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Twenty minutes ago, it was a good idea. Actually, no. Scratch that. Literally. Pen to paper, the somewhat, maybe, possibly legible scribbles turn into an ink disaster, the page—and desk—narrowly escaping permanent damage in his haste. No. Twenty minutes ago, something was birthed from the bowels of a hormonal teenager fuelled by energy drinks and more determination than a human has any right to possess. But now, as the caffeine high from this morning eases, it’s most certainly not a good idea.
Reki groans and sits back in his chair, his head lolling as a hand rubs over his face. What was he thinking? Writing isn’t his forte; art is. And yet, as he peers back down at the monstrosity of failed poetry, splotches, and caterpillar-like etches attempting to mask the evidence, even the sketches he's scrawled along the margins seem to mock him.
This isn't how things were supposed to go! Granted, he didn’t exactly have a plan going into this. He thought of it last minute. Though maybe trying to wax moving prose to confess his love for his best friend in the middle of math class isn't the wisest decision. Math isn't his forte either, so really, he’s screwed either way—but that’s not the point! The point is, it’s Valentine's Day, and things are supposed to be perfect. Because Langa is perfect. And damn it, why is this so hard?!
He might have been more successful if he just storyboarded his confession instead. Or painted it along the new skateboard awaiting his hand. Or if he bothered to put any actual effort into planning this whole thing. But ...
Reki never intended to confess.
Why would he? What he has with Langa is … the best thing that’s ever happened to him. Their friendship is airtight. They’re inseparable. When one inhales, the other exhales. When told to 'jump', the other doesn’t need to ask 'how high', because together, there are no limits. They ebb and flow with one another, currents in perfect harmony, no matter which way or how hard the wind blows. Why would he risk that?
Reki is naturally optimistic, but even he can’t bank on Langa returning his affection in full. And what if Langa gets all … weird once he knows the truth? If Reki loses his best friend, he'll suffocate. He'll slam headfirst into a glass ceiling. He'll be swept into a hurricane of torment and become nothing more than a wave crashing hopelessly against a cliff's edge.
No. Risks are to be taken on four wheels, not on beating hearts.
But it’s Valentine's Day, and over-caffeinated Reki is a wee bit punch-drunk. Or maybe he’s just influenced by the girls around the school whispering and giggling and squealing about the men they planned to gift chocolates to. But Reki isn't a girl. He doesn’t have any chocolates to offer because that would’ve involved a Goddamn plan. And apparently, he doesn’t have more than half a brain cell to work with, anyway.
Maybe he should start taking head injuries more seriously.
The bell rings, and Reki startles. Wait, what? Ice-cold terror floods his gut. No! That isn't fair! He’s not ready yet! His heart nearly rips through his chest, his hands tremble. He tries to collect his materials but ends up dropping his textbook—twice—and his pen somehow rolls across the floor, only to get punted under the teacher's desk as his classmates file out of the room.
You know what? He doesn’t need that pen anymore, anyway. It’s fine. This is fine. He can do this.
He can’t do this. Is he insane? It’s bad enough risking everything he's grown to live for, but how can he show Langa the piece of paper where he's sent his dreams to die?
Reki steps into the hall. Something crinkles in his hand. Langa calls his name. Oh God! Oh no! He tries to drop the page of nightmares, but he's crumpled it up the wrong way and the ink sticks to his palm. Just barely swallowing a shriek, Reki flails his hand, which successfully detaches the pitiful not-quite ball. But now it’s on the floor. Shit! Why did he even think putting it there was a good idea? Sweat beads along the back of his neck as he ducks down to snatch it—
“What are you doing?”
Reki's heart stops. Only to return to its relentless assault against his ribcage a second later. Is the hallway warping? Is breathing supposed to be this difficult? Reki shoots up—and oh so casually stumbles into the closest wall display. Despite the number of embarrassing falls he's demonstrated with a board under his feet, the heat that invades his face now can only be rivalled by the temperatures of hell.
Firm, familiar hands grip his biceps, steadying him. “Whoa, you okay?”
“Hm? What? Me?” No, dumbass. The other redhead trying to demolish the school single-handedly with his thick skull. Obviously. “Pfff, I'm fine.” Reki leans against the display, this time on purpose because 'smooth recoveries' is … most definitely not his middle name, and he’s absolutely screwed.
Langa blinks. Reki blinks. Langa slowly nods. Reki crosses his arms and nods back. But while Langa seems calm and collected, if not a bit confused, Reki's internal everything is rearranging itself as if having all his organs in the right places just isn't cool anymore.
“You're … fine?”
“Mhmm.”
“Are you sure?”
“Why wouldn't I be?”
“... Because I think you just asked Mr. Ogawa’s display on a date.”
Cool. Awesome. Langa sees right through him. Of course he does. He always has. Because while plenty of people knew Reki, only Langa really gets him. Which is why they can spend hours upon hours in each other's company, sometimes in companionable silence, sometimes wrapped up in crazy theories or oddly deep, meaningful conversations. Reki doesn’t worry often, and yet, the rare times he has, Langa’s always been right there, listening and guiding him through things.
What would he do without this man?
He can’t do this.
Reki sighs and pushes away from the wall—but his foot nudges something. The letter! It’s still on the floor! Except, it isn't. Because Langa bends down and picks it up. Searing coals drop into Reki's stomach, and he snatches the crumpled page from his friend's hands.
Langa blinks. Reki blinks.
“What's that?”
“Hm? Oh, this? ” Much normal, very smooth. “This is uh … It's … well, you see … it's … paper.”
Paper? PAPER?! Right now, a major head injury doesn’t sound too bad.
“I can see that.”
“Right. Yeah. Of course you can. It's just … well, I mean, today's Valentine's Day, and—”
“I know.”
“Right.”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.”
A moment of silence, then Langa frowns. “Reki, what's going on?”
And if that damn letter is where Reki's dreams have gone to die, now is when the Grim Reaper himself will sweep him away, right? Because he’s cornered. He could run himself in circles for ages if left to his own devices; Reki has maxed out skill points in 'awkward rambling'. But the moment Langa explicitly calls him to action, that’s it. The loop will be shattered, Reki will be set free, and so too will be his innermost worries and secrets. Because Langa cares. He has an odd way of showing it sometimes, often seeming aloof and maybe even a bit cold, like the Canadian winters he used to call home. But Reki’s seen behind it all to his best friend's heart, and it’s as pure white as freshly snow-capped mountains.
And there’s one thing Reki can’t do more than anything else in the world.
He can’t lie to Langa.
Reki's shoulders drop. His head lowers, and he holds out the paper ball. It disappears from his hand. Crinkling fills the space between them. Then silence. A silence that lingers so long, Reki has to peek up before he combusts. But Langa's face gives nothing away. His eyes scan the monstrosity, his expression impassive. And Reki has to body-slam the desire to demand some kind of reaction.
Confusion, even anger, he can handle. But this? Waiting, entirely unaware of what’s going through his best friend's mind?
“It's stupid, really,” and there he goes, expertly showing off his skills again. “I just thought because today is today, and we all know what today means—and even though I'm not a girl, and I don't have chocolates—but I know you're used to the Canadian version of today, so I figured breaking tradition wasn't the worst thing in the world—but I'm not even sure if you celebrate, and I really shouldn't have assumed, but remember all those energy drinks from this morning? Yeah, you were right. Skipping breakfast was a horrible ide—”
“Reki.”
He must have at least a few cracked ribs from his never-ending racing heart at this point. “Yeah?”
“This is me, right?”
Frowning, Reki inches closer. Langa’s pointing at one of the sketches along the margins. Wait, what? Really? He’s holding the written equivalent of a crime scene, but instead of focusing on the dark splatters and evidence, he’s admiring the painting on the wall? “Uh … yeah.”
“It's pretty good.”
Huh? “Did you … dude, did you read it?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“Well, I mean, it's a bit hard to read with all the scratched-out parts—”
Reki groans. Of course. Damn it! In his haste to come clean, then to avoid doing just that, he forgot kanji is still a challenge for Langa.
The universe is punishing him for falling in love with his best friend. Why let him get away with this the easy way when the fates can watch him writhe and squirm in agony while he chokes on his own tongue? Yeah, a few minutes ago, the letter was far from the 'easiest' option, but comparatively, it’s a lot easier than forcing the damn words out of his mouth!
“Langa.”
“Reki.”
“Dude.”
“What?”
“It's Valentine's Day.”
“I know.”
Is it possible to die of embarrassment? Because Reki’s positive he’s a little to the left of doing just that. His guts curl so hard, they must be turning inside out. “Langa!” He grabs the letter and holds it up between them. “This.”
“Yeah? The sketches really are nice.”
“Oh my God, no!” Tossing the paper aside, Reki grips Langa's arms and blurts, “Will you be my Valentine?!”
Silence. Langa and Reki stare into each other's eyes. Time’s frozen in their little bubble while the rest of the students move around them. They’re used to being in their own world, but this is different. The air’s thick, and it buzzes with uncertainty.
Something shifts in Langa's gaze, but the rest of his face remains unreadable. And Reki's heart isn’t trying to punch through his chest anymore; it’s trying to leap out of his esophagus.
“No.”
His stomach drops. His gut twists. His heart falls from his throat and shatters against the pavement of his soul. Reki releases Langa's arms and steps back. The paper on the floor is no longer his nightmare, because now he’s living it.
Langa doesn’t want him.
Mind on a crash course toward certain friendship-ending doom, Reki starts to shake, begins to sweat. Every breath is like taking in tiny shards of glass, scratching his lungs like the harsh strokes of the pen when he scribbled out line after line—
“But I'll be your boyfriend.”
Whoa, wait. What?!
“But you just said—”
“I don't want to be your Valentine because it's fleeting. It's for a single day. And it's only honoured once a year.” Langa's lips twitch into the soft smile Reki’s come to know and love and damn near swoon over, and that alone starts to glue the pieces of himself back together. “But being your boyfriend … well, there aren’t any limits on that.”
“B-but … we could break up.” Oh God, why can’t he just. Shut. Up? He wants this!
“We could.” Langa shrugs. “But we take bigger risks every day, right?”
Reki jolts when a cool hand brushes his own, which seems to surprise Langa because he pulls back. But Reki's own hand shoots forward to grab his friend's, holding it tight. “Right.”
“So … we're in this together?”
Now, Reki doesn’t mind the intense thumping of his repaired heart. Fragile as it might be, the glue that holds it together is as strong as the bond they'd nurtured. The heart still isn’t meant to be risked, but if he can get through every fall and failure on a board with Langa at his side, surely he can get through the tangled mess of heated excitement, fluttering nervousness, and pulsing hormones that rush through him, too.
“Together.”