Chapter Text
“Nowhere.”
Reki looks up. Langa appears from around the corner, board swinging morosely at his side.
Frowning, Reki reaches up to shake the gate again, as if he’ll get a different result now that they’ve done their due diligence walking all the way around the perimeter. The gate remains defiantly closed. Yellow warning tape criss-crosses over chain link, wood, everything, and the fence is crested with barbed wire for good measure.
Langa comes to a stop next to him. They reread the sign mounted at the center of the gate. Closed until further notice to prevent a deadly superspreader event. The words are painted in elegant, calligraphic handwriting. On the corner of the sign is an Uber Eats sticker for an Italian restaurant. “They were serious.”
“Dead serious.”
Langa drops his board to the ground and sits on it with his back to the gate. Reki joins him, resting his elbows on his knees. The road before them stretches a few dozen meters before disappearing around a bend. The sun has dipped out of view behind the trees, but the overhead lights aren’t coming on.
“I missed this more than almost anything else,” Langa says quietly.
Reki glances over. “‘This,’ as in…?”
Langa makes a vague gesture that Reki interprets to encompass the woods, the downhill racing, the energy.
The corner of Reki’s mouth pulls up. “Not much like this in Tokyo, was there?”
“Nope.”
Reki gets it. Kyoto had its own natural beauty, but Okinawa is special and S is singular.
The temperature creeps downward as they descend, and Reki has zipped up his jacket by the time they’re back in town. They pass by the skatepark. Langa’s hair glows with the sunset, and for a moment, the stifling conditions of the pandemic fall away and Okinawa is exactly as it was five years ago when they left for college.
At the next intersection, Langa’s phone lights up with a Slack notification. Reki doesn’t miss the very small sigh as he types out a response and puts it back in his pocket.
“Do you want to get out of here for a few weeks?”
The road is clear, but Langa turns to Reki instead of crossing. Reki looks back and then realizes after a beat that he’s the one who spoke.
“Get out of here?”
“We could go snowboarding,” Reki continues, before he can stop himself.
Langa’s eyes widen two microns. He looks like he might open his mouth.
Reki, committed, casually barrels forward. “My family has, uh, usage of a small place in Shiga Kogen. With work-from-home-quality wifi. We could stay there. Since hotels in the area are kind of overpriced. Although not so much right now, because of the pandemic. Also, lift tickets are discounted this year since the season is shorter.”
There’s a pause. Reki’s grin is frozen on his face. He’s about to brush it off as a nutty random thought when Langa breathes, “Could we actually?”
A seagull swoops overhead in the open air. Langa’s eyes glow. It’s worth it. Reki grins lopsidedly. “I’m in if you’re in.”
-
Naha Airport is mid-sized and friendly. Reki was here just a few weeks ago, but this time, early morning sunlight streams through the windows and into the terminal.
They get to the front of the line at the check-in desk. Langa tugs his snowboard bag over on its wheels and hauls it onto the luggage scale. It has a bunch of iron-on patches, from what must be at least half the ski resorts in North America. He replaces it with his suitcase and keeps his backpack. The attendant tags them and takes them away.
“You’re traveling so much more lightly,” Langa comments ruefully, handing over his credit card. “Board aside.” It’s a budget airline, and luggage is not included.
Reki shrugs, rummaging through his backpack for his passport. “I left some stuff at the mountain place last time I was there.”
They manage to get into the security line ahead of a family with an iPad-addicted toddler, so they avoid the holdup. After the screening, they sanitize their hands at a little station. Langa watches his hands thoughtfully as the alcohol dries. “I guess the S crowd isn’t known for its adherence to reasonable health and safety protocols.”
Reki grins, even though Langa can't see it through his mask. “Guess not.”
They get to the gate, but their plane hasn’t docked yet. Reki follows Langa to the wide terminal windows and they gaze out at the tarmac and the airport staff in winter coats. A low buzz of energy hums in Reki’s core. It hasn’t been there in weeks, maybe months, and it feels amazing. He leans forward over the railing preventing direct contact with the window glass. “What’s your favorite North American resort?”
“Hm…” Langa doesn’t answer immediately. They collect their documents and instructions from the attendant and go to look for security. “I grew up going to Whistler. But my other favorite is probably Jackson Hole. Or Mammoth.”
“You’ve been to Mammoth?” Reki sat at the back of the lecture hall to stream the 2018 Olympics in a little window on his laptop. “Have you met Chloe Kim?”
Langa winks ambiguously. Reki laughs. The ocean sparkles beyond the tarmac.
“Where’s Jackson Hole?”
“It’s near Grand Teton National Park.”
Reki pulls out his phone and google images it.
“‘Grand Teton’ means ‘Big Tit.’”
A laugh punches out of Reki’s chest. “There’s no way.”
Langa glances down at Reki’s phone, like, ‘Look it up.’
Reki looks it up, and gets distracted by a cool video. A snowboarding video – safe for work.
Langa leans over to watch with him. Another one gets recommended right after. Reki’s been watching snowboarding videos all week. Google has his number.
“I bet I could do that,” Reki says, watching a guy stomp a – one rotation, two rotations – 720 off a smooth rail.
“Even though the board is strapped to your feet?”
“I feel like rails are a situation where that actually makes things easier.”
The PA system beeps. “Group C may now board.”
“Sweet,” says Reki, turning away from the window.
It’s just past 8am when they find their seats. Reki offers Langa his second earbud, sets a chill playlist, and leans back, prepped to catch some Zs. Langa presses his nose to the window. The song finishes and moves on. Langa’s breath is fogging up the glass. Reki turns away and closes his eyes. At least five songs pass before he dozes off.
When he opens his eyes again, the atmospheric light has changed and the engine rumble is humming through the aircraft. Langa’s face is still up against the window like he hasn’t moved, but his tray table is down and there are two cans of soda -- one open beside a used plastic cup and the other unopened beside a cup with the ice half-melted. Reki leans into his personal space just a little to see over his shoulder. The Japanese Alps stretch beneath them, snowy peaks cut through with deep, forested valleys.
Langa turns just a bit, eyes bright like they’re reflecting the high-altitude sunlight. “Reki.”
“Hey,” Reki says softly. “Like what you see?”
Langa’s mouth twitches. He turns back to the view. “Quite a lot.”
The captain announces that they’re approaching the airport, so Reki leans back in his seat and closes his eyes again. He kind of hates airplane descents. He switches to a slightly more hype playlist and mouths along to the words. If Langa minds, he doesn’t show it.
Shinshu-Matsumoto Airport is a hub of vacation activity. Families shepherd children of all ages. Stores sell overpriced souvenirs that are half the price in the resort village and a third of the price at any gas station on the way. Langa’s gaze finds a bright display of snowglobes and he veers in that direction before merging back into the crowd headed for baggage claim. Reki catches his eyes and holds in a laugh. Langa’s right eyebrow lifts a smidge.
The moving walkway takes them through long hallways with floor-to-ceiling LED advertisements for ski resorts and onsen villages. Langa watches them pass like he wants to visit all of them.
After hauling his bags off the luggage carousel, Langa sits down in the middle of the crowd to inspect his board for damage.
“All good?” Reki asks, stepping between Langa and a flood of oncoming foot traffic.
“Yup.” Langa zips it away, and they go to look for the car rental kiosks.
The car rental associate takes them around to find a silver Subaru Outback. “Power liftgate if you have it,” Reki adds. They find the car and Reki notes with satisfaction the low load floor, the quick-folding rear seats. Langa seems impressed, so Reki doesn’t mention that he only Googled all that the night before.
Langa declines Reki’s offer to help load his luggage, so Reki takes the opportunity to take the keys from the associate, drop his backpack on the backseat, and hop into the driver’s seat. Lowering the window, he sticks out his elbow and leans out. “Ready to roll?”
“Just about.” Langa adjusts the bags one more time and then comes over. “I’m down to drive.”
“I’m more familiar with the way.” Reki pats the closest speaker. “You DJ.”
Langa’s grin grows. “That I can do.”
“Can you?”
Langa takes out his phone, and he’s scrolling as they strap in and Reki pulls out of the parking lot.
Highway E19 takes them through the little cities of Nagano and across the Sai River to the thrum of late 2000s rock. Reki notices Langa mouthing along to Song of the Century . Reki sings aloud, and grins smugly when he notices Langa staring. Yeah, his English has gotten a lot better – pronunciation, comfort, accent. Another beat passes, and then Langa unexpectedly joins in. There’s nothing quite like the feeling when someone starts to sing along with you and the volume climbs. The wind whips through Reki’s hair and feels amazing.
The city outskirts give way to groves and then lush woods around the halfway point of the 21st Century Breakdown album, and they gain elevation.
Langa says something. Reki lowers the volume a tad. “What?”
“I think this is the first time I’ve actually listened to this music in a good context.”
Reki snickers. In college, Langa listened to this album and others of similar vibe to drown out his roommate’s far-too-frequent hookups. “For your nostalgia I could, I don’t know, moan? Gasp?”
Langa laughs incredulously. “What?”
The alpine air is heady. Reki breathes it in. School stuff, work stuff, pandemic stuff melt away behind him. “Oh, oh, ohhh! Yes! Yes, there! Yes, yes, yes, harder –”
“Oh my god,” Langa says.
“Oh, h-h-hi, Langa,” Reki breathes. “Taro, stop, he can obviously hear us through the walls – OHHHHHHH!”
The last bit comes out maybe a little more shrill than Reki intended. Langa slams his hands over his ears and Reki laughs so hard his stomach hurts. The tips of Langa’s ears – at least, the one Reki can see at a glance – are quite pink.
“His name wasn’t Taro,” Langa says after a moment.
“I forget his name,” Reki explains. “In my head he’s just ‘Horny Roommate.’”
“Poor guy. What a legacy.”
“I mean,” Reki says. “That’s sort of on you. That’s all I ever heard about him. How he made you feel so salty and lonely. You totally missed me.” Langa never used those words, but it’s fun seeing his face get pinched up, so Reki escalates. “Should’ve called me those long nights.”
“I’m looking forward to seeing you eat snow and your words.”
“Dream on,” Reki says reflexively. Then, “For real though, I probably will be falling a lot.”
“Scared?”
“Not really. Snow is soft.”
“In all honesty, you’ll probably pick it up quickly.” Langa rolls his window down a little further. The road has started to wind, so they’ve slowed down a bit. “And you’ll have the best teacher, obviously.”
This is news to Reki. He’s been assuming he’ll sign up for lessons. “You’ll teach me? Don’t you want to go off and --” He waves a hand, in a kind of loop. “-- do your thing?”
“Nah,” says Langa.
He leaves it at that, so Reki puts his hand back on the steering wheel. “Thanks. If you’re sure. That’s awesome.”
Langa shrugs, like duh.
“Well,” Reki continues, “I’m pretty sure snowboarding is one of those things where you have to look like a hot mess for a good chunk of time before you get the hang of it, so I hope you can bear with me.”
“Like I said, it’ll be fun for me.”
“Sweet,” says Reki.
“Music up?” Langa asks, reaching for the car’s volume dial.
“Bring it.”
When 21st Century Breakdown finishes, Langa switches over to something Reki vaguely recognizes from the early 2010s. It’s catchy and it’s EDM-y, so it’s super straightforward to pick up the two or three unique lyrics per song.
Their route grazes past a few more cities before taking them straight through Nakano. Reki pulls into a grocery store parking lot. They stock up. Then they totally leave the urban structures. The elevation begins to climb in earnest and the curves become full-on switchbacks. When the album finishes, Langa doesn’t have another one queued up. He’s taking in the mountains rising around them, the snow piling up on the roadsides and stretching into the woods.
Little hostels and motels start popping up on both sides of the road. Langa checks the GPS like he thinks they’re close, and a grain of apprehension trickles into the light mood of Reki’s brain. He’s known this part would come. They drive past the hostels and the motels, and they drive past the vacation timeshare complexes. They drive into the resort’s residential development, and Langa looks around at the expensive, slopeside single-family units making up a charming alpine village. “Shiga Kogen,” Reki says, and it comes out bright.
They drive straight through the development and turn off the main road into a quiet, wooded street that winds further up the mountain. After a few minutes, Reki pulls off the road and stops in front of a wrought iron gate with a little mailbox. The driveway beyond the gate curves out of view. Reki reaches for his backpack, rummages for the key fob, and clicks it. As the gate slowly opens, he reaches out to check the mailbox and takes out a few pamphlets advertising local restaurants.
Langa’s eyes are boring into the side of his head. It almost physically burns.
The driveway takes them away from the road. Dirt becomes stone. A beautiful little chalet appears around the bend, dark wood and angular gable roofs with solar panels.
“Alright!” Reki hops out of the car and goes immediately to unload the trunk. The only sounds are the trees and the birds and then Langa getting out of the car and doing a double-take at the heated stone driveway.
He knows that Langa has always known that Reki’s family is fine, financially. He knows that Langa knows that Reki worked part-time at Dope Sketch for the satisfaction of earning his own pocket money to fund his hobbies.
Reki knows that he and his family are deliberately lowkey and that unless Langa has gone through their bank statements at some point, Langa is currently undergoing a revelation. The location alone speaks for itself. You can’t see any neighbors, but the property borders the resort’s groomed area. You can ski right out onto the slopes, hit the chair lift in 5 minutes.
Langa tears his eyes away from the house. His expression is mostly unreadable. Surprised, sure. Uncertain?
Reki clicks the remote to open the trunk of the budget Subaru he proposed because he learned a long time ago not to argue with Langa about splitting everything and paying his own portion. He hauls out a bag of groceries, twirls the house keys on his fingers, and finally meets Langa’s eyes. “Ready?”