Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

All of the superhero adults of Okinawa are fairly useless, in Reki’s opinion. Shadow is always busy rescuing damsels in distress, Joe and Cherry are usually teaming up to deal with Adam, and that leaves only Reki to be the somewhat-emotionally-competent adult to make sure Miya is safe.

That, and they are roommates, so— it’s kind of an obligation by nature.

Not to say that Miya himself thinks he needs any help, of course. Miya is sixteen, and in his head his uncanny knife-throwing ability makes him invincible, even though his superpower is not accompanied by healing abilities. Superheroes are human— despite their abilities. It doesn’t matter what pseudonym they choose or what mask they hide behind, they can also get hurt, no matter how invincible they act.

That’s why Reki always goes out of his way to keep a close eye on Miya when he waltzes around, catching petty thieves and street kids getting up to no good. Usually, Miya can hold his own against the other teenagers who are getting into trouble, but occasionally, like tonight, it’s a pack of grown men, Reki’s age or older, who are stealing purses and robbing convenience stores.

These nights are the reason Reki follows Miya along on his prowl.

Like always, he had stayed in the shadows, keeping an eye out and lurking behind Miya quietly. Honestly, at this point he’s pretty sure Miya knows when he’s following him, but chooses not to say anything because Reki won’t listen anyway.

“Hello, boys,” Miya says to the group of men as he approaches them, huddled around a scared middle-aged woman in the alleyway. Reki rolls his eyes. A bit cliche, isn’t it? 

There are no street lamps and Miya’s green and purple hoodie looks grey in the moonlight. His purple mask that covers only his eyes makes him look scarier than any person of his tiny stature normally would, but one of the three men laughs at him anyway.

“Who the fuck are you supposed to be?” He snorts, turning his back on the woman in his hold, grubby fingers wrapped around her purse handle.

“Doesn’t matter,” Miya answers matter-of-factly. “Let her go, and no one gets hurt, okay?”

The other two men in the group are murmuring between one another, but the mouthy  thug doesn’t seem to notice or care.

He scoffs, indignant. “I could snap your neck, kid. It’s the size of my fucking thumb, I would turn around and walk away if I were you, okay?” 

In a flash, Miya throws one of his blades, severing the man's thumb from its grip on the bag, which, in turn, falls to the floor. The man yowls loudly and holds his hand just below the injury. Reki winces. Miya never has had too many qualms about permanent disfiguration. 

“What was that about your thumb, hm?” Miya says. The other two men let go of the woman, forgetting entirely about her as she picks up her purse, (with the thumb inside, bleh ), and runs off. 

“I know who you are!” One of them shouts, inching closer, “You’re that stupid fuck who runs around ‘fighting crime’ or whatever. Acting like you’re better than the rest of us and then running off into the night like a little bitch.” 

Aw, come on, man. Usually Reki would have waited a little longer, until Miya was backed into a corner, but that comment struck a nerve and he’s going to do something about it.

He jumps down from the ledge above, landing like a badass, if he says so himself. 

“Hey, man, I don’t like it when people talk about my friends that way, okay?” Reki says, startling the guy as he moves towards him.

“Slime,” Miya hisses.

“I mean, I could say that your buddy here was a mean fat dumbass, but I wouldn’t do that because I’m a nice guy. Right… CatBoy?” He slings an arm over Miya’s shoulders, feeling the tension in them radiating through his sweatshirt.

“Don’t call me that, you idiot,” Miya hisses again, this time directly in his ear. Reki laughs, giving the top of his hoodie a ruffle. 

“Who are you?” The man who had started mouthing off asks. He steps closer, pulling a knife from his pocket and pointing it… in Miya’s direction. Well, that just isn’t going to happen.

“I’m—” Reki shoots one of his webs toward the guy, gluing his hand and the knife to his chest, “Spider-Man.”

Miya sighs deeply, while the other guy— the one without a missing thumb or a knife— snorts.

“No, you’re not. Spider-Man wears that high-tech suit that Stark built for him, not…” He trails off, giving Reki a once over, “… a track suit?”

Reki huffs, embarrassed. It’s really an athleisure suit, but whatever, man. “Well, duh. I’m, uh, I’m Spider-Man Japan, okay? I’m pretty sure Spider-Man is a little too busy in New York to come fight some old geezers in Okinawa.”

The two men who hadn’t been hurt look at each other and, to Reki’s dismay, begin laughing.

“Spider-Man Japan?” One of them snorts. “There can’t be two Spider-Men. What’s next, Spider-Man New Zealand?”  

Miya huffs and turns to look at him. “Can we go now, slime? I think our job here is done. You’ve saved the day by embarrassing us, where would I be without you?”

Reki’s cheeks burn, the men still laughing hysterically. “Come on,” He sighs, wrapping an arm around Miya’s lower back and slinging them off the street, towards their apartment.

“I hate this so much,” Miya says, making a big show out of keeping his face as far away from Reki’s as possible with a grimace.

“You don’t have to say that every time I do this, you know that, right?” Reki rolls his eyes, grunting with the strain of carrying them both.

“I only allow it because it’s efficient,” Miya announces, like he needs everyone in the world to know. 

“Yes, yes, I know. You wouldn’t touch me with a ten foot pole otherwise,” Reki sighs.

“I really wouldn’t,” Miya agrees. “I can’t believe I’m even letting you do this after that shitshow back there.”

Reki doesn’t look at him, just keeps his narrowed gaze pointed straight ahead. Miya can really be a little shit sometimes.

“I just didn’t like what he was saying about you, okay?” He grumbles.

“I’ve been called worse before, Reki. Just read the comments on any of the news articles about me. It doesn’t bother me,” Miya answers, in a way that makes it sound like it very much does bother him but Reki knows he won’t own up to that any time soon.

“Well, it bothered me ,” Reki says, trying his best to make it sound like there is no room for argument. Fortunately, Miya doesn’t try to argue, he simply wraps his arms a little tighter around Reki’s neck until they’re both safely landed on the fire escape of their apartment. 

The window is always unlocked to make for easy crime-fighting and quick first aid care. Luckily, neither of them need it tonight. Reki would like to think that was thanks to him, but whatever.

Their apartment is small and cluttered, with most of the ‘decor’ being posters Miya had put up. Some of Reki’s sketches are tacked on the wall too, mostly because Miya did it when Reki was out as some way of telling him that he thought the drawings were good. Reki likes to think the apartment is an organized kind of disorganized, with multiple piles of laundry kept neatly in the corners, and a strict ‘no leaving food out for longer than an hour’ rule.

It isn’t perfect, necessarily.

But, hey, is Reki really expected to do any better as a 20-year-old single parent of a teenager?

That, in itself, is a long story. Miya is smart— like, outrageously smart— and he’d graduated from high school at only fifteen. Which was amazing, really, but…

Well, to put it simply, Miya’s parents felt that graduating high school meant he was old enough to move out, go to college, get a job, whatever, so long as it meant he was out of their hair and— and… Well, Reki loves him. And Miya never cries, like, ever. 

So, when Reki caught him desperately rubbing tears off his cheeks after he announced he was moving to the other side of Okinawa, he knew he had to do something to fix it.

That’s how they got here, a well-meaning adult and a snotty teenager sharing an apartment and not attending college, simply meandering through life and occasionally fighting crime.

Though, they certainly aren’t the most well known superheroes. There are others, older than them and far more experienced, going around fighting crime. Joe, Cherry, and Shadow are the only ones Reki and Miya have come into contact with in Okinawa, and there are far more in Tokyo. Nonetheless, Reki and Miya like dealing with the bad guys, so they do, no matter how many times everyone else scolds them for being too young. 

“What’s for dinner?” Miya sighs, collapsing onto their couch and almost spilling his glass of soda on it. Shithead. He picks up his Switch and boots up Dragon Quest, his go-to activity when he needs to unwind after nights like these.

“I don’t know, twerp,” Reki grumbles, moving into the kitchen and opening the pantry. “You know, you can cook too sometimes.” Miya doesn’t look up from his game. “We have… cup noodles. How does that sound?”

Miya doesn’t have to roll his eyes for Reki to know how he feels about that. “I’m going to die of malnutrition and you’re going to have to go to jail for child endangerment, you know.”

“Well, I’m not your legal guardian, so I don’t see how I could get in trouble for that,” Reki quips, going about filling the styrofoam cups with water and shoving them into the microwave.

Miya is snarky, and doesn’t know how to cook at all, but he isn’t useless. He helps around the house, doing laundry here and there and picking up after himself. The thing is, Reki is the oldest in a large family, and he knows what it was like to have to be an adult well before he was ready. He doesn’t want Miya to have to experience that. In a lot of ways, he’d had to grow up way too fast already. Reki wants him to be a kid for as long as he is able. It’s the reason he’s not too keen on all the crime-fighting Miya has been doing, but oh well.

Once, back when they first moved in together, a coworker of his had mentioned that he must get frustrated having to take care of a kid when he was barely an adult himself. Sure, sometimes it is difficult, sometimes he knows the rent is going to be due soon and he wants to lay down and cry, but really, he just can’t find it in himself to be mad that he gets to live with Miya. He holds no resentment over the fact that he’s in charge of chores or bills or cooking. He simply does it without complaint, pulls a blanket over Miya when he falls asleep on the couch, and hopes it’s enough to make him feel safe.

There are many locations in Okinawa that Reki likes to kick back, swinging his legs over the ledge of a tall building and looking at how tiny the world can look from up there. Sometimes, he’ll listen in on the police radio and wait for something he can help out with, but he mostly just likes how it feels.

One of Reki’s favorite places is a tall office building located just outside of the entrance of Okinawa University, which is always teeming with the active life of college students goofing around. If he watches them come and go for long enough, he can almost feel like he is one of them.

Which, uh, now that he thinks about it… kind of sounds pathetic and sad. So— never mind.

Reki is sitting on that same edge of the office building, enjoying the view and totally not feeling sorry for himself, when he sees it— the prettiest boy he’s ever seen, scrolling away on his phone, moments away from crossing the street in front of a massive semi-truck that isn’t stopping anytime soon. 

It’s rare he actually spots the danger himself rather than just hearing about it on the radio, and it makes his stomach lurch with fear as he leaps off of the ledge.

“Wait! Look out!” He shouts, swinging down from the top of the building, fully body-slamming the guy just in time to keep him from being hit by the truck and landing him safely across the street. 

“Woah,” The man breathes, stumbling a little as Reki lets go of him and staring on as the truck goes barreling past. He stands there, seemingly stuck in freeze mode, shoulders tense and mouth hanging open.

Up close, he is even prettier than he’d looked from Reki’s perch. His hair is long and shiny and loosely curled under his jaw, the softest baby blue that Reki has ever seen. His features are all so sharp, but his wide, confused eyes bring some softness back to his appearance. 

Oh no, Reki is being embarrassing, just staring at him, heart racing. This dude almost got hit by a truck and Reki’s just uselessly thinking about how attractive he is. 

“That was a close one dude!” He says, louder than he intended to. He’s really shaken up, more so than usual, mostly because he doesn’t typically interact with people who are leagues more attractive than him. “If I wasn’t here you could’ve gotten really hurt.”

The young man's attention turns from the truck that was nearly out of sight now, back to Reki. He is still rigid, eyebrows up in his hairline. He looks Reki over.

“S-Spider-Man?” He says, voice faint and far away. “I didn’t know you spoke Japanese.”

Ah, Reki can hear it now that he’s said a full sentence— a Western accent. 

Reki flushes from head to toe.“Uh, well, I’m not the American Spider-Man. I’m, uh,” He feels embarrassed now, saying it in front of him, “I’m Spider-Man Japan!”

“Oh,” He answers. “That explains the outfit, then.” He doesn’t say it in a way that is mean or teasing, but rather as a statement of fact. Nonetheless, Reki’s blush grows. Of course the cute guy had to comment on his costume.

“Hey! Not all of us have access to Stark-quality superhero costumes!” He crosses his arms over his chest, pouting under his mask. The fabric runs over his lip. “You could thank me for saving your life, you know,” He grumbles.

The stranger blinks at him. He seems confused at how he’d offended Reki. “Oh, right,” He says. His voice is so soft, Reki has to strain to hear it over the cars driving by. “Thank you.”

Reki huffs. “You’re welcome.”

They both stare at each other for a few moments.

“You could, uh—” The man cuts off, looking suddenly shy. Reki motions for him to continue. “You could probably write a letter, or something, to Spider-Man. I bet he’d… Well, he seems like the kind of person who might give you one of his suits.” He pauses. “Maybe.”

Reki stares at him intensely for a beat, before bursting out into giggles. He looks so serious, so earnest with his suggestion. He even looks a little offended that Reki dare laugh at it. “Ha, I guess I never thought about just asking him before,” He laughs. It wasn’t a bad idea, really. Where was the harm in trying? “Hey, what’s your name, dude?”

“Oh.” He wrings his hands, looking a little flustered but pleased that Reki seemed to think he was funny. “It’s, uh, Langa.” 

Langa. Reki’s brain echoes the name over and over again. The name suits him so well that it makes Reki’s heart throb in his chest.

“Nice to meet you, Langa.” He grins, feeling the mask stretch around his face with the intensity of it. “Could you, uh, be more careful crossing the road in the future? Or don’t, I guess. Saving you gives me something to do.” He laughs, rubbing the curve of his hand over his lips to press down a smile. Langa chuckles, then, soft and low, and Reki thinks he might die. 

“Sorry,” Langa says, but he doesn’t really sound it. “Thank you, again.” He fumbles with the strings of the book bag he’s wearing, then he points over his shoulder awkwardly. “I’ll be late to class,” His voice trails off into a near whisper at the end, then he grimaces and waves shyly as he turns over his shoulder back in the direction he’d been headed.

Reki watches him turn, disappointment curling in his gut. He wishes he’d met him without his disguise, then he could strike up more of a conversation and… oh well. It doesn’t matter now.

“Good luck in class!” He shouts, then immediately wishes Miya really had sewn his lips shut all of those times he threatened to do so.

But Langa just glances over his shoulder, looking a little fond, and waves again.

Reki doesn’t tell anyone about his rooftop hideaways, not even Miya, so it scares him half to death when he hears the door of the building stairs open and close behind him one night. He jumps up, turning to face the man who’d entered the rooftop. 

It’s a business-man. It must be one of the office workers who stayed late, because he’s dressed in a nice suit, with nondescript black hair. His only true defining feature is a mole by his eye. 

Reki is about to dip out of there and find some other far away building to sit on instead, when the man starts speaking. 

“Hello, Spider-Man Japan,” He says. “My name is Tadashi Kikuchi. Can I have a word with you?”

“Um,” Reki says, every instinct in him telling him to flee. “You’re already saying words, so…”

“Hm,” Tadashi responds, more of a laugh than anything. He pauses, waiting to see if Reki has anything else to say. “I work for an… aristocrat, of sorts. He’s taken an interest in you for quite some time. He thinks you… have real talent. Simply put, he’d like to sponsor you— to give you access to better technology for your suits and to help you get into missions of higher importance like the ones the American Spider-Man deals with. He believes we need someone like you to help Okinawa, and Japan as a whole.”

Reki stares, mouth hanging open in complete disbelief. No fucking way. There’s no way that some fancy-shmancy rich guy said that he’s talented. That he believes in him. No one has ever said that to Reki before, ever, ever, ever. 

“Wh…Why?” Reki mutters, lips feeling numb, cheeks buzzing with unleashed energy. 

“Like I said, we’ve been watching you for a while. This was considered heavily, but he thinks that you’re the most deserving of his sponsorship.” Tadashi says it like it is so simple, like it isn’t the biggest deal ever.

“Alright!” Reki exclaims, fist-pumping the air. “Where do I sign, man? What’s the deal?”

Tadashi seems surprised by his enthusiasm, as though he expected it to take a bit more convincing, but then he sets about explaining the contractual obligations.

Reki is so stoked. He’s been buzzing with it ever since his conversation with Tadashi. Just days ago he had been talking with a pretty boy about how he’d have to write a letter to Spider-Man to borrow a suit, and now he has a benefactor offering him access to the latest tech to create a suit of his own. It is insane. 

At school, he had always been known as the kid who got way too excited way too easily. It’s something he was teased for a lot , this intense enthusiasm. Everyone avoided getting roped into a conversation with him because he would start on a loud, energetic tangent. He didn’t even know it was such a big, inside joke with everyone in his class until one of the more straightforward kids mentioned it, brushing it off as just ‘teasing’ when Reki seemed upset. But it wasn’t teasing, not really. So he tried his best to hold back and bite his tongue, but it never really worked. Once the rush of something new flooded into his veins, he was too blind to feel embarrassed until long afterwards.

This is precisely why he is scaling the buildings at Okinawa’s University, looking for a glimpse of shiny, ice blue hair. He doesn’t even take a second to slow down and consider that this might be a little… stalker-y of him. He’s way too tangled up in being Okinawa’s next big superhero. 

Fortunately, it doesn’t take him long to locate Langa, and when he does he drops down off of the building and lands directly in front of him.

“Langa!” He shouts. Langa jumps, nearly dropping the phone he is holding. He looks up at Reki right in front of him, blinking several times in rapid succession. 

“Me?” Langa asks, adorably confused. “I wasn’t even… walking into a road this time,” He mutters, mostly to himself, as he looks around in confusion for whatever danger he is in.

“No, it’s not that,” Reki says in a rush. “Can I— Can I take you with me?” He asks, skin vibrating with excitement. Other people on the sidewalk have begun to stare. ‘Who is that guy?’, one of them whispers, ‘And what is he wearing?’

“Huh?” Langa chokes out. Bystanders start to huff and puff about them taking up the sidewalk space. 

Reki sighs in annoyance. “Come on, man,” He groans, then wraps his arm around Langa’s waist. “Hold on tight to my neck.”

“What?” Langa mutters, then squawks as he is lifted up off of the ground. His arms clamp down tightly on Reki’s neck, which would have been uncomfortable if Reki wasn’t more focused on the way it makes his ears burn. Stupid slime, he can hear Miya teasing, Always getting so worked up over pretty boys. It isn’t his fault this pretty boy is also so freaking endearing. Reki pulls them up to the ledge of the nearest tall building, far enough away that no one will pay them any mind.

Langa lets go of Reki’s neck and stumbles to the side, laughing this breathless sort of giggle. Cute.

“Wow,” He says, eyes shining. Reki beams at him under his mask.

“Dude, Langa, guess what!” He says. Langa does not guess. He does, however, continue the breathless giggling for a moment before directing his small, encouraging smile at Reki.

“Uh, what?” Langa says. Reki grabs onto Langa’s biceps and shakes him gently, energy oozing out of him. 

“You’d never guess!” He shouts. Maybe a bit too loud. Langa’s hands come up to grab at his forearms, palms warm. “You know how you were telling me to ask Spider-Man if I could have one of his Stark suits? Well, I don’t have to do that anymore, because I have my own Tony Stark now!” 

“Oh,” Langa says. His face is much more composed now but Reki can see the shadow of a grin still there. “That’s amazing, who— who’s your… Tony Stark?”

Reki’s eyebrows draw together. “Well, uh, I don’t really know his name. He’s important, I guess, and he doesn’t want anyone knowing. Which I totally get, since I don’t tell anyone my real name either.”

Langa huffs a laugh, smiling. “You just kidnap random civilians to tell them about your newest superhero opportunities?” He says, in a voice that seems like it implies sass. Oh, Reki loves banter.

“Hey!” Reki rolls his eyes. His face is hot and he jiggles Langa’s arms that he’s still gripping onto. “You’re not a random civilian, you’re my friend.”

“Oh,” Langa responds. Then he looks confused. “You don’t even know my last name.”

Right. They met two days ago. It’s probably weird of him to call Langa his friend.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Reki answers, ignoring his embarrassment.

Langa shrugs, his soft smile still present on his face. Cute, cute, cute. 

“That… web-slinging thing. How do you do that? That was so much fun,” Langa breathes, using his grip on Reki’s forearms to turn his arms over.

“Oh, these,” Reki smirks. He loves to show off. “I built these myself. See?” He finally releases Langa to push up his sleeves a bit, showing the gadgets underneath. 

Langa leans closer, looking at them in awe. His hair draws over the side of his face like a curtain. “You built them?” He looks up, blue eyes curious. “That’s amazing.”

Reki’s heart pounds. He doesn’t have many friends to talk about his weird little interests with. Just Miya, really, and Miya can only stand so much rambling. Langa’s enthusiasm makes him want to lock him up in his apartment and keep him around forever. In a totally not creepy way, of course.

“Thanks!” Would it be weird if he…? “If you want, I can take you wherever you were headed before. Just, sling you around with me, uh… if you wanted?”

Fuck. That was totally weird, right? Reki likes to get way in over his head sometimes. An apology is on the tip of his tongue, but Langa sucks in a little breath and says—

“Yes— Yes, please.” He tugs Reki’s wrists a little closer to himself. “Can you show me?”

So, that is how Reki ends up giving an in-depth tutorial of how his web-shooters work on the roof of some random university building, and managing to talk his way into getting the prettiest boy on Okinawa University’s campus to wrap his arms around his neck for an extended period of time.

The place Langa had been headed is his home that he shares with his mother, which is relatively close to campus. It’s pretty warm outside, and Langa smells a bit sweaty when he wraps his arms around Reki’s neck, letting out a whoop as Reki drops them down off of the building and glides them easily over the pathway below. 

“It’s like— It’s like flying!” Langa pants out between excited breaths. Reki feels him squirm against his side to tighten his grip, a soft glow of wonder in his eyes as he looks up at the sky. “That way.” He turns and points to guide Reki towards his home.

His room is on the second story, and it takes a bit of effort to help him slide through his window. 

But, thanks to Reki’s abilities, he is able to hold on to the side of the house, watching carefully to make sure that Langa makes it safely inside. From this angle, he can see just a sliver of Langa’s open closet, winter coats peeking out from inside. It makes him want to see the rest of the room, to learn it with the familiarity of someone who spends most of their time there, to open up the drawers and know where to find the silverware in the kitchen. To be able to tell Langa’s other friends that he knows what posters are on his bedroom walls so that they know that he knows Langa the best. These are thoughts he has frequently when he takes an interest in a new person. They are fleeting and they disappear entirely when he blinks through the haze and realizes that these are not thoughts that others think about him, too.

Especially not Langa, because he is some random masked stranger who probably shouldn’t even know where he lives, let alone be allowed to step inside. So, he bobs his head to the side and lifts his hand up to wave goodbye. 

That’s when Langa turns, blinks owlishly at him, and motions for him to step through the window, too. 

“Oh, uh,” Reki stumbles through the window with far less grace than he is usually capable of. “Thanks.”

The room is simple, almost set up like what an alien might think a human room looks like. There’s surprisingly nothing on the walls, only furniture in the room and some books and laundry on the floor. Langa toes his shoes off and kicks them towards his closet.

“Thanks for taking me home,” He says, like he thinks he’s expected to say it. Careful, polite.

Reki glances at the only picture frame in the room. It’s a photo on his nightstand with, presumably, Langa’s mother and father, accompanied by Langa as a toddler. 

“Where are you from?” Reki asks, motioning aimlessly at Langa. “I mean, I can, uh, hear that you have an accent.”

Langa looks suddenly more aware of himself. His eyebrows pull together as he looks down at his sock-clad feet. “You can?”  He says. His voice has gone a little dim, sort of sad.

“Don’t worry about it, man!” Reki says in a rush. That is not a face he ever wants Langa to make. “It’s— I think it’s endearing, y’know? Like, uh, it makes you unique.”

It doesn’t seem to help much. Langa seems to clam up even more . 

“We’re from Canada,” He answers.

“Canada!” Reki shouts, trying to barrel through any discomfort he’s caused Langa. “That’s so cool, I bet you have so many insane stories about snow and maple syrup and— Oh, man, you have to tell me everything.”

Langa’s cheeks turn a sweet shade of pink. He rocks on his heels, looking like he doesn’t know how to act in his own room. 

“I mean, it’s not as cool as being a superhero, probably,” He mutters, and Reki knows that any other, much more famous superhero would have rolled their eyes, but Reki just flushes red all over. Honestly, half the reason he wears a full suit is because he likes that no one can see how embarrassing he is. 

“Aw, man, it’s not all that cool,” He laughs. Something akin to pride— or… or… Reki doesn’t quite have a word for it— blooms in his chest. He’s still standing by Langa’s window.

“What do you do?” Langa asks. Reki shuffles forward towards his bed and sits down on it when Langa doesn’t make a move to stop him. It actually seems to ease some of the tension out of Langa’s shoulders.

“Not much,” Reki shrugs, tapping his toes on the floor. God, stop being so awkward, please. “I mostly just, uh, well— I’m kind of partners in crime with someone.” He bunches up the comforter on Langa’s bed in one of his hands. “He’s, like, more well-known than I am. They— The online articles and stuff— They call him CatBoy. Which he actually, totally hates, but—” Reki grins, thinking of a grumpy Miya. “He’s better at what he does than I am.”

“It seems like you’re pretty good at it.” Langa looks at Reki on his bed. “You saved me.”

Reki almost squeaks out loud. People don’t just go around complimenting him all the time. He’s never even had an article written about him, not the way Miya has. Not with the praise and the controversy and the comments battling it out about how great he is. No, Reki doesn’t get much attention. It’s probably a good thing, too, with the way it makes him go hot all over and his skin tingles so much it itches. 

“Ha! Yeah, yes, I did. I guess,” Reki hates the way his voice gets all quiet and raspy, so he squeezes at the comforter and pushes his way onwards. “But, yeah, I’ve been trying to get articles written about me, kind of. Now that I’ve got this sponsor maybe I’ll actually be good enough for people to write about!”

Langa tips his head to the side. “You want people to write about you? Don’t superheroes like to keep their lives as secret as possible?”

“I mean, yeah!” Reki answers. “But I don’t really get why, you know? I keep my identity a secret, but I want people to know me.” He wants to be the best superhero ever. He likes the adoration, craves it.

Langa almost looks a little puzzled, tilting his head further to the side. 

“I know you,” He says, and Reki’s heart squeezes so hard it almost shatters. Wow, Langa really just says whatever is on his mind, huh? Reki stares, what is he even supposed to say to that? He tries to say something, but when he opens his mouth he can tell whatever comes out is going to be squeaky and breathy so he shuts it again. 

Langa toes forward, once, shifting his weight back then forward again. After a moment he sits next to Reki on the bed.

“How did you become a superhero?” He bites his lip and grimaces a little. “I mean, if you’re okay with telling me. I don’t want— I don’t—”

Reki nudges him. “It’s fine! It’s fine, I’ve never told anyone besides my—”

“Partner in crime?” Langa fills in the blank. Reki nods.

“It’s, um, it’s lame honestly. I think I was just born with my powers, or something. It’s not like I’ve always just been going around, climbing on everything. I just thought I had really good reflexes for a while. There’s this funny little story my mom always tells— She says she found me on top of a counter once when I was eight months old. I wasn’t walking yet, just crawling, and she still doesn’t know how I did it. But I think I could climb, even back then. It was a lot more noticeable when I was in high school. I picked up skateboarding and I was just… good. Better than I should be.” 

He shrugs. Langa is watching him intently. “Then this one time, I caught air going up this massive half-pipe, but I lost my board on the way back down. It was steep, and I should’ve just fallen straight down, but I grabbed for the side of it. I was just hanging there, with my hand sticking to the wall. It shouldn’t have been possible. I always just thought I was good at climbing, but that— I knew that should’ve been impossible.”

Langa looks at his suit, contemplating something. “So, is it just the climbing?” 

He shifts closer, eyeing the web shooters on Reki’s wrists. Reki holds one of his wrists out, closer to him. Langa’s lips part, looking up to Reki as if to confirm he has permission. There’s nothing to be found there, though, just his mask. Reki pushes closer to him, and Langa gently grips his wrist. A fire lights in his eyes as he looks over the web shooters— intrigue, admiration. 

“No, from what I can tell I’m also stronger than most people. And faster. Pretty much any physical ability, I can do it better than an average person. Balance, reflexes, you name it.” 

Langa traces over Reki’s wrist and palm. It’s ticklish, and it makes Reki squirm. Their sides are pressed firmly together and Reki can feel his skin buzzing underneath the suit where it’s touching Langa.

“Can you heal?” He asks. He pauses his movements, looking up at Reki again. “I’ve heard that the American Spider-Man can, but…”

“Kinda?” Reki twists his lips. “It’s slow, but it’s definitely faster than normal.”

Reki does a stilted shrug. He’s nervous. He’d always imagined telling someone about how he’d gotten his powers, but in his head it was in the distant future, when he was more confident in his abilities and didn’t feel so—

Well, Reki was fourteen when he’d realized that every talent he had, all these natural talents he’d grown up with that had gotten him the only miniscule drops of attention he’d ever got growing up— they were all lies. He wasn’t talented, he just had superpowers.  

Langa’s fingers squeeze gently around Reki’s wrist. It feels so strangely nice that Reki breaks out into a sweat.

“That’s amazing,” Langa looks so impressed.

“It’s, ah—” Reki rubs his cheek against his shoulder. “It’s nothing, really. I’m just a scientific freak.”

“But—” Langa stops, lips closing, but then he pushes on anyways. He shakes Reki’s arm. “But you made these. All by yourself, right?”

“Yeah, but they jam up all the time and I can’t figure out how to get it to stop doing that and—”

“Wait,” Langa says, and something about it shuts Reki up immediately. He rests his and Reki’s arms in his lap. Reki’s ears burn. “I just— They’re cool. I like them.” Sometimes Langa’s Japanese gets a little stilted, especially when he’s trying to come up with the words quickly. It’s endearing, though, because the words that do come out seem so genuine.

Reki stares at him for maybe a moment too long. “Thank you,” He mutters.

His eyes wander, embarrassed, and they land on the packaging for the game Elden Ring. He squeals in excitement.

“Dude! Elden Ring? I love that game!” He lunges forward, plucking it off of the dresser where it rests against the small TV in his room. 

Langa’s eyes follow him across the room. The longer Reki spends there the more relaxed Langa seems to be. 

“I… I have a hard time understanding it. It looks fun, but…” He trails off momentarily, picking at his nails in his lap. “It’s a little overwhelming.”

Reki punches him in the arm, not too hard. He’s always done that when he gets excited. Langa looks a little bewildered by it.

“Dude, dude, dude. I can totally show you the ropes, don’t even worry. It’s so much fun. You’re totally going to love it.” 

Langa takes the case out of Reki’s hands, fiddling with it for a moment.

“Show me?” He gestures towards the console. Reki’s heart swells. Langa ducks his head, almost shy.

“Now? Yeah, yeah, sure! Of course,” He takes it back and goes about turning on the PlayStation and sliding the disc in. “Here, man, we’ll just start from the beginning, okay?”

“Okay,” Langa says, and Reki can see just the beginnings of a dimple on his cheek.

They boot up the game while sitting side-by-side on the edge of Langa’s bed, flush against each other from the knee down. Other people are like magnets for Reki, it doesn’t matter how well he knows someone, if he likes them, he’s going to be touching them.

Langa doesn’t seem to mind though, he just stares at Reki, not unlike a dog looking down its nose with big, shining eyes. Reki explains how to design a character, letting Langa be in charge of the controller. 

“What color should my character's eyes be?” Langa asks, making Reki giggle.

“Whatever color you want, dude! You just asked that about the hair color, too!” Reki shoves his shoulder playfully into his side. Langa pushes back. He had chosen blue for his hair, because it seemed like he took everything very literally. It was incredibly endearing.

Langa chose blue for the eyes, too.

“There. Am I done?” His eyes flit over to Reki.

“Sure. Do you like it?” Reki answers. Langa hums.

“Do you like it?” He asks, like Reki’s answer is far more important than his, which is ridiculous. 

“Of course, man!” Reki answers anyway. “You did great!”

Oh— Langa’s face brightens at that. His expression doesn’t change much, but his eyes glimmer and the corner of his mouth lifts up just slightly. Reki wants to pinch his cheeks. 

“Langa!” A woman’s voice suddenly floats up from downstairs, the sound of a door opening and closing. Reki freezes when he feels Langa freeze next to him, he doesn’t even know why.

“Uh,” Langa says, cheeks turning red. “Hi, Mom!” He switches to English.

“Should I… go?” Reki whispers.

“Probably,” Langa whispers back. “Sorry.” 

“It’s all good,” Reki nudges at him again. Langa leans into it.

“Would you— Could you come back?” Langa rubs his palms on his jeans. He looks a little frazzled, and almost like he’s not quite sure he’s saying the right thing.

But Langa is asking him to come back. He doesn’t even know his name and he’s asking him to come back. Reki’s stomach swoops. 

“Here? Yeah, man, sure. Of course.” He spits the answer out way too fast and has to tap his feet against the floor to ground himself. It’s still embarrassing, after all this time, how flustered he gets at the prospect of hanging out with people, of having friends.

But Langa’s face brightens again— and Reki loves when he looks like that. He stands up, motioning towards his bedroom door. 

Reki stands, too, motioning towards the window.

“See you later,” He says, heart thumping.

Please say it, too. Please.

“See you later,” Langa whispers, and both of them turn their separate ways.