Archive of Our Own

Langa twirls a lock of icy blue hair around his forefinger, studying it intently in the mirror.

“Langa?” 

Nanako Hasegawa pauses at the door to the bathroom, laundry basket balanced against her hip. Langa meets her gaze briefly in the reflection in the mirror, offering her a small smile of acknowledgement. She doesn’t move along, continuing to watch him with a bemused sort of expression on her face, enough so that it makes the hairs on the back of his neck start to twitch. Langa offers her a longer look now, raising his eyebrow in query.

“Um… is everything okay, mom?” 

Nanako seems to catch herself then, rearranging the laundry basket onto her other hip, and shaking her head. 

“Oh yeah, everything’s fine! It’s just… are you… doing your hair?” she asks, a forced sound of levity to her tone of voice. Langa drops his hand from where he’s twisting the lock of hair, feeling his cheeks warm a little under her scrutiny. She takes a step forward so she’s looking at him directly over his shoulder now, eyes wide with reassurance. “Not that there’s anything wrong with doing your hair, I’ve just never seen you… do anything with it.”

Langa waits for an instant for the blush to recede, before shrugging half-heartedly. He returns his attention to the offensive strand, currently dangling in front of his forehead. 

“I know… I just thought… I don’t know, there’s this thing tonight…”

Nanako sets the laundry basket on the toilet seat, placing her hands on her hips and waiting patiently for Langa to find the words he wants to use to communicate. He chews them over in his mouth for a moment, trying to decipher what exactly it is he wants to convey, before he shrugs again. 

“There’s this… party. With the guys I skateboard with. It’s sort of… a rite of passage, I guess, for outgoing seniors. Or so I’ve heard,” Langa adds, running a hand through his hair and thoroughly dishevelling it. Maybe if he just shakes it out of his eyes, the one strand that for whatever reason has chosen today of all days to kink its way out of place will tame itself. Nanako raises her eyebrows, her mouth curling into a knowing smile.

“A party? What kind of party?” she pries, reaching over to tentatively poke her son in the side. She knows just where it tickles, and Langa can’t help the small huff of surprise that escapes him before he skewers her with a tired look.

“Just a regular party,” he replies simply, turning to face her. He leans back on the sink, studying his mother’s face where she stands a whole head shorter than him now. Nanako’s eyes twinkle with knowing. Langa thinks he must have the only mother in the world who seems excited by the prospect of her eighteen year old son attending a party with a bunch of delinquent skateboarders at an abandoned mine. 

“Just a regular party,” Nanko repeats coyly, reaching her hands up to tame the lock of hair which has fallen back into his face again. Langa screws his face up, leaning away from her slightly to indicate he doesn’t need her to baby him. Nanako continues her ministrations, attempting to sound nonchalant. “And I suppose Reki will be there?”

Langa feels the brush rise in his cheeks again and he does move away from her this time, turning back to the mirror to find she’s somehow managed to tame his stray lock of hair. He frowns, leaning in to inspect his mother’s handiwork as she giggles behind his back. Langa sighs. 

“Yes. Of course he’ll be there,” he says, leaning back from the mirror and giving his mother a tired sideways glance. She immediately puts her hands up in mock-defence.

“What’s that look for? I just asked if your best friend would be joining you at this outgoing seniors rite of passage party, that’s all,” she says lightheartedly, earning a snort of disbelief from Langa. He retreats from the bathroom towards his bedroom, and much to his displeasure, his mother follows. 

“It was the tone with which you said it,” Langa advises, opening his wardrobe and rifling through the messy collection of garments shoved inside. He picks up a shirt and considers it for a moment, before balling it up and throwing it back in. He’s worn that shirt a million times. 

“Now you’re worried about what clothes to wear? Who are you and what have you done with Langa?” Nanako’s voice is playful as she perches herself on the end of his bed, throwing a distasteful glance around at the state of the place. 

“I’m not worried, ” Langa retorts, his mother’s presence irking him beyond possible reason, as he picks a shirt and shuts the closet. He turns back to her, raising an eyebrow. “Is there something else I can help you with? I have to get ready.”

His mother gives him a knowing look and a moment passes where Langa thinks he might have gotten away with it all, but then it’s gone, and Nanako is patting the bed next to her side. Langa collapses down alongside her, running the shirt through his fingers distractedly.

“Langa,” she says his name so softly, so patiently, he can’t help but feel the truth of it all beginning to bubble to the surface. For what must be the millionth time since he’d accidentally let slip about his feelings for Reki, he curses his big mouth. 

“Reki says it’s his last chance to not leave high-school as some kind of kiss-virgin,” he winces on the phrase, shooting Nanako a deadpan look. “His words, not mine. He wants me to… wingman him. Whatever that means. Do Japanese people think that means the same thing as Canadian people?” 

Nanako nods her head, sucking in a breath past her teeth.

“Mmm… I think so,” she answers softly, watching Langa’s uncertain fingers toil over the fabric. She stills his hands overtop of the shirt, squeezing them through the fabric. She pauses, before continuing. “And… you really think he has no idea? About how you feel?”

Langa tenses a little, loathing the hot flush of embarrassment crawling up his neck.

“Why would he? He doesn’t see me like that, mom.”

Nanko sighs deeply, her eyes burning a hole in the side of Langa’s face as he stares resolutely at the floor. 

“Well… just don’t do anything you’re uncomfortable with. If you don’t want to… wingman him, just tell him. He’ll understand,” she nudges Langa’s shoulder with her own, but he just sighs deeply in response. When Langa remains silent, she tries again. “Come on, baby - that’s how you guys ended up fighting before, wasn’t it? Not being clear about how you felt with each other? Reki will want you to be honest.” 

Langa shrugs, standing from his bed, which causes his mother to rise up too. She stands awkwardly for a moment before giving him a little sideways hug and shuffling out of the room, leaving Langa to get dressed. She pauses in the door, tilting her head to one side.

“I’m working a double shift tonight, so I can’t come pick you up. I don’t mind if you have a couple of drinks, just be responsible, okay?”

Langa nods, offering her the best smile he can muster.

“Sure. Thanks mom.” 

As Nanako shuts the door behind her, Langa yanks his T-shirt over his head, changing into the ocean blue button down he’d selected. He considers it in the mirror for a moment, before deciding to pair it with a white tank top, leaving the blue shirt open on top. He’s wearing a chain that belonged to his father that his mother had gifted him for his eighteenth birthday, which he toys with until he feels his throat start to catch. He drops it back against his collarbone.

He considers his reflection for a moment, before shutting the wardrobe and stepping away from the mirror. So stupid. Why is he worrying so much about how he looks?

Langa is certain his feelings for Reki are impossible to miss. He had tried his best to conceal them, but he wasn’t an idiot. He couldn’t help himself from brimming over with delight when the redhead slapped his palm in the morning, or from launching himself on him in a bear hug when he finished a race. If Reki hadn’t brought it up at this point, then that must be his polite way of rejecting Langa’s affection. 

Sure, Reki was affectionate too - he’d snuggle up to Langa and fall asleep on his shoulder sometimes during lunch when it was too hot to skate; there was even one time he’s pressed a sloppy kiss to Langa’s knee after a particularly gnarly wipeout, before he’d cleaned and dressed the wound with his endless supply of bandages and antiseptic. But that was just… Reki. He was sunshine incarnate, always brimming with energy and boundless adoration for Langa’s skateboarding abilities, and most of all, he loved that Langa was happy to just sit there in silence and listen to him gush about skateboards for hours. 

There had been plenty of moments when they were alone when it had felt like there was a spark of something. Something worth being explored at least, the tip of Reki’s button nose just inches from Langa’s when they lay side by side and watched skate tricks on Youtube all night. Reki hadn’t taken any one of those, and Langa didn’t want to ruin what they had, so all in all, it was a bust.

He needed to get over himself, wingman Reki, watch him kiss a bunch of girls at the rave tonight and then probably get wasted and kiss a bunch himself. 

His stomach churns unevenly at the thought.

He’s never had any interest in kissing girls - would there even be guys there to kiss though? He’d seen a few at S who he thought might be gay too, but there was a definite don’t ask, don’t tell vibe going on - which was weird, he thought, considering Cherry and Joe were both obviously madly into each other. 

Langa exits his room, finding his mother preparing dinner.

“You want to eat before you go, sweetie?” she asks absently, the smell of chicken frying shallowly filling the air.

“Yeah, please,” Langa responds, crossing to his mother’s side to offer his assistance. She glances up at him directly, her chopsticks stilling as she looks him up and down. Langa carefully avoids eye contact as he begins to chop green onions next to her, when she nudges him again with her elbow.

“I think you look very handsome, Langa. Anyone would be lucky to have you,” she says, and she sounds a little choked and Langa can’t help but nudge her back, the emotion in her voice stirring something uncomfortable within his chest. 

“You have to say that,” he responds blithely. “You’re my mom.”

Nanako laughs brightly, the melancholy moment passes, and she shrugs her shoulders in apparent agreement. They finish cooking dinner, and Langa has barely finished wolfing down his third portion of karaage before the intercom buzzes on the outside of the apartment.

“Langaaaaaa~ it’s me, come on, come on, we gotta stop by the shop before we go!” Reki’s excited voice fills the small apartment, his energy palpable. Langa can’t help the smile that encroaches on his features, and Nanako lifts his plate, nodding towards the door.

“You go on. I’ve got time to do the dishes before work,” she tells him, busying herself at the sink. Langa drops a small kiss on the top of her head, before snatching up his skateboard and shoving his shoes on at the door.

“See you tomorrow,” he calls over his shoulder. 

When he makes it out the front door of the apartment complex, the first thing he sees is Reki trying to do some kind of miniature ollie over a coffee cup someone’s discarded at the side of the road. His tongue is pressed adorably through his teeth as he focuses, managing the little leap with ease, before jerking his head up to meet Langa’s gaze.

His eyes widen almost imperceptibly for a moment, and then he’s glancing away, scratching the back of his head like he always does when he’s priming to overthink something.

“Man, Langa, when I said I wanted you to wingman me, that meant I wanted you to help get someone to kiss me,” he says, the smile on his face twitching a little at the edges. He shrugs. “Maybe you’re going for the pity angle, like they’ll see me next to you and feel bad or something, but seriously man—”

Langa has let himself drift to Reki’s side on his board during his speech, barely absorbing what he’s saying as he stares.

Reki’s not wearing a shirt. Well, he’s wearing a button down covered in fluorescent palm trees, but it's wide open, leaving his toned stomach exposed to the hot Okinawa evening. The setting sun bathes him in a warm glow, igniting his browned skin so it's almost golden. He’s wearing a necklace which appears to have once been a shoelace, with some kind of fang haphazardly tied to the end, which rests at his sternum. It draws Langa’s eyes to his pecks, and he abruptly has to clutch at his chest, the hammer of his heart undoubtedly so loud Reki can hear. 

Reki’s paired the loose fitting shirt with a pair of cut-off denim shorts, which look like they were jeans once which he’s chopped up himself after scraping the knees out one too many times. They’re riding so low it’s nearly indecent, the sharp V line of his hips disappearing into his just visible boxer shorts. They’re a bright pink colour, almost a feature of the outfit itself. He’s got his nails painted black, the kind Koyomi has been begging to practise on him for weeks now, his wrists adorned with varying friendship bracelets. They all look haphazard and messy, made by his little sisters on rainy days. 

Langa has no idea how Reki could think anyone would be more interested in looking at him. He’s got this effortless ability to look cool, and Langa’s certain he picked half of his outfit off the floor two minutes before he flew out the door on his skateboard.

“Langa? Come on man, snap out of it,” Reki’s saying, reaching out to flick Langa on the forehead. He manages to regain some kind of composure, crushing down the warmth in his chest and offering Reki a thoughtful pout.

“I think you look hot,” he says honestly, watching as Reki’s face explodes with embarrassment. He rolls his eyes fiercely, but Langa can see he’s trying to suppress a prideful grin. Reki likes it when Langa praises him.

“Well at least someone will,” Reki scoffs, lifting his right hand to clap together with Langa’s in their now effortless greeting. Langa laughs at that, shaking his head and pushing off as Reki spins his board around and starts heading in the direction of Dope Sketch.

“I thought we were going with Shadow and Miya?” Langa asks as they skate, the familiar whip of the soft evening breeze through his hair settling his pounding heart and his churning stomach. Reki throws him a grin over his shoulder, which doesn’t help. 

“We are, but Oka left some stuff for us to pick up for the rave,” he explains, taking a corner smoothly with a twist of his upper body. The wind pushes his shirt back and around his waist, so Langa can see the contours of his brown back as he bends. It makes his mouth feel dry and suddenly he’s worried he’s not going to be able to get through tonight at all. It had been bad enough picturing Reki kissing random girls when he was thinking of him in his school uniform earlier today. Seeing him now, he was certain it was going to be unbearable. 

They reach Dope Sketch before long, the lights long since turned off inside as it was locked up for the day. Reki fishes around in his pocket for the keys, sliding the shutters up with ease and kicking his board up under his arm. 

Langa follows him into the cool darkness of the shop, watching as Reki crosses to the counter and spies whatever it is Oka has left.

“Sweet! He said he had a bunch of stuff left from last year’s rave, but he couldn't make it tonight so he left it out for us. Check it out!” Reki beams excitedly, picking up what look like small bottles of paint. Langa frowns.

“What is it?”

Reki holds one bottle up, unscrewing the cap and depositing a little on the back of his hand. Sure enough, neon yellow paint pools onto his skin, marring the drawings he’d done earlier in a ballpoint pen during a boring lecture to round out their school years. 

“It’s facepaint! It’s a rave, so you have to get into the mood right?” 

Langa swallows, uncertain. 

“...Right,” he responds, earning a glance from Reki.

“What, scared of a little creativity?” he jokes, lifting another bottle and tipping its contents out onto the back of his hand too. They all seem to be varying shades of neon, each new shade causing Reki to visibility teeter with excitement as his mind no doubt races through all of the possibilities for smearing it on his face. It makes Langa’s chest hurt - watching Reki get so passionate about the littlest things makes him want to reach out and share some of that excitement with him. Take some of it straight from his mouth for himself.

“I can help you, if you want,” Reki says nonchalantly, as he pulls over a little hand mirror in one of the compacts of paint left and starts dabbing splodges of paint onto the apples of his cheeks. Langa watches, mesmerised as Reki just seems to know exactly where to put the paint without even thinking, that same innate creativity that made his outfits effortlessly cool feeding through to this task as well. Before long, his cheeks and forehead are covered in well-placed neon dots, his fingers covered in the many different colours. Langa swallows tightly. 

“Sure. Can you do mine?” he asks softly. He’s certain it’ll look better this way, but he’d be lying if he said there wasn’t a part of him that was excited to have an excuse for Reki to touch his face. It’s happened before, briefly, when he’d scraped his chin or cheek while attempting a new trick. Each time, Reki would crouch down and take the curve of Langa’s jaw between his palms, inspecting his face with all the seriousness of a doctor inspecting a patient. It was always over too quickly, the other boy an expert at this stage of tending to wounds of every kind.

“Sure. What colours do you want?” Reki asks brightly, turning to face Langa and studying his face. Langa frowns as he considers the question. What colours does he want? What would look good? Maybe no matter what he’d look kind of stupid anyway, given he doesn’t have that same rough around the edges look as Reki?

“Um… whatever you think is good,” Langa settles on finally, looking down at Reki as the other boy closes in on him. He’s only about an inch taller than him, but still it makes Langa’s stomach flip as thinks of taking Reki in his arms, and letting him tuck his head into the hollow of his throat. Reki would nuzzle him softly, laying a soft kiss on the shell of his ear, before dragging his teeth along it. Something else stirs in Langa, and this time it's further south than his heart or even his stomach.

He internally kicks himself.

It’s going to be a long night.

The problem with Langa is, he has no idea how pretty he is. 

The problem with Reki is, he is much too aware of exactly how pretty Langa is. 

Langa’s wearing those skinny jeans he insists on sporting 24 hours of the day, the ones which hug every line of the muscle in his thighs. He’s got a low cut, white tank top tucked into them, held in place by a black belt with a golden buckle. Shrugged over top, is an airy blue shirt, the kind of fabric that’s almost see-through and it almost exactly matches the colour of his ocean eyes. The chain resting in the dip of his collarbone is distracting, imitating where a bead of sweat might pool if the rave was hot enough tonight. And he’s got his hair pushed back a little off his face, like he’d tried to style it for once, his high cheekbones catching the beginnings of the starlight as it begins to peek out from the dusk. 

No , Reki thinks, he’s got absolutely no idea how pretty he is.  

But then, why does Reki?

Is it normal to take in every contour of your friend’s stature like that? He’s never had a friend like Langa, someone who he knows inside and out and who knows him just the same. Maybe best friends are like this - maybe when you spend every waking moment together with someone, you develop some kind of sixth sense about them, and it's normal that they start to fill up your every thought. Is it normal to think your best friend is… pretty? Because there’s no other word to describe Langa - Reki’s tried to think of one, and there’s lots of adjectives he can use to describe him and his skills in skating and his overall cool demeanour. But when he gets right down to it, in moments like this where his breath catches in his throat, and his mouth feels dry and his palms feel sweaty and Langa is so, so close to him right now—

“Cool, I guess we’ll start with blue since that’s kind of your whole thing,” Reki spits out nervously, plunging his fingers into the neon blue paint pot. 

There’s no way he’s kissing any girls tonight. Not with Langa standing next to him, as he will be, for the entire evening. 

So why does the thought fill Reki with relief ? 

He dots on the first few splodges of paint onto Langa’s pale skin, swallowing tightly at the warmth beneath his fingers. 

Not good , Reki , he thinks to himself. This is exactly why you wanted to kiss a girl tonight, you need to get over whatever this is, distract yourself …

“It tickles,” Langa says, his face not moving a fraction of an inch, and the statement bursts the tense bubble Reki’s babbling mind has blown up between them. He laughs, pulling his fingers back from Langa’s face and using another finger to dab at the yellow paint.

“Who says something tickles and then doesn’t even crack a smile?” he demands playfully. “What are you, made of stone?”

He sniggers to himself as he delicately traces the contours of Langa’s face, taking the opportunity to drink in his every feature. The tip of his nose, slightly pink as always, probably from the constant exposure to the sun in Okinawa; the subtle acne scars along Langa’s jaw, proof that he’s human and not some kind of otherworldly creature sent to test Reki; the softness of his eyes, more than just the boring old ocean, something more akin to how the sunlight looks when it bounces off the waves…

Langa’s mouth twists into a wry smile.

“Your mouth is hanging open. You look like a fish,” he says, causing Reki to grumble in annoyance.

“I’m concentrating!” he retorts, dabbing off excess yellow paint on the back of his hand before switching to pink for a few subtle highlights. His tongue finds its way between his teeth as he puts the finishing touches to the paint on Langa’s face, the other boy watching steadily as Reki leans back to take in his work.

“Well?” Langa asks noncommittally, one of his eyebrows twitching in query. Reki hums out a little sound of consideration as his knee begins to jiggle thoughtlessly. 

“There’s something missing,” he says, turning to inspect the tools Oka had left again, depositing the paint pots and rubbing excess paint off his hands. It smears a little and leaves a muddy sort of streak on his skin, but he doesn’t really care. Then, his eyes settle on the little pot at the very end of the supply kit and he feels excitement flood his system. “Oh hell yeah, this is perfect !” he exclaims, snatching it up and unscrewing the lid.

Langa doesn’t ask what it is, just continues to watch Reki carefully. It dawns on him that a normal person might have shut their eyes if their guy best friend was this close to them and caressing their face. Typical Langa, not phased by anything. 

Reki adds the last few smears of his fingers to Langa’s cheekbones and temples, before stepping back again and admiring the finished product. He lifts the mirror to show Langa, scoffing a little at his fine achievement.

“I mean, I was the one complaining about how good you looked and how dull that makes me in comparison, but here I’ve gone and made you look even better, if that were possible! You’re welcome,” Reki says, as Langa’s eyes widen a little at his reflection. When he doesn’t say anything, Reki’s anxiety pangs out from the back of his head, and he chews on his lip. “Is it too much? You think it's too much don’t you? Hang on, I can take some of it off—”

“No!” Langa says immediately, lifting his fingers to trail along his cheeks. They come away with speckles of the glitter Reki has adorned the highpoints of his face with, making him shimmer all over. He smiles, and it’s so genuine that it makes Reki feel a little lightheaded. “I really like the glitter. You did a great job.” 

He meets Reki’s gaze, soft and sincere just like Langa always is, and Reki squirms under him, brushing it off.

“It’s no biggie - just thought you deserved a little something else! It really makes the whole thing pop, right? I definitely couldn’t pull the glitter off, but you look great, man!” Reki rambles, dusting off his hands and grimacing a little as glitter covers the shop floor in a thin film. Oka’s going to be complaining about that one the next time he’s on shift.

“Really?” Langa asks seriously. “I think you’d look good with the glitter. Can I… try?” 

Reki blinks in surprise at Langa’s request, nodding before he even knows what he’s doing.

“You want to do mine? Sure, okay!” he answers quickly, probably too quickly than is normal for a regular guy to insist his guy best friend smear glitter on him, but he doesn’t have time to spiral about it because Langa has already pried the glitter pot from his fingers. 

He pauses, his eyes trailing over Reki’s form so intently that it almost makes him want to hide away from his sight, but then, Langa’s doing the unexpected as always and is trailing two glitter saturated fingers down the middle of Reki’s bare chest.

He can’t help the shiver that tears its way down his spine, nor the way his abdomen hitches in intrigue as Langa’s fingers continue their path further down his front. He pauses to collect more glitter on his fingers, spreading it out some over Reki’s abs and making the skin jump in surprise.

“ Sorry ,” Langa hums in English, a word Reki has become used to hearing him slip into his native language to say. Reki shakes his head dumbly, the words somehow catching in his throat. He knows this is unusual of him, given the way Langa’s gaze flickers back up to his face, eyebrows trained with concern. He pulls his fingers back, hesitating a little as he hovers over Reki’s pectoral muscles with glitter coated fingertips.

“Is this okay?” he asks quietly, almost intimately, and something about the words make something hot pool uncomfortably at the base of Reki’s spine. It sends tingles through every nerve in his body, his lips suddenly impossibly dry as he notices Langa’s eyes flicker down to them, and then back up to meet his eyes. 

“It’s okay,” Reki manages to huff out, a nervous laugh in the airy words. Langa nods, and continues his path, a little less precise than Reki had been in his glitter application. It results in sparkles across the entirety of Reki’s chest and abs, as Langa admires his work. He plunges his thumb into the glitter pot, leaning forwards and pressing the pad of it into the hollow of Reki’s throat, where his clavicle juts out, and it makes Reki’s head swim.

This is definitely not normal. 

Langa lifts the mirror from where Reki left it on the counter, holding it back as best he can so Reki can see. Langa seems to have focused his swipes of glitter on the highpoints of Reki’s muscles, illuminating the edges of his skin and drawing attention to his strong core. Reki makes a hum of appreciation.

“You have vision, Langa,” he manages, earning a snort of amusement from his friend. 

“I think I’ll still leave all the creative stuff to you,” Langa responds, dusting off his own hands and sending a fresh cascade of glitter into the air. Somehow, it's caught in the strands of his hair, making the icy blue appear even more like a thin layer of snow has fallen upon him. He smiles at Reki again, and it's enough to force him to look away, gulping back his anxiety as it roars inside him.

“Ready to go?” he asks, cursing the way his voice breaks in the middle. If Langa notices, he doesn’t comment, just makes a hum of agreement and lifts his skateboard from where he’d discarded it on the floor. Reki lifts his too, exiting the shop and locking up again behind them. Oka was going to be making him scrub glitter out of the floor for a month, but for some reason, Reki wasn’t phased in the slightest. 

The sun has nearly completely set now, just a sliver of vibrant orange setting fire to the horizon behind them as they prepare to skate to Shadow’s flower shop to meet up with him and Miya. The way the sunlight catches the glitter in Langa’s hair and on his cheekbones makes him shine just like Reki had envisioned, and he takes out his phone, tongue propped between his teeth as he crouches and takes a candid picture.

Langa throws his board on the ground and gives him a questioning look. Reki shrugs.

“The glitter looks really cool with the sunset.”

Langa glances back towards the horizon like he’s just realising the sun is going down, before pulling his own phone from his pocket and gesturing for Reki to come towards him.

“Let’s get one together. You’re right, it looks cool with the glitter on your chest too,” he remarks, as Reki stands and jogs uncertainly to Langa’s side.

He lifts the phone to take a selfie of the two of them, Reki letting out a low breath before smiling as brightly as he can muster, squishing his cheek up against Langa’s and throwing out a peace sign.

Langa reviews the selfie, nodding in apparent approval before stowing his phone back in his jeans. Reki takes a deep breath and forces whatever weirdness has been coursing through his body to be expelled, pushing himself off on his board and letting the wind clear his head a little.

“Come on, we’re already late! Shadow’s gonna be pissed,” he jokes, rolling his eyes. Langa follows close behind, swivelling a little here and there on his board, but mostly maintaining momentum so they can reach the flower shop as soon as possible. When they arrive, Miya is leaning against the trunk of the car scrolling through his phone, and Shadow is pacing by the driver’s side door looking pissed off. He lets out a growl of annoyance when he catches sight of the two of them.

“Not only are you two losers late, but now you’re gonna get glitter all over my manager’s car!” he seethes, wrenching the door open and climbing into the car. Miya raises his gaze from his phone screen, his eyes widening a little when he takes in the sight of Reki and Langa. His mouth curls into a smug little grin.

“You slimes look cute,” he sneers, hopping off the back of the car to saunter around to the passenger side door. Reki kicks his skateboard up into his hands and rolls his eyes.

“And what are you supposed to be? Some kind of furry?” he replies, taking in Miya’s outfit. 

He’s dressed in a lime green ensemble, complete with a pair of fuzzy black cat ears. He’s even painted little whiskers on his face and a pink nose in facepaint. 

“Please, like you even know what that is,” Miya snorts, sliding into the car with that effortless air of derision that he so masterfully holds at all times. Reki grits his teeth and climbs into the backseat with Langa, who hasn’t made a noise this entire time.

“What are you even doing here, aren’t you like fourteen?” Reki continues to goad Miya, flicking one of his cat ears from the backseat as Shadow starts the car. Miya lets out a hiss of discontent, slapping Reki’s fingers away.

“I’m sixteen , and Joe said I could come as long as I had a chaperone,” he insists, gesturing towards Shadow who growls in aggravation. Reki can’t help but let out a bark of a laugh.

“How’d you get stuck babysitting?” he demands, leaning forwards in his seat so his head is poking through to the front where Miya and Shadow are sitting. Shadow purposefully brakes as hard as he can at the next light, forcing Reki to be flung back, unceremoniously into his seat. Langa lets out a small huff of a laugh at his side.

“I lost that beef with Joe a couple weeks ago and this was my punishment,” Shadow grumbles, shooting Reki a tight glance in the rearview mirror. “And put your seatbelt on!”

“Yes, dad, ” Reki grouses, earning a giggle from Miya as he obediently buckles himself in. The rest of the drive to the mine is littered with Miya and Reki’s bickering, but by the time they pull up there’s a palpable air of excitement in the car. 

“Wow,” Langa hums in surprise. “A lot more people here than usual.”

“Yeah,” Reki agrees. “I guess all the part-timers turn out for the party every year. It’s huge! Cherry and Joe started it when they graduated and it’s been a thing ever since then. It just gets bigger and bigger every year I’ve heard!” 

They park the car up, leaving their boards for once and finding their way to the warehouse where the rave is to take place. They’re late, so it's already starting to fill up with people, the music pounding down into the earth at their feet, and making Reki’s muscles tremble. Some of it is sheer anticipation, the promise beyond the doors of the crush of bodies and the lights and the music making him feel both impossibly excited and already overwhelmed. Langa still hasn’t said anything, is just floating along above it all as he does when skateboarding isn’t involved, listening to Miya talk absently about some show they’ve both been watching. 

Reki can feel the prickle of all the gazes which have already landed on Langa, people starting to realise Snow has arrived amongst the crowds. The multi-coloured lights inside the warehouse are already washing over him, catching the glitter in his hair and across his cheeks and it makes him sparkle like snowflakes coating the sides of mountains.

Or at least, that’s what Reki thinks they must look like. If they don’t look like Langa does right now, then the snowy mountains mustn’t be all that special after all. 

He notices a cluster of girls that he hasn’t seen before giggling behind their hands just behind their group, and one looks like she’s about to be bold enough to take a step forward and introduce herself to Langa. Reki feels his stomach twist uncomfortably, and clenches his fist at his side.

Better get used to it , he tells himself fiercely. Just hope that one of her friends takes pity on you after all and puts you out of your kiss-virgin misery. 

Reki keeps one eye trained on the girl as she makes her approach, but before she can even open her mouth to say hello, Langa catches his eye and locks him in place. 

He smiles, and it's small and nothing like the beaming grins Langa offers when he’s just come off a skateboard high, but it's just for Reki.

Reki smiles back, and Miya makes a guttural noise in the back of his throat like he’s about to vomit. 

“I seriously can’t hang around with the two of you all night,” he declares, pushing past Reki towards where Shadow is now speaking with Joe. “You make me nauseous.” 

Reki just laughs, not entirely understanding what exactly Miya meant by the insult, but he doesn’t care, because Langa expertly sidesteps the girl and comes to his side, pressing himself against his arm.

“Listen Reki,” he says quietly. “Don’t ditch me, okay?” 

Reki laughs again at that, utterly bemused by Langa’s terrifying lack of self-awareness and glances back one more time at the group of girls who are now scrutinising the pair of them with narrowed eyes. He drapes his arm around Langa’s shoulders, almost as if to emphasise the fact that the beloved Snow only wants him by his side and no one else. He’s not sure why he feels the need to flaunt that. But Langa doesn’t shy away. If anything, his cheeks go a little pink, and he relaxes into Reki’s touch. 

Joe is handing out tokens to Shadow, and lifts two each for Reki and Langa.

“Drinks tokens my friends!” he announces, pushing them into their outstretched palms. “Freshly graduated seniors get the honour of two shots, then they’re cut off. Don’t say I’m not a responsible adult. And nothing for you, shorty,” he adds, offering Miya a grin. Miya bristles, waving a hand dismissively in Joe’s face.

“As if I would defile my body with liquor anyway. I’m an athlete,” he insists, nose in the air. Joe snorts with laughter, nodding along with Miya’s statement,

“Sure thing kitty cat - I’ll remember you said that when it’s your turn,” he says, winking at Reki as he and Langa walk by him. “Have fun guys. Come find me if you need anything!”

With that, Joe turns his attention to the group of girls who, having been utterly ignored by Langa, are seeking to have their wounds tended to by the good-looking skater. Langa watches for a moment before glancing sideways at Reki who raises a brow in question. Langa shrugs.

“Think any of them realise Joe’s like… super gay?”

Reki almost chokes on his own saliva, his arm falling unceremoniously from around Langa’s shoulders. His friend pouts a little as if annoyed at the loss of contact. They continue to shuffle forwards with the crowd into the warehouse, the music getting steadily louder with each step. Reki feels like he’s been hit over the head with an anvil, like in one of those stupid English cartoons Langa showed him once.

“Uh… are we supposed to have realised he’s… super gay?” Reki asks shakily, earning a vague look of surprise from Langa.

“Aren’t he and Cherry like…” he frowns as he trails off, looking like he’s trying very hard to come up with the correct words. Eventually Langa shrugs. “I don’t know, aren’t they fucking at least?”

Reki’s mouth falls open and all he can do is blink at Langa as the information settles around him. Miya leans back to join in the conversation from where he is a little ahead of them.

“Oh they’re definitely fucking,” he agrees, his mouth pressed into a thin line. “Some of us have been more fortunate than others not to catch them in the act.” 

Reki makes a strangled noise, unable to hide his shock any longer.

“Am I missing something? I thought Cherry and Joe were just friends who…” 

“Friends who what, Reki?” Miya asks, like the conversation is exhausting him. “Friends who give each other handjobs in the backseat of Cherry’s car when they think everyone’s left S for the night?” 

Langa laughs at that, and suddenly Reki feels impossibly stupid.

How could he have missed something like that? Now that he thought about it more carefully, Joe and Cherry did have a sort of… underlying tension to everything they did. And when Adam had hurt Cherry that time, Joe had been the first to come to Cherry’s aid, had pushed him around in his wheelchair for weeks, whispering things in his ears during beefs. And there had been that time in the restaurant when they were reviewing Adam’s Love Hug and they had been nose to nose in front of them all…

“Oh my God,” Reki finally spits out, his brain catching up with his mouth. “They’re totally into each other!”

Miya just slaps his hand to his forehead in complete disgust, throwing Langa a look that Reki can’t quite interpret. Langa drops his gaze, shrugging his shoulders in answer to Reki’s discovery, the thrum of the music now so loud that their small group can’t really hear each other. Miya sees someone he recognises and taps at his phone to indicate he’ll text them when he wants to find them again, skipping off into the crowd. Shadow has already peeled off, already shirking his babysitting duties, having found a cluster of groupies to fawn over him. Reki snorts and throws a thumb out towards them. 

“Some babysitter he turned out to be,” he yells to Langa, who shakes his head and leans his ear close to Reki’s mouth gesturing for him to repeat. Reki feels his cheeks burn with embarrassment, fumbling to repeat what he’s just said. Langa is so close, the whole side of his body pressed up to Reki’s front as he leans in to hear, and Reki just ends up shaking his head and laughing it off like it wasn’t important. It wasn’t, but as is custom for Langa, he hangs on Reki’s every word, giving his entire attention to anything Reki’s whittling on about no matter the circumstance.

No one else has ever been like that. 

As the crowd begins to surge around them, people finding their way over to the makeshift bar to exchange their drinks tokens and others to the dance floor to begin moving along to the music, Reki feels himself almost get pulled away from Langa.

Immediately panicked at the possibility, he reaches out to grab for some part of him, finding his own outstretched fingers easily. Langa envelops Reki’s hand with his own, their matching scrapes and bandages lining up with each other as their hands settle between them. Reki feels like his entire body has caught fire, his palms feeling disgustingly sweaty all at once, and he has the urge to yank his hand away.

Langa seems to sense his panic, because his fingers intertwine with Reki’s and he squeezes lightly. He offers him a small smile, gesturing towards the bar, drinks tokens shining in his other hand. Reki nods, a nervous smile finding its way instinctively onto his face as he follows Langa through the crowd. When they reach the bar, Langa presents his two tokens and receives two generous shot glasses full of some nondescript clear liquor with salt around the rim and two wedges of lime. Reki watches as he pulls them forwards to the edge of the bar, keeping their hands joined at all times.

The music is a little quieter over here, to allow the bar staff to be heard, Reki supposes and Langa puts his hot mouth to the shell of Reki’s ear to explain the drink.

“It’s tequila,” he says simply. “You lick the salt, drink the shot and then suck on the lime.”

Reki nods, chewing on his lip a little before pressing his own mouth up to Langa’s ear. If he thinks he feels his friend shiver at the sensation, he quickly chalks it up to the unusual intimacy of their proximity, pressed together in the heat of everyone else as they are.

“Have you done this before?” he asks, trying to mask the waver in his voice. It’s not like he’s scared to drink alcohol, but it's like kissing. Something he hasn’t done before, which therefore sends his anxious thoughts reeling in a million different directions to try and preordain what’s going to happen. Langa nods, pressing back into Reki’s ear.

“Yeah. Once in Canada. In Quebec the legal drinking age is eighteen, so it’s easier to sneak in places when you’re younger,” he explains, and Reki wonders if he’s ever heard Langa raise his voice like this. Before he can say anything else though, Langa is tugging him up so the coolness of the bar tickles his exposed navel, and is lifting his own shot to his lips. His pink tongue is poised along the rim where the salt has been dispersed, and Reki stares back at him, mimicking the position. 

Langa’s eyes drop for a moment to look at Reki’s mouth and then meet his eyes again. 

He mouths ‘ One, two, three ’ in English, before his tongue slides along the salt and he takes the shot. Reki does as instructed, first experiencing the harsh edge of the salt on the tip of his tongue, before dropping the shot back and swallowing it down in one go. It burns like nothing else he’s ever ingested before, and has a strange tang to it like some kind of plant or medicine. His face screws up involuntarily against the fierce heat licking its way through his core, but he can see Langa’s is doing the same, which instantly relaxes him. Langa lifts his wedge of lime to Reki’s lips, and Reki fumbles to do the same, pressing his slick fingers to Langa’s mouth and holding the lime taught for him to bite down on.

In tandem, their teeth find the flesh of the fruit, both of them wincing slightly but ultimately enjoying the sharp curb to the sting of the tequila. Reki can feel Langa’s tongue moving against his fingers a little where he clutches the lime, and he laps out experimentally with his own. He tastes the tang of the lime anew, and with it, the tips of Langa’s fingers at the edge of his teeth.

He suddenly feels like his heart is going to explode out of his chest, and he wonders if it's just a side effect of the alcohol. 

Langa retracts his fingers from Reki’s mouth, depositing the spent lime into the shot glass, and Reki repeats the motions exactly. His heart is fluttering, his every limb buzzing from the hot flush of tequila, and suddenly he feels a little lighter. 

So what if he doesn’t manage to kiss a girl tonight and ends up staying tied up with Langa? He’d have more fun with Langa than any other girl, no matter how good of a kisser she was. Why couldn’t they just spend the night together and have fun? There wasn’t anything he could do with a girl that he couldn’t do with Langa.

That’s not exactly true , a voice at the back of his head reasons, but he pushes it back and ignores it. 

Cherry and Joe are as close as he and Langa are, now that Reki thinks about it. Do people look at him and Langa and whisper the same things behind their hands as they do about the other two? What if they did? What if Langa wanted to find a girlfriend, but everyone had their suppositions about him and Reki because of how close they were? Was it weird how close they were? Did Reki care if that’s what people thought about them?

“Reki!” he hears Langa calling his name, in as urgent a tone as Langa can muster, he supposes, and suddenly, Reki can’t just stand still anymore. He yanks Langa towards the dance floor, and they’re swallowed up by the crowd.

The music thuds through Reki’s entire body now, as close to the speakers as they are, and all he can see is the flash of neon paint across people’s bodies, illuminated by the black lights suspended throughout the warehouse. It makes people’s teeth light up, bright as they smile at each other and grind against each other and Reki can feel the film of sweat which coats his entire body.

The tequila has made him feel looser somehow, more relaxed despite the questions which are trying their best to force their way to the front of his mind. Intent on continuing to drown them out, he pulls Langa in closer, holding hands not doing much for them in the crush of the crowd.

They’re face to face now, chest to chest, and Reki vaguely considers the fact that the glitter smeared across his pectorals is going to transfer onto Langa’s shirt. Langa doesn’t seem to care, however, because he’s pressing himself almost as readily back against Reki, lifting the hand which he’s holding to rest Reki’s hand against his shoulder as his other falls to his side. Without thinking, as they start to move to the music, Reki steadies himself against Langa with his other hand on his opposite shoulder, and suddenly their faces are very close as the crowd moves in tandem again.

Reki feels Langa’s hands settle on his hips, below his shirt so his skin is pressed against the exposed flesh there. Langa’s palms are sweaty too, Reki realises, as the music builds up around them, the crowd moving in anticipation of the drop. Reki’s head is swimming, full of nothing now except how close he and Langa are, and how much he likes tequila and how pretty Langa is—

As the beat drops around them, Langa shuts his ocean eyes and leans his forehead against Reki’s, and suddenly more than their chests are flush and Reki can feel the grind of Langa’s hips against his own.

Reki feels his body reacting almost automatically, accompanied with the thunder of his heart against his chest. Before he can pull himself away in sheer agony at the realisation he’s not only grinding against his best friend but he’s hard , he realises - Langa is too.

His breath catches in his throat and his eyes flutter open to meet head on with Langa’s gaze, but there’s something more than the usual ice-king coolness. They look tumultuous, like a storm and they flick down to watch as Reki’s tongue unconsciously licks his lips.

He wants Langa to kiss him.

“Ohmigod, it's Snow !” 

There’s a squeal much too close to them, and before Reki knows what’s happening, Langa is being pulled away into the clutches of some girl who is practically crawling all over him. Reki thinks it's possibly the first time in their friendship he’s seen Langa’s face contorted in annoyance, but his vision is obscured by the girl’s friend who has popped up next to him. She clutches onto his elbow and drags him down so her lips are pressed to his ear, her wet breath sending a shiver of disgust down his spine. 

Definitely shouldn’t feel disgust when a girl presses herself up against you , Reki thinks urgently, as he watches Langa stare levelly at the girl who had snatched him up and try to politely sidestep her.

“You’re Snow’s friend, Red, right?” the girl hanging off Reki’s arm says into his ear. Her breath is a little sour, like she’s maybe had a shot or two already. Reki can feel the swell of her breasts pressing into his side, the curve of her hip as she pushes herself in beside him. He can still see Langa trying to placate the girl who had cornered him, who is now attempting to throw her arms around his neck. He’s got both her wrists carefully suspended, brow furrowed as he tries to pry her away.

Reki feels the girl hanging on his arm reach up and catch his jaw between her thumb and forefinger. She’s alright looking, he thinks. Some might even call her pretty, he supposes. But not Reki. He knows better. He can see the glitter illuminating Langa’s cheeks and caught on the ends of his pale eyelashes. His mouth feels dry as his stomach twitches again in anticipation.

He wants Langa to kiss him.

Unfortunately, the girl who has taken hold of his chin has other ideas.

Without knowing what’s really happening, she reaches up on the tips of her toes and presses her mouth against Reki’s. It’s slippery with lipgloss and tastes as sour as her breath does. The feel of her curves against him makes Reki’s dick all but shrivel back up inside himself and he’s so shocked for an instant he just freezes, trying to understand what exactly is going on.

By the time he’s wrangled her away and looked up to find Langa, his friend has already seen what had happened.

Langa shakes his head, lost in the sea of swarming, writhing bodies, and turns to disappear into the crowd. 

Reki lunges after him, but it's too late. He’s gone.

Langa doesn’t know where he’s going, he just knows he needs to get out of the warehouse. He bumps into Miya on the way, who immediately abandons whoever he’s dancing with to follow him closely, his face a mask of concern. Eventually, he must realise Langa has no idea where he’s going, because he grasps his forearm and shepherds him towards the exit at the back of the warehouse.

They emerge out into the warm night, still hot by definition of where they are, but several degrees cooler than the sweltering warehouse. There’s a gentle breeze which lifts Langa’s hair, now sweaty and stuck to the back of his neck. It carries some of the glitter away on it.

The back of the warehouse is still busy, half pipes and quarter pipes full of people doing little tricks and hanging out, and Miya leads him over to one. Instead of climbing up onto it, Miya continues walking past it, so they’re down the back, in a more secluded and quieter location. There’s a few couples littered around making out, but when Snow and Miya appear, they seem to scatter. Langa doesn’t care why. He’s just glad to get a little space.

Reki was kissing that girl, just like he’d wanted. 

This was how tonight was always going to go; this is how it was supposed to go. 

Langa knows that. So why does it fucking hurt so much?

He’s biting down on his lip hard and leaning on the side of the half pipe when Miya finally speaks.

“Are you gonna tell me what’s the matter, or should I just guess?” he asks, but there’s a softness to his tone which usually is devoid. Langa shrugs, worrying his teeth against his lip some more as Miya sighs. “Is it Reki? What happened? Is he a horrible kisser after all?” 

Langa throws Miya a tight look.

“I don’t know,” Langa responds, his tone uncharacteristically defeated. “Maybe you should ask the girl he was kissing.” 

Miya’s mouth forms a little ‘o’ as he realises what’s happening, before he winces. 

“Yikes. You guys were all over each other when we came in here. I figured you’d told him how you felt,” Miya says, flopping back so he’s resting against the back of the half pipe too. Langa shoots him a glance of confusion, causing Miya to roll his eyes. “Please, Langa. Just because Reki’s oblivious to how painfully in love with him you are doesn’t mean the rest of us are.” 

Langa almost chokes.

“The rest of us?” he repeats, a slight tremble in his voice all that betrays his panic. Miya shrugs. 

“Sure. We talk about it all the time,” he adds unhelpfully. Langa grimaces.

“Great. Good to know Miya,” he says darkly, leaning his head back to rest it on the wall behind him. He gazes up at the starry sky, thinking about earlier and the way Reki’s eyes had glittered when he’d seen him for the first time. Miya doesn’t say anything right away, just sort of sways from side to side before letting out a low sigh.

“Did he… initiate the kiss? This girl might have just launched herself on him,” Miya says, and Langa shrugs.

“I don’t know. I saw it happening and I just bailed.”

Miya makes a noise of disgust.

“What a dumb thing to do. This isn’t a TV show, Langa. You should have waited to see what actually happened before you just stormed off! What if Reki’s in there freaking out too?” he asks, poking Langa in the elbow. Langa feels like all the excitement that had been sent coursing through his veins from that courageous shot of tequila has turned to twisting snakes, coiling up in his stomach and making him want to hurl. He shrugs. 

Miya makes another noise of frustration.

“Honestly, you guys suck . Wait here, slime.”

Miya disappears then, cat ears bobbing off into the crowd as he expertly navigates it. 

Langa sinks to the ground, praying no one else saw them disappear back here and that he’s just left alone. The grass under him is dry and bristling, and he can feel it through the fabric of his jeans. He stares at his hands, thinking of the way he’d mindlessly grabbed Reki’s hips while they were dancing. It had felt so right, Reki’s arms hung so casually up and over his shoulders as they swayed, the sheen of sweat across his face making his freckled skin glow, the glitter trailing its way down his chest plotting an incredibly distracting course downwards…

And Langa had felt it. 

Pressed up against his own unstoppable intrigue, Reki had been hard too. His breath caught in his throat as he remembered the heat coursing through him as he felt the friction against his dick, the way Reki’s honey brown eyes had fluttered open. He’s licked his lips, almost expectantly… like he wanted Langa to close the distance between them.

And then somehow the world had turned on its end and he’d been kissing that girl.

Langa grits his teeth and tells himself to get a grip. 

It doesn’t matter what he’d thought he’d felt while they were dancing. They’d both taken a fairly strong shot of tequila, they were hot and sweaty and pressed together and frankly, Reki was a teenage boy. Who knows what his fucking hormones were doing while Langa had been grinding up against him? 

Just as Langa resigns himself to apply a careful mask of disinterest back on his face, just as he’d mastered in the months following his father’s death, and return to the fray, he hears a familiar pant of exertion behind him. He turns his head to look up, and Reki is standing there.

If possible, he looks even hotter now, slightly dishevelled from the rave, paint and glitter now smeared across every available place on his body, as he grasps the edge of the half pipe and tries to catch his breath.

“Miya said… you were waiting for me,” he manages, before he collapses down in a heap beside Langa. His head falls to rest on Langa’s shoulder as he takes a few deep breaths, before he twists it back so it rests on the side of the half pipe. His Adam's apple bobs distractingly in his throat as he swallows, his pink tongue sneaking out once more to lick his lips. Langa feels his gut tighten. He’s never going to be able to deal with watching Reki kiss girls. 

“Sorry… I left you,” Langa says quietly, looking away from Reki, not trusting himself. Reki nudges his bare knee up against Langa’s gently. Langa can see years of scars beat into his skin, one on top of the other, the tanned expanse of his legs marred with evidence of his dedication to skating. His legs are covered in soft auburn hair, and he wants so badly to reach out and run his hands over it. Instead, he bites the inside of his cheek and grasps at his shirt. 

“You just up and abandoned me with that random girl,” Reki says, an edge of annoyance to his tone. “She just launched herself on me. I couldn’t get her off quick enough, and then you were gone. What’s the big idea, man?” 

Langa feels his fluttering heart squeeze with hope, and it takes everything in him to force it back. He throws Reki a half smile, trying to appear nonchalant.

“I guess I thought you’d want to be alone or something,” he tries to say, but Reki’s already shaking his head, his brow furrowed.

“Don’t lie to me, Langa,” he says seriously. “It's almost as bad as pre-emptively apologising for a promise you’re determined to break.”

Langa’s gut twists at that and he feels his shoulders slump involuntarily. Reki tentatively reaches out where his hand is still clutching the bottom of his shirt and trails his index finger around Langa’s palm in a lazy circle before he entwines their fingers. Langa feels his breath catch in his throat, and he meets Reki’s gaze properly for the first time since they’d been separated on the dance floor. 

“ Sorry ,” Langa says in English, looking away quickly before he loses himself in Reki’s painfully sincere gaze. He picks at a lump of dry grass between them before speaking again. “So… your wish came true. You’re no longer a kiss-virgin.” 

Reki winces, his cheeks going a little pink. He rubs the back of his head self-consciously.

“I guess not. Fuck, what a lame thing to say, huh? But like… does it even really count if I didn’t know I was going to be kissing anyone? I mean that girl just kind of ploughed her face into mine, it wasn’t like I moved my lips or anything. Have you…” Reki’s voice breaks a little and he clears his throat, his fingers tightening around Langa’s. “Have you ever kissed anyone?”

Langa feels himself automatically tense, feels it in the way Reki rubs at his fingers to loosen them up again. He lets out a low breath and nods his head. Reki makes a noise somewhere between a hum of understanding and a squeak of shock. It's unbelievably cute.

“Right, of course you have. You’d done shots of tequila before, so you’ve probably kissed a bunch of girls, huh, Langa?” he continues, his words coming as fast as his mouth can force them out of his brain. Langa shakes his head, chancing a look up into Reki’s eyes. They’re like hot honey, brown butter melting through Langa’s hard exterior and soaking through to his core. His heart leaps to his throat and he opens his mouth, then closes it again. Reki frowns.

“You haven’t kissed a bunch of girls?” 

Langa shakes his head again. Reki nods.

“So what, was there like… someone special back in Canada, or…? Man, is it weird we’ve never even talked about this? I mean, what kind of teenage boys never talk about this?” Reki laughs nervously, squeezing Langa’s hands off and on again in tandem with the thrum of Langa’s heart. Langa takes a deep breath.

“There was no one special. I’ve just… never kissed a girl .” 

Reki blinks back at him for a moment as if he’s trying to process what Langa’s just said, before suddenly, the reality of the situation seems to finally knock him off his feet. Reki nods in understanding.

“You’ve kissed a boy?”

Langa nods. 

Reki's eyes are blown wide, his curly eyelashes fluttering prettily as his mouth moves over the revelation in silence. 

“You’ve kissed a boy ,” he repeats, as if trying to get to grips with the concept. His teeth scrape along his bottom lip, his canines catching for a moment before he speaks again. “So that means…?” 

Langa nods again. 

“Yeah. I… like… boys,” he confirms, and he doesn’t know why he feels so stupidly fragile because he didn’t really care when his mother found out, and he doesn’t really care if anyone else finds out but if Reki rejects him now—

“So that’s how you knew about Cherry and Joe?” he asks bewilderedly. Langa can’t help the small smile that finds its way onto his face.

“Uh… I think most people know about Cherry and Joe, Reki,” he reasons, causing the other boy to blush deeply and shake his head like he’s just had his entire world blown right open.

“Man, you must think I’m fucking obtuse or something,” Reki says, slumping back against the half pipe like he’s just run a marathon. Langa snorts at that, leaning back too, gazing up alongside Reki at the sky above them. 

“I just thought you didn’t care about stuff like that,” Langa tells him, shrugging lightly. Reki nods.

“I mean I definitely don’t,” he says, before jerking upright again, yanking Langa’s hand and forcing him to look at him again. He’s got that painfully sincere look on his face again and Langa wants nothing more than to close the distance between the two of them and kiss his stupid, earnest lips. “Not like I don’t care , I mean, thank you for feeling like you can trust me with that Langa, of course I care about you, I—” he stops, and he licks his lips again distractingly, and his eyes flicker down to look at Langa’s mouth again. “I really care about you. More than— more than I’ve ever cared about anyone, I think.” 

Langa sits forward a little, the butterflies in his stomach threatening to literally pull him from the ground if they keep scurrying around inside him. Langa’s throat is so dry it's like he’s swallowed a bucket of sand, but he nods.

“I really care about you too, Reki,” he tells him gently, ready to allow his friend to interpret that in whatever way he wants because he’s exhausted now and Reki is the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. 

It takes Reki’s gaze sliding to Langa’s lips one more time before he decides to throw caution to the wind.

Fuck it , Langa decides as he lifts the hand that isn’t entwined with Reki’s and uses it to push the thickness of Reki’s vibrant red hair back from his face. Langa’s palm smears the neon paint on the apple of Reki’s cheek a little, but he doesn’t seem to care, letting out a stuttering breath between them, his warm eyes half-lidded as he unconsciously leans in towards Langa. 

The pound of the music from the warehouse dulls until it's nearly non-existent, the drone of voices all around them and the whir of wheels on skateboards simply cease to exist as Langa presses his lips against Reki’s.

Reki’s lips are warm and dry and Langa lingers there for just a moment, fully intending to pull away and allow the other boy to process what the hell has just happened. Reki moves his lips then though, pressing back against Langa’s and moving them against his with all the tentative energy of someone taking their first steps. It’s all the encouragement Langa needs, and he adjusts the angle a little, so their lips slot more easily together. 

Reki smells like sweat and whatever deodorant he’d doused himself in before leaving tonight and coconut shampoo that he steals from his little sisters when he runs out. It's intoxicating, and Langa has to remind himself to take it slowly as he slides his hand further into Reki’s hair, cupping the back of his head as he moves his lips softly. 

Reki gently disentangles their fingers, bracing himself on the ground so he can turn a little, pushing himself closer to Langa so their teeth bump with the movement. He starts to mumble an apology, but Langa doesn’t let him, simply running his tongue along the dry seam of Reki’s lips to soothe the impact. Reki lets out a long sigh of content at the motion, like he’d been waiting for Langa to do it, reaching his hand up to steady himself against Langa’s chest. 

He slips his own tongue out now to meet Langa’s, opens his mouth in a rush of hot air that makes Langa’s brain pound heavily against his skull, and suddenly they’re running their tongues hungrily along each other. Langa licks into Reki’s mouth, the wet sounds of them moving against each other making his core throb with pleasure, and before he knows it, Reki is reciprocating with just as much vigour, running his hand up the back of Langa’s neck and holding him close.

Langa thinks if he died right now, he’d be happy, because more than anything else in the world, he’s just happy Reki didn’t push him away in disgust. Even if the moment dies and they laugh it off and they never kiss again, Reki knows Langa likes boys and Reki doesn’t care and Reki had kissed him just like he’d spent so many hours imagining. 

“Langa,” he finally hears Reki panting his name as they are forced to part for air, his mouth red like he’s been eating strawberries, his lips kiss swollen. Langa grunts in response, catching his own breath and still running his fingers through Reki’s hair as the other boy tries to piece together what just happened. “Langa,” Reki says again, more certain this time. “I wanted you to kiss me when we were dancing in there. I didn’t— I don’t… I don’t want to kiss random girls.”

Langa is certain he’d taken the shot of tequila and then somehow passed out from the heat of the rave, and that right now he’s dreaming. Reki thumbs Langa’s bottom lip gently, considering something, before he leans forward and starts kissing him again, this time with more fervour, pressing his bare chest up against Langa’s thinly clothed one. Langa can feel himself straining inside his jeans as he settles a palm on Reki’s collarbone for balance, and it’s almost too much to bear. A strangled moan escapes him, reverberating through Reki’s mouth and down inside him. Reki makes a noise of encouragement, breaking away for a moment to change the angle of his kisses, stealing Langa’s breath again before he can force even a small portion of oxygen to his brain. 

This is how he’s going to die if Reki goes any further here. 

Langa pulls away, gasping for breath, his forehead slumping down to rest on Reki’s shoulder. He feels the vibration of Reki’s laugh through his body as the other boy pets the back of Langa’s head.

“Same, man,” he jokes, and Langa can’t help but laugh along with him, the butterflies in his stomach finally finding their way out and into his limbs. His hand is shaking with adrenaline as he clings onto Reki for dear life and laughs in that way that he thought he’d completely forgotten. Reki continues to smooth his hair back, his fingers winding a soothing rhythm along Langa’s scalp and he wants nothing more than to collapse into a heap like this and stay here forever.

“What do you wanna do now? You wanna go dance some more?” 

Langa lifts his head to meet Reki’s gaze, his nose wrinkling at the thought. Reki laughs again, rubbing the back of his neck shyly.

“Too many people trying to get in our way in there, huh?” he asks, and Langa nods his head once, not trusting his voice. He’s so happy he’s certain if he tries to speak, he’ll only be able to generate some form of squeak. Reki’s fingers slow in Langa’s hair, torturously smooth, as he lowers his voice and nudges the tip of Langa’s nose with his own. “I think… I think I like you, Langa.”

Langa doesn’t know how tonight could be anymore perfect, his heart all but stopping as he tries to absorb what Reki’s just said. 

“Me too,” he blurts, immediately trying to backtrack and make more sense as Reki’s face contorts in amusement. “I mean… I like you too. I like you, Reki. I have for… for a while.”

Suddenly, a voice calls out from the otherside of the half-pipe, teasing with a characteristic edge of distaste. 

“I’m coming around the corner now, so you two better not be sucking face - or worse,” Miya adds, appearing out into the space with them, his hand clamped over his eyeballs for good measure. 

“What the hell kind of thing is that to say?” Reki demands, as Miya removes his hand from his eyes, seemingly deciding if Reki can speak then the risk of face sucking is minimal. He smirks at the two of them, at Langa’s tousled hair and Reki’s smeared face paint and leans against the side of the half-pipe. 

“Sorry, Reki, if I’m interrupting I can leave,” Miya chides, but before Reki can bite back a retort, he just rolls his eyes and gestures for them to get up. “Come on. Apparently, I’m the sober messenger for the night and I’ve been instructed to retrieve the two of you so you can do your last shot with Joe and Cherry. They wanna see you off, or some other sentimental bullcrap.”

“Watch that language, kitty cat ,” Langa hums as he stands and dusts himself off, earning a bark of laughter from Reki and a hiss from Miya. He sticks his nose in the air.

“Whatever - just remember to include me in the wedding speeches as the person who fixed up your whole ‘misunderstanding trope,’” Miya does air quotes around the phrase, lip curling as Langa rolls his eyes and Reki stands up too, capturing him in a headlock. Miya and Reki wrestle most of the way up to where Joe and Cherry have a private booth, close enough to the music to enjoy the thrum, but far enough away that they can be heard. When they arrive, Cherry shoots them a disapproving glance.

“Well you two look positively debauched,” he sniffs, sipping on a shallow cup of expensive sake as he watches Reki and Langa enter the booth. “Is that what took you so long?”

“Jesus, Miya, if I’d have known they were that kind of busy I wouldn’t have sent you to get them,” Joe adds, arm casually draped around Cherry’s shoulders. Langa can’t help but suppress a smile as he watches Reki’s eye twitch a little as he takes in the sight. He’s probably re-running every interaction he’d had with the men since he’d known them for clues as to their relationship status. 

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Langa says indifferently, sliding into the booth beside Cherry and tapping the seat next to him for Reki to join. He offers him a lazy grin, scooting in until his thigh is pressed right up against Langa’s. The sensation sends a bolt of pleasure to his groin, and Langa has to clench the edge of the table to stop himself pulling Reki in for another kiss. 

“Aren’t they cute, Cherry?” Joe asks in a wheedling tone, to which Cherry just tosses his head dismissively. He’s wearing a wry sort of half smile when he rolls his eyes.

“Precious. What do you two want to drink?” he adds, gesturing to the private bar staff they have by their booth.

“Tequila!” Reki announces, pink splotches on his cheeks from the heat, the alcohol, and the feeling of Langa’s fingers as they trail patterns across his knee under the table. 

“Sounds like a plan! Four shots of tequila!” Joe announces, to which Cherry huffs in feigned displeasure, his mouth curling into an almost smile as Joe offers him a sultry wink. “It’ll be like old times, Kaoru,” he says under his breath.

Reki makes a choked sort of noise and points between the pair of them.

“I didn’t know you guys were a thing, but now that I do know it's like, how didn’t I know?” he explains brightly, as a tray of shots and limes are presented at the table. Cherry shoots him a warning look.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I wouldn’t be caught dead beneath this needy gorilla,” he says coolly, sliding his shot over and gingerly sniffing it. Miya makes a noise of disgust.

“Can you guys cool it? I’m perfectly sober right now and you’re still making me feel like I wanna hurl,” he remarks, squishing into the booth alongside Joe and scrolling disinterestedly through his phone. 

Langa hands Reki his shot and lifts his own, poised with it raised before his mouth and Joe lifts his own in toast.

“To the happy couple,” he says, winking again but this time directly at Langa, and he wonders if he’s ever blushed so much in public in his life. The four of them throw back the shots, the liquor going down a little smoother this time now that the first has well set in, and Langa offers his lime to Reki. He does the same, his eye twitching adorably at the burn of the liquor, a soft noise of appreciation escaping as he sucks on the lime Langa has wedged between his teeth. Some of the juice dribbles down the back of his hand, and Reki removes his lips from the lime to lick it off Langa’s skin.

He swallows tightly.

They need to get out of here. 

“I need to go to the bathroom,” Reki announces, most unnecessarily to the entire table. “Langa, can you come with me?” Miya sticks his forefinger in his mouth and mimics vomiting, and fixes Reki with a knowing glare.

“Way to be subtle, kid,” Joe gives Reki a thumbs up, his face a mask of amusement. “What, you need his help holding it?” 

Reki squeaks as if he’s going to protest, but Langa just entwines their hands together, standing up from the table and ushering him along and out of the booth. Emboldened by the second shot, he fixes Joe with as sultry a glance as he can muster and smiles.

“Good idea, Joe,” he hums, earning a bark of laughter from Cherry as the two of them dash away from the group. Reki leads, tugging Langa along behind him and deep into the abandoned warehouse, somewhere Langa’s never been before. At last, Reki seems content that they’re so deep in the maze no one will come upon them again, and he doesn’t waste any time in pressing Langa up against the door as it bangs shut behind them.

Kissing Langa is like nailing a trick first thing in the morning when you’re still loaded with sleep and not quite sure how you managed to get your school uniform on. Thrilling, surprising, invigorating. It’s enough to make Reki feel like his very heart is going to come catapulting up his throat at any moment, so it's all he can do to keep his mouth pressed against Langa’s and stifle it. 

Thankfully, that’s not too difficult a task, the other boy taking control after a moment and winding his hand into the hair at Reki’s nape, before spinning them both around so Reki’s the one pinned against the door. 

He knows he should be embarrassed by the little whines that are escaping him between kisses as they gasp for air, but each moan only seems to spur Langa on more. Reki’s glad, because he can’t help it, gasping into Langa’s mouth as he breaks the kiss suddenly, forehead pressed against Reki’s as they catch their breath.

Reki’s shirt is positively inappropriate at this stage, most of it fisted in Langa’s hand on his shoulder and exposing an even greater portion of his chest. Reki doesn’t care, his own fingers scraping their way past Langa’s tank top to try and reach the pale skin below. It’s not enough to be pressed up against him, he wants him all over him, he wants his mouth all over him —

Reki can feel the raging heat in his own cheeks, less so from the exertion of their kissing and more so from the immediate turn to the sexual his hormone addled brain has taken. Langa smooths a lock of unruly red hair back from his forehead, his teeth worrying distractingly against his kiss swollen bottom lip. He leans forwards a little in the stillness, the only sound their haggard breaths, his hips meeting Reki’s.

Reki feels how hard Langa is up against him, the friction against his own erection drawing another hopeless moan from his chest, free this time of any barrier of Langa’s mouth. Langa smiles.

“I like it when you make noise,” he murmurs in Reki’s ear, his breath hot and wet on the delicate skin. Reki shivers against him as Langa thrusts his hips languidly, one hand dropped to clasp Reki’s backside, the other cupping his jaw and holding him in place as he kisses him slowly, agonisingly. Reki whimpers, fisting his hands in Langa’s shirt.

“You’re just torturing me now,” Reki manages through clenched teeth as Langa smiles wickedly. 

“Am I?” he asks, his cool tone of voice as innocent as he can muster while grinding up against his best friend. Reki nods. Langa hums in thought, the sound making the hair on Reki’s arms stand on end. “What would help ease that torture?” Langa leans in and presses a kiss to Reki’s jaw, working his way down the slope of his face to his neck and mouthing wetly at the skin there. Reki squirms below him, moving his hips impatiently against Langa’s and earning a quiet chuckle from the other boy. 

Langa’s hand slips from where it’s squeezing the swell of Reki’s hip so it's resting between the two of them. He watches Reki carefully with those icy blue eyes, licking his lips agonisingly as he tests Reki’s reaction when his hand moves across the hardness in his jeans. Reki knows his cheeks are flaring bright red right now, but he doesn’t care, letting a soft mewl escape as Langa begins to palm him gently through his clothes. He quirks a pale brow.

“Is this okay?” he mutters into the space between them, and Reki can barely speak. It feels so good, but he manages a nod, swallowing tightly as he does. Langa smiles, continuing his ministrations, before leaving a gentle kiss on Reki’s cheek and dropping down to his knees.

There, in front of Reki, his own cheeks a pretty pink colour as he gazes up at him, Langa begins to undo the button at the front of his jeans. His tongue passes over his bruised lips as he gazes up into Reki’s eyes.

“Is this okay?” he asks again, just as he’s poised to pull Reki’s zip the rest of the way down and expose him. Reki feels like he’s going to explode the second Langa puts his mouth anywhere near him, but he doesn’t care. His heart is hammering against his ribcage and every fibre of his being is screaming out for this. 

He wants Langa to suck him off, and he wants to come in his mouth and he wants everyone to know Langa is his—

He nearly does lose control altogether when he feels the cool night air against his aching cock, right before it's enveloped by the slick warmth of Langa’s mouth. Reki makes a strangled sort of noise which has Langa glancing up at him momentarily to make sure he’s okay. When Reki winds his fingers into Langa’s hair to hold him gently in place, the boy on his knees smiles around his cock, eyes fluttering shut as he begins to sweep his tongue slowly around the tip. 

Reki’s knees are trembling as he tries to steady himself against the door, one hand wound up in Langa’s hair, the other pressed against the rough metal behind him. 

Langa moves a little faster, bobbing his head down further until Reki can feel the tight clench of his throat and his hips give a little involuntary thrust. Langa makes a small gagging sound, pulling back a bit as his eyes water and Reki immediately panics. 

“Shit, sorry Langa, I didn’t mean to-” 

“It’s alright,” Langa responds, distracting Reki from his apology as he releases his cock with a soft popping noise. He smiles sheepishly against the tip, as he darts his tongue out and along the slit. “I liked it,” he adds, before taking Reki in his mouth again and swallowing nearly the entirety of his aching cock in one go. Reki makes a strangled sort of noise, and it really is too much now, as Langa encourages him to thrust into his mouth with one hand on his hip bone. Reki manages only a few half-hearted jerks before he’s trying to form words.

“Langa, st-stop I’m gonna… please I’m- coming,” Reki can’t find the strength to pull out as Langa enthusiastically sucks him off to his end, and he comes hard in the back of his throat. He only opens his eyes to look when Langa gently releases him from his mouth, swallowing as he wipes a little that had escaped from his chin. He smiles up at Reki, blue eyes dazzling and Reki can’t understand how he’d ever tried to convince himself that kissing a girl would be anything like kissing Langa.

It’s always been Langa - only been Langa. He’d never thought of anyone like that before he’d met the snowy haired Canadian boy and watched his face light up with delight when he stood upright on a skateboard for the first time. The desire to kiss a girl had been a distraction - one placed by his subconsciousness to try and avoid the undeniable attraction he felt for his best friend.

A firework explodes outside the window of the factory, signalling the highpoint of the night. Langa’s attention is pulled away as Reki tucks himself back into his jeans, the colourful lights catching the glitter still dazzling its way along Langa’s high cheekbones. Reki slips his hand into the other boy’s and leads him over to the window so they can get a better view, struggling to concentrate on the firework show in favour of sneaking glances at Langa’s side profile every few seconds. 

The tips of Langa’s ears go pink.

“What are you looking at? … Was that too much?” he asks softly, and Reki makes a horrified noise in the back of his throat, clasping Langa’s hand tightly.

“No it wasn’t - Langa,” Reki says seriously, reaching up to turn his face toward him. Langa’s long eyelashes flutter over his crystalline eyes, ghosting his cheeks as he gazes at the floor between them. Reki takes a deep breath. 

“The first time I saw you jump, down in this very warehouse, there were fireworks like there are now,” he tries. Langa frowns. 

“Was there? Maybe that was your imagination Reki,” he hums thoughtfully, chewing on his lip. Reki lets out a short bark of a laugh, shaking his head and clasping Langa’s cheek with as much grace as he can muster. 

“And there were snowflakes,” he continues to babble, watching Langa’s brows furrow in confusion. “Snowflakes in Okinawa. I’d never seen anything like it, but maybe I will again if we keep skating together. What I’m trying to say is… Langa,” Reki is vaguely aware of the cheers of the crowds below in response to the fireworks display, the smell of smoke in the air as the lights dance their way across the night sky. Reki takes a deep breath and throws caution to the wind. “You’re the only person I’ve ever looked at like that - you’re the only person I want to look at like that. You’re so… you’re so special to me, I just didn’t realise how special before, and now it’s like, so clear, you know? It was never about kissing some random girl,” Reki finishes his speech with a rueful smile and the most sincere gaze he can muster skewering Langa in place. “I just want you, Langa.” 

Langa blinks as he appears to be digesting Reki’s speech, before his face breaks out into a magnificent smile. The lights from the fireworks explode across his pretty features, illuminating his skin as his happiness illuminates him from the inside out. 

“Yeah,” Langa says so softly Reki has to strain to hear. “I just want you too, Reki.”

Reki can’t contain the bubble of joyful laughter that escapes him, leaning forward and clumsily pressing his lips to Langa’s, but he doesn’t care. They kiss until the fireworks stop, until they’re out of breath and just gazing at each other like they’ve never taken the time to really look. 

Forehead resting against Langa’s, Reki offers him a coy grin.

“So… how long have you liked me?” he asks teasingly, earning a roll of Langa’s cold eyes. He frowns.

“Since forever, but you don’t know how to take a hint,” Langa says smoothly, running a hand through his dishevelled hair as they wordlessly decide to make their way back to their friends. Langa reaches for Reki’s hand, threading their fingers together as they begin to meander their way back through the factory. Reki makes a noise of dissent.

“What? When did you hint? You never hinted!” he insists, screwing his face up as he combs back through his memories for any suggestion on Langa’s end that he wanted to kiss him. Langa rolls his eyes.

“ ‘I want to skate infinitely with you’ ? Come on, Reki,” Langa scoffs, dropping a soft kiss to his temple as they round the corner back to regroup with their friends. Reki nearly chokes on the very air in his lungs, mouth falling open in protest.

“What?! But skating is life , bro! I thought—” Reki stops himself, chewing on his bottom lip and offering Langa an apologetic grin. “My bad. Guess there’s plenty more innuendos where that came from for me to figure out retroactively.” 

Langa snorts in response, but his smile is soft and genuine as he squeezes Reki’s fingers between his own.

“We’ve got time,” he says.