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“Don’t go easy on me, okay?”
Langa turns his head to look at his friend. In the thin gray light of predawn, Reki’s amber eyes shine brighter than a supernova. His smile is broad, equally blinding, infectious.
Langa beams back reflexively in the face of Reki’s open joy. “You’d better not, either.”
Reki leans forward, one foot braced on his board. “Ready?”
"Wait." Langa grabs at the sleeve of his jacket. “What are we racing for?”
“Fun, of course.” Reki laughs. “We promised we would, right? What else?”
Langa straightens. “I think whoever wins should get a prize. Something fun.”
“Fine, then.” Reki scratches the back of his head, mussing his already wild red hair. “If I win, you skate with me forever, side by side, and we never go a day without talking again.”
“But—” They already agreed to that, didn’t they? It’s a given, now. Langa almost lost Reki once; he’ll never lose sight of what’s most important again.
“It’s what I want most,” Reki declares, “but if you insist on a physical prize, you can pay for my ramen next time, okay?”
Langa nods, satisfied. “Okay.”
“So then, what do you want if you win?”
Langa hums in consideration, then points to his own mouth. “A kiss.” Like the one he wanted to give Reki after he tackled him at the end of that last race with Adam. He might’ve gone with the impulse, too, if there hadn’t been so many people watching. The first time should be private, just the two of them, like the night they added the perfect finishing touch to complete their dap and promised to skate with each other infinitely.
Reki sputters before his jaw drops open. A ruddy flush blooms on the tan skin of his neck, bleeds upwards into his cheeks, up farther until even the tips of his ears burn pink. “What—what are you—” He drops his gaze to the vicinity of Langa’s chest. “Don’t mess with me, man.”
Langa holds his hands out, trying to reassure his friend. “I wouldn't. Not about this. If I win, I’d like a kiss. I mean… if you'd like that, too, of course.” That part is critical. He wants it, but not if Reki doesn’t. It’s possible Langa’s been misreading the situation between them. He’s not always the sharpest tool in the box; sometimes the subtler details fly right over his head. Skating, he gets. Snowboarding, naturally. Feelings, well… those are harder. And confusing. But one thing is certain. He’ll do whatever makes Reki most comfortable, including never bringing this up again, if that’s what Reki prefers. “Only if you want.”
“I…” Reki turns to face the hill. His blush deepens until his face nearly matches his hair, but after a second, he nods. Clears his throat. “Yeah. I— That would be… Yeah.”
Langa gets into position again. He can feel heat in his own cheeks, now. Anticipation flutters in his belly, both for the race and what might come after. Lunch at the ramen place or kisses, he doesn’t care as long as he gets to do it with Reki. “Ready?”
“Go!” Reki shouts.
And they’re off.
By now, the course is as familiar as his reflection when he looks in the mirror. At first he and Reki play a bit, trading places, keeping pace with each other.
Then Reki looks at him with determination in his eyes and drives forward, putting distance between their boards.
Oh, it’s on.
Langa pushes harder, pursuing the fiery halo of Reki’s hair as the sun crests. His heart gallops, and he reaches up to feel the rapid-fire pace of it, sheer exhilaration consuming him.
This feeling will never get old. The wind on his face, the roar of his pulse in his ears, the way the board shifts beneath him as he skirts around a boulder, takes a sharp curve with his body low to the ground, sparks bursting from the tips of his gloves as they connect with the pavement to keep him in balance.
But most of all, being here, with Reki.
He loves to win, but in the end, it’s not about that. If he’s not having fun while he’s doing it, what’s the point? Winning simply for the sake of winning is a joyless endeavor.
Reki taught him that lesson.
This time, though, there’s more at stake than glory or his reputation or the thrill of victory.
This time, he’s extra motivated to win. He’ll give this race his all because he wouldn’t do Reki the disservice of giving anything less, and more than that, he wants to claim his prize.
He’s been thinking about kissing Reki for quite a while now; he just hasn’t been able to find the words to tell his best friend he’s wondered how his lips would feel, wondered if Reki would giggle or tremble or blush when their mouths connected. He wants to put his fingers in Reki’s hair and feel Reki’s hands on his hips and—
Langa shakes his head. Nope. No time for distractions. If he wants to win, he needs to focus.
He pushes harder, takes a shortcut off a ledge, crouched down low, one hand gripping the side of the board. From the corner of his eye he sees Reki do the same. It’s an easier jump than the one Reki pulled off during his race against Adam, and Langa is grinning wildly when they both land with only a spray of gravel and a little wobbling on Reki’s part.
Reki regains his balance quickly, and they race on, taking the lead in turns.
When they burst into the abandoned factory, Reki is laughing, pure and bright, skating so close Langa could easily reach out and touch him.
He keeps his hands to himself, for now, and his attention riveted on the finish line.
They're head to head as they approach. Reki may think he’s an unexceptional skater, but he’s improved dramatically in the time they’ve known each other. Determination makes an incredible motivator, and Reki’s the most determined person Langa’s ever met. He puts his whole heart into everything he does. He encourages others. He’s more considerate than Langa will probably ever be.
He’s amazing.
And maybe… just maybe… Langa is a little bit in love with him.
That must be what this is, right? The sticky pleasant sweetness in Langa’s stomach, the heavy thud of his heart, the tingling rush whenever Reki tosses an arm around his shoulders or leans in close, the pressing need to be around him always, the lonely ache whenever he’s not around.
Langa dreams about him almost every night. The two of them snowboarding down the mountain he and his father favored, spraying white flurries in their wake, towering pines flashing by in their periphery. Wandering the beach, toes in the bubbling surf, fingers entwined. Jubilant because they’re together, and nothing’s ever felt better than being with him. Not winning against Adam. Not even being on the board Reki had made Langa with his own two hands.
Made, repaired, fortified, improved. Crafted with care and love, with fun in mind.
It’s stronger than ever, now. Just like the two of them.
Langa’s vision sharpens and narrows, tunnel-like, to pinpoint the place he needs to be. There, the familiar finish line. Cross it first and claim his prize. He’s so close to victory he’s already wondering if he’s still got those mints in his pocket, if he should try to toss a couple in his mouth or just swoop in right after they stop skating, while his blood is pumping and adrenaline still races in his veins.
The next second he’s sent flying, a jarring impact wrenching his feet from the surface of his board. He has a moment to register that his wheels must’ve hit a crack, or caught some uneven patch of concrete, and now he’s getting the kind of air a skater never wants. The kind that’s going to end in pain.
He hits the ground hard, only just managing to cushion his face and head by throwing up his forearm.
“Langa!”
He hears Reki grind to a halt, a rush of footsteps pounding toward him. Then Reki is there, firm hands on his shoulders.
Langa sits up with Reki’s help, mildly dizzy and probably nursing a new scrape on his arm to add to his growing collection of scars, but he’s taken worse falls. This is nothing. “I’m okay,” he says as Reki fusses over him, gentle fingers probing for injuries. “Seriously, I’m fine. Did you win?”
Reki nods, guilt flashing across his features. “Yeah. I didn’t notice you fell until after I crossed the finish line. We can do it again when you’re up for it.”
Langa shakes his head. “No. Bailing is part of it, right? You won fair and square. I owe you ramen for lunch.” Disappointment twists sharply in his gut. Langa does his best to ignore the regret. Reki didn’t outright reject the idea of a kiss. He actually seemed interested, and if he was open to it now, maybe there’ll be other opportunities later. Langa can work up the bravery to ask again.
“Well…” Reki hesitates. “I… Can I change my mind? About my prize, I mean?”
Langa blinks at him. “Sure, I guess. What do you want instead?”
“This.” Reki cups his chin and leans forward, so near their lips are almost brushing. “If that’s all right?”
Instead of answering, Langa rushes to breach the tiny gap between them. Their noses bump as their mouths collide, and for a moment, it’s awkward, as clumsy and uncoordinated as Langa had been when he first set foot on a skateboard—until, finally, Reki moves his hands to frame Langa’s face, tilts his head slightly, and they discover which angle works best.
All the pieces fall into place, lining up the way they did when Langa successfully managed his first ollie, and after that, it’s just… sweet.
Langa loops his arms around Reki’s waist, draws him closer. Reki’s lips are a little chapped from the cool morning wind. He’s trembling a bit, and the tremors get more intense when Langa licks lightly at the seam of his mouth, silently asking permission to do more.
Reki accepts him with a soft whimper, a catch of breath. Langa slips in his tongue, not really sure what he’s doing—his only experience is a peck or two back in middle school—but he tries his best to make it good, to mimic what he’s seen in movies and TV shows.
He must do okay, if Reki’s quiet moan is any indication. Soon, Langa ends up with a lapful of Reki, slender fingers digging into his shoulders and Reki’s legs wrapped tight around his waist. They’re gasping between kisses, not pausing for longer than it takes to fill their lungs, skateboards and their derelict surroundings long forgotten.
Langa shivers when Reki gets bolder and nips at his lower lip. He’s burning up, flushed with keen pleasure and longing, his heart beating faster and faster, revving like the engine of a motorbike as he guns the ignition.
It feels like a freefall. He’s weightless, caught in the giddy thrill of sensation, electrified from his head down to his toes. And Reki is right there with him, grounding him with his shaky sighs and that little needy noise he makes in the back of his throat.
Langa never wants it to end, but as with all good things, it does. Reality rears its head, reminding Langa that he’s sitting on a cold, dirty floor and sporting a scrape on his arm that likely needs tending.
“Langa,” Reki whispers when they finally part.
Dawn has come and gone, and motes of dust dance in the shafts of sunlight streaming in through the broken windows. One slants across Reki’s face, burnishing him in red and gold. He’s flushed down to the base of his neck, lips puffy from their kisses, his hair a wreck and his headband askew. There’s a gleam in his autumn-colored eyes, happiness and a deeper emotion shining underneath, one Langa knows he must be reflecting back himself.
He’s beautiful. Radiant. So bright, so warm he rivals the sun.
Langa's happiness, now and always.
“Reki." Langa smiles wide enough his cheeks hurt. “I like you so much.”
Reki ducks his head, presses against Langa’s shoulder, hiding so Langa can't get a clear look at him. Langa senses a tug on the bottom of his shirt as Reki clutches the fabric.
“You,” Reki mumbles, voice muffled. “You never talk about stuff like this, but that time at the park and now, you say these things that… that make me…” He pauses, breathes hard for a few seconds, then leans back so Langa can see his face. “I… I like you, too.” He looks off to the side after the confession, his gaze darting to Langa’s for the briefest moment. “What if…” He swallows and finally releases his death grip on Langa’s shirt. “What if I take you for ramen, and what if we…” His eyes meet Langa’s again, and now, he doesn’t look away. “What if we call it a date?”
Langa touches Reki’s red, red cheek. “No,” he says flatly. Reki’s hopeful expression crumbles. “Not ramen," Langa rushes to add. "For my first official date, I won’t accept anything but poutine. It’s a Canadian tradition.”
“Oh my God, you jerk!” Reki whacks his shoulder, glaring. “Don’t ever do that to me again!”
Langa laughs, and after a second, Reki’s mouth quivers, and he joins in, head tossed back, the gleeful sound echoing in the empty warehouse.
When their laughter fades to quiet, sporadic chuckles, Reki lightly butts his forehead against Langa’s, a shy smile playing about his mouth. “Poutine, then. Anything you want, Mr. Canada.”
Langa tightens his hold, nuzzles their noses together. Kisses Reki again, just because he can.
“It’s a date.”