for you. And if that means you go home early, then that’s okay.”

He’d be lying if he said that he didn’t want to go back to Okinawa, but then, he was also afraid to go back now. When he and his mother had first moved, he hadn’t been happy, but he’d been stable. And he hadn’t been haunted by horrible nightmares. Occasional nightmares, sure, but he hadn’t been afraid to go to sleep, not like he was then. Even if he did go back, would that help? Or was it too late?

But then, Reki was in Okinawa. That was nearly reason enough.

“You guys don’t want me to leave,” he pointed out.

“Of course we don’t,” Luis assured. “But that doesn’t matter now. What we want, more than anything, is for you to be healthy. And if that means you can’t be here, then…”

But that wasn’t fair, not to his family. He didn’t want to hurt them.

“Langa?”

It was Reki, both Langa and his grandfather glancing down at his phone.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he said quickly.

“It’s okay,” Langa assured.

“I just… was listening, obviously, and…” he faltered, looking somewhat uneasy on the screen, before continuing with, “and I think, maybe, you should go to the doctor, Langa. Especially if—if you have a doctor there who knows you and your history. I’m not saying I don’t want you to come back—you know I want to see you—but… if they already know how to help you, then isn’t that better?”

Langa released a sighing huff. “Maybe, but I’m only here for two more months.” Two long months, but even so.

“I know,” Reki said quietly. “But… it’s not okay that you have such a hard time being there, with your family. Coming back here—it’s not going to help with that, I don’t think.”

He was probably right.

Luis looked between Langa and his phone a few times, before saying, “How about this: we make an appointment with your doctor and after you have a chat with her, you can make a decision to stay or go. Whatever you think is best, Nana and I will be okay with it.”

Pursing his lips, Langa inevitably nodded. What choice did he have otherwise, really?

“It’ll be okay,” Luis murmured, as he reached out and gently stroked Langa’s hair. He left shortly after, Langa inevitably settling back against his pillow to listen—as had become routine—while Reki continued on about whatever struck his fancy. Listening to Reki talk, that was about the only time he felt comfortable closing his eyes. So long as he had Reki’s voice in his ears, then he was… safe. He could pretend, as he always did, that he was a life away—a dimension away—from his old home and the accident. That he was lying in bed beside Reki, or sitting with him, and the two of them were making plans completely and totally removed from everything in Whistler.

Dreaming of Reki, that kept the memories at bay.

He was, therefore, rather shocked, and initially distressed, when—another day later—Reki sent him a strange message. He received it after waking up from a three hour nap, the longest he’d managed since the barn incident. A nap he’d only been able to start because Reki’s voice had droned in his ear until he’d fallen asleep.

Reki: Hey!

Reki: I think my phone reception is going to be in and out for about a day. You can text me, but I don’t know how regularly I’ll be able to get your messages. It’s nothing serious, but, ah, yeah.

Reki: Anyway. Here’s an audio file that you can play if you need to hear my voice—it’s about two hours long. I don’t know how entertaining it is, but I tried to think of some of my best S stories that you might not have heard before.

He’d attached the audio file.

Reki: I also made you a video.

Reki: Don’t watch it when anyone else is around.

The video had then been sent along.

Reki: And don’t worry. Like I said, it’s nothing serious. I promise I’ll be able to talk again soon.

Reki: Really soon.

Reki: And, um…

Reki: I love you.

Eyes going wide, Langa found himself absolutely stunned by the final message. Gaping, he read it over and over and over again, half-convinced that his messed-up head was making it up. But no matter how many times he blinked, those words stayed firmly in place in their chat box.

I love you.

Was Reki… confessing? He wouldn’t say something like that and mean it platonically—there was no way. Given their activities of late, he had to know what the implication behind his words would be. What Langa would make of them.

It had to be a confession.

Which inspired a warm blossom in Langa’s chest, and a weak smile on his chapped lips as he blinked a little too fast.

Hands trembling, he typed out his own message, one that said, “I love you too.” But as his thumb hovered over the send button, he hesitated. Heart skipping, he deleted the words and instead asked, “Are my messages going through?”

He waited nearly twenty minutes, but Reki never even received the text, let alone saw it.

Disappointed, but supposing there was nothing he could do, Langa instead read through all of Reki’s recent messages again. What was he doing that would have him unavailable for so long? Frankly, Langa might have been more upset about the whole thing—selfishly so, really—but every time he reached the bottom of their chat, his heart was jolted at the sight of those three little words.

Tapping the audio file, he held his phone to his ear, softly smiling at the sound of Reki’s familiar voice. He sat, listening to the two hour file, for nearly ten minutes, before pausing it and instead directing his attention to the video. Based on Reki’s warning about not having other people around, Langa assumed it had to be “revealing” in nature.

Stomach twisting with what limited excitement he’d been able to muster up in recent days, Langa sat back against his headboard, maximized the video, and hit play.

It started out innocuously enough. Reki’s phone appeared to be situated in the washroom of his family’s bathroom, elevated just slightly off the ground. For a few seconds, Langa was left staring at the old tile, able to hear a slight shuffling in the background. Until, finally, the lower half of Reki’s body moved into the frame. He was wearing a pair of old sweatpants, his feet bare.

“Ah, so,” his voice started, sounding nervous as he visibly shifted in place. “You were, um, saying before, how you wanted a picture of me—of, like, all of me—because none of the dirty stuff I’ve sent you had my face in it. I did, uh, try to do that, the picture I mean, but they all turned out really… lame. I think, anyway.”

Clearing his throat, he got down on his knees in front of the phone, which allowed for the rest of his body—all the way up to his wild hair—to be visible in the frame. He was wearing an old yellow tank-top, no headband in sight.

Langa smiled.

“So then I was thinking,” Reki continued, as he sat back on his heels, “that maybe I could, like, make you a video instead. You’d think a video would be more difficult than a photo, but I don’t really have to ‘pose’ in a video, and… I dunno, I think I can do this better than I can a pin-up or whatever. So…” He tapped his fingers atop his thighs. “Anyway, onward with the show, I guess.”

He grinned shyly at the camera, once again shifting as though nervous, before he took a huffing breath in order to seemingly steady himself.

Reaching down, he grabbed the bottom edge of his shirt and pulled it up over his head, Langa watching as his thin, well-muscled waist rolled with the motion, his pretty, pert nipples catching in the warm light of the room. Along with the roll of his body moved his hips, the outline of his hardened dick brushing against the fabric of his sweatpants.

Tossing his shirt aside, he took another few deep breaths, chest swelling, as he bent his head and stared down between his own legs—nervously, perhaps, as if he couldn’t quite bring himself to look at the camera. Before he rather abruptly turned on his knees, until his back was to his phone instead of his front. He then dipped his thumbs down into the waistband of his pants, before pushing himself a bit higher and beginning to shimmy them down his hips.

Gut tightening, Langa watched as Reki oh-so gradually lowered his sweats down his rear, until the entirety of his ass was revealed to the room.

They hadn’t exactly addressed the subject of this part of Reki’s body since his picture had been exposed to Patrice. He’d jerked off on camera for Langa quite a few times, but they hadn’t done much more than that. Langa hadn’t exactly been in a good enough place to consider asking, and Reki hadn’t volunteered.

So this… this got Langa’s insides a little warmer, as Reki allowed his sweats to rest down around his thighs as he dragged his hands back up over his ass cheeks, before he sat back, pushing said ass closer to the camera as his back arced forward. Before his hands slid down along either side of his crack. His thin, meticulous hands, which were so crucial to everything he did.

He pulled his ass cheeks apart, revealing the tight, pretty little entrance tucked in-between.

The heat in Langa’s belly made a dive to go lower, more acutely so than it had in days.

Hands still spreading his ass cheeks, Reki was able to flutter his fingers down over his entrance, Langa’s hold on his phone tightening as he watched. Watched as Reki massaged the outside rim, before he rubbed his finger up and down, tugging, pulling. His breathing grew slightly more hitched as he did, before he finally pressed the tip of the same finger—his middle finger—into the heat of his hole. Just barely, stretching it enough that his nail was soon enveloped, before he started curling his finger in place.

Ever-watching, Langa blinked back against the exhaustion otherwise plaguing him, his blood finally waking up enough to pump down between his legs, dick twitching as he watched Reki finger himself. Watched as Reki finally pushed his finger more fully past the ring of muscle already surrounding it, until he was two knuckles deep inside himself, a humming groan echoing out though the speaker of Langa’s phone.

Inside his own lounge pants, Langa’s dick rose fully to life, more and more blood pumping down between his legs as Reki started pulling his finger slowly out again, and then was pushing it back in, and then out. In and out, picking up speed as his hips shifted back and forth in tandem with his finger.

Slipping his hand down into his pants, Langa slowly stroked at his own dick, eyes ever intent on the video.

Reki continued to finger himself for some long, mesmerizing moments, before abruptly pulling his finger free and altering his entire position in the video.

Pausing in his own efforts, Langa watched as Reki dropped himself down onto the floor, before he shoved his pants down so he could shake them off. With his clothing completely out of the way, he then turned back around so he was facing the camera, his exposed dick bobbing as he moved, his face flushed to match his vibrant hair.

Situated on his butt, he spread his legs wide to either side, still sitting up as he reached down and stroked his hand up his cock. Up and down, breath laboring in tandem with his movements. Watching, Langa’s attention was drawn up from his wonderfully splayed body to his face. He’d never seen Reki’s face as he’d touched himself, and so was enraptured at the sight of his slightly parted lips, and his heavy-lidded eyes. He bit at his bottom lip following another humming groan, his cheeks an absolutely perfect shade of red.

He was beautiful.

Reki continued to jerk himself off for the camera a while longer, Langa more slowly pumping his own dick in his pants as he kept watching. Listening as Reki’s breathing grew faster, as little grunts came off the end of each breath, of each stroke. His hips shifted atop the tile, moving with the rhythm of his hand, and his skin shimmered with sweat. Until, inevitably—on the cusp of him more harshly jerking his hand up his dick—he came. He was angled to the point where his cum shot up and splattered across his chest, the heat that was lining Langa’s body jolting at the sight.

For a few seconds, Reki sat in place, chest laboring, eyes closed, torso dripping with cum, before he then reached up and gathered said cum along his fingers. He then leaned back on one elbow—his other arm—as his body rolled backward. Hips shifting in tandem, he spread his legs even wider, toes straining atop the tile as he dragged his cum-covered fingers down beyond his softened dick until he was once again fingering his hole.

Breath catching, Langa watched as Reki spread his own cum over his entrance, before again shoving one whole finger inside himself. He quickly adjusted to a fast, thrusting rhythm, finger pulling in and out of that tight little hole as a longer moan echoed up from between his lips. His dick bounced with the motion of his hips, which were once again shifting to meet his own touch.

When he did eventually remove his finger fully, his entrance was puckered and sticky and wet. Messy and beautiful as he coated his fingers, again, with the cum still splattered across his chest, before delving down for more. With a grunting gasp, he stretched his hole as he shoved the tips of two fingers inside. Just the tips, as he twisted his wrist in place, loosening himself up further.

Stroking his dick a little faster, Langa’s own hands tingled as he imagined that he was the one fingering Reki—getting to feel that tight, slippery heat. To be the one pulling those noises up Reki’s throat. How he wished he could.

After some time playing with just the tips of his fingers, Reki hissed as he shoved both further inside. A hiss that turned to a pleasured moan as he pushed his digits as far in as he could. Once again twisting his wrist in place, Langa watched as his hole flexed around the intrusion, before Reki started pulling his fingers in and out, visibly curling them.

He moved more rigorously now, fucking himself, the squelching of his fingers going quickly in and out echoing alongside his heavy breathing. His cock, meanwhile, was gradually growing hard again, lifting and growing in place until it was once more bobbing up in the air.

“Ugn, Langa,” Reki moaned, never letting up in his pace as he once again bit at his bottom lip. While Langa’s insides jolted at the sound of his own name, muscles contracting with arousal as he stroked his own dick a little faster.

Appearing somewhat frantic on screen now, Reki cringed as he pulled his wet fingers free, cum coating the outside of his hole and dripping some down between his cheeks. His hole, it was only momentarily stretched, before his muscles contracted closed, pushing more cum back to the surface. While Reki spread what remained of his load over his hand, retrieving it from his chest and dropping his attention back downward.

More desperately, and with a wanton moan that echoed in Langa’s ears long after, Reki shoved three of his sticky, white-coated digits up inside himself, hips jolting forward off the tile as his fingers were sucked inside. Feet straining atop the floor, he rolled his body into his hand rather harshly. Slower than before, but harder, his hole once again stretching to make room.

His expression, it shifted between a cringe and an open mouthed gape of pleasure, while Langa pumped his own dick with the same intensity. Thighs clearly tense, Reki continued to push his body into his hand, fucking himself good and hard, until a shiver darted up his entire body. Moaning, he went still, dick twitching as his hand stilled inside him, before he came a second time.

In his own pants, Langa came as well, grunting as his insides went tight and his dick throbbed, the pressure contracting only shortly before releasing. He was left quivering, his exhaustion and lack of energy making him all the more lightheaded.

Trembling in place, breathing deeply, Reki remained suspended only a moment upon the screen, before he pulled his hand free and his ass dropped back to the tile. For a second, his empty hole expanded, before tightening back into place, still wet and covered in cum.

Much as Reki remained sitting on the floor, Langa stayed slumped in bed, his eyes trained on the view of Reki’s naked, exposed body, even as he had to blink away his own dizziness.

He was poignantly disappointed when the video abruptly ended, cutting back to the beginning. He’d nearly forgotten that he wasn’t actually on the phone with Reki, and so drooped further as he found himself re-watching the video. Though he didn’t get off again, he watched it twice more, before finally closing it out and allowing his gaze to find the final words Reki had sent him.

I love you.

He stayed in bed for a while after that, fading in and out as he listened to Reki’s audio. An audio he did, in fact, replay over and over as the day wore on, in-between attempting to send Reki messages, just to see if they’d go through. They never did, which did leave him rather disheartened.

What was Reki doing?

I love you.

He focused on those words, taking more relief from them than anything else, truth be told.

It was sometime during the following afternoon that Nana came up and told him that both she and his grandfather were headed into town. Lunch was downstairs, however, if he felt like getting up. Patrice had come over after school as well—they probably didn’t want to leave him in the house alone.

Remaining where he was for another hour after his grandmother left, it was once more thoughts of Reki that inspired him to drag himself to his feet. Reki had accused him of being mean to Patrice, reasoning that she just wanted to be closer to him. He certainly wouldn’t approve of Langa staying upstairs all by himself when he and Patrice were the only ones in the house.

Once again eyeing Reki’s final text, he found the motivation to get to his feet. He needed to shower, badly, but he wasn’t sure he had the energy for that. Instead, he pulled on a pair of moderately worn jeans and freed Reki’s yellow sweatshirt from where he’d stashed it under the bed. When he’d gotten his new phone, he’d hoped that he and Reki would spend more time face to face—which they had, circumstances aside—and so he’d made the decision to stop wearing the sweatshirt entirely. It’d been a hard decision, but he hadn’t been quite ready to face up to his thievery, especially given the fact that Reki had previously expressed being upset at not being able to find said sweatshirt.

But seeing as he couldn’t even text Reki in those moments, he decided there was no reason he couldn’t wear the sweatshirt. Pulling it on over his head, he decided he probably looked suitable enough. Giving no attention to a mirror, he grabbed up his phone and pushed his bare feet out the door. Moving slowly, he shuffled down the hall and then the stairs, already assaulted by weakness as he reached the stone floor.

His body wasn’t failing him, he knew. He was failing his body. He needed to eat, but even as he stood outside the kitchen, he couldn’t manage an appetite. Ignoring Nana’s offer of a waiting meal, he instead moved into the living room beyond the stairs, where Patrice was sitting cross-legged on the couch, a sketchbook in her lap.

She looked quickly up as he approached, big eyes wide and a smile nearly pulling at her lips. Only for it to waver and drop away.

He must look like shit.

“Hey,” he said gruffly, as he made his way to the couch. Sitting down on the opposite side from his cousin, he took in a shaky breath before pulling his feet up, knees to his chest and phone ever in hand.

Patrice looked him up and down multiple times, before saying, “Hello.”

That was it—nothing else. And, frankly, Langa was grateful. She soon returned her attention to her sketchbook, while Langa twisted more fully sideways so he could catch the view out the window behind them. It was cloudy and he knew the temperature had dropped significantly in the last few days.

It’d snow soon. He hadn’t seen real snow in years—he should be excited.

He wasn’t, but he wanted to be.

Thankfully, Patrice—as he’d come to expect—didn’t push him to talk. They sat quietly for a long time. Langa wasn’t sure how long, his thoughts filled with the constant wonderings of what Reki was doing. Which was better than where his head could be, and while he was getting more and more agitated over not being able to talk to Reki, the situation did distract him from everything else his brain had been trying to shove at him of late.

He looked down at his phone occasionally, obsessed with the last message Reki had sent.

They must have been sitting there, silent aside from the scratching of Patrice’s pencil, for nearly two hours before she said, “Grandpa told me he had a surprise planned.”

Langa glanced her way. “Huh?”

“That’s what he said,” she continued, never looking up from her work. “They should be back soon, I think.”

Humming, Langa returned his attention to the window. Surprises were not uncommon where Luis was concerned. Therefore, he wasn’t exactly curious. Rather, his curiosity was once again drawn back to Reki, as had become expected.

They sat for another whole hour, though he did notice that Patrice had started periodically glancing down at her phone. Before, ultimately, she closed her sketchbook and set it aside. Back straight, expression blank, she sat on the edge of the couch cushion as if waiting for something.

Langa didn’t bother asking for details.

The moment she heard the front door click—before it’d even opened—she shot to her feet and skirted quickly across the room. Turning slowly, to watch her, Langa frowned as she disappeared behind the stairs, just as their grandfather’s voice rang through the house.

“This way, this way,” he was saying.

“He’s in the living room, not upstairs,” Patrice said, before adding a very soft, “Hello! I’m very glad to meet you.”

Puzzled, Langa gathered his meager strength and heaved himself to his feet. Pushing through as best he could the dizziness that assaulted his head, he wavered before dragging himself forward.

“Ah, Bubble Gum!” Luis said as he rounded the stairs into the living room, a manic smile on his face. “Just who we were looking for!” Turning back the way he’d come, he gestured with one hand—as if beckoning someone over—before another, surprisingly familiar figure appeared from the entryway.

Stumbling to a stop, Langa’s eyes went wide, mouth dropping into a gape.

“Hey, Langa.”

Chapter Text

Reki was stressed.

Very, very stressed.

Though he knew Langa was ashamed of how constantly he “needed” to talk to him and hear his voice, Reki wasn’t doing much better on his end. He could still hear Langa’s desperate pleas from the end of their barn tour. He’d been so scared and hysterical—Reki hadn’t needed to be able to see him to know he was having a very serious episode. Or breakdown. Something. Whatever it’d been, it’d shaken Reki all the way to his bones. If he wasn’t talking to Langa, he found himself upsettingly worried about him. Well, he worried about him when he talked to him too, but at least when they were on the phone together, he knew for sure what was going on.

While he would never compare his own situation to Langa’s, he too was having a hard time sleeping, and eating. He’d been staying up a lot longer the last few days, because he’d wanted to remain on the line with Langa as long as possible. The only time he wasn’t talking to him was when Langa was getting a bit of fitful sleep, and when he—Reki—was working. Yet, even then, he picked up his phone at work when Langa called.

It couldn’t carry on like this—Reki knew that—but he was also powerless. He wasn’t with Langa, so all he could do was make himself available in any capacity that was possible. It was frustrating and he hated that he couldn’t sit down beside Langa and force him to eat, or demand that he go to bed. Instead, he was stuck persuading, and pleading, and trying to order him to take care of himself. No, of course he didn’t feel that Langa generally required this kind of attention, but something inside of him had broken during that episode in the barn. He needed support. And Reki…

Reki wasn’t there to help him!

Nor was he the only one desperate to try and help, as it would turn out. Unlike before, Langa was doing nothing to hide the fact that he was in a bad place, and so Reki was oftentimes on the phone when his grandparents came in to check on him. And then, of course, there was Nanako.

Langa’s mom: Hello, again.

Reki: Oh, hey!

Langa’s mom: You’ve been talking to Langa pretty regularly, haven’t you?

Straight to the point. Not that Reki could blame her, all things considered.

Reki: Yeah.

Langa’s mom: His grandparents said he’s on the phone near-constantly with you.

Reki: He has been recently.

Langa’s mom: Then you know…

Reki: That he’s really not doing well?

Reki: Yeah, I know.

Seeing as Langa’s grandparents were aware of the situation—and clearly talking to Nanako—he doubted there was any point in lying. Nanako had to be aware of how bad things had become for her son.

Langa’s mom: He won’t

Langa’s mom: He won’t pick up my calls.

Langa’s mom: And he barely texts me.

Langa’s mom: His grandparents are trying to get through to him, but it’s not going well.

Reki sighed, slumping down at his desk. He was so stressed he’d barely been skating. All he did was spend time on the phone, and pace, and feel generally nauseated.

Reki: If you’re asking me to try and help

Reki: I’ve practically been begging him to take care of himself.

Reki: But I can barely get him to do anything.

Langa’s mom: He’s hardly eating.

Langa’s mom: I can’t let him go through this again.

Not exactly what Reki had expected her to say, but then—like him—she was halfway around the world from Langa. And Langa wasn’t talking to her, to top it off. She was probably frantic with worry.

Reki: Look

Reki: I was on the phone with him when he had his

Reki: breakdown, I guess.

Reki: But I seriously have no idea what is going on.

Reki: And I don’t want to try and ask him because every time I do, it ends badly.

That was half the reason he was so frustrated. He knew things were bad, he couldn’t do anything to help, and, to top it all off, he had no understanding of what had caused it all in the first place. Of course he knew Oliver’s death was the starting point, and clearly that truck was involved, but outside of Langa’s past suicide attempt, he was walking around in the dark!

Reki: What, exactly, is going on with him?

There was a long pause, before Nanako’s ellipses finally appeared again.

Langa’s mom: I assume he’s experiencing PTSD.

PTSD?

Reki: From what?

Langa’s mom: From the accident.

The sight of that truck—which was quickly becoming all the more a haunting image—flashed through Reki’s thoughts.

Reki: Are you saying

Reki: that he was in the accident that destroyed that truck?

Langa’s mom: Yes.

Reki felt so sick, he thought he might throw up then and there. Had he not previously passed on dinner, he probably would have.

Langa’s mom: He and Oliver

Langa’s mom: his father

Langa’s mom: they were going out to pick up food.

Langa’s mom: I was the one who was supposed to go, but the roads were getting icy and even though he’d just gotten off work, Oliver volunteered to go instead because he knew I didn’t like driving if the roads were bad.

Langa’s mom: Langa went with him.

Langa’s mom: On their way back, they were rear-ended

Langa’s mom: by a semitruck.

Closing his eyes, Reki took a moment to steady himself, even as Nanako kept sending messages.

Langa’s mom: It was a hit and run

Langa’s mom: and a horrible accident.

Langa’s mom: The truckdriver must have been speeding when he hit them, or slid into them, because the impact

Langa’s mom: was

Langa’s mom: It’s a miracle that Langa survived it.

Langa’s mom: He was lucky, both that he lived and that damage wasn’t done to most of his body.

Langa’s mom: He did, however, suffer a traumatic head injury.

Langa’s mom: He

Langa’s mom: He was in a medically induced coma for a week, after surgery, during which time he was in the ICU. He had a really hard recovery after that, and some parts of him

Langa’s mom: were never the same.

There was a long pause then, Reki assuming Nanako was having a difficult time relaying the information.

Langa’s mom: After he healed enough to be able to

Langa’s mom: somewhat function

Langa’s mom: he still had a lot of problems.

Langa’s mom: Memory problems dealing with the accident, but other things too.

Langa’s mom: He was also extremely depressed, and angry, and emotionally volatile.

Langa’s mom: Some of that was due to his father’s death, but a lot of it was probably directly the result of his head injury.

Thinking back, Reki remembered—when Langa had been telling him about his past attempt at suicide—that he’d mentioned something about his head. Reki hadn’t realized at the time the relevance, but it was starting to make sense now.

Reki: He told me

Reki: about being suicidal.

Reki: About what he did.

Reki: Was he like that because of his injury?

Langa’s mom: His doctors attribute his mental state to a lot of factors. The injury was part of it, but not all of it.

Langa’s mom: He’s always been overly

Langa’s mom: attached

Another break, during which Reki tapped his fingers against his phone impatiently.

Langa’s mom: He and his father were very close. I can’t begin to describe how

Langa’s mom: devastated he was when he finally had the capacity to understand what had happened.

Langa’s mom: And then there was the incident that you apparently know about.

Langa’s mom: But, the point, is that what happened to him was very traumatic despite the fact that he can’t remember a lot of it. Or a lot of what his life was like before the accident, for that matter.

Langa’s mom: He remembers more all the time, from what I can tell, but, to my knowledge, none of it has been related to the accident.

Until now, was the implication. Or the assumption.

Reki: So you think that seeing that truck

Reki: triggered him?

Reki: I mean, it clearly did

Reki: but you think maybe he’s remembering the accident?

Langa’s mom: All I know for sure is what Patrice said of how he was acting and what he was saying.

Langa’s mom: Which makes me think that he may have had some kind of

Langa’s mom: I don’t know.

Sitting back in his chair, Reki set his phone down and rubbed at his temples, mentally rehashing everything Nanako had told him. It’d never occurred to him, since the two of them had met, that the reason Langa had never talked much about his life prior to moving to Okinawa was because he’d literally had trouble remembering it. Of course, he also probably struggled to talk about it generally—as he did his father—but if his head was still somewhat jumbled from his accident, he’d probably want to avoid talking about his past altogether. Maybe it was confusing, or difficult.

Reki: How much does he remember?

Reki: From his life before?

Langa’s mom: Quite a bit of it has come back to him, I think. Especially over the last few years.

Langa’s mom: Memories relating to his father, those seem to come back more concretely than others. Snowboarding, especially, but other things too. I assume that losing his father has something to do with it, but I can’t say for certain.

Maybe. Reki was in no position to disagree—he was certainly no expert.

Reki: It was a hit and run accident?

Langa’s mom: Yes.

Reki: But how?

Reki: If they were rear-ended hard enough to cause that kind of damage

The damage he’d seen done to that truck.

Reki: then the truck that hit them would have been damaged too, right?

So it would have been easier to find.

Langa’s mom: The semitruck was damaged. It was the driver that ran. The truck was abandoned, leaving the police to assume the driver got away on foot. They never found them.

But that didn’t make any sense…

Reki: The truck though

Reki: Wasn’t it registered to someone?

Langa’s mom: I think so. Maybe. I know the police investigated, but they came up with nothing in the end. I don’t know the exact details—Oliver’s brother was more involved with all that.

Langa’s mom: I was

Langa’s mom: dealing with Langa.

Frowning, Reki once again rubbed at his fingers over his temples, a headache forming despite his efforts.

Reki: Right.

Reki: I’ll try to get Langa to eat more, and sleep more.

Reki: I don’t know what else I can do.

Reki: I’m sorry.

Langa’s mom: It’s alright.

Langa’s mom: I just didn’t know if he’d said anything more to you than he had anyone else.

Langa’s mom: Thank you, for being so attentive to him.

Reki: He’s my best friend.

Reki: I wish there was more I could do to help.

Langa’s mom: You’ve done more for him than you know.

She didn’t say anything else following, which was probably for the best, as Langa called him about three minutes later. He didn’t tell him about the conversation he had with Nanako, not this time, as he feared it’d do more damage than good. He didn’t want to keep things from Langa, naturally, but given the situation, he also didn’t want to cause unnecessary upset. Eventually, he’d tell him, just not now.

He had more important things to worry about as of then, like the last time Langa had eaten anything.

He tried to improve Langa’s mood in any way he could think of—with stories, and comforting words, and sexual “distractions,” but unlike before, nothing seemed to be working. Reki found himself feeling more and more hopeless, something he did his very best to hide from Langa, but it was getting harder and harder.

Part of him simply wanted Langa to come home. Especially after the conversation he’d overheard with Langa’s grandfather, about Langa getting help. Going to see his doctor, that was a step in the right direction, but Reki’d be lying if he didn’t simply hope that Langa would make the decision to return to Okinawa. If he did, then Reki could look after him better.

The distance between them was… stifling.

Langa’s mom: I’m sorry to bother you again.

A text he received a day after their previous conversation.

Reki: It’s fine.

Reki: Is everything okay?

Langa’s mom: I just got off the phone with Luis, Langa’s grandfather.

Langa’s mom: He has an idea, of sorts.

Reki: Okay?

Langa’s mom: He’s kind of a strange man, I’ll admit, but I’m willing to try just about anything at this point.

Langa’s mom: He wants to fly you over.

Reki: Fly me over?

Reki: Where?

Langa’s mom: To Canada.

Though Reki had typed out his confusion, his brain caught on just as Nanako sent her explanation.

For a moment, he was stunned as he stared down at his phone, not having considered such an idea. Of course, he had the money to fly to Canada—the money he and Langa had saved up for their trip—but even if he’d entertained the idea prior, he wouldn’t have known where he was going, or if doing so would have been okay. Whether Langa wanted to see him or not, he couldn’t just… invade another family.

It wasn’t an invitation that had started with Langa, but if his grandfather was okay with it…

Reki: Really?

Reki: Why though?

Langa’s mom: He seems to be under the impression that having you around may help Langa. And while I don’t expect it to be any sort of miracle fix, I can’t say that I disagree. Like I said, you’ve helped him more than you probably realize, and I know how important you are to him.

Reki: But…

Why was he objecting? No, this wasn’t Langa coming home, but it was kind of the same. If Reki went to Canada, then he could look after him there. It didn’t really matter where they were, he supposed, so long as they were together.

Reki: I mean

Reki: Okay.

Langa’s mom: Okay?

Reki: Yeah, sure.

Reki: Let’s do it.

Langa’s mom: Really?

Reki: Yeah.

Reki: I want to go.

Reki: I’ll definitely go.

Of course he’d go. It wasn’t exactly a hard decision to make, he realized, his heart skipping as what he was agreeing to finally began to sink in. He had a passport, so that wasn’t an issue, and it’d be easy enough to pack. He didn’t have a suitcase for this kind of trip, but his father—

“Mom?!” he called, as he shoved himself to his feet and practically sprinted from his bedroom. “MOM?!”

“What?” she asked, looking annoyed as she poked her head out of the dining room, just as Reki was sliding to a stop atop the tatami.

He wasn’t sure why he was so breathless, but he was nonetheless.

“I need Dad’s suitcase,” he said quickly.

His mother frowned. “Why?”

“I’m… going to Canada.”

Hopefully.

In his hand, his phone buzzed again, while his mother, she stared at him for a few long moments, clearly attempting to digest his announcement. Before she very slowly said, “Alright. I’ll go get it for you.”

She did not, admittedly, look altogether surprised.

“You’re going to Canada?” Koyomi asked from where she was sitting nearby, watching television. She was downright annoyed, a potato chip halfway to her mouth as she stared at him. “I wanna go.”

“Why would you go?” Reki asked snidely. “You don’t know anyone there. Besides, you have school.”

She glowered.

Shrugging lightly, Reki flicked his attention back to his phone as it buzzed yet again. He had another message from Nanako—

Langa’s mom: I’ll give your info to Luis and he’ll contact you.

And then an additional message from someone he didn’t know.

Unknown: Hello!

Unknown: Is this Mr. Reki?

“Mr. Reki?” he muttered under his breath.

Reki: Yeah, this is Reki.

Unknown: Perfect!

Unknown: I’m Luis, Langa’s grandfather. We spoke earlier, yes?

They hadn’t exactly spoken to each other, but they had been talking to Langa at the same time.

Reki: Yeah.

Langa’s grandfather: Nanako said she spoke to you. You’re agreeable to my proposition?

Reki: Sure.

Reki: I’ll look up tickets, if you tell me where I need to fly into.

Langa’s grandfather: No need! I’ll cover all the costs! All I need is some of your personal info and the soonest you’ll be able to fly out.

Reki: Oh.

Reki: Are you sure?

Reki: I can pay for the ticket.

Langa’s grandfather: I wouldn’t dream of it! This is my idea, so I’ll deal with all the damages. Besides, I’m quite eager to meet you myself.

Reki: Uh, thanks, I guess.

Reki: I’ll pack tonight, so if there’s an available flight tomorrow, I should be able to make that.

Langa’s grandfather: There’s a flight that departs from Naha Airport at 10:55am tomorrow morning. It’s a 21 hour flight with layovers in Tokyo and Los Angeles. Is that doable?

Twenty-one hours! That was a long time. But then, the only place he’d ever flown to was Korea, and that had been quite a few years ago, so he didn’t really have enough experience to justify complaining.

Reki: Sounds good.

Reki: I’ll be able to take a train to the airport in the morning.

It’d probably take him less than two hours.

Langa’s grandfather: Wonderful! I just need some personal info so I can book your flight.

Though he felt somewhat strange about it—he wasn’t sure anyone had ever paid so much for him to do anything—he nonetheless sent along all the info that “Luis” requested. Even if he did feel awkward about it, his desperation to get to Langa far outweighed anything else.

Langa’s grandfather: I forwarded all your ticket information to your email. You’ll arrive at 3:50pm our time in Vancouver, so my wife and I will come pick you up, before driving up to Whistler.

Reki: What about Langa?

Langa’s grandfather: You can’t tell him!

Reki: Uh, why?

Langa’s grandfather: It has to be a surprise!

Reki was still confused. He wasn’t sure why a surprise was necessary, nor was he wholly comfortable with the idea of simply showing up without Langa knowing he was coming. Besides, weren’t phones pretty shoddy on airplanes? If he was going to be travelling for over twenty hours, then that was nearly a whole day that he might be unable to contact Langa. He wasn’t exactly comfortable with that.

Reki: Does it have to be?

Langa’s grandfather: Yes! Langa is quite low right now, and surprises always make people feel better!

Thumbs hovering over his phone, Reki tried to think of a way to argue his point without potentially putting himself in a bad light with Langa’s grandfather. Much as he’d regretted accidentally arguing with Nanako, he didn’t want to do the same with other members of Langa’s family. Preferably, he wanted Langa’s family to like him.

Reki: I guess that’s true, but

Reki: he’ll think it’s weird if I can’t talk to him all of a sudden.

Langa’s grandfather: Make an excuse!

Langa’s grandfather: Tell him you dropped your phone in the ocean! It got run over by a car! You accidentally shot it into outer space!

Reki hummed out loud, face scrunching in deliberation. He definitely wasn’t going to tell Langa any of those excuses. One, if any of them were true, he wouldn’t be able to talk to Langa anyway, and, second, the idea that he’d be without a phone at all would no doubt be very upsetting to him.

Reki: I’ll think of something.

Langa’s grandfather: Perfect! Can’t wait to meet you!

Langa’s grandfather: And remember! It’s a SURPRISE!

“Right…” Reki muttered.

“I just told Miya you’re going to Canada,” Koyomi interjected, Reki flicking his attention back to her. “He’s says he hopes you and Langa don’t kiss too much.”

“Oh, shove off,” Reki muttered, as his mother reappeared, his father’s beat-up old suitcase rolling along beside her. Taking it with a quiet “thanks,” he ignored Koyomi’s kissing noises as he returned to his bedroom.

He had the suitcase up on his bed and was shoving clothes into it when Langa called. They’d been on the line with one another some two hours prior and Reki had finally talked him into sleeping. Hopefully, he’d been resting that entire time, as it’d be longer than he’d have managed in days.

“Hey,” Reki said, phone propped between his ear and his shoulder.

“Hey,” Langa replied, sounding ragged—as always. “How come you don’t have your camera on?”

“Oh, I’m… doing laundry. Hands aren’t free.” He didn’t like lying—and was nearly on the verge of telling Langa the truth—but then, he had told his grandfather he’d go along with the “surprise.” He could always tell Langa and then insist he act surprised, but that probably wasn’t something Langa was capable of, especially in his current state. “Did you sleep okay?”

“Not really.”

Frowning, Reki ignored the tense twisting in his chest and racked his brain for literally anything that might prove enough to distract Langa from whatever else was going on in his head. Ultimately—after he’d packed—they continued chatting for nearly three hours. Well, Reki did a majority of the chatting, until his voice was so hoarse that he couldn’t get much more than a few words out without clearing his throat. Which was okay, because he changed tactics in a more physical direction shortly after, giving Langa a generous view from the front as he yet again jerked off for the camera.

He was running out of ideas.

It was late when Langa finally dozed off again. That was their routine by that point—Langa barely slept, and so they were in a constant up and down of talking and then pausing while Langa sort of rested, until he woke up again and they started the process over. With Langa trying to sleep, Reki knew he should be as well, but, instead, he continued with his preparations for the following day.

He could always sleep on the plane.

Finishing up with his packing, he deliberated the whole time about what to do with Langa. He couldn’t just abandon him for nearly a day without explanation, no matter “Luis’s” reasoning—if one could call it reasoning at all. Langa was depending on him. If he was going to be unavailable, then he had to prepare Langa somehow.

His main concern was making sure Langa at least had the option to try and sleep, and so he came to the conclusion that he’d make an audible recording, so that if Langa needed to hear his voice, he had that option. For two hours he babbled into his phone, until Langa inevitably called him again.

There was a rinse and repeat of their routine, Reki up into the morning hours as he continued to try and figure out the best ways to comfort Langa even when he was unavailable.

Maybe it was because he was so tired, or worried, or downright desperate, but he started attempting to do exactly what he’d previously said he couldn’t—taking pin-up like photos. The lighting, however, was terrible with it so late, and most of what he took appeared awkward and forced (because it was). Groaning, he hunched over in bed and rehashed his thought process.

He couldn’t send Langa such stupidly executed photos, so what should he do? Record himself jerking off a few times?

Maybe. Certainly he could do that better than he had the pictures.

Or…

Removing himself to the bathroom, he set his phone up in the shower room and allowed his horny, wearied thoughts to guide him. What he ended up with was far more “in-depth” than anything he’d done for Langa before, but perhaps that was for the best. Something new—something more intimate—might go further than what they’d been up to already. He could hope that it’d carry Langa through, until he arrived in Canada.

It occurred to him—as he was quietly going back to his bedroom—that he’d made porn.

He’d made a porn video and was planning to send it to his best friend.

Was this even real life?

He was brought thoroughly back to reality when Langa called him half an hour later. On and on it went, until the sun was rising and Reki—having gotten no sleep—was double-checking that he was ready to go. Saying farewell to his family with little in the way of explanation (they didn’t seem to need any), he was soon jogging out into the early morning, making the twenty minute trip to the train station.

Langa called him once he was on board, and so he removed himself to the back of the emptiest car, keeping himself as quiet as possible as he talked to him. Which Langa understood, once Reki explained to him where he was.

“Where are you going?”

“Ah, to pick up some stuff for Oka before work later.” Fuck! Work!

“Oh.”

He talked to Langa until he, once again, had no choice but to try sleeping, before pulling up his chat with his boss:

Reki: So…

Reki: I can’t come in today.

Oka: A little late notice, but alright.

Reki: And

Reki: I can’t come in tomorrow.

Oka: Okay…

Reki: Or the day after.

Oka: You have that day off.

Reki: Right. The point is

Reki: I’m going to Canada.

There was a bit of a pause before he got another response, his expression pulling into a cringe.

Oka: Somehow I’m not surprised.

Reki: Are you mad?

Reki: I’m really sorry.

Oka: I’m not mad, just annoyed.

Oka: How long are you going to be gone?

Reki: I don’t know, actually.

Reki: Uh, probably until Langa gets back.

Reki: So a little over two months?

Oka: Fine.

Oka: I’ll just do everything myself.

Oka: Maybe I’ll hire someone else to replace you.

Reki: I wouldn’t blame you.

Reki: I am sorry. I didn’t expect this to happen.

Oka: It’s alright.

Oka: Is everything okay? You’ve seemed kind of off the last few days. And you keep using your phone during work, even though I know you know you’re not supposed to.

Reki: I know.

Reki: It’s Langa.

Reki: There’s some

Reki: problems right now.

Reki: I guess you could call it an emergency?

Reki: Hopefully it’ll get better.

Oka: I hope so.

Oka: Let me know when you guys are headed back.

Reki: Will do.

Reki: Thanks, man.

Reki: Really.

Oka: No problem.

Reki had only ever worked one job in his life, but he was fairly certain he’d never find a better boss, ever.

Reki: Get my sister to help out.

Reki: She’s been looking for an afterschool job.

Reki: And she’s picked up skating.

Oka: I’ll keep that in mind.

Langa hadn’t yet tried to contact him again, after he’d gotten to the airport and then through security. Supposing he ought to finally break the news, he sat in the terminal with his backpack and skateboard, staring down at his phone as he tried to figure out what to say.

Reki: Hey!

Reki: I think my phone reception is going to be in and out for about a day. You can text me, but I don’t know how regularly I’ll be able to get your messages. It’s nothing serious, but, ah, yeah.

Reki: Anyway. Here’s an audio file that you can play if you need to hear my voice—it’s about two hours long. I don’t know how entertaining it is, but I tried to think of some of my best S stories that you might not have heard before.

He attached the audio file.

Reki: I also made you a video.

Reki: Don’t watch it when anyone else is around.

He sent the video along as well, heart jolting as it arrived in the chat box. He and Langa had kind of been over… anal stuff already, so… he’d be into it. Hopefully. Reki wasn’t sure how he felt about the video, personally, having mostly been unable to play it back without feeling embarrassed. But, this wasn’t about him, it was about Langa, so if it was something he’d appreciate seeing, then that was reason enough.

Reki: And don’t worry. Like I said, it’s nothing serious. I promise I’ll be able to talk again soon.

Reki: Really soon.

Staring down at his phone, he found himself contemplating whether it was enough—the audio file and the video. He’d been thinking on it all morning, not totally convinced it’d be able to tide Langa over. Or maybe he was simply stressed at the fact that he’d be unable to check in on Langa for a while. Certainly Langa would be okay without him for a day, right?

Probably, but, still…

Anxiously tapping his shoes, Reki only half listened as it was announced that his plane would be boarding soon.

Heart flipping so severely in his chest that it left him lightheaded, he found himself on the verge of saying something he’d been too afraid to confess since the sexting had started. He couldn’t tell if it was his own anxiety that was inspiring him to do it, or the honest desire to make sure Langa didn’t feel abandoned. Maybe it was both.

Yet, how would Langa react? Reki hoped it’d be positively, but maybe a confession was the last thing he wanted on his plate right now. It might just stress him out more…

Or it’d be exactly what he needed to hear. Were their roles reversed, Reki would be comforted knowing how much he meant to someone else—to his best friend. He wanted Langa to know how much he cared, how much he…

For weeks he’d been telling himself that, for Langa, he had to keep his nerve.

He had to be brave.

Reki: And, um…

His fingers were trembling as he typed out his final message, while everyone around him was getting up in order to board.

Reki: I love you.

He stared at the message for quite a few heavy heartbeats, each throb echoing in his ears. Until the shifting of bodies around him jostled him from his own insecurity. Pocketing his phone, he grabbed up his bag and moved to get in line.

The flight was… quite taxing. He hadn’t ever flown so far and while the trip from Okinawa to Tokyo wasn’t long, going from Tokyo to Los Angeles was cramped and stuffy. He’d planned to sleep a majority of the ten hours, but that turned out to be quite difficult, at least for him. He had no room despite having lucked out with a window seat, and the sound and vibrations from the plane itself kept him up a lot of the time. Yet, he was so chocked full of adrenaline when they were finally landing that he was hardly aware of his exhaustion.

The longest of his layovers had been in Tokyo, which had been a little more than three hours, whereas his layover in LA was only about an hour and half. It was kind of a bummer, because he’d always wanted to visit LA, but by the time he was finally off the plane, he had just enough time to make it across the airport for his next flight. He considered taking his phone off airplane mode—much as he’d considered it in Tokyo—but was conscious of the fact that his time was limited. If Langa tried calling him, he wouldn’t be able to accomplish much as far as conversation. Nor would he be able to hide where he was, more than likely, given that Langa would probably ask what was going on. So he kept on as he was, ever focused ahead and willing the time to move faster.

His flight from LA to Vancouver was only about three hours. A very uncomfortable three hours, as the plane constantly jolted around by turbulence. Which was extremely nerve-wracking, as he’d never experienced such a thing before, but when no one around him was visibly upset, he figured he was probably fine.

It was a very long three hours—probably because he was so near the end of his trip, or because his lack of sleep was really starting to catch up with him. His skin felt dry and saggy, while his insides churned. He was breaking out for sure, and he was starting to get why Langa had looked so muddled when he’d sent Reki a selfie weeks earlier, just off his own flight.

The fact that he was in Canada—on an entirely different side of the world—didn’t really start sinking in until they were landing, Reki gaping as he stared out across the mountainous, pine littered landscape. Not that he’d never seen mountains before, but the fact that it was so foggy and there was…snow… at the peaks. He’d never actually seen snow before, not in real life.

It was very… different.

Of course, a majority of his view was obscured by the airport as they finally landed, and so he was once again shuffled off with the crowd. Thankful for all the English practice he’d gotten in with Langa, he followed the signs through customs and then to baggage, where he slumped in place and waited for his suitcase to come around the carousel. He was so overstimulated by the journey that he nearly forgot what mode his phone was in (it wasn’t Langa he had forgotten about, obviously, but the settings). However, when he turned his phone back on properly, he found that it still wasn’t working right.

He didn’t have any data.

Right. Because he was in Canada (he was in Canada!). His sim card and his phone plan didn’t work now. Langa—given his family situation—probably had some kind of overseas phone plan by contrast.

“Shit,” Reki muttered, detouring instead to his wifi options. Before he could even search for any free wifi, however, his suitcase came around, which yanked his attention elsewhere. With his luggage in hand, he was herded onward, the sheer amount of English that was being spoken around him bordering on overwhelming. To the point where he could barely concentrate enough to remember how to use the language himself. Or perhaps his brain was just too tired.

There were even more people waiting as they were filed into pickup, because of course there was, and Reki was left momentarily panicked because he had no idea which of all these none-Japanese people were supposed to be picking him up. Then, of course, his lagging brain remembered that he did, in fact, know what Langa’s grandfather looked like, even if the same couldn’t be said for anyone knowing what he looked like.

Shit, did he look okay? Probably not. He felt like garbage, that was for sure. Overwhelmed, hungry, exhausted garbage. And now he had to meet Langa’s grandparents. After he found them. In this sea of foreigners.

Well, technically he was the foreigner, wasn’t he?

Whatever.

Once he was beyond the gates, he found himself scurrying off to the side, eyes scanning the crowd. Ultimately, he decided that the odds of him picking out anyone he’d never actually met before were exceedingly unlikely, and so pulled up his phone again, in order to try and get a handle on the wifi so he could text Langa’s grandfather.

He was so startled when someone gently touched his shoulder that he nearly threw his phone across the airport.

Whipping around, eyes wide, he found himself face to face with the same older man he’d seen through Langa’s camera. Langa’s grandfather, who was of similar height to Langa and was currently postured in a slightly hunched manner, perhaps trying to appear unthreatening. His hand remained on Reki’s shoulder.

“Are you Reki?” he asked gently.

“Ey, hai—I mean, uh, y—yes! Yes, I’m Reki.” English! Use English! He hadn’t done all that practicing with Langa just to forget every word he’d ever learned!

Luis’s expression brightened considerably, a wide smile drawing across his face. “Perfect!” he announced. “I thought it must be you, because of the skateboard.” He nodded to Reki’s backpack, hand still resting on his shoulder. “Did your flight go well?”

“Oh, uh, yeah, no complaints.” Not any that were worth bringing up anyway.

“Wonderful!” Finally dropping his hold on Reki’s person, Luis clapped his hands together. “You’re probably exhausted, so why don’t we head on out to the car and we can get going. Are you hungry? Any kind of food you’d like us to pick up on the way? Probably best to get something before we leave the city. What’s your favorite food? I’m sure we can get you something you’ll like. Unless you’d like to try something new? Do you like new things? Or would you prefer to stay within your comfort zone? Totally understandable if you do—not like you’re here for sightseeing or as a tourist. Though, I can’t guarantee the sort of selection there will be in Whistler as far as Japanese cuisine. If course, I’ve tried my hand at quite a few dishes, but then, I’m certainly no professional.”

Blinking, Reki tried to keep up, but Luis was talking rather quickly. While Langa didn’t exactly talk slow (he did when he was tired, sometimes), he always maintained a much steadier pace when they were using English. Did most English speakers talk in such a rushed manner? Reki hoped not. Patrice hadn’t.

“Uh…” he said lamely. “You’re… You’re asking me about food, right?”

“Yes! Oh, I’m sorry, am I talking too fast? I’ll… slow… down…” He made a steadying gesture with his hands. “I’m just very excited you’re here.”

“Um, thanks…”

“Well, shall we?” He gestured toward the doors. “Nancy is parked outside and she does not like to be kept waiting.”

Nancy—Langa’s grandmother?

Nodding, Reki went along beside him, attention snapping every which way as he attempted to digest everything around him. But as they stepped outside—glass doors sliding open at their sides—his thoughts came to a grinding halt, brain short-circuiting at the chill that went dashing down his whole body.

It was… fucking cold.

Granted, he’d known when he’d left that it was likely to be cold—he wasin Canada—but there’d also been little he could do to prepare for the change. Even during Okinawa’s coldest months, it was still relatively pleasant, yet he could already tell that it was colder in Vancouver than it ever got back home. And yeah, he’d packed as appropriately as he’d been able—mostly jeans and long pants, and quite a few sweatshirts—but he didn’t own anything otherwise suitable for cold weather.

Hopefully there’d be something he could borrow from Langa. How much colder would it get while he was there? It’d snow, right? What did freezing temperatures feel like? Certainly it was close to freezing already.

“Are you alright?” Luis asked, pausing to look Reki’s hunched figure up and down. Or perhaps Reki’s expression gave away his surprised discomfort.

“Yeah, sorry,” he said quickly. “It’s nothing, just cold.”

Luis laughed. “It must be quite a shock for you,” he said. “Not to worry, the car is just here.” They’d kept walking, approaching a black sedan beside the curb. It was running, and as Luis (very politely) took his suitcase and loaded it into the trunk, Reki—hesitantly (nervously)—ducked down into the back seat, as Luis had also opened the door for him.

“Um, hi,” he said awkwardly, bowing his head to the older woman that had turned back toward him. She was in the driver’s seat, her expression rather severe and her gray hair cut quite sharply. Unlike with Luis, Reki saw very little in common between her and Langa, though he did note that her face was shaped much as Oliver’s had appeared in what few pictures he’d seen of the man.

“Hello,” the woman replied. Not unkindly, but with far less exuberance than Luis. She then reached her hand back, Reki clumsily holding his own out in a handshake. She had a very firm grip. “I’m Nancy, Langa’s grandmother.”

“The car mechanic,” Reki remembered.

Her eyebrows twitched. “That’s right. From what Langa has said, you’re a mechanic yourself.”

“Oh, uh, yeah, with—with skateboards.”

“That’s a very impressive skill,” she said.

Reki flushed. “Thanks.”

“So!” Luis continued, as he dropped himself down into the passenger seat. “Food, yes? What do you have a hankering for?”

Hankering?

“Uh, I’m good with anything, really,” Reki replied. “I’m not picky. If it’s easier to wait, that’s fine too.”

“You’ve got to be hungry,” Nancy countered.

“We’d have brought something ahead of time, had we known what you wanted,” Luis said, all of them buckling their seatbelts as Nancy pulled the car out into the drive. Gently—self-consciously—Reki put his bag on the seat beside him, placing it extra carefully so as to prevent it falling over.

“Whatever you think is good, that’s fine,” he replied, before quickly adding. “Except poutine. No poutine. Please.”

“And you’re Langa’s best friend?” Nancy asked, Reki thinking she sounded humored.

“We have our differences,” he replied, craning his head down to get a look out the window. With them still being at the airport, there wasn’t much as far as a view, so Reki instead detoured his focus to his phone. Yet, as the car drove on, he was quickly moving out of range of any wifi.

He really wanted to check in on Langa, especially knowing that he might be alone. His grandparents were obviously elsewhere, after all.

“How do burgers sound?” Luis asked.

“That sounds good,” Reki said, realizing a little too late how distracted his response had been. He was usually better about social situations—Langa said he was naturally friendly—but in those moments, he was both tired and worried. “I mean, that sounds really great. Uh, sorry, I was just…” He pointed lamely to his phone, when Luis turned to look back at him. “I didn’t realize my phone wouldn’t work when I got here, um…”

“Do you need to take it somewhere?” Luis asked.

“No, that’s not—I just can’t…” At least he was too tired to feel much in the way of embarrassment over his overt concern. “I’m just wondering, since you guys are here, does that mean Langa is alone?” He hoped his overwhelming unease would make up for any potential oversteps. Not like he was criticizing them for leaving him on his own or something.

Luis frowned, though the expression lasted only a second, while Nancy said, “No, Patrice is with him—his cousin.”

“Oh.” Reki slumped back in his seat. “Okay. That’s good.”

Though he was staring out the window again, he did notice Langa’s grandparents sharing a look between each other, just out of the corners of his eyes, before Luis turned to him again.

“We’re very appreciative, of you coming,” he said, sounding quite serious, and so Reki looked his way again. “We realize it was short notice and hope it wasn’t much in the way of an inconvenience.”

“It’s totally fine,” Reki assured. “I was going crazy, ah, worrying about Langa anyway. So…” Flushing some, he turned again to the window.

“Understandable,” Nancy said lowly, as if to agree with the sentiment.

They did stop at a drive thru, where they bought Reki a burger and fries, along with a strawberry shake. He offered to pay them back later, once he’d withdrawn some cash of his own, but they assured him he didn’t need to worry about any of it. He was their guest and they were more than happy to pay for his stay. Politeness would require that he continue objecting, but the longer he sat in the car—especially after eating—the more his lack of sleep began to catch up with him. He couldn’t text Langa—or anyone for that matter—and though Luis asked him the occasional question or two, the atmosphere in the car was acutely wearied and tense.

The sooner they could get to… wherever they were going, the better it’d be for everyone, Reki figured. And what better way to pass the time than to sleep? Well, doze, mostly. He wasn’t Langa—he couldn’t just fall asleep anywhere (or so Langa could normally do, when he wasn’t in emotional distress). He more or less nodded off because his body was so fatigued that there was little else he could do, but the jostling of the car kept him from resting too deeply. Langa’s grandparents murmured to one another occasionally, but were generally quiet. And while Reki clearly didn’t know them, he would have expected Langa’s grandfather to be a bit chattier—nosy, perhaps. But then, the general mood in the car was a bit uneasy. Tense, almost, and so Reki supposed he wasn’t the only one out of sorts.

Eyes heavy, he’d occasionally find himself staring out the window, forehead resting against the glass. Maybe the landscape became repetitive to some, but as he’d never seen so many tall, bushy pine trees, or snow-capped mountains surrounded in dense gray clouds, he found it continually captivating. Enchanting, almost, in how different it was from where he’d grown up. Dark and shadowed sometimes, and closed up. Were the scene not so grand, it’d almost be dreary. Instead, it was… intimidating.

Reki felt incredibly small, tucked away as they were in that car as they wound their way through the barren roads carved deep into the woods and rock.

He really was very, very far away from home.

It was obvious they’d arrived at the house when they turned into a driveway, Reki sitting up intently and blinking the bleariness from his vision. It was a long driveway, curving and shrouded in so many trees that there were more shadows than there was vague sunlight. Until they reached the break, at which point the landscape opened up again, a steep yard stretching up the bank, atop which sat a large, two-story cabin, huge windows shimmering and enormous wooden support beams making it look all the more imposing.

Langa had said the house wasn’t much bigger than his—Reki’s—house, but it certainly looked a lot bigger from where Reki was sitting.

They pulled around the circle drive to the front, Reki—for the first time since he’d agreed to fly halfway around the world—feeling nervous not because of Langa’s mental state, but because it was the first time they’d be together in weeks. The first time since their relationship had… changed.

Langa was inside that house, so close, and while Reki wasn’t about to hesitate about going in, that didn’t stop his stomach from flipping and his hands from clamming up.

“There’s that,” Luis said to him, once they were all outside. Having removed his suitcase form the trunk, he handed it over, looking slightly nerved up himself, but in the way a child might be—giddy and jumpy.

Reki was too tired to relate.

“C’mon,” Nancy said, as she headed up the stairs to the door ahead of them. “Let’s not keep Langa waiting.”

“He’s gonna be so happy to see you,” Luis said, practically shaking as he clapped his hands together. “Maybe he’ll be so happy, he’ll decide to take a shower.”

Reki gaped as he dragged his suitcase up the stairs. “W—What?”

Luis did not extrapolate.

Heart skipping as they entered the house, Reki tried to excuse his shivering as a consequence of the cold and not his nerves. His suitcase sounded extremely loud as it rolled over the stone floor—jarringly so—while his gaze darted around in a near-frantic manner, searching out Langa despite not knowing the first place to even start looking.

“This way, this way,” Luis said, neither he nor Nancy bothering to take off their shoes as they moved on into the house. Supposing it was fine, then, for him to keep his on as well (no matter how rude he instinctively felt), he kept on after them, his insides practically humming.

“Bubble Gum is probably upstairs in his room,” Luis murmured as they approached the wide staircase just beyond the entry. “I’ll take you up so you can—”

“He’s in the living room, not upstairs.” They all turned toward the soft, airy voice. It was Patrice, dressed up in black as Reki had seen her before and smiling in a small way. Her big eyes carried the expression much further, however, her whole body buzzing in place as she looked at him. “Hello! I’m very glad to meet you,” she said, twitching in place like a bird.

Smiling tightly—and abruptly assaulted by the knowledge that this girl had seen a very compromising photo of him—Reki flushed and offered her a shy, awkward wave.

“Ah, Bubble Gum!” Luis’s boisterous voice knocked him back into the moment, however, his heart lurching. “Just who we were looking for!” Turning, Luis was smiling from ear to ear as he gestured Reki more fully into the room. Bracing himself for reasons he couldn’t quite explain, Reki rounded the staircase, suitcase still dragging at his side.

His attention immediately snagged on Langa. He was approaching from the other side of the room, but came to a clumsy stop as their eyes met. Gaping, blue eyes wide, he was clearly shocked, which Reki supposed was part of the whole “surprise” bit of this experience.

Reki, for his part, found all his nerves seep away at the sight of his best friend. Some of that space was filled with warmth, while compassion and concern filled in the rest. Langa was so thin and haggard. His typically effortless beauty was shrouded in greasy hair, uneven skin, and frumpy clothes—though Reki suspected his clothes only appeared so because of his downtrodden posture.

He was only startled for about half a second to see his missing yellow sweatshirt draped over Langa’s shoulders, before a weak smile pulled at his lips.

He should have known.

“Hey, Langa,” he said gently, a hungry ache welling up through his chest alongside his words.

Taking in a shaky, uneven breath, Langa stared at him a couple seconds longer, and then his already fragile expression shattered. Gaze dropping, something between guilt and shame seemed to douse his person, to the point where his whole body could crumble beneath the weight.

“Hey, no,” Reki said quickly—in Japanese, because he’d completely forgotten that they weren’t the only two people in the room. Leaving his suitcase, he dropped his backpack to the floor as he moved swiftly across the room, going directly to Langa and wrapping him up in a hug as he buried his face in that familiar blue hair. “It’s okay,” he murmured, holding tight. “You’re okay. Don’t be upset.”

But he was. Quietly, barely sniffling as he leaned his forehead down on Reki’s shoulder and pulled his own arms up around Reki’s back. His hands were grasping tight at Reki’s shirt, while the rest of his body was lightly shaking—as if trembling just beneath the skin.

Reki hugged him as tightly as he could, his own stomach dropping at how much thinner he really was than the last time they’d been together.

“It’s okay,” he repeated. “I’m here—we’ll figure it out. It’ll be alright.”

They stayed like that—wrapped up in each other—for a few minutes. Until Reki got to the point where he feared Langa might collapse into him entirely, he was leaning so heavily against him. As gently as he could, he took Langa by the shoulders and carefully pulled back. Langa didn’t fight him, but he also didn’t move of his own volition either—he was absolutely dead on his feet.

“Why don’t you take Reki upstairs?” Nancy murmured suddenly, Reki not having noticed that she’d approached them until she was close enough to reach up and push some of Langa’s stringy hair back behind his ear. “The room across from yours is clean—he can stay there, hm?”

Langa flicked his eyes up to her only quickly, before weakly nodding. Looking as though it took every ounce of energy he had, he finally dropped his hold on Reki completely, which in turn gave Reki the go-ahead to step away. They stayed close, however, Langa at his elbow as Reki retrieved his backpack from the floor, while Langa reached out for his suitcase at the same time he moved to grab it. Supposing it’d be better to just let Langa take it, Reki went with him back around to the entryway, unable to meet any of the eyes watching them as he—finally—detoured to remove his shoes, before going with Langa up the stairs.

He was thankful when they turned down a shadowed hallway, not stopping until they reached the very end. Langa aimed for the door on the left, twisting the handle and pushing his way inside, Reki following after.

It was a big room—more like a master bedroom than what he had back at his own house. The bed was definitely a king or queen size, while the room itself expanded further, to a set of tall windows around matching glass doors on the far side. A couple of plush looking chairs were set up near the doors, while a shallow balcony was visible beyond. Plush rugs littered the hardwood floors, and there were matching pieces of furniture scattered against the walls.

“Big room,” Reki muttered stupidly, as Langa shut the door behind them.

“This used to be my mom’s room,” he said gruffly, rubbing at the bridge of his nose as he moved further inside, still dragging Reki’s suitcase with him. He rolled it up at the end of the bed, while Reki dropped his backpack on a wicker chair sitting beside what he assumed were the closet doors, opposite the big windows.

He then went to the side of the bed, sighing as he sat down on the edge of the mattress. Turning, he looked Langa up and down, aware of the way Langa was staring off to the side. Avoiding him, maybe.

He forcefully swallowed his own insecurities.

“That was such a long flight,” he whined, pushing himself more fully onto the bed, before flopping back atop the pillows. “I get why that kind of thing would mess people up for so long. I do seriously feel kind of sick about it, you know?”

“Yeah,” Langa agreed quietly.

Reki looked down his nose at him, having to hold back a frown. “So I’m gonna have jetlag, right? How does that even work? The whole idea is that I have to adjust to Canada time, but, like, I’m so tired already, I feel like I could sleep from now straight through to the morning.”

“You’ll probably wake up in the middle of the night,” Langa said.

“Maybe. I guess my body’s probably super confused. Oh, and, speaking of, it’s so cold!” He shot back up into sitting. “You’re gonna have to lend me a winter coat or something, because I definitely don’t own anything good enough. Your grandpa acted like it was gonna get even colder.”

“It will. A lot colder.”

“Seriously?” Reki shivered. “No wonder you can’t stand how hot it gets back home.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Langa muttered. “And I’ll give you stuff to wear.”

Reki hummed, eyeing him again, before giving into a slumping sigh. “Langa,” he said, tone serious.

Langa hesitated only shortly, before flicking his bloodshot gaze Reki’s way. They stared at each other for a few long, tense seconds, before Reki reached out.

“C’mere,” he murmured, motioning Langa closer.

Shoulders slumping, Langa gave in immediately, practically folding over as he dropped down onto the end of the bed. Moving on all fours across the comforter, he crawled into Reki’s arms, tucking himself into his side and pressing his face into Reki’s shoulder.

Wrapping him up, Reki kept him held close as he flopped back again, head landing atop the pillow. One hand resting along Langa’s side, he pulled the other up into his hair, petting it gently as Langa cuddled closer. One of his legs bent up over Reki’s own, while his hand found its way atop Reki’s chest, resting there as he nuzzled his nose into Reki’s shirt.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he whispered, voice once again breaking.

“Me too,” Reki murmured.

Langa’s fist tightened around his shirt. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too.” Turning his head, Reki closed his eyes as the tip of his nose brushed into Langa’s hair. “So much, every day.”

But now, they were together again.

Reki knew that had to count for something.

Chapter Text

There was nothing.

No feeling, no thoughts. Just the sensation of aimless floating, as if he existed in an endless emptiness. His head was so stuffed with cotton that he couldn’t even bring himself to open his eyes, and he was vaguely aware that, beneath the bloat, there was pain. It throbbed back and forth over his skull, echoing somewhere very far off and distant. He wasn’t warm or cold—he wasn’t anything.

His whole world had gone numb, and it scared him. He didn’t like it—maybe even hated it—but had no strength to fight back.

He didn’t want to feel this way—didn’t want to be in this place anymore.

“Langa?”

There was a ringing in his ears. A ringing he hadn’t noticed, because it’d been so all-encompassing. And the voice sounded like it was on the other end of poor cell reception, echoing somewhere far, far away. As if the ocean itself existed between him and whoever was calling his name.

“Hey, Langa.” The words were slow, as though they were being pried from drying concrete. “Langa, wake up.”

Was he asleep? Was that what this was? It didn’t feel like sleep. Everything was too heavy—his arms, his head, his legs. He was paralyzed.

Fear shot down through his chest, leaving him to helplessly struggle inside himself. The ringing grew louder, the emptiness more suffocating. Was he breathing? He was certain he couldn’t breathe!

And his head…

Stinging agony washed over him, like someone had shoved a knife under his scalp and was slowly trying to pry the skin free.

It was shocking, and horrible, and—

“Langa!”

Searing, flashing lights ripped by him, the sound of hollering voices and stomping feet in the brush banging so loudly against his brain that he defensively squeezed his eyes shut, as if that would somehow help it fade. It didn’t, and then there was a great deal of metal thumping, and his whole world felt dizzy, spinning circles around him.

“Come on, Langa, wake up!”

Why? He didn’t want to see this. He knew what was waiting for him when he opened his eyes and he didn’t want to see it!

Something surprising—something that shouldn’t be there—practically slashed through his nostrils, only quickly subduing the scent of blood and spilled coffee and the pine air freshener, which lay on the dented, upside-down roof. It was ocean salt and ginger and freshly cut wood, and he could hear waves for a second, and the clacking of tiny wheels over cracks in the sidewalk, and—

Yet, like a movie playing outside his control, his head painstakingly turned, eyes cracking open just enough. The light once again pierced through the cab of the truck, catching on the shattered glass. Beside him, a familiar figure—a figure he knew. Not moving, not breathing.

He was alone in that truck, and that scared him more than the emptiness. Fear that was run parallel to that invasive, other-dimensional smell, the two clashing in his brain. Bright sunlight and midnight snow—a warm hand touching his own, even as cold fingers gripped it tight.

He blinked, and then there were three. Three of them in that broken cab, shaggy red hair hanging limply, the smell of blood. No sound, no breathing. Salt and coffee and ginger and pine, a horrible cocktail, and he was still alone.

He was all alone!

There was a surge, his whole head rocking, and a painful gasp. So painful his lungs ached, his whole body shivering, covered in sweat. He labored to breathe and tried to blink away the images in his head, even as his scar throbbed and his fingers ached.

“Langa?”

Jumping, he whipped around, meeting concerned, amber-red eyes in the darkness. Darkness that was so much lighter than the nothingness in his head. So much quieter, and so much easier to move through.

Blood and red hair once again forced its way into his mind’s eye, but he pushed it away. It wasn’t real. Reki hadn’t been there. Just a nightmare—just a dream.

He barely registered it, the whimper that crawled up out of his throat. “Reki,” he whispered desperately, his whole body crumpling as he was pulled into those strong, familiar arms. He knew he was crying, but he didn’t care. He buried his face in Reki’s neck and gripped hard at his shirt, willing all the terrors to go away. To leave him be.

“It’s okay,” Reki said softly, his familiar voice like a balm to Langa’s ears. “It’s over. You’re alright.”

He focused on Reki’s hand rubbing up and down his back, and his fingers sifting through his hair. His body breathed against Langa’s own, and his warmth pulled him back from the chill, icy memories. He might have begged him to talk, because Reki kept speaking. Something about the airport, and planes, and his grandfather, and woman mechanics, and sisters, and cousins, and—

He talked until the shivering stopped—until breathing came easier. Until Langa was little more than a sack of potatoes resting in his arms.

His safe arms, which somehow kept the emptiness at bay.

There was a pause, the silence bringing Langa back around to reality, before Reki asked—

“Are you gonna be okay?”

Tongue heavy, Langa licked his chapped lips and managed a rasping, “Yeah,” and then, “sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry for nightmares,” Reki assured. “You don’t have to be sorry for any of this. I tried to wake you up gently, but it… didn’t work.”

“It usually doesn’t,” Langa replied. “They started shaking and yelling me awake all the time, eventually.”

“Who?”

“My mom,” he said slowly, “and… my grandparents, I think.” He hadn’t been one for volatile trashing, but the paralysis and sweating, it was all a lot worse than being woken up and finding himself disoriented, in his personal opinion. He’d rather deal with the confusion than remain in a nightmare he couldn’t escape.

“You ‘think?’”

“I… Yeah. I remember them being there, sometimes.”

“After… After the accident?” Reki asked quietly.

Langa nodded.

He clearly hesitated then, before asking, “Is it… hard, remembering things?”

“I don’t know,” Langa answered honestly. “It comes and goes, and sometimes it stays.” But he couldn’t exactly remember something if he, well, didn’t know he should remember it.

Reki hummed.

Turning his head up, Langa peered through the darkness at Reki’s face. “Why would you ask that?”

Glancing down, Reki tightened his hold around him and said, “Your mom told me you have memory problems, because of a head injury you got, when—Well, you know.”

Settling himself back into place, it was Langa’s turn to hum, supposing that, if he was feeling better, he might question why his mom kept talking to Reki in the first place. But then, it was easier that someone else had told him so he didn’t have to. Not like there was any point to hiding anything now.

“How much do you remember?” Reki asked a second later.

“About what?”

“About… your life.”

“Oh…” Langa swallowed hard. “It’s… hard to explain. It’s like, sometimes I’ll see something, or smell something, and remember a part of my life I didn’t realize I didn’t know. But then other times, it’s like—like my brain just suddenly feeds me information that I didn’t realize I didn’t know five seconds before, but now it’s back like it was never gone. And then other times, people will tell me about something, but in my head, there’s just… nothing.”

“That’s… I’m sorry, I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything about it,” Langa murmured, and then there was another stretch of silence, before he eventually found himself continuing. “It’s so weird, though, like… looking at people that I knew. I’d recognize them, but in my head, I wouldn’t know who they were or anything about them. Like my eyes were working, but in my brain, there was just…”

Static.

“That would be…super weird,” Reki agreed softly.

“Very weird.”

“The weirdest.”

They both managed to quietly laugh.

“My mom,” Langa eventually went on, “she homeschooled me until secondary school. She used to do half the day in English and half the day in Japanese.” Voice wavering, he licked his lips again before he was able to continue. “I used to be really good at—at writing and reading Japanese. And then I just… wasn’t anymore.”

Shifting a bit, Reki leaned his head down atop Langa’s own.

“English too,” he admitted. “Nana—my grandmother—she helped me relearn that part, because my mom, she… she was—she had a h-hard time with me.” He blinked rapidly, breath once again hitching. “Because I wasn’t… the same, I think. But Nana, she—she made me work hard. She said that the only way I was going to get better was if I worked at it.”

“Was she right?”

“I guess.” Langa shrugged. “My hand writing’s still shit though.”

Reki snorted. “Yeah, it really is.”

“I used to have really neat handwriting.”

“No way.”

“It’s true. And super small. I don’t know how I would get my writing that small now, even if I tried.” He wasn’t sure his hand could physically do it. “Helping you with your English was actually helping me too, in a way.” Because he sometimes got letters and words mixed up now, and having to explain things to Reki, well, it’d almost been like explaining it to himself.

“You could speak both though?”

“Yeah. I had some issues at first, talking at all, but the actual speaking came back pretty fast.”

“That’s… wild.”

Langa hummed. “I used to like to read too.”

“Like, books?”

“Yeah.”

“But you’re always saying how reading too much gives you a massive headache—Oh.”

“The words get all wavy and I’m super slow at it—it’s just too much.”

“Japanese too?”

“Japanese is a little easier, because it’s more like…pictures. But, yeah, it gets annoying too, after a while.”

“Wow. So…” Reki hesitated, “…what else about you is… different?”

Langa thought a moment. “I guess I used to be super shy.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, like, painfully shy. Like couldn’t even say two words to strangers kind of shy.”

“Huh. Well, that is… different. You’re a lot of things, but shy definitely isn’t one of them. You’re kind of the opposite of shy, now that I think about it—you mostly do whatever you want and talk to whoever you want. Or… don’t talk to whoever you want, even if they’re talking to you.”

Langa shrugged again.

“Is this why you’re so oblivious all the time?”

“What?”

“You’re so clueless,” he said, and tugged a bit on a strand of his Langa’s hair.

“Oh, no. According to my family, I’ve always been that way. My aunt says it’s more obvious now, because my ‘shyness’ doesn’t cover it up. Though, I don’t think I’m nearly as oblivious as everyone says.” He frowned.

“You are,” Reki replied. “You’re kind of an airhead sometimes.”

Langa scoffed.

“It’s cute though.”

Langa peered up at him again. “You think I’m cute?”

Reki was not impressed. “You know you’re cute. Don’t even play that game with me.”

“I like playing games with you—you’re very distracting.”

Reki’s expression went tight and he shifted in embarrassed discomfort. “Yeah, I know,” he muttered, gaze dropping to the side.

Langa managed a small smile, thankful for the warmth that blossomed in his chest as he leaned into Reki’s neck again. “Thank you,” he murmured. “For coming here.”

“Your grandpa paid for it,” he said. “I offered, but…”

“You’ve been talking to so much of my family.”

“Ah, it’s not as much as it sounds,” Reki said quickly. “But, um…”

“What?”

“Your grandpa, he did say something about…” Reki sighed, his whole body slumping. “Dude, you need to take a shower.”

It took Langa a moment to digest his words, before he glanced up again. “Huh?”

“You need to take a shower,” Reki repeated more firmly.

“But what’s that got to do with my grandpa?”

“He’s the one who mentioned it.”

“Oh.”

“And, well, he’s got a point.”

Langa’s cheeks went slightly pink, leaving him thankful Reki probably couldn’t see. “I didn’t realize I hadn’t…”

“I know, I’m not trying to be mean,” Reki replied. “But… you do kinda stink.”

Langa pouted. “So do you.”

“Yeah, and I need to wash up too, but you’re a lot worse than me.” Which said something considerable about his hygiene habits of late, as Reki had hours and hours of travel as his excuse. He hadn’t even considered showering over the last week, not when simply going to the bathroom was so taxing. Even after having finally gotten some rest, the notion of getting up and dragging himself to the shower and actually having to bathe sounded… exhausting.

Staying in bed with Reki, curled up in his arms, was far better. But then, if he really did smell…

“I guess you’re right,” Langa submitted and released a heavy sigh. “What time is it?”

“Like six in the morning?”

Langa nodded weakly, remaining in place some seconds longer, before self-consciousness finally inspired him to sit up. He and Reki spent so much time together skating and sweating and getting dirty. If he smelled bad enough to warrant comment, then it must be… really bad. The fact that he’d been so stagnant lately probably made it somehow worse.

“I’ll go… clean up,” he said, and slid to the edge of the bed, Reki’s arms falling away. Which left him cold as he pulled his legs over the side of the bed, his whole head rocking as the room once again swayed before him. Closing his eyes, he took a moment to gather himself, frustrated that after finally getting so much sleep—over twelve hours by the sounds of it—he was still so weak and disoriented.

He didn’t want to feel like this anymore…

“Hey,” Reki said gently as he moved up beside him, hand coming out to lightly touch his knee. “It’s okay.”

It wasn’t. His insides felt so fragile and broken, and he could barely breathe without shaking. Skateboarding, running, anything physical was a far off fantasy. His whole body felt like it was wasting away and he didn’t know how to make it stop.

“C’mon,” Reki said then, and stood—so easily—to his feet. “I’ll help you.”

Had Langa the energy, he might have laughed. Bitterly, because Reki was offering assistance with something so basic and simple. And yet, when he held out his hand, Langa couldn’t help reaching out to take it.

Standing left the room spinning once again, Langa’s vision going splotchy, but he managed to center himself without having to lean on Reki. It took a few seconds, but he did it.

Reki looked around. “Where, uh…?”

“That door.” Langa gestured to the side wall, across the way from the bed.

Nodding, Reki tugged him along, Langa uncertain why having Reki’s hand in his own somehow made it easier to get moving. Perhaps because he’d never really held Reki’s hand before. Not like this—not after everything they’d been doing this last month.

The bathroom was quite large, as it was shared between the two rooms at the end of the hall. Double sinks to the right, with a sliding door leading into the water closet at the end, nearer Langa’s bedroom. While along the left, on the far side, was a tub, and then a shower closer to where they stood. All the cabinetry and trim was made to match the cedar of the rest of the house, while the tiled floor and walls were a bit lighter in design. There was a long, red patterned rug running up the center of the room, and above the tub was a generously sized window looking out into the early morning dawn.

“I can’t believe you told me this house was the same size as mine,” Reki muttered as he flipped the light switch, the room going bright.

“Isn’t it?”

“No! It’s way bigger! And everything is so…” he gestured around the bathroom, “…fancy!”

“It’s just a bathroom.”

“Oh my god.” Reki rolled his eyes.

His exasperation—so familiar and normal—left Langa smiling again, as Reki took one more look around the room before turning back to him.

“What?” Reki asked.

“Nothing.” Langa shook his head. “I’m just really glad you’re here.”

Reki’s face flared. “Right, um…” His lips twisted to the side. “So, there’s the shower, and, uh, you’ll be fine now, I think.” He fidgeted awkwardly in place, while Langa’s smile turned to a frown. “I’ll just—” he gestured awkwardly back into the other room.

Langa held a little tighter to his hand. “You could stay,” he murmured.

Another couple shades of red assaulted Reki’s face. “Hah, yeah…”

“If you want to.”

More fidgeting. “Maybe—Maybe not… yet,” Reki muttered, his expression almost scared as he glanced back Langa’s way. “I’m not—I don’t think—”

Though he was, admittedly, disappointed, Langa nodded in understanding. “Okay,” he said simply.

“Really?”

He managed another small smile. “Of course.”

Reki practically slumped in relief. Wavering in place, he squeezed Langa’s hand a little tighter, before biting at his cheek and finally moving back the way they’d come. His fingers slipped free of Langa’s own, and Langa almost turned to watch him go. But then, he didn’t want Reki to feel pressured, and so stopped himself, instead listening as the door clicked closed, leaving him alone.

Though, who was he kidding? He barely had the energy to stay standing—what else were he and Reki possibly going to get up to?

More disappointed in himself than he was anything else, Langa dragged his feet to the shower and got it warming up, before going through the laborious effort of stripping. He made sure to place Reki’s yellow sweatshirt on the counter, a little embarrassed to have it now, while everything else he piled on the floor.

He was practically out of breath as he climbed into the shower, pulling the glass door shut behind him, and so he leaned for a while against the wall, beneath the steaming spray of water.

Eventually, though, he feared he’d collapse, and so gave into the desire to lower himself to the floor. Using the tile shower bench—which was built into the wall—for leverage, he dropped down in front of it, before pulling his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around his legs, and bowing his head atop them. The water continued to cascade over him, the constant streaming across his skin and the sheeting noise doing well in keeping his thoughts from taking full hold. His brain was left fuzzy, while his eyes drooped.

He had no sense of time—had lost that days ago—and so it didn’t even occur to him to wonder how long he sat there. Not until his fingers were pruney and the glass had fogged over. And even then, it wasn’t these facts that snapped him back into awareness, but instead the rush of cold air as the shower door was pulled open.

Lashes coated in water, he blinked and watched as Reki slipped in with him, assumedly naked though Langa couldn’t much see anything up past his legs. Nor did he raise his gaze to try, again disappointed in himself. Not for his lack of interest—because that was definitely there—but because he had no energy to act on it.

How long had he been sitting there? Long enough for Reki to come check on him, to realize he’d made no progress before pushing past his own discomfort to come in with him. The very fact of it left Langa’s throat going tight, shame and guilt swelling through his chest.

Reki sat down on the bench behind him, legs framing Langa to either side, before he gently reached out and pulled him back against the tile. Taking in a shaky breath, and knowing he’d started crying despite how the water washed it away, Langa leaned his head to the left and nuzzled his nose against the inside of Reki’s folded knee. His arm came up to wrap weakly around his calf and shin, clinging to whatever of Reki was closest.

“It’s okay,” Reki said once again, his voice soft above him as he carded his fingers through Langa’s wet hair. “I said I’d help you.”

No matter how small the task, apparently.

It felt nice, Reki combing his hair, his fingers brushing his scalp. And he heard it, a jolting little gasp above him when Reki’s touch brushed the massive scar that was normally well-hidden beneath his hair. It stretched along the side and to the back left of his skull. That was the main injury anyway. Other, smaller scars were littered around it, and a rather large cut left a jagged line just behind his right ear. He had a few other marks here and there—on his thighs and sides, mostly—but they were long faded. The worst was definitely his head.

Reki didn’t shy away from the scars despite any surprise, however. Carefully, he traced the largest one with the tip of a single finger, before he very gently slid his touch over the rest of Langa’s head, pausing whenever he found another mark. He took his time, like each blemish was worthy of consideration, and so Langa closed his eyes again and allowed his focus to zero in on the attention.

“I had no idea,” Reki whispered a few minutes later.

He couldn’t have—Langa had never said anything. Not to him, not to anyone who hadn’t already been aware of the accident. He didn’t like talking about it, and he didn’t like the pitying looks such a story earned him.

He hoped Reki would never look at him that way.

Closing his eyes, he allowed Reki to manipulate his head. He kept one arm around Reki’s leg, but didn’t fight when Reki shifted his head so it was more forward, even as he—Langa—also leaned back against the edge of the bench.

There was something about being so intimately taken care of—Langa able to hear the click of the shampoo bottle, before Reki started massaging it into his hair—that was… overwhelming. On one hand, Langa absolutely hated it. He didn’t want to be so helpless or dependent on someone else. Yet, the fact that Reki was willing to do this at all for him—had come halfway around the worldfor him—was so… moving… and left him feeling so safe that he never wanted this moment to end. He wanted to exist forever under Reki’s careful touch.

And so, with his shame bared, he allowed it all. He remained in place until Reki told him to lean forward, so his head would be beneath the spray again. With his hair rinsed, he sat back once more and kept his eyes closed as Reki conditioned his hair next.

He wasn’t entirely sure what to do when Reki inevitably retrieved the loofah sponge and started slowly dragging it over his body, leaving a lathered path in its wake. He started first at his shoulders, a shiver running up Langa’s entire body as the sponge was drawn over his collar, and then up and around his neck. Only for Reki to gently nudge him into leaning forward, exposing his back. Head once again bowed beneath the shower spray, he cracked his eyes open enough to stare down into his lap, while Reki gradually worked down his spine. The start of Reki’s efforts with the loofah had sent a twisting coil of arousal down between Langa’s legs, and though he had not the energy to act on it, his dick was nearly half erect. This left him unsure when Reki tugged him back against the bench, because his “state” was clearly visible. Sure, Reki had joined him in the shower, but he’d been nervous prior. Langa didn’t want him to feel tense or uncomfortable or—

“Sorry,” Langa blurted gracelessly, when Reki paused in his ministrations, the sponge held just above his right peck.

“Um…” Langa could feel the way Reki was awkwardly wavering. “I—I can keep going, or, if you’d rather, uh…”

Reaching up, Langa placed his hand over Reki’s on his chest. “I can do it,” he said, not wanting to push Reki’s comfort level. Besides, this wasn’t exactly how he’d prefer they… begin any kind of “sexual relationship.” Having Reki there, and touching him, and helping him, was wonderful, but his energy was so low, and he felt so terrible. He could fight through his own weakness enough to finish what Reki had started, if only for Reki’s sake, but anything more was probably a bad idea. Even his erection felt… heavy.

“You sure?” Reki asked above him.

“Yeah,” Langa choked out, as he pulled the sponge out of Reki’s hand and into his own.

“Alright,” Reki agreed quietly, his fingers slowly dragging back up to Langa’s shoulders, before slipping away entirely. Which was momentarily awkward, because what were they to do? Was Langa meant to continue washing himself while Reki sat behind and did… what?

Perhaps having as little appreciation for how uncomfortable the situation had become as Langa did, Reki pulled one leg up, before shifting from around Langa and setting it down beside his other. He then reached out and gently tapped Langa’s arm.

“Why don’t you sit up here?” he said, while Langa finally pulled his head up enough to catch sight of his face. “Then I can… shower while you finish up.” It was hard to tell if he was blushing—due to the warmth of the room in general—but his embarrassment was still obvious in the way he glanced to the side and fidgeted in place.

“You can leave, if that’s better for you, and come back after,” Langa said. “I’ll hurry up now.” He’d been sitting in there, aimless and empty, and having totally forgotten that Reki needed to wash up too.

He hated being like this.

So much.

“No, it’s okay,” Reki said very quietly, offering up a small smile as he pushed a few strands of Langa’s wet hair out of his face. “You’ve… seen all there is to see anyway.”

Which was, indeed, true.

With Reki’s hold dropping down to his arm to help, Langa pushed himself up until he was able to slide back onto the bench, their bare thighs somewhat squashed together. Naturally, Langa’s gaze wanted to drop down between Reki’s legs, now that he was at a better vantage point to do so. Sure, he’d seen Reki’s dick plenty, but not in real life. Yet, even as his eyes wandered, Reki stood. Which… was a much better view, actually.

Reki was tan and lean and built a little stockier than Langa. His back muscles rolled as he moved beneath the shower spray, streams of water tracing each crease across his skin down to the rounds of his ass, which was what Langa’s attention focused on most. No matter Reki’s insecurities, Langa knew he had a great ass. Framed atop his thick, muscular thighs, it was absolutely delectable. Were he in better sorts, he might have reached out and grabbed it, his palms practically tingling at the idea of holding that heavy flesh in hand. Instead, though, he remained where he was, thankful to be mesmerized—to be distracted—by Reki before him. Shaggy red hair pulled long and wet as he ran his hand through it, hip bone catching the light as he turned to the side, amber-red gaze twitching to meet Langa’s own.

It was comforting to note that Reki was also semi-hard, his dick hanging dense in much the same way Langa’s was. Like they were somewhat on the same page—Langa didn’t have the energy, Reki was probably too nervous, but they both wanted.

“Langa,” Reki said quite seriously, as he reached for the shampoo again, which was sitting on a shelf just up from the bench.

“Hm?”

“Finish up, would you?” he asked, his words ending in a light laugh.

“Oh, right.” Langa had nearly forgotten he was holding the loofa sponge. “You’re really distracting.”

Reki rolled his eyes, before stepping to the other side of the shower so as to be out of the spray as he washed his hair. Gathering his limited energy, Langa tore his gaze from the magnificent sight of Reki, naked, before him, and instead finished up as he was supposed to. He did have to stand, at one point—to get the areas otherwise inaccessible and to rinse himself down. Having to do so pretty well killed any hint of sensuality between them, as he was so dizzy and unsteady that he not only had to balance himself on the wall, but on Reki’s shoulder, while Reki steadied him in place before eventually helping to ease him back down onto the bench.

The whole experience was a clash of sensations that ultimately left Langa nauseated. He wanted to appreciate the moment, to take advantage of it for all its possibilities, but by the time he was sitting again, all he could manage was to close his eyes as his head rocked.

“I think you really need to eat something,” Reki said softly.

He was probably right.

Had Langa the energy to feel anything beyond exhaustion, he might have been infuriated with himself for not watching Reki literally wash his body with the same loofa Langa had just used, but instead, he stared blankly at the tiles and tried to catch his breath. From standing. For maybe a minute at most.

Pathetic.

“I’m not even sick,” he muttered in frustration some minutes later, as Reki was turning off the water.

“Yes, you are,” Reki said gently, once again reaching out to push some of his hair out of his face.

With no defenses left, and too emotionally drained to have any semblance of control, Langa was once again blinking rapidly against the swollen despair bloating up inside every part of his body.

“Don’t say you’re sorry,” Reki murmured, when Langa opened his mouth. Before he leaned in enough to cradle Langa’s face in his hands, thumbs wiping away the slow tears. “We’ll figure it out.”

Together.

No matter what they were doing, that was the greatest relief to Langa.

Stepping out of the shower, Reki retrieved two towels from the cabinet nearby, before returning to help Langa with the discouragingly arduous process of drying himself off. Langa did some of it—mostly his more sensitive areas—while Reki rigorously rubbed his hair before draping the towel around his shoulders. Langa then watched as Reki quickly wiped himself dry as well, before he turned his attention back Langa’s way.

He didn’t leave Langa’s side as they moved back out into the bathroom, hand always lingering around his middle while Langa used Reki’s shoulder for support. When they finally made their way back into the bedroom, Reki didn’t focus elsewhere until Langa was flopped out on the bed, where he wasn’t liable to faint.

Eyesight blotchy and body throbbing with weakness, Langa stayed where Reki left him, uncaring for his nakedness as Reki moved around the room. The next time he shifted into view, he was dressed in a pair of jeans and his regular purple sweatshirt, while Langa’s dirty clothes—and Reki’s yellow sweatshirt—were draped over his arm.

“Where’s your room?” he asked.

“Across the hall,” Langa said, and tried to push himself up onto his elbows. “I can go.”

“Just stay where you are,” Reki said quite seriously, gingerly pushing Langa back down into place before once again disappearing.

He had no idea if it’d been seconds or minutes that passed when Reki finally returned, Langa’s black jeans, a pair of clean briefs, and a white t-shirt replacing what he’d had previously.

“You really need to eat more, Langa,” he said, as they struggled to get him dressed.

“I know.”

“You don’t,” he practically snapped, as he helped Langa yank his jeans snuggly up around his hips. “You’re gonna—” He huffed, concern very obviously lacing his eyes as he stared down at Langa’s bare torso. “You’re really gonna fuck up your body if you don’t start taking care of yourself.”

“I know…” he whispered, as they pulled his shirt down over his head.

Somewhere between frustrated and worried, Reki took a step back and rubbed at the bridge of his nose, while Langa sat down on the edge of the bed again.

“Here’s how this is going to work,” Reki decided suddenly. “You normally eat, like, three or four times as much as me, so until you’re back to your usual appetite, you have to—at the very least—eat the exact amount I’m eating.”

Langa’s gaze dropped to the floor.

“At every meal,” he continued. “And in-between. Everything. Like, literally everything.”

“But—”

“There’s no other option,” he interjected swiftly. “I don’t think you realize how thin you are. Losing weight this fast, Langa, and with your metabolism—You—” He sighed. “And you’re probably dehydrated and… This is what we’re doing.”

“Reki—”

“I will literally make you eat if I have to.”

“Okay, but… can I—can I have your yellow sweatshirt back?”

Blinking, Reki looked at him like he had no idea what he was talking about, a few long seconds ticking by, before realization dawned across his expression.

“Oh, no, it’s dirty,” he said quickly.

Langa slumped, head bowed.

“Here,” Reki said a moment later, sounding almost humored as he went to the end of the bed and started shuffling around in his suitcase. He yanked out his red sweatshirt, before moving back around and holding it out to Langa. “Wear this one instead.”

Barely smiling, Langa allowed Reki to help him tug it over his head, before he very unabashedly pulled the sleeves down over his hands and held them to his face. Having been stored in Reki’s suitcase with all his other stuff, this sweatshirt retained the strong smell that the yellow one had lost weeks ago.

“Are you smelling it?” Reki asked flatly.

Langa glanced up at him. “Yeah?” He frowned. “It smells like you…”

Mouth twisting, cheeks flushing, Reki fidgeted again, before releasing an exasperated growl and reaching out to grab Langa’s arm. “C’mon,” he muttered. “You need food.”

Getting down to the kitchen as an embarrassingly slow process. Langa was honestly shocked, and a little scared, at how out of breath and shaky he was as he directed Reki from the stairs.

“It’s okay,” Reki murmured, no doubt having noticed his anxiety as Langa leaned very heavily against him. “You seriously need to eat. When was the last time you ate anything?”

The morning before, and that’d barely been a meal. His entire condition had been deteriorating day by day, because he was so… messed up. No wonder everyone was so worried about him—had gone to the lengths they had to try and help him.

“Well, you’re going to be eating three times a day from now on,” Reki muttered, as they moved beneath the arch and approached the bar lining the stove and counter. No one else was around—for which Langa was very thankful—though there was food sitting out and waiting. Covered, but with steamed glass lids that made it clear everything was still warm.

Pulling himself up onto one of the stools, Langa finally dropped his hold on Reki in order to lean his elbows down upon the bar to catch his breath, throbbing head shielded by his hands. While Reki rather hastily grabbed up two plates and moved along the available food, shoveling a bit of everything onto both. Eggs, sausages, toast, roasted potatoes, and some mixed fruit—the same general meal his grandfather had been preparing nearly every morning. Reki then scooted the nearest stool even closer to Langa, before sitting down and shoving one of the plates very purposefully between his resting elbows, forcing Langa to lean back.

“Eat, now,” he said very firmly, as he held up a fork.

Though he felt more nauseated than hungry, Langa nodded and took the fork, before turning his attention to breakfast. Beside him, Reki watched him like a hawk, which was… rather intense. He wouldn’t be getting away with dumping his food in the trash anymore, that was for sure.

It wasn’t until he’d eaten half a sausage and a couple forkfuls of eggs that Reki turned his attention to his own plate, the two of them quiet as Langa mindlessly chewed. The food didn’t taste much better than dirt, which didn’t exactly bring back his appetite, but he could tell as he swallowed that it was what his body needed. He ate slowly, not wanting to upset his stomach, and refused to meet Reki’s gaze every time he looked over.

“Oh!” Luis eventually walked back into the kitchen, looking initially surprised at the sight of them before a broad smile spread out beneath his manically wide eyes. “Good morning!” He beelined it across the room, before slamming his hands hard upon the counter across from them.

Reki jumped, while Langa watched his grandfather with growing suspicion.

“I’m so glad you’re both finally awake!” he said gleefully. “I was going to wake you last night for dinner, but Nancy,” his voice dripped with disdain as he said her name, “told me not to bother you if you were sleeping.” He turned to Langa then. “Doing alright, bubble gum?”

Langa blinked and found himself hoping he looked okay. The shower must have helped some, right? And he was sitting, so his grandfather couldn’t possibly know how much of a struggle the morning had been, even as his eyes scoured Langa’s person up and down.

“‘M okay,” Langa muttered and poked some at his food.

Luis stared at him a moment longer, lips pursing, before eventually whipping his attention to Reki. A smile once more plastered itself across his face. “I’m so glad I finally get to chat with you,” he said with terrifying amounts of delight.

“Me?” Reki asked.

Freezing, Langa dropped his fork to his plate and reached out to grab Reki by the shoulder. “Don’t answer any of his questions,” he muttered.

“Huh?”

“Now, don’t be a sourpuss, bubble gum,” Luis said strictly and waggled a finger in Langa’s direction.

“Don’t answer,” Langa reiterated, staring Reki straight in the eyes.

Reki glanced between the two of them rather frantically. “Uh…”

Luis huffed. “They’re harmless questions!”

Langa tightened his hold on Reki’s shoulder. “Don’t do it. He’s lying.”

“I’m not!”

“He’s going to use any information you give him against me,” Langa made clear, hoping Reki understood the gravity of the situation.

“Against you?” Reki asked.

“I will not!”

“He’s trying to start a coup,” Langa made clear.

Reki muttered the word “coup” under his breath, before asking, “What’s that mean?”

“It doesn’t mean anything!” Luis barked. “He’s just upset because there’s been a management shakeup!”

“You’re on my side, right?” Langa asked, staring all the harder at Reki.

Luis scoffed three times and waved a falsely casual hand. “There are no sides.” He then slammed said hand back down on the counter, causing Reki to jump again, and said, “Which color do you think tastes better, tangerine orange or tuscan sun yellow?”

“Don’t answer,” Langa said quickly.

“Which color…” Reki was clearly trying to parse out the question. “You asked… what color… tastes better? Do—Do colors have taste in English?”

“So you’ve decided to counter my question with another question!” Luis said fiercely. “Very clever.”

“I told you not to answer!” Langa hissed.

Reki gaped. “I didn’t!”

“Since the date of August 14th, 2008, it has been established in this household that colors do, in fact, have a taste, when one Langa Oliver Hasegawa Lamoureux ate a small tub of child-safe clay and then subsequently projectile vomited it across the kitchen, before announcing it tasted like blue. Do you need this source cited before you’re prepared to move on with the interrogation?!”

Reki leaned back a bit, eyes wide, and continued gaping helplessly.

“I can provide eyewitness testimonies!” Luis continued.

“That’s a lie,” Langa replied flatly.

“I count as an eyewitness!”

“Your personal interest makes your testimony biased.”

“This is a well-known and accepted fact under this roof!”

“It might not be,” Langa challenged.

“What is happening?” Reki whispered.

Gasping, Luis slammed his hand to his chest, stumbling back a step and looking at Langa like he’d just stabbed him. “Are you questioning the integrity of this household?”

Langa shrugged. “If the regime is corrupt.”

Luis gasped again, and then hissed, “How dare you!”

“Luis, please.” Nana interjected as she walked in from the side door. “Tone it down.”

“You have no idea how unstable this administration has become!” he rebuked as he watched her walk to the refrigerator. “This could result in all kinds of catastrophes! Buyouts! Bankruptcy! Chaos! As the head of HR, you should care.”

She poured herself a glass of orange juice and stared at her husband for some long, heavy seconds, before detouring her attention to the other two. “Your appointment is at ten this morning, don’t forget,” she said, her statement directed at Langa.

“Oh, right,” Langa muttered, his gaze dropping to his food.

“Appointment?” Reki asked him quietly.

“Doctor’s appointment,” Langa replied, and sighed.

“Oh,” Reki said, before reaching out and picking up the fork Langa had dropped to his plate. Which he then held out in a rather demanding fashion. Though he didn’t particularly feel like it, Langa took the fork back and once again commenced eating.

“So, you two are best friends? How’d you meet? School?” Nana asked a second later, as she leaned her hip against a nearby counter and took a sip of her juice.

“Oh, so you get to ask questions and I don’t?” Luis asked, before crossing his arms over his chest and pouting like a child.

Nana ignored him.

“Er…” Reki looked to Langa. “Can we answer her questions?”

Langa forcefully swallowed a chunk of potato and said, “Yeah.”

Luis blustered.

“We met, ah, outside where I work,” Reki replied, his accent a little thick, but more than understandable. “We were in the same class, but Langa didn’t remember me, so…”

“That’s sounds like Langa,” Nana said.

“Why would I remember you after only one day?” Langa asked.

Reki shrugged. “It would have been nice.”

Langa frowned.

“You two work together, right?” Nana asked.

“Yeah, at Dope Sketch, this skateboarding shop in town,” Reki replied. “And for a while at this Italian restaurant our friend Joe owns.”

“Your friend owns a restaurant?” she asked, both concerned and skeptical.

“Ah, yeah, he’s older than us,” Reki explained. “We know each other from ‘S,’ this skateboarding event we go to sometimes.”

It was the most they ever told anyone about “S,” because most people would definitely disapprove of what they got up to there, Langa knowing his grandparents would definitely be included in that demographic. Well, maybe not Nana, but his grandfather would certainly worry. Nana would probably be proud that Langa was yet undefeated.

“You taught Langa how to skateboard, right? How long have you been skating for?” she asked next.

“Oh, since I was… twelve?” Reki sounded uncertain, but shrugged. “Not as long as Langa’s been snowboarding, but a while.”

“Are you any good?” she asked straight.

Reki blinked, before saying, “I’m okay. Langa’s way better than me.”

“No, I’m not,” Langa said quickly.

“He’s got the guts that I don’t,” Reki continued.

“You have plenty of guts,” Langa countered.

Reki smiled at him and patted his shoulder. “Thanks, man, but we both know you’re a natural.”

Langa frowned again.

“You build boards, though?” Nana continued.

“Yeah!” Reki brightened immediately. “I built Langa’s board and he’s killer with it, and I’ve done a few for some other people I know.” He flushed suddenly and dropped his attention to his food. “It’s just a hobby, though, really.”

“You don’t want to pursue it professionally?”

“Oh, I…” Reki reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s not really… realistic…”

“Does that matter?”

Looking up again, Reki blinked a few times, perhaps digesting the question.

Nana went on to say, “It wasn’t realistic for me to take charge of my father’s failing auto shop, but I did it anyway.” She took another sip of her juice. “If you’re willing to put in the work, then there’s nothing unrealistic about it.”

Reki gaped slightly, Langa watching him as he forced himself to chew the last of his sausage. He knew that Reki’s dream was to have his own brand, but that he was also hesitant to really go for it. The odds of success were low, he always reasoned. But then, he wasn’t going to university, so Langa always wondered what was holding him back.

“Maybe…” Reki eventually muttered.

“You could try,” Langa reasoned.

“Can’t know unless you do,” Nana agreed.

Reki managed a tight smile. “I guess.” Only for his expression to be wiped clean by shock as his attention snagged on the large windows to the right. Everyone else followed his gaze, while Nana said—very matter-o-factly—“Oh, it’s snowing.”

“There was supposed to be a chance,” Luis observed.

Reki continued to stare out the windows for a moment, before whipping around on Langa. He looked first at Langa’s face, then to his plate—which was mostly empty—and then back to his face. “Let’s go!”

“Go where?” Langa asked.

“Outside!” Reki said excitedly. “I’ve never seen real snow before! Not up close!”

A confession that—while reasonable—was kind of shocking. “Really?” Langa asked.

“Yeah!” He slid down off his stool and tugged Langa by his sleeve. “C’mon!”

Swiveling around, Langa slipped down off his stool as well, slightly dizzy as he hit the ground, but not nearly as bad off as he had been before breakfast. Though he still felt rather weak and unbalanced, he wasn’t nearly so shaky or faint. Food really had been the issue, he realized—much to his own shame. If he’d just be better about taking care of himself, but it was so hard lately…

“Please?” Reki asked, once again tugging on Langa’s sleeve.

“Yeah,” Langa agreed, managing a small smile. “This way.” Leading Reki from the kitchen, they padded across the main room to the glass doors that opened out to the balcony lining the back of the house. The snow outside was thick and heavy and melted the moment it hit anything solid, but it was falling quite generously. Enough so that it was obstructing the view of the mountains beyond.

Sliding the door open, Langa stepped out ahead of Reki, his bare feet going slightly chilly as he touched down on the dampening deck. While Reki, he stood in the doorway and visibly shivered, casting Langa’s feet a rather skeptical look before finally gathering his courage and stepping out as well.

“Fuck, it’s cold!” he hissed, hopping from one foot to another, before inevitably giving up. It was cute, and Langa remained beside the door, watching as Reki moved hesitantly out from under the roof’s overhang. The snow was falling densely enough that as soon as he was fully outside, his red hair was dusted in melting snow, as were the shoulder of his purple sweatshirt. He stood beneath it for a bit, arms crossed over his chest as he shivered, before he finally reached out.

Palm up, he caught some of the twisting, twirling flakes, before pulling them in to have a closer look.

“It melts so fast,” he muttered.

Closing the door, Langa walked up beside him. “Your hand is too hot,” he reasoned. “The temperature’s not cold enough for it to stick anywhere else anyway.”

“Stick?” Reki glanced up at him.

“To accumulate,” Langa replied, which didn’t help much. “To stay for very long.”

“Oh. Got it.” Reki held his hand out again. “Snowflakes are a lot bigger than I thought.”

“They’re big like this because it’s warm.”

“It’s not warm,” Reki rebuked, as he once again pulled the his hand up close to his face, to get a closer look at the flakes before they melted away.

“It’ll get a lot colder,” Langa reasoned. “And the snowflakes will get smaller.”

Reki hummed and glanced up at him again, before barking out a laugh.

“What?” Langa asked.

“Your hair,” Reki said and reached up to ruffle it, resulting in a great wave of wet snow washing down Langa’s neck and into his collar. It was cold, but he ignored the sensation, much more enamored by the grin on Reki’s face. “Ah, it’s coming back so fast!”

“What do you mean?” Langa asked, as Reki pulled his hands back.

“It’s… sitting all over your head again.”

“It is snowing pretty hard. Besides, you should see yourself.”

Moving his hands up, Reki patted at his own hair, looking honestly surprised at how much snow had gathered—and was melting—into his already damp locks.

“Don’t mess with it,” Langa said quickly, as he reached out and grabbed Reki by one of his wrists, to stop him ruffling his own hair. “It’ll go down your shirt and you won’t like it.”

“Ah…” Reki lowered his hands, before casting Langa an apologetic look. “Sorry I messed with yours.”

“I’m used to it. Like I said, it’s really not that cold.”

Reki scoffed. “Showoff,” he muttered, before reaching out to catch the snow again. Only to turn his head up and stick out his tongue. Which left Langa’s insides going warm, because Reki’s efforts lasted only a few seconds before he was coughing and snorting, no doubt due to snow flying right up his nose.

“Is it what you expected?” Langa asked, as Reki wiped at the wetness melting across his face.

“It’s… a lot wetter than I thought it would be.”

“Like I said, once it gets colder, it’ll be better.”

Reki hummed, grinning again as he held both hands up into the swirling storm.

“It’s kind of amazing,” he said after a few seconds.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, in Okinawa right now, it’s probably just… normal. Hot, humid. But here, it’s snowing.” His hands fell back to his sides, while Langa cocked his head in puzzlement at his words. “And if I was in Okinawa, I wouldn’t even know it was snowing here, unless you told me. It’s like…” He drifted over to the edge of the balcony and laid his hands on the railing. “It feels like being in a totally different world, but, if we walked forever—or swam, I guess—we could eventually get back to Okinawa, but it wouldn’t be snowing there.”

Langa still didn’t understand.

“It’s weird that this sky is the same one as back home, I guess. It’s so different, but it’s still… connected.”

We’re under the same sky, so in a way, we’re never very far.

“Yeah…” Langa choked out.

Reki turned back around, leaning against the balcony and looking somewhat embarrassed. “Sorry. I probably sound stupid.”

“No,” Langa said quickly, moving across the deck to his side. Reaching out, he took Reki’s hand inside his own. “You don’t sound stupid at all.”

Rather shyly, Reki glanced up from under damp eyelashes, his own hand squeezing back at Langa’s.

“It makes perfect sense to me,” Langa finished.

Though it was snowing, and the world above them was gray, Langa felt that—as Reki smiled at him—the sun was finally peeking through.

Chapter Text

Reclined back across a plush leather sofa, Reki lightly brushed his fingers through Langa’s hair and kept his gaze trained on the falling snow outside the large windows. It’d been snowing off and on quite regularly since Reki had arrived, the temperature uncharacteristically cold given the time of year, or so Langa had told him. Langa, who lay on top of him, body nestled between Reki’s bent legs, his head on his chest. His arms were resting along Reki’s sides, hands occasionally flexing as he lightly snoozed. They were sequestered away in a corner room of the house. Some kind of movie room, a large television attached to one wall and a matching set of three leather couches otherwise framing the space. Being well away from the main part of the house meant they were left pretty much undisturbed, though Reki figured Langa’s grandparents would probably let them be no matter where they took up post.

He wasn’t sure what he’d expected being in Canada with Langa’s family would be like. His own family was loud and invasive and embarrassing, which he generally assumed all families to be like. Langa’s, though, they were pretty much the opposite. His grandfather was chatty and kind of, well, “out there,” but even he kept to himself most of the time, as did his grandmother. Which were the only members of Langa’s family Reki had had anything to do with, as Patrice hadn’t come around again.

It was probably for the best that it be so, as Langa’s condition was only moderately improved. He was eating more regularly with Reki forcing him into three meals a day, especially breakfast as it was the first meal he got and Luis always had a great many options prepared. He was sleeping more too, as Reki wasn’t letting him get away with anything in that department either. He understood that Langa didn’t like sleeping because his nightmares were terrible, but not sleeping wasn’t an option. As a light sleeper himself, Reki was usually able to tell when Langa was in distress, and so was able to rouse him (they’d been sleeping in the same bed since Reki had arrived two days prior). This, apparently, made Langa feel somewhat better—that there was someone available to wake him—because he stopped fighting sleep as much and even attempted occasional naps, but only when Reki was with him.

His visit to his doctor had resulted in him being prescribed the same antidepressants he’d apparently been on previously, though he hadn’t yet taken any as the prescription wouldn’t be filled till Monday. Until then, he’d been told to do the same things Reki was already making him do—eat better and sleep, if he could. He had another appointment with his doctor later that week, to discuss what they hadn’t gotten to at his last appointment.

Reki had yet to ask how the appointment had actually gone, as Langa had been so exhausted following that he’d simply leaned into Reki’s side and stared blankly ahead the entire drive back. Both Luis and Nancy had exchanged concerned looks from the front seats of the car, but Reki had decided it wasn’t his place to say anything. He’d eventually talk to Langa about it privately, when he was—hopefully—feeling a little better.

Until then, he’d comfort and take care of him in any way he knew how. Eventually, they’d get to everything else going on between them, but Reki’s priority was to get Langa healthy first, no matter how much anxiety he felt at the fact that the last texts he’d sent Langa’s way had yet to be discussed between them. Though, had Langa taken issue with any of them, he’d certainly have said something, right? Not have embraced this new closeness between them, as they were “close” much of the time now. Langa was always sitting or standing right beside him, or leaning on him, or holding his hand, or his arm, or sleeping on top of him, or cuddled up beside him. There was hardly a moment when they weren’t touching, with the exception of when they were each in the bathroom, respectively. Which was fine. Langa had always been somewhat clingy, even when they’d only been “friends” (Reki had no idea what they were now), and so it wasn’t exactly shocking that such behavior would be more exaggerated given what he was dealing with. Even when they’d been apart, his phone habits had reflected a similar attitude, so while Reki hadn’t anticipated it, he wasn’t altogether surprised.

Besides, he liked being close to Langa—always had. It was a little boring, as they weren’t doing much in the way of skating or, well, anything, but Reki didn’t want to suggest more until he was sure Langa would be fit enough to handle it. He was happy to sit around with him, making him eat and watching him sleep. It definitely alleviated some of the worry he’d been grappling with back in Okinawa, the fact that he could personally monitor Langa’s every move. And while Langa’s grandparents hadn’t said anything on the matter, Reki did note that neither of them intervened with how he was handling the situation. They’d basically let him waltz in and take charge of Langa’s issues. Which was… kind of odd, because Reki was just Langa’s “friend” and Nancy and Luis were his grandparents, so it seemed to him that perhaps they should be more dominantly involved.

Yet, at the same time, both Reki and Langa were adults. Adults that were obviously very… close. And Langa had been away from Canada for a long time…

Cheeks flushing pink, Reki glanced from the windows to the top of Langa’s head, fingers still sifting lazily through his hair.

Did Langa’s grandparents view him as some kind of elevated figure in Langa’s life? Someone that had the right to come in and dictate how this situation was dealt with? Nanako, she had come to him initially concerning Langa’s deteriorating condition, and it’d been Luis’s idea to fly him over. Like he was important. Like… Like his thoughts and opinions on the most delicate parts of Langa’s life were of value.

What did Langa’s family think they were to each other?

It occurred to Reki, as he returned his attention to the windows, that he’d been treated by Langa’s family like—like he was Langa’s… boyfriend, or even husband. Which was a mind-boggling idea and one Reki immediately back-tracked from, because he was definitely not Langa’s spouse. Yet, he felt like he was being given that degree of respect. It was… very strange, if he thought about it for too long.

But then, Langa hadn’t seen his grandparents in years, nor the rest of his family, and while Reki knew Langa got along fine with his mom, he and Nanako were still working out their relationship. Langa didn’t talk about it much, but he’d made passing comments about how he and his mom had been sort of adjusting to one another since moving to Okinawa. Which was… interesting, because if Langa had been homeschooled most of his life by Nanako, then wouldn’t they have had a really tight relationship?

Then again, Langa had mentioned something the other day about Nanako having a “hard time” with him after the accident. Perhaps the whole situation was more complicated than Reki knew.

“Is that why you didn’t want to tell me anything?” Reki murmured, brushing a few strands of Langa’s hair back off his face. Had the accident altered all his relationships with his family? Was he afraid of that change happening between them as well? If parts of his personality had been different following his head injury, then Reki could see how that’d make family dynamics complicated.

Reki was the only one there that had no reference for what Langa had been like before the accident. Which meant that maybe he did know Langa better than anyone. He had no preconceived notions of who Langa should be or how he’d “normally” react to things. All he knew was the Langa that’d moved to Okinawa, so perhaps that meant he was in the best position to know how to help.

The stress—the strain—it was obvious between Langa’s grandparents, and in Nanako’s texts too. They must be scared. Here Langa was, suffering and hurt, and none of them could really relate—not even Reki could do that—on top of the fact that he wasn’t the same person they’d known for most of his life. What must that have been like? To nearly lose someone you loved, only for them to come back as someone different?

Reki didn’t even want to think about it, though he couldn’t tell if that was because the idea frightened him or because he was grateful to the Langa he had now. Was that okay? That he was thankful Langa was the way he was despite what he’d gone through? But then, what was the alternative? That he be wishing Langa was different? That definitely wasn’t okay.

Ugh, he was probably thinking about this way too hard.

Groaning lightly, Langa shifted, nose rubbing down into Reki’s chest as his mouth pulled into a frown, before his eyes cracked open ever so slightly. “Did you say something?” he asked, his hands tightening around the fabric of Reki’s sweatshirt.

“Nothing important,” Reki assured. “Go back to sleep.” He’d only been out for about forty-five minutes, most of which had been fitful at best.

Unfortunately, Langa didn’t, his eyes remaining blankly open as he stared out across the room. He blinked a few times, before releasing a heavy sigh.

“You okay?” Reki asked.

“Yeah…”

“You’re not lying, are you?”

“No. I’m just tired.”

Reki tapped at his phone, which was sitting on the coffee table nearby. “It’s almost lunch time,” he said, as the clock flashed across the screen. “And don’t say you’re not hungry,” he added as Langa lightly huffed. “You know I don’t care.”

“You’re so demanding,” he muttered.