Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Langa is fast asleep on Reki’s shoulder, and Reki has been trying not to bounce in place for nearly an hour, watching wide-eyed as the snowy landscape rumbles past the snug, toasty interior of the car. Canada is like nothing he’s ever imagined, and he has to keep stifling his shouts when he sees things — moose, clumps of snow falling from trees, the white-tipped peaks of mountains — because Langa is sleeping, his fingers curled around Reki’s wrist. When Reki thinks too much about the warm pads of Langa’s fingers, he gets all red and itchy and he has to shake himself, a couple times, to clear his head. But now’s not the time to think about Langa’s slender, pretty hands, because Reki has just seen the most exciting thing yet, and he can’t stop himself from bouncing anymore. 

“Langa!” he says, grabbing Langa’s shoulder, shaking him, and Langa groans, turning to press his mouth against the arm of Reki’s sweater, but Reki is already bouncing and jostling him and pointing, out of the front windshield, shaking him again. “Langa, dude, dude, we’re here! Wake up! Wake up!” 

“Wha,” Langa mumbles, burying his face deeper into Reki’s shoulder, tugging clumsily on his wrist until Reki’s stomach goes warm and fuzzy. Blearily Langa mumbles, “Wha’s goin’ on?” 

“We’re here!” Reki repeats, the warm feeling rising to his neck, and quickly he pushes Langa upright as the car rumbles carefully up the snowy driveway and turns off. His side feels colder without Langa cuddled up to him, and Reki feels a twinge of guilt, because Langa had been sleeping so peacefully, so vulnerable with his slack mouth drooling onto the arm of Reki’s sweater, but thinking about that makes Reki’s face feel hot anyway, so he shakes Langa again to distract himself. “Dude, we made it to Canada!” 

“We’re in Canada?” Langa asks, confused, rubbing at both of his eyes, and from the cozy front seat, Mrs. Hasegawa turns around, smiling indulgently at Reki. 

“Langa, honey, we got off the plane two hours ago,” she says, reaching around the seat to pluck a white fuzzy string off Langa’s sweater. “Did you forget already?” 

Langa blinks, glancing at Reki and then out the window, his hair in disarray from all the sleeping, the collar of his thick brown turtleneck rumpled around his neck. “Oh,” he says, still sounding dazed and incoherent, and Mrs. Hasegawa chuckles. 

“Silly boys,” she says, smiling again at Reki before she turns around, climbing out of the front seat. Reki starts shoving at Langa’s shoulders again, nudging him through the piled up bags and suitcases tucked into the backseat, and Langa sways a little, like he’s gonna lean against Reki again. His cheeks are flushed with sleep, and Reki’s stomach squirms, ‘cause he’s so pretty, he’s so freaking pretty it’s unfair. “C’mon, man!” Reki says hastily. “Get up! I wanna see the cabin! Let’s go!” 

“It’s not a cabin,” says Langa, still sounding confused, but obediently he begins to climb over the quilts and duffel bags stuffed onto the floor. “It’s just a house.” 

“Dude, it’s totally a cabin!” Reki hangs onto his shoulders as Langa fumbles with the car door, because he wants to bolt out of the car so bad, they’ve been cooped up for at least two hours, and he wants to see Canada. He wants to run around the cabin, which is definitely a cabin, it’s made of logs and it’s half-buried under the snowy branches of pine trees, the snow thick and white on the roof like a real, actual gingerbread house, and Reki’s itching to go, go, go. “C’mon!” he says, and Langa grunts a little and heaves the car door open, and Reki freezes. 

He freezes, because oh man, it’s cold. 

He yelps before he can stop himself, grabbing the door and slamming it again, shivering in the cold air that has already blown inside their toasty car. Langa turns around, his eyebrows knitted together, looking terribly confused. 

“What?” Langa asks, and Reki makes a face, shivering again.  

“It’s really freaking cold!” 

Langa frowns, a little, his knees pressing into Reki’s leg as he tries to tuck his hair behind his ear, but it slips back into his face right away, and man oh man he’s super close, and Reki’s body is jittering uncontrollably already. “Of course it’s cold,” Langa says, slowly, as if he’s missing a piece of the conversation. “We can’t snowboard unless it’s cold?” 

“Shit,” Reki says, glancing around frantically, trying to distract himself, because his heart is jackrabbiting in his chest at the sight of Langa’s cold flushed cheeks and oh man that’s super lame, he’s super freaking lame. “Where’s my coat? Shit. I think I forgot my coat.” 

Langa stares at him for a long moment. “How did you,” he begins, and hastily Reki says, 

“I don’t know!” He looks around wildly, at all their stuff, trying to remember where the hell he packed his coat. He’s so screwed already. “You—you forgot we were even in Canada!” 

Langa makes a face, tucking his hands in between his thighs. “Did not,” he says, even though Reki knows he did, and he wants to bury his face in his head and groan, because why does he find that endearing? Ugh, just—ugh. Okay. First things first. He needs to find his coat, and then escape this car, and then maybe he can start confronting the way Langa makes his chest go hot and itchy without even doing anything. 

“It’s gotta be in here somewhere,” Reki says, but they both just stare at the duffel bags around them, and after a moment Langa lets out a quiet, 

“Uh oh,” 

and Reki groans, tipping his head back. “Man, I suck!” How’s he supposed to go snowboarding without a coat? “We barely even got here and I’m already ruining everything! I can’t believe this, I’m such a fuck up, I—”  

“No,” says Langa quickly, and he grabs Reki’s wrist before he can rake it back into his hair, so frustrated he’s starting to sweat. Langa shifts again, holding onto Reki, and says, “We can buy you a new one. There’s a little town nearby, I—I wanted to show you anyway, it’s really nice. We can go and buy you a new one today, okay?” 

Another “ugh” escapes Reki’s mouth, but Langa squeezes his wrist, a concerned little furrow between his pale eyebrows, and Reki glances at him and shuts up. He’s still an idiot, but if he starts talking shit about himself, Langa will only insist that Reki is amazing and that kind of thing—well! That kind of thing makes Reki feel hot and itchy under the armpits, and he probably likes the praise too much, way too much, and he’s been trying to hide the itchy hot feeling from Langa, ‘cause it’s, like, super embarrassing. So he just clears his throat, ready to sprint through the snow into the cabin, but then Langa’s hand slides from his wrist to his palm and Reki’s breath sticks in his throat. 

For a moment they just stare at each other, wide-eyed, neither of them breathing. Reki can feel the heat crawling up his neck again, splotchy and red, and of course his brain decides this is a great time to remind him how pretty Langa is, with his pale-white eyelashes and his bluish undereye bags and his high cheekbones. Reki gulps, and Langa’s fingers hesitate against his palm, and for a second Reki thinks Langa’s gonna hold his hand, he hopes, except that’s silly and, and then Langa puffs out a nervous breath and pulls his hand away. 

Reki tries not to deflate. His cheeks are itching, and they were so close, so close to finally holding hands for longer than thirty seconds. He wants it so bad. It’s so stupid, that they’ve been dating for nearly two whole weeks and Reki still hasn’t gotten up the courage to hold Langa’s hand. He’s officially an idiot. A big, cowardly, inexperienced idiot. 

But he’s too embarrassed to do anything about it now, so he clears his throat again and says, “We can just make a run for it? ‘Cause it’s cold, y’know, and we don’t have coats.” 

Langa glances down at himself, as if finally realizing that he’s not wearing a coat, either. “Oh,” he says. “Okay.” He turns to fumble with the door again, and Reki sucks in a deep breath, bracing himself for the blast of freezing air, but he still grits out, “shit,” as they scramble out into the cold. The flurries of snow are biting and painful against Reki’s cheeks, nothing like he imagined, and then Langa grabs onto his arm to stop him from slipping on the ice. 

“Let’s race,” says Langa, and he’s got that determined look settling around his mouth, the intense one, and Reki feels his heartbeat kick up a notch as their eyes lock, because oh boy, that expression on Langa’s pretty face has always made his stomach swoop. 

“Okay,” Reki says, and then they’re running. 

Reki stomps snow into the warm, cozy living room of the cabin, dropping the last of their suitcases into a pile by the door. “That’s all of it!” he cries, peeling off the too-small coat Langa had found for him in the hall closet, throwing one of his gloves at Langa’s chest. Langa blinks and catches it, and Reki huffs out a laugh, ‘cause of course Langa could catch that. Langa could do anything, probably. He’s cool like that. Reki’s cool, amazing, talented, perfect boyfriend, and Reki puffs out another breath, his face already warming up from the rumbling heaters around them. “You gonna give me the tour, Prince Langa?” 

“I’m not a prince,” Langa says, throwing the glove limply back at Reki’s chest, and Reki laughs again, a bit breathless, mostly from the dash from the car to the cabin, but also ‘cause he can see the tips of Langa’s ears going pink. He has this niggling thought that maybe Langa likes the pet names, but he shoves the idea down ‘cause it’s too embarrassing to think about, right now. “There’s not much to see. Just a lot of family photos and stuff.” 

“Ohh,” Reki says, feeling a grin tugging at his cheeks. “ Just family photos? Any embarrassing ones?”

“No,” says Langa, his cheeks going pink now, too, and he tries to kick one of the duffel bags at Reki, but it just rolls over onto its side and Reki laughs again, grabbing Langa’s arm in his warm, soft sweater and pulling him further into the cabin. 

“I wanna see,” Reki says. “You can’t hide anything from me. I’m gonna find every single embarrassing thing you own.”  

Langa mutters something to himself, in English, and Reki feels rosy and warm and a bit flustered as he tugs Langa into the cozy living room. The cabin is tiny and full of things, a pretty Chistmas tree in the corner, stockings hanging from the fireplace, worn brown couches crowded together on the fluffy carpet, and photos, so many photos. Photos on the faux-log walls and photos on the worn coffee table and photos on the mantel, and everything is so brightly-colored and warm and Reki’s toes curl in his boots, pleasantly. 

“You can take off your shoes,” Langa mutters, tugging Reki backward, and Reki’s calloused fingers catch on the soft knit of his sleeve, his neck flushing. 

“Ah,” Reki says, laughing at himself, ‘cause of course he would forget something like that, and quickly he tries to kick off the snowy boots. It’s hard, and he nearly falls over, and Langa has to grab the back of Reki’s sweater to steady him. And then Langa’s hand is pressed to the small of Reki’s back, hot through the layers of clothes, and Reki has to swallow a couple of times just to get his thundering pulse back under control. They just escaped the stifling car, and now he’s itching all over again, because apparently he’s doomed to blushing stupidly every time Langa touches him. 

Langa moves a little closer, without taking his hand away. “Okay?” he asks quietly, and Reki clears his throat hastily, tossing the boots over to the welcome mat, by Langa’s. 

“Yep! Just fine,” and, shit, his voice cracks on the word and Langa stifles a laugh, and Reki’s chest is so hot, his skin so warm where Langa is touching him and he never wants it to end, but he makes himself pull away, ‘cause otherwise he’s gonna start liking it too much, and okay, okay okay. Quickly Reki hurries over to the coffee table, grabbing some of the picture frames, scanning them for embarrassing photos of Langa. 

“You were a cute kid,” he says, wrinkling his nose, ‘cause of course Langa has always looked perfect. Langa follows him more slowly, lifting one of the blankets and folding it before laying it over the sagging back of the couch, peering over Reki’s shoulder. Reki sets the photo back down and turns so they’re facing each other, socks warm against the carpet. “Show me the embarrassing photos?” 

Langa flushes, rubbing at his cheek. Reki wiggles his toes against the rug again, because the room is so small, and it smells of pine and cinnamon, and they’re standing very close to each other, so close that Reki can see the blush bleeding through the thin, pale skin on Langa’s face. He’s always blushed this way, very obviously. It was one of the first things about him that made Reki flustered, one of the things he used to think about late at night, staring at the ceiling and struggling with all the overwhelming feelings swelling in his chest, his stupid stupid crush on his best friend. And, okay, maybe he still thinks about it sometimes, Langa blushing, all the things Reki could do or say to make him blush more, and okay, okay. Breathe, Reki, breathe.

“There are no embarrassing photos,” Langa mutters, but Reki knows that shifty look in Langa’s eyes. He’s a terrible liar. They both are, but nobody’s as terrible as Langa. 

“C’mon, man,” Reki says. “I won’t laugh!” 

Langa glares at him, and Reki laughs, his chest warm. 

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll laugh, but not too much.” 

“I hate you,” Langa says, and he shifts a little, on the carpet, his hands twitching at his sides. Then he reaches out and latches onto Reki’s sleeve again, the thick knitted sweater Reki’s mom made for him before they left, and tugs him over to the fireplace, wreathed in lights and red ribbons. Reki presses his toes to the soft blanket tossed on the floor, watching as Langa takes a small, framed photo off the mantel, handing it to him. 

“This is the embarrassing—oh.” Reki grins again, watching the way the twinkling lights dance across the photo. Langa’s maybe six or seven, sitting on the lap of a mall Santa, and he’s got his arms folded and the world’s grumpiest expression on his chubby face. Reki snickers, reading the tiny handwritten caption in the corner of the frame: Santa gave us our very own Grinch this Christmas! “Oh my god,” he says, snickering again. “Your mom did you dirty in this one, dude. You look totally constipated.” 

Langa huffs a little, kicking at Reki’s ankles, and Reki laughs as he hops out of the way. Langa’s still clinging to his sleeve, and it makes Reki feel warm all over as Langa mutters, “You said you wouldn’t laugh,” and then adds, “Your mom showed me that one photo of you throwing a tantrum at the playground when you were little, anyway. That’s way worse.”

Traitor, Reki thinks, but he just punches Langa’s elbow with the hand holding the frame, setting it clumsily back onto the mantle. “You didn’t like Santa?” 

Langa shuffles his feet, shaking his head. “I don’t like people.” 

Reki laughs again. “You like me.” 

And, oh, maybe it’s the wrong thing to say, because Langa’s cheeks flush again, and he’s looking anywhere but at Reki, glancing down to the place where he’s holding onto Reki’s sweater, shifting his weight nervously on the soft blanket. Reki clears his throat, feeling his own body going warm in all his layers, and he wants to blurt out that it’s true, right? Langa does like him, he has to. Right? And then Langa says quietly, “I do,” and his hair slips into his face, revealing the pink tips of his ears, and Reki clears his throat again, because the low reverb of Langa’s voice always scratches his brain just the right way, and he likes Reki, he likes him, and Reki’s stomach is squirming. He should say it back, that he likes Langa, because he does, man, he likes Langa so much that he feels all hot and itchy with the feelings, his throat scratchy, but before he can open his mouth, Mrs. Hasegawa is calling them from the kitchen. 

“Boys!” She appears in the doorway, glancing at them and then at the bags all piled up by the doorway. “Bring your things into your room, alright?” 

Langa swallows. “Okay,” he says, and Reki stumbles a step backward, rubbing furiously at his neck. Shit. He should have said it back, but now it’s too late, Langa is tugging him toward the bags again and Reki has no chance but to follow, cursing his stupid cowardly mouth. He can talk Langa’s ears off about skateboarding for hours and hours, but he can’t say something easy like I like you, because it’s not easy, it’s not easy even though it’s true, and Reki wants to groan and bury his burning face in his hands. 

But he can’t, so he shoulders two duffel bags and lugs them after Langa, down a short hallway and into a small, cozy bedroom, lit up with fairy lights draped around the walls. Langa drops the duffel bags onto the middle of the soft, lumpy quilt, and Reki lets the door thump closed behind himself, his palms already itching at the thought of sleeping together in this tiny, tiny room with Langa. He’s gonna see Langa brushing his teeth, Langa walking around in his sleep shorts, Langa with his pretty hair all strewn out over the pillows, silver in the moonlight, and quickly Reki tries to shove the thoughts down. 

“Where does the futon go?” he asks, awkwardly, because the room is really tiny, and there’s not much room on the floor. Langa turns around, his forehead creasing into a frown. 

“What?”

“Like—” Reki gestures to the floor, one of his feet itching to bounce. He doesn’t wanna be rude about Langa’s room, ‘cause it’s a nice room, it is, but it’s so small, and where is Reki supposed to sleep? “I just mean, like, am I sleeping in here too? Or are we gonna put the futon in the living room? It’s okay, I don’t mind, I just wasn’t sure and I didn’t wanna—” 

“There’s no futon,” Langa interrupts, and Reki’s brain grinds to a halt. 

“What?” 

“We don’t have a futon,” Langa repeats, turning around more fully, rubbing his hands against his pants. He looks suddenly nervous, licking at the corner of his mouth. “I—I thought you might want—I mean. I mean. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…” 

And, ah, shit. 

Does Langa want him to sleep in the bed with him? 

Reki tries to clear his throat, but he can’t, because okay, wow, wow. What if Langa wants to sleep next to him, cuddled up under the same blankets, maybe even with their legs touching? How will Reki ever survive? His armpits are beginning to itch, ‘cause there’s no way Langa would want something like that, their bodies snuggled together in their sleep, there’s no way he would want Reki’s sweaty arms around his waist, Reki snoring on the pillow beside him. His leg starts to bounce without his permission, because now Langa looks uncertain, and Reki hates when he looks like that, so he blurts out, “Can I sleep—I mean—am I s’posed to sleep in the bed?” 

Langa’s cheeks are so red. He nods. “I thought...I thought that was what we...I mean, I didn’t think you would mind.” His shoulders slump, a little. “I’m sorry. I can...I can sleep on the couch, and you can have the bed to yourself.”

Reki’s chest twists, because he can see the small downturn of Langa’s mouth, the way he’s trying not to sound upset. He thinks Reki doesn’t wanna sleep in the same bed as him, but Reki does want to, he wants to so bad that it makes his stomach clench, a little hot and a little breathless and a little flustered, okay, a lot flustered. And that’s the problem. It’s embarrassing, how badly he wants to, and probably he’ll end up blurting out something too mushy in the warmth and the darkness, something like I like the way your voice changes when it’s just the two of us, or maybe he’ll get all sweaty and nervous under the blankets, or try to hold Langa’s hands, and, and ugh. Reki clears his throat, rubbing his mouth. Langa’s looking at him a little helplessly, his hands hanging by his sides, and so Reki manages to say,

“It’s okay, I don’t, I don’t mind. We can...together,” and god, that sounds so awkward, doesn’t it? So he hurries to ramble on. “You’ll just have to put up with my kicking, y’know, and I talk in my sleep too, so, so you probably won’t get any rest, but hah, it’s just for a little while, right? It’ll be okay. It’ll be totally fine! It’ll be cool, man, super cool, it’ll be just like a really long sleepover!” 

Langa is staring at him. Well, he’s staring at Reki’s mouth, and Reki rubs it harder, wincing at how raw and chapped his lips already are from all the heaters, and hastily he drops his hand. Langa shakes himself a little. “Yes,” he says, sounding sort of lost again. “It’ll be like a...a sleepover.” 

Reki tries not to wince again. That doesn’t sound romantic at all, does it? Does Langa want this to be romantic? Nah, that’s probably just Reki’s wishful thinking, and he needs to stop thinking that way, ‘cause there’s not a single romantic bone in his body and he just needs to accept that, and quickly he bounds across the rugs and flops down on the bed. It creaks underneath him, and the mattress dips in the middle, but it’s really soft, and really comfortable, and it smells good, so he spreads his arms out and gives Langa a clumsy smile, trying to ignore the hot itching on his neck. 

“It’s nice,” he assures Langa, and Langa swallows and nods, sitting down gingerly on the edge of the bed. He tugs at a loose thread on the edge of his turtleneck, and Reki tries not to think about wrapping his arms around Langa in that sweater, squeezing his soft waist, attempting to pick him up and stumbling backward and ending up in a heap on the bed with Langa on top of him, and god, the hot flush is crawling up to Reki’s face again. Langa wants to sleep in the bed with him. He wants them to tuck their cold feet together under the heavy blankets, he wants them to breathe against each other quietly in the darkness, he wants them to cuddle together for warmth, and okay okay okay. Reki’s legs are bouncing again, both of them, and he struggles to sit up again.

“I haven’t been here in a while,” Langa says, quietly, looking down at the soft blankets, smoothing his hand over them, and Reki’s stomach flip-flops. Of course he’s been thinking about something idiotic again while Langa’s being all serious, so quickly he clears his throat and asks, 

“When was the last time you were here?” 

Langa glances up at the room, and Reki spots the small door leading to a connected bathroom, and his breath gets sorta stuck in his chest again, because oh boy , their own bathroom. “Three Christmases ago,” Langa says, the edge of his hand brushing against Reki’s before quickly pulling away, and he breathes out carefully. “It was my grandmother’s house, when I was little, and after she died we would come here every year, but then we...we stopped coming for a couple of years, after, you know.” 

Reki does know. He nods, still feeling awkward and very warm, hyperaware of their hands inches apart on the blankets. He’s never sure if he says the right things when Langa talks about his dad, but he tries, he really tries because he cares about Langa so much, and he wants to support him. He scoots to the edge of the bed, a little closer to Langa, and asks, “Does it, like...does it suck being back?”

He winces at himself immediately. Wrong question, man. But Langa just glances up at him, his eyes wide and his eyelashes so, so pale, and says, “No.” Reki clears his throat, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, as Langa scratches at his knee. There’s a silence, and then Langa says, softly, “I wouldn’t have invited you if I thought it would suck. I wanted to show you everything, where I’m from, and how to snowboard, and how my family celebrates the holidays, because I like...I like…” He swallows, and Reki’s breath sticks in his throat again, and then Langa says, a little shakily, “I like when you’re with me, Reki.” 

And, oh. Wow. 

Reki clears his throat again, his cheeks hot. He can feel his bouncing feet shaking the bed, and he tries to grab onto the comforter and hold still, but he can’t, and shit, Langa’s being so sweet and honest and all Reki can do is jitter around like a chaotic mess. “I like it too,” he says, ‘cause it’s true, going places with Langa is always exciting, and Reki likes the warm weight of Langa’s shoulder pressed to his, he likes their smiling faces smushed together in photos, and man, oh man, Reki’s in too deep, isn’t he? He’s in so, so, so deep. He rubs at his mouth, trying to huff a laugh. “I’ve always wanted to come to Canada! To see your embarrassing baby photos. And, ah, to see you bail on your snowboard.” 

Langa makes a face at him, his mouth pinching up, and Reki laughs again, cheeks itching, because man he loves that face. He’d do, like, almost anything in the world to see Langa making that pouty face all day. “I’m not gonna bail,” Langa says.

“Sure you’re not, man!”

Langa shoves his shoulder against Reki’s, and Reki’s laugh gets stuck in his throat, and he has to cough it out as Langa grumbles, “You’re the newbie.” Then Langa rubs his hands on his pants again, a couple of times, and slides off the bed, looking around. “Did you see the mountains?” 

“On the drive over, yeah,” says Reki. “You slept through it all, dude, you should have seen it, there was this gigantic moose, like, bigger than Joe, and it came right over to us, it was super cool and—” 

Langa shakes his head a little, pointing, and Reki breaks off, following his finger. He scrambles off the bed, ‘cause Langa’s pointing at the window, through the dusting of snow and the thick, woolen curtains, and Reki hurries to wedge his way through the bed and the dresser so he can peer outside. 

And there they are. The mountains. 

Reki can’t speak. For the first time in his life he thinks he’s rendered completely speechless, gazing up the expanse of white against the blue, blue sky, his words dying in his throat. The mountains are so close to the cabin , rising up above the tops of the pine trees, bigger than anything he’s ever seen, and the snow dips and swells in shades of gray and lavender, and Reki’s eyes sting a little, from how wide open they are. 

They’re gonna ride down those mountains. 

“Holy shit,” he breathes, and then Langa’s hand touches his elbow, the barest brush of his fingers against Reki’s sweater, and without thinking Reki leans back into the touch. He feels Langa shift, wrapping his hand around Reki’s arm, and for a minute they both stare outside, at the huge, wonderful world. The snow is beginning to fall again, in slow drifts, and the flurries melt when they kiss the glass, and it’s magical in a way Reki never imagined anything could be. 

He glances over at Langa, whose face is close enough that Reki can see the faded scarring on his cheeks, the small bump of his nose where he broke it as a kid. His eyes are upturned, his eyelashes pale like the snow and his lips touching, his pale lips with the deep, deep cupid’s bow in the center that Reki has itched, for so long, to kiss. 

He squirms a little, pressing closer to Langa. Langa is always beautiful, but he looks the most beautiful to Reki when he has that wonder in his eyes, usually at S, and occasionally in the dusky sunset at DopeSketch or on the half-pipe at the skatepark. The way he looks up at the mountains makes Reki’s throat go dry.

He wants Langa to look at him that way. 

The thought makes him flush, ‘cause it’s stupid, it’s so stupid, but he has to clear his throat before he’s able to get out any words. “You missed them, huh?” 

Langa glances at him. A piece of his hair falls into his face, and he tucks it away with his awkward, bony fingers, and Reki’s heart thumps once, painfully, because he knows how clammy and sweaty Langa’s palms can get, and he wants to cradle that hand in his own, just once. Just once and he’ll be satisfied. “Yeah,” says Langa, and there’s something quiet and raw in his voice as his eyes linger on Reki’s, something honest. “But I’m really glad I get to share them with you, Reki.” 

He smiles, a bit hesitant, his lips dry and chapped, and Reki tries to clear his throat, but, ah. 

Who would’ve thought? He’s speechless again. 

Reki is shivering in the icy wind as his boots crunch on the snow, and Langa’s breath puffs out into the air when he says, “Are you cold, Reki?” 

“Gee, what gave it away?” Reki rubs his nose, which is stinging, and kicks snow at Langa’s ankles. “The sound of my teeth chattering? Or my hands turning blue? Or, or, or was it the way my hair is literally creating its own icicles?” 

Langa gives him a sidelong glance. Reki makes a face at him, but then he has to stop and sneeze into the arm of his too-small borrowed coat, and Langa’s eyes widen a bit, as if he’s just now realizing that Reki actually is cold. He shuffles closer on the sidewalk, making room for several holiday shoppers hurrying past them, and their arms bump together, clumsy in all the layers of their snowgear. Christmas music floats out of a shop window as Langa puts his gloved hand on Reki’s arm, asking, “Are you okay? Should we go inside somewhere? I can find...” 

Reki rubs his nose again, his cheeks stinging in the cold, and then waves his hand around. “It’s cool,” he says. “The icicles won’t get the best of me. Plus, we’re on a mission. Plus, we’re on a mission. We gotta get to the coat shop before they sell out of coats, right?” 

Langa still hesitates, his eyebrows slightly furrowed, and Reki gives him a clumsy smile and a thumbs-up so he’ll know it’s really okay. “They won’t sell out of coats,” says Langa, rubbing his nose, and Reki almost laughs, ‘cause of course that’s the part of their conversation that Langa’s fixated on. He tucks his arm into Langa’s, so they’re holding onto each other, and tugs him toward the curb. 

“C’mon,” says Reki. “I think I see a big coat shop ahead that’s calling our name.”

Langa crunches through the snow after him, trying to explain that every shop in town sells coats, and Reki grins, squeezing his arm. It’s warmer, holding onto Langa’s arm like this, even if they’re not holding hands, the way Reki wants to. It would be nice, their gloved fingers tangled together, wrapped around each other like the couple across the street, who are kissing underneath what appears to be mistletoe. Reki swallows, his neck warm in his scarf as they hurry down the sidewalk, trying not to think about bumping up against Langa underneath mistletoe, the way Langa’s eyes would glance up over their heads and then back down to Reki’s mouth, the way Langa would flush nervously, the way Langa would put his cold fingers on Reki’s cheeks and— 

“What are you thinking about?” asks Langa, and Reki huffs a laugh, because of course Langa always manages to ask that question when Reki’s having the stupidest, most embarrassing thoughts possible. He waves his hand again, bumping their shoulders together as they cross the street. 

“Hah, nothing, it’s nothing. Tell me what you’re thinking about?” 

Langa doesn’t hesitate. He launches right into an explanation of the best kind of wind-resistant coat they should buy Reki for the snowboarding, obviously something he has thought a lot about, and a warm sort of ache begins to kindle in Reki’s stomach as he listens. Sometimes Langa still needs to be nudged into talking, but when he gets going, man, he really gets going. Reki likes it. He likes being one of the only people who gets to hear Langa’s intricate inner thoughts, his intense monologues, the ones where he sometimes forgets to pay attention to Reki’s responses and just steamrolls over anything Reki says. 

It’s endearing. 

It’s very endearing, and Reki still remembers the day he first noticed it, how nice it was, the same summer he began to notice everything about Langa. They were hanging out at the skatepark one day, sharing a sweaty bag of chips, when out of nowhere Langa just started talking, without being prompted. It was a mundane topic—some new shipment of wheels Oka had asked him to unpack—but Reki had felt this warm squirmy feeling, like, like man, Langa was really comfortable with him, wasn’t he? Langa was so quiet at first, and awkward, but now he had his knee pressed to Reki’s on the gravel, just talking, stumbling over words in his adorable little accent, and Reki sat there grinning, until his cheeks hurt. 

And so, that summer, Reki’s head had been full of Langa, his accent, the way he stumbled over reading food packages in convenience stores, and how good he looked on a skateboard, and the pale stripe of skin on his upper arms when his DopeSketch sleeves rode up. Reki had tumbled into love with Langa too fast to stop himself, and with the love comes an ache, nestled in the pit of Reki’s stomach, because Langa’s so beautiful, so precious, so lovable, and there’s nothing quite so lovable about Reki, in comparison. 

He swallows, shoving his hands into the pockets of his borrowed coat, pressing closer to Langa. Langa had accepted his confession, when Reki finally worked up the courage to fumble through it. But Reki can’t shake the doubts burrowed in his heart. What if Langa is only staying with him until something bigger and better catches his eye? Reki’s just the practice run, like those baby hills that snowboarders use when they’re just starting out, the bunny slopes or whatever, and anyone can see that Langa’s made for the steepest mountains, for the speed and the beauty of the most dangerous runs. 

Sometimes Reki still thinks about pinching himself when they’re together, just to make sure he’s not dreaming. 

Langa breaks off suddenly, pausing underneath a streetlight wreathed with holly and lights, and Reki skids to a stop and follows his gaze. They’re standing by a ski shop, icicles and lights hanging around the windows, and Langa points to a coat hanging in the display. 

“That one,” he says, sounding determined, and Reki’s stomach squirms a little, at the way the snow flurries are catching in Langa’s hair. He’s definitely dreaming, he thinks, but aloud he just says, 

“Sweet, sweet,” and follows Langa into the shop. 

They end up in a warm, cozy coffee shop connected to a bookstore, full to the brim with shoppers laughing and chattering in English, and manage to snag a table by one of the candy-cane displays. “Wait here?” asks Langa, wavering by his chair, his pale hands braced against the back. “I can order for you.” 

Reki nods. “Hot chocolate? I want the mini marshmallows.” 

“Alright.” Langa glances at the menu and then drops his gloves on the table, and Reki tries not to look at his hands. Langa’s fingernails are all stubby and bitten-down, and Reki can’t stop thinking about how he must chew on them, in private, when nobody’s looking. He wants to see Langa chewing on his fingernails. And then Langa’s squeezing his way into the line at the counter, and Reki’s left at the table to loosen his scarf, listening to the holiday music in a language he can’t understand. 

He does recognize the word love. The songs seem to use that word a lot, even though Reki’s not sure what love has to do with Christmas, but then again it’s not like he knows anything about love anyway. 

He sighs a little, slumping against the back of the chair. Langa’s still reading the menu, his eyes scanning the words over and over again as he mouths his order to himself, rubbing his hands against the dark fabric of his jeans and man, he looks good. Reki rubs his mouth, trying to tear his eyes away, but they keep darting back. Langa looks so good, Reki’s boyfriend, Reki’s boyfriend standing there with cheeks tinged pink from the cold and his bony fingers twitching against his thighs, and in this crowded shop, it feels so hard to believe that someone like that could want someone like Reki. 

He rubs his mouth harder. Langa bought him the coat in the ski shop, after holding onto Reki’s arms and saying over and over that it looked perfect on him, perfect, like he has no idea how tangled and hot Reki’s stomach gets over that word. Langa always says stuff like that, but Reki has no idea why. He’s not perfect. He’s jittery and inexperienced and he interrupts too often, and his moods are always all over the place, and he’s too embarrassed to tell Langa how much he likes him. He’s way too embarrassed, and that’s gonna be his downfall, isn’t it? He’ll fumble too much over compliments, and he’ll get so nervous that he’ll barely be able to kiss Langa, and if he doesn’t get his shit together soon, Langa will grow tired of him and begin searching for somebody better.  

Langa approaches the counter, tucking his pretty hair behind his ear, and Reki slides down further in the seat, watching him. The barista taking his order is one of those effortlessly attractive guys, with dark curly hair and broad, relaxed shoulders, everything Reki’s not. Reki tries to clear his throat, but something’s stuck there, something stubborn and raw. The barista laughs, his face smooth and open, and he looks so good next to Langa, the way attractive people always look when they’re paired up together, and he’s probably the kind of guy who Langa will end up with, right? It makes sense. They look like they make sense together, and Reki finally manages to clear his throat, rough from the cold, and scrambles up into a more acceptable sitting position. 

He’s being lame. It’s not fair to get jealous over other people talking to Langa, when Reki can barely bring himself to mumble I like you without sweating furiously in all his sweaters. He rubs his mouth again, trying not to look at the way Langa’s soft hair is caught under his scarf. Then Langa says something else to the barista, his lips moving, and the barista presses two mugs into Langa’s hands, his fingers touching and lingering on Langa’s, and Reki glances away, cheeks itching, trying to ignore the hot, jealous clench of his stomach. 

Then Langa is weaving his way back to their table, holding the steaming mugs, setting one of them down very carefully in front of Reki. Reki keeps his eyes firmly on the table as he mutters a “thank you,” and Langa sits down across from him, cupping his own mug. Reki’s being lame. Super lame. He barely even has the courage to touch Langa’s hands himself, Langa’s pretty, knobbly hands with the bluish veins and bruised knuckles, so he has no right being upset when somebody else does it.

“I got the marshmallows,” says Langa, after a beat, and Reki rubs his mouth hard, sitting up straighter. 

“Yeah,” he says. “Thanks. It’s perfect.” And it is. The marshmallows bob perfectly against the edge of the pretty mug, elves and reindeer painted in bright colors, and there’s even a little candy cane stuck inside, like a spoon. But Reki’s throat is all clogged up, and before he can stop himself, he’s muttering, “That guy was flirting with you, y’know.” 

Langa pauses, one of his hands on the handle of his mug. “What guy?” 

Reki’s cheeks itch. “Y’know.” God, is Langa gonna make him say it? “The barista.” 

“What do you mean?” Langa sounds terribly confused, and Reki rubs at his face, screwing up his eyes and nose. This is stupid. He’s stupid. Why did he say anything? Now Langa’s gonna know that Reki’s jealous and insecure, and that’s not the kinda boyfriend Reki wants to be, so he just shoves his feet up against Langa’s boots under the table.  

“Never mind,” he says. “Forget it. Here, toast me.” He pushes his mug forward, clinking it against the side of Langa’s, which has snowmen painted around the handle. “To snowboarding.” 

“To snowboarding,” Langa echoes, and then he hesitates, like he wants to say something else. But instead he just settles deeper into the chair, pressing the edges of his boots to Reki’s and shuffling out of his coat, so that Reki can see his skinny arms, snug and soft in his brown sweater. Reki clears his throat, dragging his eyes away, ‘cause why does every single part of Langa have to be so attractive?

“What’re you thinking about?” Reki asks hastily, before Langa can ask first. Langa frowns a little, lifting his drink carefully, looking down at the whipped cream.

“I have a problem,” he says, and then he puts the rim of the mug to his lips, sipping, and Reki’s stomach twists. 

“Is it about me?” he asks, and then, shit. He wants to smack himself. What kind of an idiotic question is that? He’s acting so lame right now, making everything about himself and his own stupid, stupid insecurity, and that’s super uncool, not cool at all, except then Langa lowers his mug, his eyebrows knitted together, and he nods. 

Reki’s heart thunders in his ears. He can feel his stomach twisting again, tighter and tighter, and he manages, 

“What?” 

and Langa sets the mug down, carefully, on the table. The problem is Reki? God, does Langa regret inviting him here? Reki’s mind is already spiraling off into every worst-case-scenario possible, like, like Langa’s gonna send him packing tonight, or Langa’s gonna say in his careful, accented voice that they shouldn’t be together anymore, or Langa’s gonna suggest that Reki sleep on the couch alone, after all. A woman with too many shopping bags bumps into their table, sending their mugs rattling, and Langa’s cheeks go sort of pink. 

“It’s dumb,” he says, rubbing his hands on his jeans, glancing to the side. Reki’s stomach feels so sick he can barely even think. 

“What is it?” Reki kicks at Langa’s ankles under the table, and Langa shuffles his feet, looking embarrassed. 

“It’s really dumb,” he says again, and Reki has to press his hands to the seat to stop them from shaking, and then Langa clears his throat and says, cheeks red, “I can’t — I can’t think of anything to get you for Christmas.” 

Overhead the music changes to something jingling and upbeat, and Reki stares at Langa, his cheeks itching. “That’s it?” he asks, and he feels flustered and ridiculous, sitting here sweating in his too-hot layers, braced for Langa to break up with him. Why does he have to be so dramatic about every little thing? “Man, you don’t have to get me anything.” 

Langa straightens up, the determined thing around his mouth again. “Of course I do,” he says. “Reki, I know you got me something! You told me last week you were working on it when your mom thought you were sleeping, remember?” 

Reki clears his throat, his face red, because he does remember. He’s been working for the past couple weeks on Langa’s present, a collection of fuzzy knitted socks because Langa’s feet are perpetually cold, most of them designed with some sort of inside joke—the yeti on his board, the burgers he loves so much, some snowflakes for his S name. There was even one with hearts, but Reki scrapped that one halfway through, shoving it into his drawer with sweaty hands, ‘cause there was no way Langa would want something lame and girly like socks with hearts on them.  

“Yeah, but still,” Reki starts to say, but Langa shakes his head, hands clasped tightly around the mug. 

“I want to get you something, too,” he says, and then his face pinches, that funny expression that always makes Reki’s stomach flip-flop. “I want it to be special, but I don’t know what to get. I’m terrible at, at presents.” 

He says it like it’s a fatal flaw, his shoulders tucked inward and his mouth downturned, and Reki clears his throat. As much as he likes Langa’s pouting face, he doesn’t want Langa to feel bad about something stupid like this. “It’s okay, dude,” Reki says. “I like everything! You know that. I love stuff. Just get me any random stuff you can find and I’ll be happy with it.” 

But Langa shakes his head again. “It has to be special,” he repeats, and Reki gets the feeling that this is one of those things Langa’s brain has fixated on, one of those ideas he gets in his head and then refuses to budge. There’s no changing Langa’s mind about stuff like this, so Reki tries another tactic.

“Anything you get me will be special,” he says, and then he clears his throat a little, ‘cause this is super mushy but he’s determined to say it, for Langa, “as long as it’s from you, y’know?” 

 Langa shifts in his chair. His hands come up to cup at his mug again, and Reki watches him, waiting for him to disagree, but finally Langa nods, just a little. “I still want it to be special, though,” he mumbles, lifting the mug to his mouth. “Since you’re so...I mean, since...since we’re…” 

Reki doesn’t catch the last mumbled word, because Langa’s drinking already, his face flushed from the warmth of the drink. His stomach squirms, because he thinks maybe Langa said since we’re together, and he’s about to say that the present he made Langa isn’t that special, but then Langa is lowering the drink and Reki swallows, hard. 

“Hang on,” he says. Langa has whipped cream on his nose and his top lip, right in the very kissable dip of his cupid’s bow, and Reki’s face feels warm, his hands feel warm as he leans forward, using his thumb to rub the whipped cream off Langa’s nose. Langa frowns a little, confused, and Reki has to swallow before touching his mouth carefully, very very carefully, and at the same time Langa tries to lick the whipped cream off, and the wet tip of his tongue touches Reki’s finger and Reki jerks back, toppling into his seat, his face burning. 

“Sorry,” says Langa quickly, his own face flushing, and Reki tries to clear his throat, his neck hot and itching, his palms sweaty as he shoves them into his lap. He can still feel the burn of Langa’s tongue touching him, Langa’s tongue, and okay okay okay, great. Just great. Now this is all Reki’s gonna be thinking about for the rest of eternity. 

“It’s cool, man,” he says, and then he launches quickly into a rambling catalogue of all the possible presents Langa could get for him, all too wild and extravagant to be realistic, like a solar-powered skateboard. He’s trying not to think about kissing Langa. He’s trying really hard, but then Langa licks at his top lip again, rubbing his mouth with his hand to make sure the whipped cream is gone, and Reki stumbles over his words, his face burning. Man. Oh man. He’s a goner. He’s a complete goner, and his brain is stuck on Langa’s mouth the whole time Langa’s finishing his drink, so stuck that he barely has any idea what he’s rambling about. 

He wants to kiss Langa. Reki can admit that much to himself, okay, he’s been admitting it every day since before they got together, but he can’t shake this lingering feeling that he shouldn’t steal Langa’s first kiss. Langa’s got the prettiest mouth, it makes Reki squirm in his seat, and nobody’s ever kissed him before, and what has Reki done to deserve to be the first? It’s just too much to believe. The last thing Langa needs is Reki’s grubby mouth on him. He deserves one of those slow, romantic first kisses underneath a beautiful snowfall, with bells chiming midnight overhead, or something even more romantic that Reki can’t even begin to dream up, ‘cause he’s not romantic, not even a little. He got Langa socks for Christmas. He wants to groan and slump down in his seat, but Langa’s already collecting their mugs together, looking at him. 

“Ready?” Langa asks, and Reki nods, scrambling to get himself back together, grabbing his coat and gloves off the back of the chair. He helps Langa zip up his coat, even though he knows Langa doesn’t need help, and when his hands brush against the bottom of Langa’s loose scarf, he can see the swallow go down Langa’s throat. 

Reki’s hands shake, a little. They carry the mugs back to the counter and bundle up to face the cold, the soft music crooning overhead, something about love. Langa tucks his arm in Reki’s again as he heaves open the coffee shop door, a blast of icy air burning Reki’s cheeks, and they hurry outside, stumbling over frozen ground. The snow is coming down again, cold flurries landing on their cheeks and hair and in Langa’s eyelashes, and Reki swallows, ‘cause okay, maybe it’s a little romantic, the way Langa’s nose wrinkles as he puffs out icy breaths into the snow. Maybe when they get home, they’ll bundle their wet clothes into the dryer and huddle down in the same bed, tucking their socked feet together, and maybe Reki will finally work up the courage to hold Langa’s fingers between his cold fingers.

Maybe. It still feels impossible, but somewhere bells are chiming, and Reki can see the mistletoe hung from one of the streetlights, and he thinks that maybe out here, in this tiny holiday town tucked at the base of the mountains, even the impossible could happen.

Chapter Text

When they get home, the house smells like gingerbread. 

Reki collapses onto the edge of the bed while he peels off his snow-caked socks, cringing at the cold stinging his toes, and Langa wavers in front of him, holding a plate of freshly-baked cookies. He looks soft and awkward in his thick sweater, snow dusting his jeans, and Reki wrestles down the urge to wrap his arms around Langa’s middle and bury his face in his chest, to snuggle his cheek to Langa’s breastbone and tease him over how sugar-sweet he is, so domestic and cute with his Christmas cookies and knitted socks, but that’s stupid, it’s stupid, so instead Reki shoves the image down and snags the plate of cookies. 

Langa blinks and frowns. “Hey—” 

“I’ve gotta hold them hostage before you eat them all, dude,” says Reki, toppling backward on the bed and hugging the plate protectively against his chest. Langa’s ears go pink as his mouth turns down, and Reki coughs out a flustered laugh, ‘cause shit that’s cute. 

“I wouldn’t,” Langa says, defensively, and Reki tries to laugh again, wiggling his cold, cold toes against the carpet.

“Yeah you would, dude,” he says.

“Well, okay, but not all of them.” Langa glances over his shoulder, rubbing his hands against his jeans, seemingly unaware of the snow sticking to his clothes. “I’m going to change in the bathroom, okay? And you can...can you…”

He frowns a little, working his mouth around the words. Reki lays on the bed and watches him, ‘cause sometimes Langa just needs a second to structure the sentence in his head, but tonight Langa presses his lips tightly shut instead, looking embarrassed and a bit frustrated with himself. 

“Can I what?” Reki nudges. Probably he’d do whatever Langa asked, maybe even jump out the window into the knee-deep snow in his boxers, as long as Langa did it with him ‘cause that would probably be kinda fun, but he doesn’t bring it up, he just kicks encouragingly at Langa’s knees. Langa rubs his sweaty hands on his jeans, glancing around the room, and his voice’s lower and soft of stifled when he admits,  

“I wanted to...to watch a Christmas movie with you. You know. Uh. In the bed. While we eat the cookies? I thought...I thought it would be nice. Do you want to? You can pick which one we watch.” 

Reki’s body goes warmer, and he presses his toes to the carpet. That’s what Langa’s embarrassed about? Well, the bed...they are gonna be in the bed together, and Reki’s mind is already full of images of them hugging each other happily, Langa huddling down under the blanket and pressing his cheek to Reki’s shoulder, and man, oh man Reki probably won’t be able to concentrate on any movie he chooses, will he? Hastily he clears his throat. “Oh, yeah. Sure, man. I’ll pick one.” 

Langa pauses for a moment, and then nods determinedly, cheeks pink, and says, “I’ll go change then.” 

He turns on his heel and hurries into the bathroom, closing the door behind himself with a click, and Reki puffs up his cheeks, making a face at the ceiling and blowing out air. Man. Is this awkward? Is he making it awkward? He and Langa hang out and watch movies all the time, and they always have fun, ‘cause they’re best bros, except they’re not really bros anymore, they’re boyfriends . Is there a difference? Reki squeezes his eyes shut, stifling a groan, ‘cause of course there’s a difference, but how the hell is he supposed to know how to act? He likes Langa so much, jeez, so much but he has no idea how to show it. He doesn’t know anything about being a good boyfriend, nothing, probably less than nothing. Maybe he should stop calling Langa dude, but like, what’s he supposed to call him instead? Baby? Man, just thinking about muttering baby around Langa makes Reki’s whole body hot, and he rolls over, groaning a little into the pillows. 

Langa would definitely hate that. It would be so awkward. Except what if he didn’t hate it, what if, like, what if he started blushing? And, oh, man, how would Reki even be able to survive how cute it would be, Langa blushing down to his neck over baby in Reki’s scratchy, stupid voice, how would Reki ever manage to work out any coherent words again? 

It’s lame, it’s so lame, he’s super lame and all he can do is shove the pillow against his face, trying to smother his flushed cheeks. 

It’s just not fair. Reki has this super cool, awesome, talented boyfriend and he can’t even do anything about it, he can’t even call Langa cute names, he can’t be suave or romantic or do anything of the stuff he’s supposed to do to sweep Langa off his feet. Even the way Reki confessed wasn’t romantic, the way Langa probably deserved. Reki didn’t make Langa chocolates or write him a long love letter, he didn’t sign his name in pretty cursive or dress up nicely the way the girls always do, the girls who always crowd up to Langa in the hallways, touching him, on the shoulder or the arm or the hand, touching him in ways Reki’s always burned to be able to touch him, light, teasing, flirty. Those girls have something confident and graceful running through their blood that Reki can’t get his hands on, no matter how much shoujo manga he secretly reads at night, for research purposes, and definitely not for the handsome love interests who look like Langa, definitely not. 

Anyway, anyway, Reki should have given Langa one of those cute, heartfelt confessions, but instead he just bought Langa a bunch of burgers at the convenience store, like an idiot. It was a Tuesday, and the sun was setting behind the dust and gravel of the street, and together they sat on the curb while Langa unwrapped his burgers and ate them, one by one. Reki clutched a soda to his chest, both of his legs jiggling uncontrollably, and watched Langa eat until he couldn’t hold the words inside anymore, and then Reki blurted out, 

“I like you,” 

and Langa choked on a bite of his burger. 

Reki’s face had felt so red, burning under the hot summer sun as Langa coughed into his arm, his shoulders shaking. Reki even thumped his back a couple of times, hating himself, until Langa swallowed, eyes red from the choking, and asked, “Really?” Reki’s ears felt like they were on fire, ‘cause it wasn’t the reaction he’d been expecting—he’d been expecting Langa to blink in confusion and ask if he had mistranslated something, or worse, shift uncomfortably away from Reki on the curb and say, in his stilted voice, “I’m sorry, I don’t feel the same way.” 

He hadn’t expected Langa to stare at him with wide, wide eyes and keep repeating, “Really? Really?” 

So Reki had burned, his palms itching, thinking jeez, this guy, his brain so frazzled and hot that he couldn’t do anything except shove his soda into Langa’s chest, averting his eyes, muttering, “Aren’t you gonna answer?” It was the only part of the confession he’d done right, remembering to give Langa a chance to answer, and something new had begun to burn in his chest when Langa stumbled over himself to say, 

“I like you, too,” and then, in a rush, “I like you so much, too, Reki, so much.”

Langa’s breathing had been all broken-up and uneven, and Reki’s face was burning so much he didn’t know what to do with himself, except shove his hands between his wildly-bouncing knees. Langa liked him. It was too much information to process, and Reki’s brain didn’t do good with information overload, ‘cause he got all jittery and twitchy and then he wanted to grab Langa’s arm, to make sure he was real. And then Langa said it again, more uncertainly, “I like you, Reki,” and Reki cleared his throat, his stomach squirming, feeling very very warm inside. 

“Really?” he asked, and then cringed, ‘cause great, now he was copying Langa on top of everything, but Langa just nodded, and then nodded some more, turning his body toward Reki’s on the curb, the burgers lying momentarily forgotten around him. 

“I do,” he said, and he still sounded nervous, but now there was something earnest in his voice, too, his low, soft voice, so deep it didn’t carry across classrooms well—teachers were always telling him to speak up, speak up, Hasegawa—and Reki couldn’t tamp down the hopeful thing swelling in his chest. Langa sounded like he meant it, even though it seemed impossible, Langa liking him back, Langa gazing at him with such bright, hopeful eyes, his beautiful pale hair silhouetted by the setting sun, his skin textured and his cheeks pink, one of his eyebrows crooked where the hair grew in funny. He was real, and Reki had to clear his throat again before he could speak, because a hesitant smile was hovering around Langa’s mouth, and holy shit Langa liked him.

“Okay,” Reki had managed, reaching forward to ruffle Langa’s hair, trying to hide the way his hands and voice were shaking, “Okay, man. Y’know, y’know, haha, I should’ve known we’d be in sync! Hah, I was nervous over nothing. We always think alike, don’t we?” 

Langa nodded. “I think so,” he said, and Reki laughed, heart thumping in his chest, and he shoved a little at Langa’s shoulders, and Langa pushed back, his palms so warm, and so sweaty they left damp spots on Reki’s t-shirt, and the giddy feeling had begun to burn in Reki’s chest again. Langa liked him back. Him, Reki. Maybe his luck hadn’t quite run out yet, ‘cause Langa’s laugh was so beautiful in the golden evening, the sun like a halo around him, and maybe Reki would get to be with him forever and ever, if he played his cards right.   Together, they used sticks to scratch their names into the gravel on the street, Reki and Langa and a crooked little heart, and for that whole night Reki felt good, so good. They rode home together in the warm summer air, and they even hugged, awkwardly, for a whole thirty seconds at the front door of Reki’s house before waving goodnight, and then they were boyfriends, real boyfriends, and Reki’s heart felt full, happy. 

And that had been okay for about a week, before he started to itch for more. 

He groans into the pillow again, rolling over onto his back, his hip nudging against the cookie plate. He just wants them to go on, like, real dates, the kind with hand-holding and no Miya playing on his GameBoy underneath the table, and he wants to kiss Langa, like, really badly, on his chapped lips, and he wants to say mushy stuff to each other, but that’s stupid, it’s stupid and it’s impossible. Reki’s no good at mushy stuff. Probably Langa wouldn’t wanna say anything mushy anyway, he would probably get uncomfortable, or he wouldn’t be able to think of anything, and that would be just about the most humiliating thing in the world, wouldn’t it be? Finally blurting out the stuff Reki couldn’t keep inside anymore, Jeez man I love your skating and I think I might love you and when you do that rodeo move off the halfpipe, man oh man you’re so freaking handsome I think I’m gonna die, and then sitting there with his heart pounding, face hot, waiting and waiting and trying not to squirm while Langa searched his brain for something he liked about Reki in return. 

No. No, Reki’s not gonna think about that. He rolls over, grabbing a cookie and stuffing it into his mouth, and ah shit he groans happily around the crumbs, ‘cause it’s heavenly. He slides down onto the floor with a thump, in front of the TV, and he’s halfway through the DVDs tucked underneath Langa’s TV when the bathroom door opens again, and Langa pads onto the soft carpet in his bare feet. Reki glances at him and then quickly away, the flush rising on his neck ‘cause Langa’s wearing shorts and a t-shirt, and how the hell is he not cold? 

“Aren’t you freezing, dude?” 

And, crap, he’s saying dude again. 

Langa glances down at himself. “Sort of,” he says, as if that’s an answer that makes sense, and he picks up the plate of cookies from the bed. “Did you try one, Reki?” 

Reki scratches his flushed neck, trying not to get flustered at the way Langa says his name. “Yeah, man, they’re freakin’ delicious,” he says, grabbing a movie at random and scrambling to his feet. “I could eat the whole plate. Your mom is, like, totally awesome.” 

Langa nods. The fairy lights strung up along the walls glow prettily behind him, and through the window Reki can see the outside of the house decorated with lights, too, like a tiny glowing present tucked away into the snow. He clears his throat, trying to grin at Langa and not stare at his skinny, pale legs as he clambers back into the bed, dragging the blankets back and shoving himself underneath them. 

“Is this a good one?” He tosses the DVD at Langa, who catches it nimbly, ‘cause of course he does. Langa turns the DVD over and nods again. 

“It’s funny.” He wavers by the bed again, then shuffles to the TV to slide the DVD in. Reki shoves his hands between his jiggling knees, rambling idly about the ancient dinosaur of a DVD player, ‘cause like, it’s gotta be at least a decade old, right? Langa nods along, turning on the TV and climbing onto the bed, too, settling with a pillow of space between them. 

Reki trails off, his chest itching. The plate of cookies is lying beside Langa, so Reki can’t scoot closer to him, and what would he even do if he did? Touch Langa? He can’t do that, he can’t just snuggle his body up to Langa’s side and whine that he’s cold, ‘cause what if Langa doesn’t react, or what if Langa’s uncomfortable, and Reki tries to breathe normally, shoving his feet deeper under the blankets. The snow is beginning to fall outside again, drifting against the windowpanes, and Reki’s itching to nudge himself up against Langa, so he can feel how Langa’s feeling, so they can experience this together, with the soft lights twinkling around them. 

He wants to see stuff the way Langa does.

Cheeks warm, he shoves the thoughts down, trying to focus on the movie. It’s obviously old, something called A Year Without a Santa Claus with clunky, colorful stop-motion animation that feels fittingly childlike, and Langa huffs out a little laugh at one of the opening scenes, a quiet smothered sound. Reki’s face feels even warmer when he glances at him. Langa’s watching the screen, something soft and glowing on his face, and Reki’s stomach squirms, ‘cause man Langa’s so cute, his awkward adorable boyfriend with his long legs sprawled underneath the blankets, and Reki likes his laugh. He likes it too much, maybe, he likes messing around and making a fool of himself to get Langa to laugh, it makes his chest swell up with pride every time. He wants Langa to laugh again, ‘cause of him. 

“That one’s you,” he says, wiggling his hand out from underneath the heavy quilts to point to the ugliest elf onscreen, and Langa glares at him, but Reki can tell he’s trying to hide another laugh, and he grins, pleased with himself. 

“No it’s not,” Langa says, kicking him. “My nose doesn’t look like that.”

“That’s what you think,” says Reki, knowingly, and Langa kicks him again, under the blankets, determinedly hiding his mouth behind the quilt so he can pretend he’s not smiling. His foot is cold, resting against Reki’s ankle, and Reki shivers pleasantly, ‘cause they’re touching, but Langa must feel the shiver because he quickly drags his foot away again, stumbling through an apology.

Reki doesn’t want Langa to apologize. He wants Langa to put his cold feet on him again, ‘cause it makes the nerves in his skin tingle, and he wants Langa to put his cold hands on him, too, maybe cupping his face with his fingertips on the edge of Reki’s jaw, or holding Reki to his chest while stuttering out I like you, Reki, those words that never fail to make Reki shudder in the best way and— 

and Langa squirms a little on the bed, maybe marginally closer, and Reki’s breath gets stuck in his throat again. 

His cheeks are burning. They’re burning, over nothing, ‘cause Langa’s always making Reki’s insides get all tangled up and hot over nothing, nothing at all. Hastily Reki points to an ugly reindeer on the TV. “That one’s you, too.” 

“Stop,” grumbles Langa, something caught in his voice, maybe a smile, but it’s too flustered for that, and Reki swallows and glances at him, but Langa’s eyes are still glued to the screen. His cheeks are pink, his hair soft around his face. Reki wants to mess that hair up. God, he wants to mess Langa up so bad, he wants his hands in Langa’s hair and his mouth on Langa’s neck, he wants to hear Langa gasp his name and he wants to hear Langa choke out laughter, he wants Langa to wrap his arms around Reki’s waist and squeeze so tightly that Reki can’t breathe, he wants Langa to squeeze him too hard and then release him and apologize, and he wants to hug him back, he wants them tangled up in each other underneath these warm, warm blankets, and is that really too much to ask for? 

Reki rubs his mouth, shuffling deeper under the quilts. Of course it’s too much to ask for. Langa just wants to watch the movie! He doesn’t want Reki distracting him all the time with his bouncing knees and his sweaty hands on Langa’s wrists. 

He points at random. “That one’s—”

“Stop!” says Langa again, shuffling on the bed so he can punch Reki’s arm with a loose fist, and Reki’s heart thumps traitorously. “That’s not even a person. It’s a rotary phone.” 

“So? It reminds me of you,” says Reki, keeping his voice light even though his brain’s zeroed in on the way Langa’s knuckles are brushing against the folds of his sweatshirt, one of his favorite sweatshirts, the one with the soft fleece lining on the inside. Man, it’s so warm in here, and Langa’s touching him, sort of but not really and Reki really wants Langa to touch him more, to tuck his hand into the crease of his elbow and just hold him. “It’s kinda old and rickety, like your bones. Man, do you know how many times I heard your bones crack just today ? You’re gonna be in a wheelchair by the time we’re thirty, I bet.” 

“No I won’t be,” says Langa. “Then we wouldn’t be able to skate together anymore. So I’d die.” 

Reki laughs a little, but Langa makes a pouty sort of face at him, his forehead creasing up like he’s completely serious, and Reki’s heart thumps again as the laugh dies away. “You wouldn’t die.” 

Langa nods. “I would.” 

It’s ridiculous, Reki’s fairly sure it’s ridiculous but his cheeks are heating up all the same. Langa looks flushed, too, but determined, and it’s the combination of the two that makes Reki’s stomach swoop, the way Langa’s pink mouth is all pinched up at the corners, and what if he kissed Reki with that determined expression on his face and ah, Reki squirms underneath the blankets again and tears his eyes away, fixating on the movie again. Langa mumbles something incoherent and picks up the plate of cookies from between them, settling it carefully on his lap. 

“Would you like another one?” he asks Reki, and Reki nods, trying not to look at him, ‘cause if he looks at him now he’s gonna blurt out something like, like you’re more than just my best bro or I wanna run my hands along your spine through all your heavy layers, and okay, okay Jesus. He puts out his hand, and Langa carefully places a cookie in his palm, his fingers brushing Reki’s hand, and okay, okay okay Reki’s gonna need his heart to stop thumping like that, now . He scarfs down the cookie in one go, swallowing hard, and then rubs his hands on his sweatshirt sleeves. 

He nearly chokes on a laugh, face still flushed, when a character with icicles hanging from his nose appears on the screen. “Okay, that one’s definitely you!” 

Langa’s cheeks puff up, and he glares at Reki again, face pink. “Is not.”

“Is too, dude!” Reki’s laughing again now, as the character begins to sing a song about how everything turns to snow when he touches it, and Langa punches his arm again, his knuckles soft against Reki’s sleeve, and then again, and this time he leaves his hand these, pressing against Reki’s arm, and Reki chokes on his laugh again. “Look at his funny little snow shoes, bro, don’t even try to deny it,” he tries, but it’s no use, the room’s growing warmer, and jeez, jeez this would be the perfect time to cuddle with him, wouldn’t it be? Holding Langa, feeling him breathing constantly, running his fingers through Langa’s hair and feeling the rumble when Langa laughs, and aw, man, Reki’s clearing his throat again. 

He wants it so bad it’s kinda pathetic. 

“This one’s you,” Langa mutters, in revenge, pushing his knuckles against Reki’s arm harder, and Reki tries to laugh again as the movie changes over to a fiery version of the snow character. Langa’s got that serious frowny look around his mouth again, as if he’s focused on something, and then his toes bump against Reki’s ankles again, and Reki’s breath leaves him in a punch, ‘cause oh, but then Langa jerks away again, saying, “Sorry, sorry,” and rubbing his face. 

Reki doesn’t want him to be sorry. He wants to smack himself, ‘cause why can’t he say anything? He just wants to hold Langa. Maybe Langa would even like it, cuddling with him, hugging each other and laughing over the stupid kids movie, teasing each other over which characters they look like, and why can’t Reki swallow past these stupid nerves? He balls up his hands in the blankets. He’s pathetic. 

“My guy’s cooler anyway,” he says. 

“I think he’s the bad guy,” says Langa, and then frowns again. “Well, maybe they’re both the bad guy? There are so many characters.” He shifts a little closer, and Reki’s mouth feels dry, ‘cause when Langa settles against the pillows again, their heads are only inches apart. Maybe if Reki shifted a little? Maybe he could reach for the cookies and accidentally touch Langa’s hand, and then he could...he could…

He swallows. “You watched this movie as a kid?”

Langa nods. Reki tries to glance at the screen again, but he can’t focus on anything except Langa’s face, his acne scars pink in the glow of the Christmas lights, his narrow shoulders nestled up against the pillows. He’s relaxed, but not completely, Reki can tell, and his knee bounces, restless, ‘cause he wants to rub at Langa’s shoulders until Langa sighs in relief, Langa, his Langa, his best friend and his favorite person, relaxing next to him in a warm cocoon of knitted blankets. 

“We watched it every Christmas,” Langa says quietly. “In the car, on our way up here. We had a little DVD player in the minivan. My dad would...he would always turn up the Snow Miser song.” 

Reki watches him as Langa breathes out, carefully, into the silence, and slowly his knee stops bouncing. There’s something sad in Langa’s face, in the creases of his eyes, but something soft and vulnerable, too. Reki feels like he’s finally being allowed to peer inside Langa’s past, this childhood hidden under layers and layers of snow because Langa’s always been too shaky to show it to him. “Really?” Reki asks, and he hears the catch in his voice, the unsteadiness. “Was it—was this one your favorite?” 

Langa nods, then shakes his head. “They were all my favorite.” 

Reki can feel his heart thump, once, slowly. Langa blinks carefully, his eyelashes perfect and white against his undereye bags, the beautiful hollow dents of skin that Reki’s always wanted to brush his thumbs over, maybe even to kiss, to see if the skin there is thinner than the rest of Langa’s face. Langa glances down at the blankets, rubbing at a lump in the knitting between them, and then he says, more quietly, 

“But maybe now this one’ll be my favorite, since...since I get to watch it with you.”

He glances up at Reki’s face, eyes hesitant, like he knows maybe he said something too vulnerable, and Reki’s throat swells. He feels, suddenly, strangely, like crying, only because Langa’s so lovely, this tender, aching soul caught in an awkward, long-limbed body, whispering into the cozy room that Reki might become his favorite holiday memory. Reki thinks he’ll never be able to clear his throat, but finally he does, thickly, and manages to say, 

“I guess it’ll be my favorite, too, then.”

Langa breathes out, a bit shaky, and says, “It’s your only one.” 

Reki laughs, a little, and the tension in his throat eases somewhat, although his heart’s still pressed to his ribcage, desperate to be closer to Langa, to wrap his arms around Langa’s trembling body and fill in all the little gaps of his grief, even for just a moment. He knows that isn’t how grief works, but he still wants to kiss Langa’s cold nose. “Well, maybe I’ll find more favorites, too,” Reki says. “You’ll have to show me a bunch, okay? So I can decide.” 

Langa nods, carefully, a piece of his hair slipping into his face. Reki’s fingers twitch, with the urge to tuck that hair back, but clumsily Langa does it himself, his fingers stiff and cold against the pale of his cheek. “I’ll show you all the ones we used to watch,” he promises, and Reki nods, too, his throat sorta full with the weight of that promise, ‘cause he knows how much it means to Langa. 

“Okay,” he says, and he doesn’t miss the small smile Langa gives him in return.

They nestle down under the blankets again as the movie melts into a softer scene. Langa’s chest rises and falls, and the snow begins to pile up against the window, big pieces drifting against the glass, and Reki wonders what’ll happen if they get snowed in, just him and Langa trapped together in this warm, cozy house together. For some reason the thought makes him feel all flushed and nervous, instead of scared, when he thinks about baking cookies with Langa and kissing the cold icing off Langa’s bottom lip, about dragging in firewood and huddling up underneath blankets on the hearth, dreaming aloud about romantic gifts to put in each other’s Christmas stockings as they warm their feet by the fire. 

Reki shifts on the mattress again, one of his feet itching to bounce. He glances at Langa, whose lips are parted as he breathes, watching the screen. Langa’s so pretty, especially here, in the cold and the winter, a new kind of pretty that Reki’s never seen before, and it makes his stomach shiver. Carefully he reaches over, for the plate of cookies, and Langa glances down at his hand, lips parting further. 

“Oh,” Langa says, a bit distracted, and Reki fidgets on the mattress as he purposely bumps his hand against Langa’s, pressing his thumb to the soft dents in Langa’s palm. 

“Sorry,” says Reki, feeling red in the face, heart thumping at the way Langa swallows nervously, his eyes still glued to Reki’s fingers. He seems to like it, maybe, so Reki lets his thumb brush over Langa’s pulse point, feeling his fluttering heartbeat until Langa swallows again, and then Reki can’t really find another excuse to touch Langa’s hand anymore, so he fumbles to pick up another cookie. 

Langa’s voice is strained when he clears his throat and says, again, “Oh.” 

“I wanted another one,” Reki says, his heart thumping in his ears as he bites off half the cookie, crumbs falling onto the quilt. It still tastes good, like a mouthful of Christmas, but Reki can’t stop glancing at Langa, at the way he tugs the blankets further up over their bodies, his hair falling forward to hide his face. He looks sweaty, his feet shuffling under the blankets, rubbing at one of his shoulders. 

Reki swallows down the rest of the cookie. His heartbeat is thrumming in his fingertips, like maybe, maybe Langa’s flustered ‘cause he wants to touch, too? Maybe he likes the way it feels, Reki’s fingers brushing against his skin, cold even in the warm, cozy bedroom. Reki shifts on the mattress again, reaching out, and Langa jumps a little when Reki touches his hair, smoothing it back away from his face, so that Langa can’t hide the blush seeping through the pale skin of his cheeks. 

“Sorry,” says Reki, and then he clears his throat, but his voice is still scratchy when he says, “There’s something in your hair, ah—one of those fuzzies from the blanket? Hang on. Lemme get it.” 

“Ah,” says Langa, a bit muffled. “Okay.” 

Reki focuses. He wasn’t lying, there’s a little white speck in Langa’s hair, but he’s not maybe trying his absolute hardest to pinch it between his fingers. Instead he smoothes Langa’s hair back once, and then again, reveling in how soft it is, the softest thing in the world, besides maybe the skin of Langa’s inner arms, over his bluish-pale veins. He tucks the hair carefully behind Langa’s ears, letting his fingertips ghost over the blush, and ah, his ears are warm, and Langa makes this stifled choked-off sound, shivering and pressing closer, and quickly Reki pulls his hand away. 

“Sorry,” he says again, feeling a bit guilty, ‘cause he didn’t even get the white fuzzy out. It’s still clinging there, in Langa’s soft soft hair, and when Langa glances at him out of the corner of his eye, the flush on his face makes Reki’s throat dry. This is the perfect time to ask. He should just ask, if Langa maybe wants to cuddle a little, while they finish the movie, tangling their feet together and relaxing into each other’s breathing, heads tipped together. Maybe, if Langa wanted, Reki would even be able to trace his fingers along those veins in Langa’s arms, maybe Langa would even shiver against him. But Reki feels all tongue-tied and stupid when he opens his mouth. He used to hug Langa all the time before, when they were just friends, but back then he always just threw himself at Langa, wrapping his limbs carelessly around Langa’s body. He just hugged Langa ‘cause he wanted to, but now he wants Langa to want to, too. 

He wants Langa to like it. 

Reki rubs at his mouth, shifting in the bed, maybe the tiniest bit closer, checking for Langa’s reaction, and Langa’s red-faced as he shifts, too. Maybe Reki’s imagining it, the way Langa tries to lean toward him, shoving his hair back away from his face, the strands catching in his eyelashes, and man, oh man, what if Reki could just wrap his arms around Langa’s shoulders and squeeze? Reki’s just so full of emotions for him, so much things he wants to blurt out, and maybe Langa would like it, maybe he would squeeze back and match Reki’s energy the way he always has before, and Reki’s heart is pounding against his ribcage, like it’s stuck there. 

Langa’s still blushing, his ears pink, and Reki’s heart trips over itself when he realizes. Langa’s blushing like that because Reki touched him. Boy. Oh boy. 

Wow. 

“Hang on,” Reki says, and man, his throat even sounds dry, and carefully he lifts himself up, leaning across Langa for the water bottle. Langa presses back against the pillows, his breathing stopping entirely, and Reki’s heart pounds in his warm, warm cheeks as he falls back into place, his arm and shoulder burning from the places they touched Langa’s chest. Langa grips the blankets again, his knuckles white against the quilt, and this time he definitely leans closer as he says, in this strained sort of voice, 

“Are you, are you teasing me?” 

Reki nearly chokes on the water, rubbing his mouth hastily and dropping the water bottle back in his lap. Langa glances at him with this pinched look around his mouth, and oh, the desperate longing reflected in his eyes is the same feeling pounding in Reki’s hands, and Reki blurts out, 

“What, no, no, I—” 

“I—” Langa cuts himself off, rubbing his sweaty hands on the blankets, biting at his lips. “Are you sure? I mean, I just mean, I mean if you wanted to, to cuddle or something, I—never mind. Don’t, don’t answer that. I’m sorry. I just wanted, I mean, I mean I thought maybe you would like…” 

He swallows. Reki swallows, too, ‘cause this nervous, warm feeling is thrumming in his cheeks. Do they want the same thing? It’s almost too much to believe. “Put the plate down?” he hears himself ask, and Langa blinks, glancing down at the plate and then hurriedly setting it down on the side table, turning to face Reki again. Reki’s ears feel hot as he shifts underneath the blanket, shoving his hands underneath his thighs to stop them from shaking. “I wanna cuddle,” he says, and it’s hard to get the words out, but he manages it, and the way Langa swallows—oh, boy. “Do you...do you wanna?”

Langa nods, and then he keeps nodding, something sort of desperate in his eyes. “Can I…” His voice cracks a little. “Hold you?”

Ah. Oh man. Oh man, Reki can feel his heartbeat in every place on his body, mostly his fingertips and his bouncing legs, and he nods, trying not to think about how he’ll probably shake so much that Langa will quickly stop wanting to hold him. It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter ‘cause right now Langa wants them to press closer underneath the warm quilts, to sink into the soft mattress together and lay their heads against each other as they watch the movie, and maybe Reki will be able to feel Langa’s heartbeat, too, and he licks at his bottom lip, which is dry, and it goes even dryer at the way Langa’s eyes follow the motion. 

Oh. Oh boy. 

“How should we…” Langa shifts on the bed again, dragging his eyes away, rubbing his hands against the blankets. “I mean...sorry. I’ve never done this before.”

Reki tries not to swallow again, at that. He knows this is all new for Langa, too, but sometimes it’s hard to shake the self-conscious feeling that Langa is more experienced than him, more confident. He had been so new to skateboarding, too, and within just months he had surpassed Reki and moved onto better opponents and...and okay, this isn’t the time to think about that, because right now Langa likes him, he likes him enough to wrap their arms around each other in this cozy little nest of blankets. 

“Me either,” Reki admits. “I mean, except for with my sisters.” He scratches at his arm and wavers. He wants them to lean against each other, and he wants to keep touching Langa’s hair, he wants to run his fingers through it over and over until his body settles into the rhythm of Langa’s breathing, but it’s hard to know how to ask for that. “Can I...come closer?” 

Langa looks at him and nods, almost too quickly, like he really wants it, and lifts the blankets up so Reki can scoot into the warm space between them. Their thighs bump together, and Langa makes a soft noise in his throat, and then covers his mouth, looking mortified. 

“Sorry,” he says, and hastily Reki says, 

“No, no, I—me too,” because there’s something very warm and flustering about seeing their knees pressed together, even though they’ve touched this way thousands of times before, because this time there are lights twinkling around them and a movie from Langa’s childhood filling the room, and Langa’s breathing is unsteady, as if he also feels just as nervous as Reki. Reki’s hands feel sort of shaky, like somehow Langa will know about all the fragile hopeful stuttery feelings in his heart, maybe he’ll figure out how much Reki likes him, so much he’s constantly struggling to hold the feelings inside. But this is Langa, and Reki trusts him, he does, so maybe, maybe he can trust him with his heart and his feelings, too, and all the aching hope. 

Maybe sometime he can even tell him about the feelings. If he’s brave enough. 

Reki takes a deep breath and goes to put his arm around Langa’s shoulders, at the same time Langa lifts his own arm, and they bump together awkwardly, both pulling away quickly. “Sorry,” says Reki, and Langa echoes, “Sorry, sorry,” and then they just look at each other, red-faced. 

Reki tries another breath. “I wanna touch your hair,” he blurts, and Langa’s mouth parts on an oh, and Reki feels his heart thump, nervous, and then Langa shifts and says, 

“Ah—okay,” 

and reaches for Reki again, slowly, carefully, sliding his hand between the pillows and Reki’s back, holding him gently, so gently as if he’s a bit afraid. His other hand latches onto Reki’s sweatshirt, and Reki’s feet are both vibrating now, with the warmth spreading through his limbs, with the way Langa meets his eyes, both of them breathless with the emotion of it all. Langa, who trods along after him at DopeSketch, dutifully checking their closing tasks off the checklist, Langa whose hands and clothes are smudged with dirt more often than not, Langa who tolerates adoring hugs and back-pats from strangers at S, his Langa, warm and soft in the bed and holding onto Reki’s sweatshirt as if he’s still not sure he’s allowed to touch. Reki swallows and manages, “Put your head on my shoulder?” and Langa’s cheeks settle into that determined look again, the one that makes Reki’s heart squeeze, and carefully he settles against him. 

It’s bliss, pure bliss and Reki has to bite back a groan at how good it feels, the weight of Langa’s head snuggled into his shoulder, the warm blankets tucked around their bodies, the snow falling soft onto the windows outside. Langa breathes out shakily, and Reki’s heart squeezes again because ah, he can feel Langa’s chest rise and then fall, he can feel something so intimate as Langa’s breathing, and then Langa mumbles, 

“Is this...good?” 

And Reki nods. He doesn’t quite trust his voice right now, it’s been cracking an awful lot lately, but he dares to snuggle closer, carefully slinging his arm over Langa’s shoulders. Langa’s breathing hitches, and Reki’s cheeks burn, ‘cause he’s allowed to feel that, and he wraps his hand around Langa’s cold shoulder, praying his palms aren’t too sweaty and gross. 

“S’good,” he manages, and Langa makes a sort of noise against him, tugging the blankets up higher, so the quilt’s tickling the hood of Reki’s sweatshirt, pulled up to Langa’s chin, and man, it feels nice. Reki sinks deeper into the bed, hugging Langa, and man, his tingling limbs are already turning to goo, ‘cause he feels so special and proud and warm, and he sighs a little, squeezing Langa’s bony shoulders.

He’s so lucky. 

Langa mumbles something, his long legs wiggling around on the bed, and Reki clears his throat.  His ears are hot, and he barely dares to glance away from Langa, in case this is all a dream about to fall away, but he manages to ask, “What?” 

Langa shifts. He lifts his head from Reki’s shoulder, and Reki almost protests, but then he freezes, because oh, Langa’s cheeks are flushed and there’s a knot in his forehead, his expression troubled. Reki’s stomach clenches. Is something wrong? And then Langa asks, his voice quiet and a bit ashamed, “It’s not...unpleasant?” 

“Unpleasant?” Reki repeats, confused. It’s a strange word, not one he’s ever used before, and his stomach clenches again. “No, of—of course not. Is it, uh, unpleasant for you?”

Langa shakes his head, but the creases in his forehead don’t go away. “You can tell the truth,” he says, and then shifts again, his hand sliding away from Reki’s side, and Reki has to bite back another protest, because no, he liked that, Langa hugging his waist that way, his hand snug in the folds of Reki’s sweatshirt, but then Langa says, even more quietly, “I’m cold, aren’t I? So it must be...unpleasant.” 

Something tugs at Reki’s mind, and he takes a breath, ‘cause something’s wrong, isn’t it? Langa’s face is all twisted up the way it gets when he’s upset about something, and Reki doesn’t want him to say that ugly word about himself, unpleasant. “Of course it’s not, dude,” he says, trying to make his voice careful. “It’s...it’s nice.” Please hug me again. 

“I’m not cold?”

Reki hesitates. Langa’s body has always run cold, his toes and fingers especially, and out here in all the snow he’s practically freezing. “Well, kind of,” he admits, and Langa’s face twists again, and he slides his arm away from Reki’s body, and Reki’s stomach goes sort of bottomless and hastily he’s saying, “No, nonono! Langa, Langa man. It’s not bad. It’s not bad, it’s just, it’s okay, I’m warm enough, are you, are you okay?” He shifts on the bed and catches Langa’s wrist before he can pull away completely, and Langa’s forehead wrinkles up, his mouth wobbling, and Reki feels his stomach twist. “Langa. Langa. Hey. I’m sorry, dude.”

Langa drops his eyes. His hands are trembling—oh boy, his hands are trembling, and Reki feels awful, just terrible, ‘cause he thought things were good, he thought Langa was happy and now Langa’s angling his knee away from Reki’s, so their legs aren’t touching anymore. It’s sort of hard to swallow. 

“Is something wrong?” Reki asks, his voice strained, and Langa shrugs, still staring at the mattress.

“This was a dumb idea,” he mutters. “I’m sorry.” 

Ah. Okay. Reki tries to breathe normally, even though a lump is rapidly filling his throat. He had...he had suspected that Langa might not like the cuddling, but still, it hurts, it hurts a lot. Reki had been just about to sag against him, sighing, and thread his fingers into Langa’s soft hair, and now they can’t do that, and okay, it’s okay it’s okay. Reki doesn’t need it. He doesn’t, even though his hands are sort of twitching with how much he wants to hug Langa, his stomach tight with how blissful it had been, even for only those brief two minutes. Reki’ll be okay. The rejection stings, of course it does, but carefully he lets go of Langa’s shoulder, pulling his arm away, trying not to touch Langa’s back too much while he does it.

And then they both sit there, breathing shakily into the stifling heater air, and Reki knows he should move back to his spot on the bed, but he doesn’t want to. He thinks he might do something dumb like cry if he does, ‘cause he just, he just wanted this so bad, and he worked himself up over it so much, and does this mean no more cuddling, like, ever? Reki will still like Langa. Of course he will, it’ll just be hard, ‘cause Reki likes hugs, and he especially likes hugs from Langa, the warm sweaty ones that smell like his boyfriend, and his mind is beginning to spiral again, so distracted he can’t hear a single word of the movie, when Langa clears his throat. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, very softly. He shifts again, moving his feet safely away from Reki’s, and Reki tries to swallow down the lump. “I…people always used to say that...that it was sort of uncomfortable, hugging me. Because I’m so cold all the time. So I try not to...I mean, I thought maybe because it’s so warm in here, it would be okay, but I…I’m sorry.”

He sounds so sad. Reki stares at him. 

How—how could anyone say something so awful? And to Langa, of all people, Langa who gives the best hugs, even though they’re always a little cautious? Maybe this is why they’re so cautious, and Reki’s chest hurts. “Who told you that?” he demands, trying to keep his voice low, reaching for Langa’s wrist again, and Langa shivers a little when Reki wraps his fingers around his pulse point, but he doesn’t pull away. 

“I dunno,” Langa mutters. “My relatives? My grandma used to make jokes about it when...when we would visit her.” 

He tucks his shoulders in, and Reki’s chest aches again, a bit angry, ‘cause that’s awful. “It’s not painful,” he says, and he shifts on the bed, trying to push through the embarrassment and the rejection and the insecurity, ‘cause Langa is insecure right now, and Reki’s fingertips sort of hurt, because maybe this is one of those insecurities that Langa never tells anyone about, only Reki. “It’s nice. Langa, I like it. Can you—can you do it again?” 

Langa glances up at him. His eyes are so beautiful in the blinking lights, and Reki can see the way he swallows, and it’s all so much, the awkward bob of his throat, the hesitant way that Langa curls his fingers around Reki’s hand. “You’re sure?” 

Reki nods, his face hot, and Langa lets out a breath, shifting closer to him again. Their knees bump together, and this time Reki’s the one swallowing back a noise, ‘cause everything just feels so fragile, like he’s holding his breath as Langa slides his hand around Reki’s body again, gripping onto his sweatshirt sleeve. Carefully Reki lays his arm around Langa’s shoulders, Langa’s cold shoulders, and tugs him close. “You can…” He pauses, steadying his voice, and says, more softly, “You can put your head on my shoulder again? If you wanna.” 

Langa nods. His hand tightens on Reki’s sleeve as he lowers his head to lean against his shoulder, breathing out long and shaky, and Reki’s heart is filling again, with an emotion too overwhelming to put into words. Sleighbells jingle on the TV, and Reki lays his own head on top of Langa’s, pressing his cheek to Langa’s soft, pretty hair as he finally sighs, letting his body sag in relief. 

It feels good. As good as he always imagined it would, holding Langa. 

“Okay?” he asks, his voice scratchy with the emotion, and Langa nods, against him, and Reki’s heart sort of thrills in his chest, at the way he can feel the motion. 

“Yes,” says Langa quietly, but then hesitates again. “You’re...you’re warm enough?” 

“Totally, dude.” Reki squeezes his shoulder again. “Are you?” 

Langa nods again. He makes a stifled noise as Reki slides his fingers into his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp, as gentle as he can. “See? S’good,” Reki whispers to him, just to make sure Langa knows, and Langa makes the noise again, their feet bumping together under the tangled blankets. Reki hooks his ankle over Langa’s before Langa can pull his cold foot away, and Langa shudders a little, burying his face in Reki’s shoulder. “Your hair’s soft,” Reki mumbles, brushing it away from Langa’s ears, the warm tips of his ears, maybe the only warm part of his body. It feels good, and he hopes maybe it feels good for Langa, too. “Can I keep touching it?”

“You can,” Langa says, his voice muffled, and he shivers again when Reki scratches his nails over the skin behind his ear, and with a long exhale, Reki sags into the pillows. His body feels fuzzy and warm to the toes, so good, and he knows his lips and his hands are super chapped when the heater kicks on again, but he’s too warm and content to care. Finally, he thinks, finally, finally he’s holding Langa, as if his body knew they needed this all along, and he hugs Langa more tightly, tugging the blankets around both of them to make sure they’re both warm enough. 

Langa snuggles closer, their knees pressing together, and man, if Reki died right now he’d die happy. He turns his face so his mouth presses briefly to the top of Langa’s head, and he breathes in, sinking deeper into the pillows as he inhales cinnamon and pine and the soapy smell of Langa’s shampoo. He wants to kiss, he wants to kiss Langa, here on the top of his hair or on his forehead or on his cold, cold nose, and Reki’s body thrums with the thought, wanna kiss him, wanna kiss him wanna kiss him kiss him kiss him. 

Langa mumbles something, and Reki hums, pulling his mouth away and stroking Langa’s hair off his forehead with his clumsy hand. Langa’s so freaking cute it’s unfair, he thinks, before he asks, “What?”

Langa lifts his head. When Reki glances down at him, his heart thumps, ‘cause oh, boy, Langa’s face is bright red. “I said...I can’t believe I…” He swallows, tugging on Reki’s sleeve, and says in a rush, “I always wanted to hold you like this.” 

And, ah. Reki’s body is so, so warm. “Really?” he asks, curling his toes in the blankets, and Langa nods, pressing his chin into Reki’s shoulder, looking at him. He’s so close, and shit, Reki wants to kiss that bald patch in his eyebrow, he wants to kiss Langa’s pale eyelashes. He clears his throat, squeezing Langa’s shoulder, and tries to keep his voice steady when he says, “Hah, well. Now you can, y’know? Whenever you want,” and Langa makes another noise, burying his mouth in Reki’s hoodie, hugging him more tightly. 

Reki’s heart is thumping in his chest, and he presses their toes together, watching Langa’s eyes squeeze shut, the blush rising on his cheeks. And ah, man, oh man. If Reki could just hold him gently forever, watching Langa’s face fill with color over every little word, he’d probably be the happiest guy in the world. 

Can he even deserve something so wonderful? Reki tries to shove that thought down, breathing carefully; now’s not the time. 

He keeps stroking Langa’s hair, focusing on the way the strands slip through his fingers, ‘cause if he tries to focus on Langa’s hip pressed to his own or the quiet snuffling breaths from Langa’s mouth, he’ll probably burn up into flames. Langa’s so soft and his hair is so pretty, light brown at the roots and nearly white in some places, and he feels so heavy leaning against Reki’s body, a constant reminder of how tall he is, his muscles strong when he flips around on skateboards in a way that makes Reki’s head spin. Langa seems uptight and too determined sometimes, on the outside, but inside he’s a big softie who’s afraid of blood and hyperfixates on the strangest things, and Reki feels all mushy and affectionate, holding someone so precious in his arms. 

They hug each other until the movie reaches a cliche happy ending, but Reki barely even knows what happened, ‘cause he’s paying more attention to the beat of Langa’s heart, the rise and fall of Langa’s chest, the incredibly soft feeling of Langa’s hair sliding through his fingers. His foot is bouncing again, and he doesn’t want this to end, he can barely resist the urge to kiss Langa’s pale forehead, but then Langa gives a sort of incoherent mumble and struggles to sit up and ah. Reki’s stomach does a funny thing. Langa’s sleepy. 

“Lemme turn it off,” Langa mumbles, groping for the remote, and Reki finds it tucked between their tangled legs and quickly presses the power button. Langa falls against the pillows again, yawning, and Reki’s stomach squirms again, somewhere between affection and awe, ‘cause Langa looks so pretty nestled in the bed, half-asleep, with his hair everywhere. His hand is cold when it bumps against Reki’s arm, and suddenly Reki has an idea, his knees beginning to bounce again. 

“Hang on,” he says. “I’ll get the lights.” He wiggles out of the bed, shoving the cookies onto the nightstand, and hurries across the room to turn off the overhead light, leaving the little fairy lights twinkling softly in the darkness. From his overflowing duffle bag, he grabs one of his sweatshirts, an especially warm yellow one, and then hurries back to Langa, pushing the sweatshirt against his chest. “If you’re cold,” he explains, and Langa blinks at him, his eyes bleary, and then focuses on the sweatshirt. 

In the soft yellow light it’s impossible to tell, but Reki thinks he might be blushing, and he scuffs his foot against the carpet. “Oh,” Langa says, and then he fumbles to pull the sweatshirt on, getting his head stuck in the hood, and Reki bounces on the balls of his feet, his hands twitching against his sides as he watches. When Langa’s head pops out, Reki’s chest feels hot, ‘cause Langa looks different than usual, hair caught in his mouth, like somebody precious just for Reki, somebody he could wake up with every day, instead of a handsome stranger in a cafe who’s out of Reki’s league. 

He clears his throat. His hands are hot and itchy, and he wants to squirm into the space by Langa’s side, shoving his head under Langa’s arm and clinging to him while they sleep. But he’s too embarrassed for that, and anyway Langa probably wants to be left alone while he’s sleeping, so instead Reki scrambles onto the other side of the bed, settling himself under the blankets and giving Langa a loose thumbs-up and a grin. 

“Snowboarding tomorrow,” Reki says, holding up his fist, and Langa rubs his eyes before bumping his knuckles against Reki’s, nodding. 

“M’excited,” he mumbles. His face snuggles into the pillows, his eyes closing, and for a long moment Reki can’t tear his eyes away, from the collar of his yellow sweatshirt pulled up over Langa’s neck, Langa’s cheeks aglow in the Christmas lights as he drifts to sleep, barely a breath away from Reki’s body. 

Reki can’t believe he’s allowed to see something like this. 

He puffs out air, tugging the blankets up higher, trying to ignore the itching in his cheeks. The bed is warm as he settles down into the mattress, closing his eyes, and in his head another movie starts playing, a movie made up of Langa’s eyes when he leans together, Langa’s laugh when Reki’s armpits are all hot and sweaty, Langa’s intense voice talking about snowboarding, Langa’s unsteady breathing when they’re gazing at each other, and Reki squeezes his eyes shut, burrowing deeper into the bed. 

He falls asleep trying not to imagine Langa kissing him.

Chapter Text

Reki’s cold when he wakes up. 

He groans, burrowing his face into the warm fabric in front of him, clutching at the blankets, snuggling deeper into the bed. He breathes in the taste of sleep and gingerbread and vaguely registers that oops, he forgot to brush his teeth last night, and then his feet bump against shivering ankles and he remembers why he’s so cold. 

He’s in Canada. 

Reki scrambles to sit up, but his hands catch under the pillows, and he blinks in the icy sunlight from the windows and his heart thumps at what he sees, because, because oh. 

Langa is sprawled on the bed beside him.

Reki’s mouth goes dry, and for a moment he can’t breathe, he can only stare. The pale rays of sun are shining off the snow outside, and Langa’s lying on his back, one arm tossed out to the side, the sweatshirt rumpled around his neck. His lips are parted as he breathes, his chest rising gently, his eyelids bluish and his acne scars purple and his eyelashes delicate and white, his hair almost silver in the early morning, strewn all over the pillows. 

Reki’s never seen anything so gorgeous in his life. His breathing is nervous, puffs of cold air into the space between them, and he tightens his fists in the blankets—or, well, he thought it was the blankets, but Langa shifts in his sleep and Reki glances down and his face heats up, ‘cause—shit. He’s clinging onto fistfuls of Langa’s sweatshirt, and, shit, he was probably smothering his face into Langa’s shoulder just now, wasn’t he? He was clinging onto Langa in his sleep. He clears his scratchy throat and reluctantly pries his hands off, even though his brain’s protesting, hug him! hug him! burrow down under the blankets again and snuggle close to him and hug him! 

Reki wants to, like, really badly. Langa’s so beautiful in the morning, his fingers twitching against the sheets, forming a loose fist and Reki’s own palms itch to grab that hand and feel Langa’s fingers curl around his own. He wants Langa to wake up to him, to blink his eyes open and see Reki, like maybe, maybe maybe he could think Reki’s beautiful in the morning light, too. 

It feels like Reki’s holding his breath. Langa shifts again, his face creasing up into a frown as he mumbles himself awake, and Reki forces himself to glance away, balling up his hands in the real blankets this time, his heart already beating too fast.

“G’morning,” he says, nudging his ankle against Langa’s again, and Langa groans a little, rubbing at his eyes.

“S’cold,” he mumbles, trying to pull the blankets away from Reki, and Reki laughs, even though his face and neck still feel splotchy and red, ‘cause Langa’s lips are dry from sleep and he keeps licking at the corner, and at the dip of his top lip. Reki wants to kiss him, and then Langa mumbles, “Reki.” 

Reki’s body thrills, all over, at the sound of his name in Langa’s rough early-morning voice, and he tries to shove down the glowing feelings, but it’s hard. “Give those back,” he says, tugging the blankets over his legs again, almost too warm underneath them, ‘cause his legs are still bumping against Langa’s, soft and clumsy. “You have to share with me,” he adds, and Langa groans again, his eyes still closed, eyelashes tangling together as he scrunches up his face. 

“Reki,” he mumbles again, and Reki’s stomach squirms, flustered and giddy and a little excited. Langa slept next to him. Langa’s murmuring his name into the early morning, his voice deep and muffled with sleep, and the world is so pale and white and Reki’s eyes catch on snow falling from a branch outside, among the pine trees, as Langa shifts around. “Cold…” 

And, ah, he’s so cute that Reki’s stomach squirms again. “You should’ve worn more clothes to bed, then, dummy,” he says, kicking Langa under the blankets, his neck very warm in his hoodie, and Langa huffs a little. He rubs his eyes again, and then he finally opens them, squinting up at Reki, and Reki’s heart thumps in his cheeks, at Langa’s bleary blue eyes. He’s cute, so cute that Reki’s gonna combust, so he shoves one of the pillows against the side of Langa’s face, just to see Langa’s eyes scrunch up again. “You’re gonna be even colder when we’re on the slopes! Just wait! Man, dude I’m so excited, you have no idea.” 

Langa huffs another breath into the cold air, struggling to push himself upright. Reki’s sweatshirt sleeves are bunched up around his arms, his wrists thin and pale against the sheets, and Reki’s stomach jumps, without his permission, ‘cause man oh man, Langa’s wearing his clothes, Langa was sleeping in his clothes. And, man, he looks so comfortable, so huggable, wearing something Reki wore just two days ago. 

“M’excited too,” Langa mumbles, stifling a yawn in his wrist, the rubber bands of his retainer stretching in a way that makes Reki’s stomach jump again, his mouth going dry. Langa drops his hand in his lap again, looking sleepy, and says, “We’ll have a hot breakfast and then go...and we can try the hot cocoa in the lodge, too...it’s really good and I know you’ll like it and…” He yawns again, the words drifting off, and Reki’s feet are already jiggling underneath the blankets again, excited and warm and so, so flustered. 

“I wanna go,” Reki blurts, and then he’s scrambling out of the bed, trying not to think about kissing Langa with his retainer on, poking his tongue against those rubber bands. The carpet is even colder than the bed, and he yelps a little, hurrying into the bathroom so he can pee and brush his teeth and get his blood pumping again. 

He hops in place while he ties his headband on, one foot and then the other foot. Snowboarding will be good. Snowboarding, with Langa, who will finally show Reki the thing he used to love, and aw, man, he’s probably gonna look so cool racing down the slopes with that determined look on his face and Reki feels himself flush, even in the cold, just imagining it. Jeez, jeez, he needs to get a grip. He splashes water on his face and then he hurries back into the bedroom, where Langa is still sitting on the bed, feet hanging off the edge, frowning down at his legs. 

“C’mon!” says Reki, grabbing a new sweater out of his duffel bag, wrestling the one he’s wearing over his head. “Langa, Langa! Breakfast, remember? Let’s eat before your mom wakes up, and then we can go, I wanna be the first ones there so we can see the snow when it’s clean, c’mon, c’mon!” 

“It’s okay, the snow will stay clean,” says Langa, glancing up, and then back down. He curls his toes. “My feet are cold. I forgot…” He drifts off, frowning to himself again, and Reki’s heart jumps, remembering the way Langa kept trying to keep his cold feet away from Reki’s, last night. 

“Aw,” he says, mouth moving faster than his brain, “hang on. Hang on, I’ve got—” He’s rummaging in his bag before he can stop himself. Technically the socks are for Christmas, but it’s practically Christmas already, right? And Reki can’t let his boyfriend go around with cold feet, not when he’s in Reki’s care, no way, so he tugs out a pair of the socks he knitted for Langa, the ones with snowflakes on them. “Here,” he says, turning around and scrambling across the carpet on his knees, reaching for one of Langa’s feet. “I made—I mean, I got you some socks.” 

Langa’s quiet for a minute, watching wide-eyed as Reki slides the sock over his cold, cold toes, trying not to stare at Langa’s legs. They’re long and pale underneath his sleep shorts, mottled all over with purple and blue like a constellation of bruises and man, man that’s really sappy, isn’t it? Reki tries to laugh at himself, but his throat’s dry again, and then Langa says, in a hesitant voice, “Reki, you made these?” 

“Ah—” Shit, he shouldn’t have admitted that. He laughs again, rubbing at his mouth, tugging the sock over Langa’s chapped, blistered heel. “Yeah? I guess so. My mom sorta showed me how, a couple of weeks ago.” It’s probably not a good time to notice that Langa has his legs shaved, the skin smooth and how does he do that? How does he manage to look so beautiful all the time and still walk around pretending to be a normal person, with the audacity to date someone like Reki and Reki clears his throat again, his ears hot. “I just, y’know! I wanted a new hobby. Something to do with my hands, y’know, when I can’t be outside.” 

Langa wiggles his toes. “It’s...warm,” he says, and there’s something in his voice, a sort of wonder that makes Reki’s ears even hotter. “Reki, it’s perfect. It’s...it’s incredible. You made this?” 

He holds his foot out, and Reki rubs at his cheek, flushed, trying to shove down the blush ‘cause it’s nothing, it was just some stupid craft project his mom gave him to stop him from bouncing around the house at night. “Yeah,” he says. “It’s kinda cool, huh? I thought you might like it.” He tries for another laugh, sliding the second sock onto Langa’s foot, but then Langa’s hand is on his shoulder, his fingertips cold against Reki’s collarbone and Reki’s throat goes dry again. He tugs the sock the rest of the way on and glances up at Langa, and oh, boy. 

He swallows. Langa’s practically glowing. 

“I love it,” he says. “ Reki. ” And, ah, Reki can’t help but shiver at the way Langa says his name, even though it’s dumb, it’s just a dumb gift and Langa has no reason to be looking all shiny-eyed like that, over something dumb that Reki made for him. Reki’s hand is on Langa’s leg now, somehow, against the smooth skin and Langa’s gazing down at him as if he can’t quite believe Reki’s there, and it all makes Reki very flustered.

He just. He likes Langa so much, and he wants Langa to be warm enough, all the time, all cozy and happy ‘cause of Reki. The thought makes him swallow, cheeks hot, and he scrubs his hand over his face. 

“Aw,” he says again, giving Langa his best grin, trying to stave off the blush rising in his neck, “it’s nothing, man! It looks good on you. It’ll keep your feet warm, you big baby.” He pats Langa’s foot, making sure to keep his eyes away from the pretty bruises decorating his legs, and scrambles up off the floor. “Hurry up and change! And then we can go?” 

His heart thumps as he grins, and after a second Langa nods, looking a little distracted, pressing the toes of his new socks into the carpet. For a moment Reki feels proud of his handiwork; the socks look thick and soft and good on Langa, just the right color, like Reki knew they would be, ‘cause he knows Langa’s colors, probably ‘cause he spends too much time staring at him, but that thought makes Reki’s chest itch. Quickly he bounces one of his knees, grabbing for his clothes again, bumping shoulders with Langa as he stands.

It’s gonna be a good day. Reki can already feel it. 

“What’d he say?” whispers Reki, tugging on the sleeve of Langa’s coat. 

Langa shifts, trying to pull his credit card out of his wallet with his gloves on. They’re standing at a small wooden desk within the warm ski lodge, their layers thick and sweltering as they try to pay for their lift tickets. “He asked if it was our first time here.” 

“And you said no?”

“You don’t need to whisper, Reki,” Langa says, his cheeks pink, probably from the sudden shift in temperature—it was so cold outside on their drive over, Reki complained the entire time, but now they’re both sweating. “He can’t understand you.” 

The man behind the counter gives Reki a polite smile, taking the credit card, and Reki grins cluelessly back. It’s weird. Everyone around him is speaking gibberish, and none of the English he learned in school is helping, like, at all. Maybe he should have paid more attention in class. Or maybe Kobayashi-san is just a bad teacher; that’s probably more like it. 

The man hands Langa their tickets, saying something else in English, and Reki tugs on Langa’s sleeve again, shifting their snowboards in his arm. “What’d he—”

“He said Have fun,” says Langa, pushing a little at Reki’s hand, sounding embarrassed. “Come one. We’re holding up the line.”

“Aw, we’re not holding up anything,” says Reki, glancing behind himself. There’s only one couple waiting, stomping snow off their boots onto the rich wooden floor, and Reki chases after Langa, saying, “There isn’t even a line!” 

Langa doesn’t answer right now. He’s stopped by one of the log walls, trying to fold the lift tickets with his gloved hands, as skiers trample through the lodge around them, chatting in a language Reki can’t understand. He falls into place beside Langa, as close as he can without getting all tight-chested and sweaty, and holds out both of their snowboards in front of himself. It’s impossible to stop his knee from jiggling as he thinks about the huge mountains waiting for them, beyond the cozy cafe tables and the snowy ski lodge windows. They’re gonna fly. Man, he’s so excited. 

He nudges Langa’s arm, and Langa leans into the touch, or at least Reki imagines that he does, and warmth spreads through his whole body, without his permission. “You don’t like translating for me, dude?” 

A small crease forms in Langa’s forehead, and he shakes his head. “I don’t mind,” he says, but then he hesitates, and Reki grins, ‘cause he knew it. Langa hates translating.

“C’mon,” Reki says, nudging again, so, so warm in his thick snowcoat, flushed with the way Langa’s cheeks tinge pink above his pretty scarf. They’re standing so close. Their arms and shoulders are pressed together, and Reki’s a bit tongue-tied, ‘cause he wants to cuddle closer, he wants to tug Langa over to the cafe and buy him hot cocoa so they can snuggle together on the couches while they drink it. “Tell me the truth?” 

Langa takes a breath, opening his mouth and then hesitating again, and Reki wiggles his warm toes in his boots, ‘cause he’s so cute, isn’t he? The cutest thing in the world. “Sometimes it’s awkward,” Langa admits. “And I don’t always know the exact translations, so I have to make something up on the spot. My brain...my brain doesn’t work as fast as yours does, you know, when it comes to talking.”

Reki feels his heart beginning to glow in his chest, so matter how much he tries to push the feeling down. Langa thinks his brain works fast. “Aw,” Reki says, grinning, his leg beginning to jiggle as he presses even closer, nudging their boots together on the snow-dusted floor. There’s holly hung around the edges of the low ceiling, and ah, what if there’s mistletoe somewhere? What if Langa wanted to press close to him, cupping Reki’s face and leaning in and ah, ah, Reki shouldn’t think about that here, and he tries to clear his throat, something pleasant burning in his chest. “Don’t worry, man, I don’t mind if you—”

Langa glances up, past their snowboards, and Reki cuts off, looking over. His smile fades a little, ‘cause there are two girls standing there, one of them giggling behind her hand, a glowing look in her eyes. Reki knows that look. It’s the look girls get right before they try to put their hands all over Langa, his Langa, and Reki edges closer automatically, like he can protect Langa somehow, but then the girl looks at Reki. 

She looks at Reki, with her big shiny eyes. Reki’s heart stumbles over a beat. 

“ Hi !” breathes one of the girls, finally a word Reki knows, even though he’s more distracted by the smile she’s giving him, a bright, eager smile with lipstick caught on one of her bottom teeth. Instinctively Reki tries to scoot closer to Langa again, but the girl is already saying something else, a laugh in her voice, and then she puts her hand on Reki’s arm. 

Reki nearly chokes, ‘cause, ‘cause what? He glances down at her hand, then back up at her face, all flushed and sparkly underneath her white hat. She says something else, still smiling, and Reki feels himself starting to sweat underneath his coat, and quickly he kicks at Langa’s boot. “Uh—what’s she saying?” 

Langa’s silent, and Reki tears his eyes away from the girl to look at him and—and, ah . 

Langa’s mouth is pressed tightly closed. His shoulders are stiff, and his face has gone all stony and pale, no flush at all. Reki clears his throat, kicking him again, but his heart is beginning to pound, ‘cause Langa looks uncomfortable, as uncomfortable as Reki feels, and Reki doesn’t want anybody to make Langa uncomfortable. He wants to grab Langa and escape, but then Langa finally shakes himself a little and says, his voice strained, “She says she just wanted to tell you that...uh. That she thinks you’re...you’re cute.” 

Reki splutters. “Wh- what?” 

Langa shuffles his scarf around his neck, briefly hiding his mouth when he says something to the girl, in English. The girl laughs, squeezing Reki’s arm through his coat, and Reki’s brain bounces wildly around in his skull, ‘cause what? Him, cute? Did she really say that he was—and, no, she must have meant it for Langa, handsome Langa, beautiful Langa in his blue ski jacket and his hair curling soft around his face, except now the girl’s looking at Reki again, and Reki gulps. 

She’s standing so close. When did she—when did she get so close? 

“I told her you don’t understand English,” says Langa, still sound stiff, awkward, and Reki tries to work out a coherent answer, one that isn’t, 

“Hah, haha, yeah, I, I don’t understand,”

and the girl says something else, laughing and squeezing again. Langa clears his throat, sounding pained when he forces out, “She says, she says that you have a nice—a nice smile. She says you look—really strong.” 

“Hah,” Reki manages, and then the girl releases him, waving her hand in the air, a sort of hang on motion, and Reki takes the chance to try to breathe, pressing closer to Langa. He can feel his heart thrumming in his chest. He was just trying to cuddle up to his boyfriend, maybe work up the courage to hold his hand and how had these girls come out of nowhere? Reki’s back is all sweaty underneath his coat, and his armpits, too, and jeez, maybe even his legs, and he glances at Langa again, and Langa gives him this helpless, almost hurt look, his arms tight at his sides. Reki’s chest squeezes, painful, and then the girl is grabbing his wrist again. 

“ Here,” she says, holding up a piece of paper, numbers scribbled across the front, and then she giggles again and says something else. She kisses the paper, leaving a lipstick stain underneath the numbers, and presses it into Reki’s palm, closing his fingers around it. Then she’s stepping away, grabbing her friend, and they both wave as they hurry away. 

Reki’s hand sort of burns. He holds it out, away from his body, uncurling his fingers uncertainly. What’s he supposed to do with—is this her number? Except she touched it with her mouth, and Reki doesn’t want—he doesn’t want that, not at all. He glances at Langa again, and his heart squeezes again. Langa’s very, very pale, and he seems to be taking these swallow, tight breaths, his eyes averted now. 

“What’d she say?” is all Reki can manage, and Langa’s face tightens up, his mouth pressing together. 

“She said it’s okay if you don’t speak English, because you two can still—” He breaks off, shaking his head, and Reki doesn’t know what he means, but he knows Langa doesn’t like it. He knows from the careful, controlled breath Langa takes, the stiff way Langa turns to him, the heavier-than-usual accent in his voice when he says, “Are you okay?” 

“I—” Reki begins, but then Langa’s forehead creases up, and he mutters, 

“You’re blushing,” 

and Reki clears his throat, his neck hot. Maybe he is blushing, but not over that girl, it’s just, it’s just—  “Dude,” he blurts out, “that’s never happened to me before!” 

Langa glances into his eyes.  His cheeks are still pale, and Reki feels even more flushed in comparison. “What—what do you mean?” he asks, shifting. “What’s never happened before? Someone saying you’re...cute?”

Reki’s cheeks itch, at the word in Langa’s stifled, accented voice. “Yeah,” he says, feeling a little defensive, the color creeping down his chest. He’s not really cute, but it feels embarrassing to admit that aloud. “And, like, flirting with me. No one’s ever—no one’s ever flirted with me before, like, ever.”  

Langa shifts again, rubbing his gloved hands on his ski pants, glancing away. “Really?” His voice is even lower now, strained again, and he won’t look at Reki. “I didn’t know that.” 

He sounds off. He sounds super off, his voice too quiet, his shoulders too tight, and Reki’s heart presses against his ribcage, so hard it hurts. Langa’s upset. Reki feels bad, 'cause Langa shouldn’t have had to translate something like that, and Reki wants to say something that will reassure him, but he’s not sure what. So hastily he grabs onto Langa’s arm, squeezing the way the girl had. “It’s cool, man,” he says, his voice maybe too loud in the small, cozy space, but Langa still doesn’t look at him until Reki nudges his boot. His eyes look tense at the edges, and Reki wants to smooth out those wrinkles in his forehead, so even though his cheeks flush, he manages to say, in a low voice, “I’m still yours, right?” and he presses his foot closer to Langa’s.

He sees the way Langa’s mouth works around the swallow, even though his throat is hidden in his scarf, and then Langa nods. “Yes,” he says, with a little more emphasis on the word than usual, and Reki’s heart squirms. His cheeks are hot and itching. He wants to shove himself under Langa’s arm, wrap his arms around Langa’s waist so nobody can separate them, he wants them to be safe somewhere together. But they’ll be alone up on the mountain, maybe, and on the ski lift, and Reki’s face feels really warm as he nods, too. 

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I am.” He slings his arm around Langa’s shoulders, tugging him away from the wall, crumpling up the phone number paper and dropping it to the floor where Langa can’t see. He jostles the snowboards, and Langa shakes himself a little, mumbling an apology as he takes his own board from Reki’s hand, and together they head toward the exit. Reki wants to cling to Langa’s shoulders forever, but he has to slide his arm off as they wiggle through the heavy doors, and then they’re outside. 

They’re outside, at the base of the mountains. 

Reki’s breath leaves him in a rush, adrenaline filling his veins when he sucks in the cold, stinging air. His body is still flushed from being pressed so close to Langa inside the lodge, and for once the cold feels good on his sweaty skin, invigorating, and he’s already forgetting about the girl. “Dude,” he’s saying, and it’s not even a coherent train of thought, just rambling, “so awesome, dude, look at the ski lift! Dude, dude. It’s so awesome, look, oh my god! Oh my god! Did you see! Did you see him jump, holy shit, that was so awesome !” 

It’s all awesome, and Reki’s throat burns with it, with the cold and the wonder. He bounds through the snow after Langa, lugging the boards underneath their arms, and Reki can barely stop for air, he’s talking so much, a constant string of all his thoughts, unfiltered. The sky is bright blue overhead, the sun shining on the snow, and the snow, oh man oh man the snow, it’s so beautiful, it’s awesome, it’s gonna be so smooth and they’re gonna fly, oh man oh man oh man, there’s the ski lift and everything— 

Langa’s gloved hand grabs his elbow. “We can’t go up the ski lift yet,” he interrupts, and then says, “Sorry, keep talking,” and Reki sucks in a breath and exhales, 

“Oh man, dude!” and laughs, squeezing Langa’s arm in his ‘cause he just can’t help himself. They’re at the top of a very small slope, too small to need the lift, and Langa squats down in the snow, tapping one of Reki’s feet. 

“Let me strap you in,” he says, and Reki tries to stop himself from bouncing, but it’s hard, ‘cause he’s ready to go, go, go. Langa’s hair whips around his face in the icy wind, and when he glances up at Reki, his eyes very blue among all the white snow, Reki feels his heart thump, once and then again. 

“Strap me in,” Reki agrees, his body vibrating, with the energy and with the way Langa takes his ankle in his clumsy, gloved hands, guilding Reki’s foot into the snowboard straps, the same way Reki smoothed the socks over Langa’s feet this morning, and it all makes the world feel so much bigger, the edges crisper, alive in a way it only feels when he’s with Langa. 

He bounces, a little, while Langa’s strapping his second foot in, but Langa doesn’t complain. 

Finally he stands again and puts his hand on Reki’s elbow. Reki grins at him, his body alight with excitement, every one of his fingertips vibrating, and he asks, “Am I good to go, dude?” and Langa nods. 

“Yes,” he says, and Reki barely holds back a whoop as he tilts his body forward, feeling Langa’s fingers release, ready to fly— 

—and promptly he faceplants into the snow. 

Turns out snowboarding’s not as easy as the people on TV always make it look. 

In reality, it’s a lot of bailing. 

Reki grumbles as he straightens up for the thousandth time, scrubbing at the snow caked across his front. Langa swerves around in an easy curve, sliding back to him, their boards bumping together as Langa puts his hands on Reki’s sides to steady him. 

“My ass hurts,” Reki says, making a face just ‘cause Langa’s really close, like this, his hair all sweaty and tucked behind his ears, leaving his face open and bare. Reki can see his scarred skin and his high cheekbones, and the way his lips are open and pink from the cold, panting breaths into the air.

“Do you wanna take a break?” Langa asks, but his eyes are shining, bright and alert in a way Reki’s never seen before, and it’s all making him a little breathless, even when he laughs.

“No way, man! It’s still awesome. Even with the ass bruises.” 

Langa nods, but he doesn’t let go of Reki’s waist, he just stays there holding him, looking into his eyes, and Reki can feel his cheeks itching, sweat rolling down his back under all his layers. Langa’s been grabbing onto him like this all day. Reki wants to peel off his coat and wrap his arms around Langa, lifting him off the snow and kissing him, but instead he just laughs again, ‘cause they can’t do that, it’s silly, and anyway— 

“You did good,” says Langa, his voice eager and honest, and Reki chokes on the laugh. 

“Ah,” he says, and shit, he can already feel the way his body’s beginning to burn in all his snowgear. “You bet I did! Did you see my turn at the end there? Better than the masters.” He means it as a joke, of course he does, but Langa’s nodding, and Reki’s skin itches hot all over as he tries to laugh again, ‘cause man. Langa’s so sweet, and it feels so good to have his attention on Reki. When Langa gives something his attention, he gives it his full attention, and it’s enough to make a guy go all hot under the armpits, and they’re in public, something Langa never seems to remember, and Reki wants to kiss his face off so bad. 

 “You can use your arms more,” adds Langa, his eyes shining, “for balance. I thought you’d take longer to learn, but you’re a natural.” 

Reki laughs again, his chest burning, but it’s a pleasant burn, even though it’s flustering— ‘cause maybe it’s a little true. He still sucks, but he doesn’t suck quite as bad as the other beginners here, and that’s something, isn’t it? “Yeah, no thanks to you,” he says, poking Langa’s chest, and Langa stifles a smile, his cheeks pink. 

“I never said I would be a good teacher,” he says, and Reki snickers, pushing at him lightly, but only so he can drag Langa back to himself, his hands on Langa’s upper arms. 

“You’re a terrible teacher, dude,” Reki says. “But it’s okay. I knew you would be.” 

“It’s not my fault,” says Langa. “I forget what it’s like to be a beginner.” He rubs his nose a little, swaying maybe a little closer to Reki, and then says, “And you’re too good for my teaching, anyway.” 

“Aw,” says Reki, grinning at him again, squeezing his arms. It’s not true, but it’s nice of Langa to say, anyway. By this point, he can make it down the bunny slopes easily, and he can turn about fifty percent of the time without wiping out, and he’s ready to move on to bigger slopes, better slopes. He scoots his board forward, just an inch, so his face moves even closer to Langa’s, and Langa’s hands tighten automatically on Reki’s waist, his lips parting. His eyes are caught on Reki’s, and Reki tries not to flush even hotter under all his layers as he grins. “Take me up the mountain?” 

“You’re not ready,” Langa says, but Reki can tell that there’s no conviction behind the words. Langa’s never been cautious about stuff like this, and Reki scoots the tiniest bit closer and watches Langa’s pupils widen, his eyes darting down to Reki’s mouth, and, ah. 

Reki’s stomach squirms pleasantly. 

“Sure I am,” he says. He feels good, and brave, and very warm and flustered with the way Langa’s looking at him, and what if Langa wants to kiss him, too? The thought makes Reki’s stomach squirm again, hot and excited. “C’mon, man. Please?” 

Langa swallows. He’s staring at Reki’s mouth now, and Reki feels himself beginning to smile, and quickly Langa jolts, darting his eyes back up to Reki’s. “Yes,” Langa says, distracted, as if it’s the first coherent word that comes to mind and Reki whoops, triumphant, trying to ignore the warm flush spreading through his chest that is saying kiss him, kiss him now in front of everyone. He can’t do that. Not now. 

But later...maybe. 

The ski lift sweeps them off their feet, and Reki whoops again, sticking both his hands over his hair, and Langa smothers a laugh in his scarf, and then their cart goes swinging up into the air. 

It’s cold. It’s so cold that Reki huddles closer to Langa, their bodies pressed together from shoulder to hip to knee in the tiny seat, and he only feels a little flustered when Langa snuggles closer, too. Well, he feels a lot flustered, especially when Langa tucks his arm through Reki’s, but up here in the thin mountain air, maybe the warm, stifling feeling in Reki’s chest isn’t so bad. 

“This’s gonna be awesome, dude,” Reki says, bumping their knees together and swinging his feet, accidentally clanking his board against Langa’s. “We gotta race, okay? When we get to the top.”

“Okay,” agrees Langa, leaning against him, and Reki’s heart squeezes at the warmth that spreads through his limbs as he leans back. Langa’s been so touchy today. More touchy than usual. It’s like he wants to be holding onto Reki at all times, and it makes Reki feel all warm inside, squirmy and affectionate. He wants to hold Langa’s hand, keep him safe. He can’t stop thinking about how vulnerable Langa seemed last night, allowing Reki to cradle his head gently against his shoulder, a sort of hesitancy on his face that made Reki wanna wrap him up in so many blankets, and cuddle him, and kiss his head, and tell him he lo— 

Okay. 

Okay. 

Reki tries to shake himself, his legs swinging again, his cheeks itching. 

“How high up do you think we are?” he asks Langa, to distract himself, and Langa glances at him, his pale face creasing. 

“Don’t look down, Reki,” he begins, but it’s too late—Reki’s already looking down, between their knees and their boards, and oh, man. The ground sways beneath them as the gears of the ski lift crank, and Reki’s head goes sort of woozy, and without thinking he tightens his hold on Langa’s arm, and Langa manages to shift even closer, and ah shit, that’s not helping the blood rushing to Reki’s cheeks. 

“Oops,” he says, glancing up again quickly, his head swimming as he gazes out at the white-tipped pine trees, and Langa puts his gloved hand on Reki’s knee, squeezing. Reki’s heart thumps. 

“Sorry,” says Langa. Reki clears his throat, shaking himself again, ‘cause they’re alone up here, aren’t they? So high above the world, their legs pressed together in their thick ski pants, dusted with snow, just him and Langa. Adrenaline is beginning to race through Reki’s veins again, and he tries not to glance at Langa, at his chapped skin and chapped lips, and man, his lips, they’re so pale from the cold and Langa’s been biting them all day, trying to keep them warm. Reki’s body is thrumming. If he just—if he just leaned over, just a little, and cupped Langa’s face with his glove, maybe he could feel just how cold Langa’s mouth is—maybe he could even warm Langa up a little. 

His heart is pounding, now, and he tries to clear his throat again. It’s stupid. It’s stupid, and Reki’s chest is itching, ‘cause that wouldn’t be romantic at all, would it be? Sure, the world around them is pretty, all whites and greens against the lavender of the mountains, but Langa’s all sweaty, with his hair shoved back under his hat, and Reki must be gross, too. Langa wouldn’t wanna kiss his sweaty mouth right now. He wouldn’t want Reki all up in his space, awkwardly mouthing at him in front of all the other skiers and— 

“Reki?” 

Reki jolts, bumping their knees together, hot in the face. “Huh? Yeah. What’s up?” 

Langa pauses, and Reki gulps a breath, glancing at him. His stomach does a flip-flop at the look on Langa’s face—his eyebrows are drawn together again, the way they look when he’s troubled about something, or thinking too hard, keeping the thoughts all crammed up in his brain with no way out. “Nothing,” says Langa, but his voice gives him away. “You were just...quiet.” 

Reki shifts around in the seat, nudging him. Something’s up. Something’s wrong, and of course Reki’s been fixating on kissing again, while Langa’s worried. “What are you thinking about, man?” he asks, and the ski lift rattles as a cold gust of wind blows through them, and Reki squeezes Langa’s arm, trying to cool the hot flush still on his face. “You can tell me.” 

Langa takes a breath. When he exhales, Reki can see the breath leaving his lips, and it’s so intimate, Langa’s so close that it makes Reki’s stomach squirm, his mouth dry. Langa glances at him, nervous, and shit, now Reki’s sort of nervous, too. 

“I just…” Langa trails off. Reki squeezes his arm again. 

“S’okay, man,” he says, trying to sound encouraging, even though his heart’s thumping in his chest, his feet cold where they’re hanging from the ski-lift, and Langa takes another breath and furrows his brow, like he’s determined to get the words out this time. 

“That girl,” Langa says, and frowns more deeply. “In the ski lodge?” 

And, ah. Reki had forgotten about the girl already, but then Langa’s arm tightens on his, and Reki’s stomach clenches with a sudden realization—is this why Langa’s been so clingy all day? Is he worried? Oh, man, is he worried that Reki tucked that kiss-marked paper into his pocket, is he worried that Reki was blushing ‘cause he thought that girl was pretty? Reki swallows. Ah, Langa doesn’t know how much Reki’s been staring at him, how impossible it would be think anybody’s pretty when Langa’ s right there, his smooth forehead knitted together, his sweaty hair tucked behind his ears, his achingly beautiful mouth pinched up and— 

“Did you,” and, oh, Langa’s voice is even lower now, and he won’t look at Reki, he’s only looking at his knees, and Reki’s heart thumps. “Did you like it? When she called you... cute .”

Langa mumbles the last word, like it feels awkward and foreign in his mouth, his pale eyebrows all creased up, and oh, Langa has no idea, does he? He has no idea that he’s the only one Reki thinks about. “No, no, of course not,” Reki says, squeezing at Langa’s arm, nudging his knee until Langa glances over at him again, and then he says, “It was just awkward, y’know? I wish she’d just left us alone.” 

Langa swallows. He nods, and then he glances at Reki’s mouth, and then back up again, his cheeks pink, and Reki feels really, really warm, and then Langa says, in this stifled sort of voice, 

“Would you like it if I...if I did it?” 

The warmth flushes up into Reki’s face, and, oh, man . His chest feels hot. “Did what? Call me—”

Langa nods. Reki’s words stick in his throat, and it’s sort of hard to breathe, it’s sort of hard to focus on anything except Langa’s very blue eyes, the white of his eyelashes and the curve of his nose, like the world has become a blur around them. Langa thinks he’s…cute? Reki’s never imagined anyone using a word like that for him, he’s never imagined that Langa would gaze at him with that ache in his chest, that maybe Langa daydreams about his smile, or, or how cool he looks while skating, and ah, it’s too much to hope for, isn’t it? Reki’s chest is hot, everything very very hot in all his thick snowgear, and he manages to say, 

“Hah, I—I don’t know, I guess so?” It’s embarrassing, but what if it’s true, what if Langa likes his messy hair or his stupid freckles or, or, or his lame skateboarding tricks? What if Langa’s awed by him the way Reki’s awed by Langa? His heart is thumping so fast, and Langa’s puffing out nervous, cold breaths through his chapped lips, and before he can stop himself, Reki’s blurting, “Do you really think I’m—” 

“ Yes, ” says Langa, and Reki breaks off, his face going hot as Langa shifts on the seat, grabbing his arm. Langa’s flushed, too, the tips of his ears rosy in the cold, and Reki’s heart pounds faster, in his cheeks and his throat. “You are cute, Reki,” Langa says, and his voice kinda shakes on the words. “You’re—you’re very cute.” 

 The wind whips through them. Reki’s kinda choked up, warm and flustered all the way down to his chest, which is swelling and stifled with all these feelings too big for his body and it’s stupid, it’s stupid to get so flustered over something like this but he can’t help it, and before he can stop himself, he’s blurting out, 

“Really?” 

and Langa nods, he nods and nods with his face red and for a moment they just stare at each other. 

It’s hard to breathe. It’s hard, because the air up here is so thin, and the ski lift is creaking and groaning around them, and Reki can’t believe this is happening, he can’t believe Langa feels this way about him, ordinary Reki. It feels like he’s gulping an entire mug of hot coca at once, the way he felt when Langa snuggled up against his chest, the way he feels when he sees Langa tugging sweater sleeves over his cold palms. It’s wonder and disbelief and smothering, overwhelming affection, ‘cause Langa’s so cute and Reki wants—he wants Langa to think he’s cute, too. He wants, he wants. He wants Langa’s chest to feel stuffed full of that same affection. 

“I like you,” blurts Langa, and Reki feels himself flush even warmer, all the way down to his feet because man, oh man, and he opens his mouth to say it back, but quickly Langa says, “I think it’s cute when you do those finger-guns at me, and when you order for me in the restaurant if I accidentally say the wrong thing, or when you pat my shoulder to get my attention and, and I think it’s cute when you snuggle down in my bed and I—” He gulps a breath, and god Reki’s face is hot, “I think it’s so cute I want to die.” 

“Hah,” Reki manages. It’s all he manages, for a second, ‘cause that’s how he feels, too, isn’t it? He thinks Langa’s so cute he wants to die. He never imagined—he never imagined that Langa would think something like that about him, and it’s almost too much, the finger-guns, everything, all the stuff Langa likes about him, stuff Langa likes about Reki. He’s gonna remember those words forever, and he wants to blurt out everything he likes about Langa, too, so Langa can feel a fraction of the feelings swelling in Reki’s chest. Instead he manages, “I like you, too,” and watches Langa’s cheeks go pink. 

Langa swallows. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Reki says, and he tries to laugh, but his throat is all hot and flustered and itchy and he can barely even bump their feet together. “C’mon, you already knew that. You’re the cutest thing. You know that.” 

Langa blinks, and his mouth works for a moment before he manages, “What?” 

“C’mon, man.” Reki reaches for him, putting his gloved hand on Langa’s face, trying to pinch his cheek with his clumsy, snowy fingers. He looks so sweet and genuine, and Reki’s heart is beating so fast with how much he likes him, with how cute Langa is, ‘cause man he’s cute all the time. He’s cute when he grumbles in his sleep and reaches for Reki, or when he thinks of things to say to Reki during class and writes them on his arm so he won’t forget, or when he folds his hands together in his lap. He’s precious, and Reki wants to press himself to Langa’s side for the rest of his life, he wants to smother him in a hug and kiss him all over his adorable, clueless face, he wants to blurt out all the words he’s too embarrassed to say. “I’m yours,” is the only thing he manages to work out, but he still flushes hot at the way Langa’s face goes pink again. 

“You’re mine,” Langa says, and then, eyes darting away, he adds, “and I’m yours.”

Aw, shit. It does feel good, hearing that, and Reki’s heart squirms again, excited and warm, and also a little nervous. Langa, his. It’s almost too much to fathom, this awkward, long-limbed boy with a snowboard hanging from his feet, sweaty hair and straight teeth and scarred cheekbones, the boy who accidentally falls asleep in Reki’s garage when Reki’s drilling him new wheels. It’s hard to believe that Reki could ever be entrusted with something so human, so fragile, so wonderful, and so he has to clear his throat before he can speak, and then the ski lift creaks, suddenly, to a stop. 

Reki glances up. “Shit.” 

“Oh,” says Langa, shifting against him, and then he clears his throat, embarrassed. “It’s nothing, Reki. It’s normal. It’ll start up again in a second.” 

Reki clears his throat again, nodding. “Cool,” he says, “cool, cool.” 

The wind sets their cart swaying again, and Langa licks at the corner of his mouth, glancing at Reki, and Reki’s chest feels all smothered and hot, and then they both glance away. Now that the ski lift isn’t moving anymore, Reki’s acutely aware of how alone they are, far away from the other carts, even further from the ground. His pulse is thumping, ‘cause Langa thinks he’s cute, and they’re pressed together in so many places, their thighs and their shoulders and the curve of their arms, and he can feel himself sweating under his coat, ‘cause the seat suddenly feels so small. Langa shifts, again, their knees bumping together, and then clumsily he tries to tug off one of his gloves. 

Reki glances at him. Langa’s fingers are pale and bony when he works them out of the gloves, shivering a little as he rubs them on his ski pants, and Reki frowns. “What’re you doing?”

Langa takes a deep breath, something determined settling around his mouth. He looks up, hesitating for half a moment before lifting his hand. To Reki’s shock, Langa puts his fingertips on Reki’s face, along his jawline, and Reki stifles a sound, ‘cause Langa’s fingers are cold and they’re touching his bare skin, his chapped rough skin. 

“I’m, um,” says Langa, and then he swallows. “I’m trying to flirt with you?”  

Reki gapes at him, his chest going hot. 

“Wh—at?” 

Langa shifts. His tongue darts out to lick the corner of his mouth, and Reki can’t help it, he’s staring, he’s staring and his heart is thumping, so hard against his chest he can’t breathe. “I’m trying to flirt with you,” Langa repeats, even more quietly, shifting again. “I want to be the only one who...I mean. I mean, I just wanted...did you know there’s this tradition? Among skiers. When the lift stops, you’re supposed to…” 

His voice falters, his cheeks coloring, and Reki gulps. “Yeah?”

Langa makes a face, pulling his hand away to rub it on his ski pants, and then he puts it more carefully on Reki’s face, his sweaty palm settling against Reki’s cheek this time. His face is pink, and he swallows again before hedging, “You’re supposed to kiss?” 

Reki feels like his stomach has dropped out from under him. Oh boy. Oh boy, oh boy. He’s never heard the word kiss in Langa’s voice before, and it’s doing something funny to his heart, making it throb against his ribcage, his throat so dry he can barely swallow. The flush is burning through his cheeks now, but he manages to press closer to Langa’s hand, tipping his face, watching the way Langa’s eyes go wide at the motion, watching the way Langa licks at his chapped lips again and Reki’s heart—Reki’s heart is pounding so hard he can barely think. “Yeah?” he manages, leaning into the touch, ‘cause it feels so good, Langa’s cold sweaty palm cradling his face, “Really?” 

Langa swallows. He nods. His ears are flushed, his mouth puffing out nervous little breaths, his fingers twitching against Reki’s face as he shifts. “Yes,” he says, and then he glances down at Reki’s mouth and leans closer, too, almost like he doesn’t mean to, like he can’t help it. “I...yes.” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“Yes.”

The ski lift creaks around them, and Reki’s heart thumps, in his burning cheeks, so breathless at the way Langa bites his lips, his teeth catching on the dry skin there and tugging, neither of them brave enough to move and then Langa mumbles, “Maybe I could…” and then he’s leaning in, and Reki can’t breathe, his brain just—just short-circuits, stops entirely, goes to static, and oh man Langa’s pretty when his eyelashes flutter against his cold face and then Langa’s pressing his mouth, briefly, to Reki’s cheek.

Reki chokes. Langa pulls back, wiping his mouth with his cold fingers, looking flustered. “Sorry,” he says. 

“Hah,” Reki manages, and his face is burning, his cheek is burning where Langa’s mouth touched him, Langa’s mouth touched him, the skin tingling from the brush of those dry, chapped lips, and he wants, he wants he wants, his whole body is burning with how much he wants to lunge at Langa, dragging him back in, kissing him until Langa’s warm from head to toe, panting in his snowgear. 

“Is it okay?” Langa asks, more hesitantly, and, and Reki huffs out a breath, rubbing his neck, snow falling on to the hot skin there. 

“Hah,” he says again, “yeah. Yeah, it’s—it’s more than okay, it’s—hah. Hang on. Hang on.” He struggles to tug off his own glove, the icy wind stinging his fingertips, and then he puts his hand on Langa’s face, too, drawing him closer. He sees Langa’s eyes widen again, and his stomach clenches and he aims for the pink flush on Langa’s cheek, squeezing his own eyes shut as he presses his mouth there.

The skin’s cold. Reki can feel the heartbeat pounding in Langa’s blush. 

He thinks he’s really gonna die, the whole world narrowing down to the place on Langa’s body that his lips are touching, and Langa puffs out a breath, a tiny sound escaping, and Reki’s feet even feet hot, at that sound. He pulls away, but he can still feel the pulse thrumming through Langa’s skin, and it’s addicting, it’s so addicting that he kisses Langa’s face again, closer to his nose this time, and Langa shivers, tugging him closer, mumbling “Reki ” in this strained voice, and Reki’s head goes fuzzy. 

Ah. Ah, Langa likes the kissing. 

Langa likes when Reki’s kissing him. 

His heart is thundering in his ears, and he kisses Langa’s cheek again, and then again, closer to his mouth, his beautiful mouth and Langa’s shivering, Reki’s hand cupping his face and Reki wants to kiss him so badly, he’s never wanted anything more in his life, he wants to press their cold chapped mouths together and feel Langa’s fluttering heartbeat, he wants to feel Langa gasp a breath against his lips and he wants to curl his fingers in Langa’s scarf and tug, and he pulls back just enough to puff air against Langa’s lips and mumbles, “Yeah?” 

Langa nods, wide-eyed and helpless and Reki’s heart thumps hot in his cheeks. Their bodies bump together in the stifling coats, their mouths so close, and he can feel Langa’s breathing, Langa’s uneven breathing as he swallows, leaning closer, and Reki lets go of his face so he can cling onto Langa’s scarf and pull him in and finally — 

The ski lift jolts. 

Reki’s hand slips, dropping his glove, and Langa gives this little gasp, and they both thump back against the seat as the ski lift begins moving again, and Reki gapes at the empty space on their laps, ‘cause shit, shit. 

“Did I drop my—”

“Yes,” says Langa breathlessly, leaning over the edge of the seat to peer for Reki’s glove, and his own glove slips from the space between his knees and he cries, “Fuck,” and tries to grab it, but it’s gone, it’s falling away among the snow and the wind and Reki slumps back against the seat, groaning. 

His face is hot. His neck is hot, splotchy and red from the blush and they were so close. 

They were so close to kissing. Reki’s body is thrumming with it now, and he’s never gonna be able to forget the way Langa’s breath felt against him, the way Langa’s eyebrows looked all crooked and unkempt from up close, the way Langa’s wide eyes had focused on him, like nothing in the world mattered except Reki and Reki groans again, rubbing his hand over his face. “It’s okay,” Langa says, clearing his throat, bumping their feet together. “We’ll just...we have more gloves at the house.” 

Reki drops his hand. “Yeah.”

“Yeah.” 

They both hesitate, and Reki’s about to blurt out, Can we try again? or something equally stupid, but then the ski lift is grinding on its gears, and Langa swallows and says, “This is our stop,” and, shit. Reki rubs his face again, peering ahead of them, to a small slope among the trees. 

Well. Maybe they couldn’t have kissed for long, anyway, although Reki would have been content to slide off the ski lift and tumble into the snow and kiss Langa on his hands and knees until they were both sweating, but. 

Maybe later. 

He huffs out a breath and gives Langa a clumsy grin, and Langa tries to smile back, even though his face is still flushed. They fumble to sit up, untangling their arms from one another, but before the ski lift reaches the slope, Langa shoves his gloved hand into Reki’s and squeezes. 

“I’ll help you keep your balance?” he says, and Reki nods, bracing himself for the moment his board bumps against the snow, the wind whipping Langa’s scarf back over their shoulders, their hands clasped tightly together as the ski lift crests over the slope. 

Now the only thing Reki’s got to worry about is falling. 

Chapter Text

The slope looks steeper than Reki thought it would be. 

He sucks in a breath, puffing out the exhale into the frigid air, and clings tightly to Langa’s snow-caked glove. Langa scoots closer, the edge of his board nudging against Reki’s, and behind him, snow falls from one of the pine trees to the narrow path. 

“Are you scared?” asks Langa, his voice quiet but clear in the open air, and Reki shivers a little, shooting him a grin. 

“Yeah.” He squeezes Langa’s hand, feeling sort of raw and excited from the honesty. His body is still thrumming from their almost-kiss, his face warm from the way Langa’s breathing felt against him, tingling and hesitant. “But it’s okay. It’s a good kinda fear.” 

Langa glances at him, then nods, pulling his goggles over his eyes. The way the edges dig into his face is kinda cute, and Reki grins again, tucking their arms together, ‘cause he has a sudden urge to be close to Langa right now, the two of them bundled together at the edge of a very steep hill. A sort of thrill goes through his body, when he thinks about finally tipping over the edge of this mountain alongside Langa, who lived on these slopes for so many years, and he blurts out, 

“Dude, Langa, man, I’m so hyped to see you.” 

Langa’s mouth curves up at the corners, like he’s trying to suppress the smile. “What do you mean, Reki? You’re seeing me right now.” 

He sounds genuine, and Reki laughs, smothering the laugh in his scarf so it won’t carry, ‘cause it’s very silent up here, all the sounds muffled by the thick layer of snow, as if Reki and Langa are the only two living things in the white, white world. “See you snowboarding, you dummy,” says Reki, squeezing Langa’s arm again, leaning into him and grinning. “I can’t wait to see you fly. ”

Langa swallows and smiles, pleased, his cheeks pink and his eyes sparkling. He sways on the board, confident in a way he’s never been in Okinawa, in a way that makes Reki’s heart squeeze in his chest. Langa’s so special. This side of him is special, and right now Reki’s the only one allowed to see it, and his toes curl in his boots, hot and excited. 

“You’re going to fly, too,” says Langa, and Reki squirms a little, straightening up and grinning at him, that flustered warm feeling spreading through his chest again. Langa means it—of course he means it. He’s never seen limitations and roadblocks the way Reki does, he only sees the straight, thrilling slope ahead, and even though sometimes his intense tunnel vision means he misses social cues and jumps in conversation, none of that matters up here. Up here he’s beautiful and breathless, and he’s Reki’s, and he’s squeezing Reki’s arm so tightly that Reki feels his legs trying to bounce, even strapped to the snowboard. 

“Yeah,” he says. He squeezes Langa back, and they’re both leaning against each other again, and it’s thrilling, it’s thrilling just to be so close to him, their bodies the only hot points of contact in this freezing world. Reki grins at him, his heart fluttering at the way Langa’s smile grows slowly, revealing the sliver of his white teeth, and then Reki laughs, a bit self-consciously. “I guess we have to stop hugging first, huh?” he says, gesturing to their linked arms, but he doesn’t make a move to pull away, he doesn’t really want to.

“Oh,” says Langa, and he sways again, glancing down at their arms. “I guess so. Yes.”

Neither of them move. 

Reki laughs again, his cheeks warm, his balance wobbling as his board slides the tiniest bit on the smooth snow. “We’re gonna be stuck up here forever,” he teases, but Langa just tucks his scarf around his mouth with his free hand, the pale, gloveless hand, and says, 

“As long as we’re together, it would be okay,” 

and Reki’s body goes even warmer, underneath all his layers. 

He doesn’t wanna let go of Langa. He wants to revel in the soft way Langa’s looking at him, he wants to press the tips of their snowboards together, he wants to search for the perfect sappy thing to finally admit, up here where no one can hear him, where maybe Langa could admit something quietly in return. But a bitingly cold wind blows through them, and Langa shivers, tugging his scarf more tightly around his mouth, and Reki rises up on his tip-toes with the rush of adrenaline, ‘cause he’s finally gonna see Langa fly. 

He already knows it’s gonna be breathtaking. 

“You wanna go?” Reki asks. “You can go first, so I can see how it’s done?” 

Langa nods. “Follow my path?”

“Of course,” says Reki, grinning, ushering him forward, and Langa’s grip on his arm finally eases. “After you, Prince Langa.”

He catches an exhilerating glimpse of Langa’s ears going pink as he scoots forward on the snowboard, leaning his body with the ease of someone who has done this a thousand times before, somehow both awkward and graceful in his thick snowcoat. Then his body tilts forward and he slides down the slope, his board curving one way and another, picking up speed and Reki’s excited cry is caught and whipped away in the wind, and just as he pushes off himself, Langa jumps. 

Langa jumps and curves, his board spinning around in the air, and the wind is filling Reki’s lungs as he rockets down the hill, the rush thundering in his ears, his eyes splayed wide open as he gapes as Langa, the way Langa lands smooth and easy, his body leaning with the board. He’s amazing, the way he moves, as if he understands the mountain, as if he was made for this, and Reki tries to call to him again but the sound is snatched right out of his mouth, lost to the wind. 

He feels himself wobble dangerously and in a flash he remembers— you can use your arms more, for balance— and so he leans with the board, with his whole body, feeling the ground rumbling underneath him at breakneck speed and for a wild moment— 

for a wild moment it works— 

and then Reki’s careening off into the thicker snow, his body tumbling forward, landing on his stomach with a powerful thump. 

“Reki!” Langa’s call is immediate, but Reki can’t respond ‘cause his mouth is full of snow, his face is full of snow, and he spits it out, lifting his head and rubbing at his mouth, and then he’s laughing, he’s laughing so hard his cheeks burn, in the cold and the snow. The snow caked into his scarf slips down his front as he sits up, and he can see Langa wavering further down, stopped somehow in the snow. 

And Reki’s laughing, ‘cause his ass hurts, and his knees hurt, and his legs are splayed around him in the snow, still attached to his board, and he looks ridiculous, he feels ridiculous, but there’s something bubbling in his chest, ‘cause it’s fun. It was fun, rocketing down the mountain, and it’s even more fun losing control, and the snow’s like a cushion of cold safety around him, melting on the skin underneath his scarf. 

“Reki!” Langa cries again, waving for him, and with difficulty Reki scrambles up again, his arms pinwheeling as he loses his balance, toppling back into the snow. He’s laughing harder now, huffy sounds out of his chest, his face burning as he crawls out of the thick snow, righting himself once he reaches the slope again, tilting himself forward and reaching out for Langa. 

Langa’s body straightens up and he turns his board, too, and his gloves hand catches on Reki’s as they both speed down the mountain again, and even though they lose each other again, Reki’s chest is burning with something hot and furious and excited. He’s doing it, and he sucks, he’s terrible , and he falls at least three more times on the way down the slope, flying into a bunch of bushes once but he’s laughing, he’s laughing so hard he can barely get back onto the board. And by the time they reach the bottom, Reki’s whole body is covered in melting snow and sweat and he’s shivering from how wet and cold he is, but he’s still laughing, and Langa’s laughing, too, his eyes bright and sparkly when Reki finally slides up to him. 

“Reki!” he cries, and Reki throws his arms around his boyfriend with an excited sound, their chests thumping together in their coats, and Langa’s voice is right in his ear as he wraps his arms around Reki, crying, “You did it!” 

“Ah—yeah!” Reki’s out of breath, huffing out laughter into Langa’s scarf, squeezing him, squeezing him with all his might the way he’s always wanted to, burying his mouth in Langa’s shoulder and jumping, on the balls of his feet. “I did it, Langa!” 

“You did it!” Langa squeezes him, his arms tight around the small of Reki’s back, so that Reki’s body arches against him, and Reki laughs, his whole body buzzing with the giddiness of it, and if Langa let him go right now, he would fall, but who cares? Who cares? Langa’s holding him, Langa’s holding him upright on the board, their bodies pressed flush together and who cares if Reki is good or not? He’s having fun. His chest is burning, and he made it up the mountain and back down again, with Langa beside him, and they did it together. 

Reki pulls back, his face burning with how hard he’s grinning, arms still locked around Langa’s neck as he looks at him. Their noses bump, red and stinging from the cold, and Reki breathes happily, “I loved it.”

Langa’s eyes shine. He nods, so that his nose bumps against Reki’s again, and then again, until Reki’s laughing again, the burning feeling expanding until it spreads to his hands, his fingertips, his gloveless hand throbbing in the freezing air. “I knew you would,” Langa says, and his eyes are so wide and sparkling and honest, so honest just for Reki, and Reki presses closer to him, his body burning with the sheer joy of loving him. 

Loving— 

Ah.

Reki gulps down a breath, still grinning, his throat burning. “Can we go again?” he asks, and Langa starts to nod, but then his eyes dart up to the sky, hesitating. He’s so close that Reki can see the smear of sweat above his pale eyebrows, and his stomach swoops, so hot from all the rushing excitement. He loves Langa. He loves him. He loves him, and it’s a feeling too big to be contained, no matter how much Reki tries to swallow it down, cram it back into his heart. 

He wants to jump up and race around and shout the feeling to the sky, he wants to bounce with it, he wants to wrap his arms around Langa’s waist and squeeze again and tell him, he wants to tell him, he wants he wants he wants, he wants and— 

“It’s probably too late,” Langa is saying, with a crease between his eyebrows, and Reki shifts against him, glancing at the sky, too. The clouds are burning a pale orange behind the setting sun, and Reki bounces once, just to let out the excess energy. 

“Aw, really?” he says, and Langa nods.

“But we can come back early tomorrow morning,” he says, squeezing Reki’s waist again before easing his grip, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he carefully settles Reki back onto his feet, and the motion makes Reki’s whole body squirm, happy, a happiness he can’t tamp down. He loves Langa. He loves him, he loves the way Langa grumbles in the pale early morning and he loves the way Langa fixates on weird problems and refuses to give them up, and he loves Langa’s shitty handwriting and Langa’s burnt pancakes and Langa’s intense frowns, he loves him, he loves him. 

He almost blurts it out. He’s high on the adrenaline rush and he’s on top of the world, he could say anything, even I love you I love you so much , but then Langa is rubbing his thumb over Reki’s cheek, the gloveless thumb, and Reki shivers before he can stop himself. 

“You’re covered in snow,” says Langa, still breathless as he drops his hand, glancing into Reki’s eyes. “Are you cold?” 

“Yeah,” says Reki, ‘cause it’s true, he’s cold, but it doesn’t matter, he doesn’t care, he doesn’t care about anything except loving Langa, and making sure Langa knows, and maybe kissing him breathless, out here in the snow, in front of everybody. But then Langa is squatting down in front of him, his hands tugging at the straps of Reki’s snowboard, and Reki shakes himself, trying not to bounce as he clumsily pulls his feet free. 

They trample through the snow together, gloved hands bumping, and Langa lets him rant about riding down the mountain, Langa lets him jump around as he reenacts every one of his spectacular falls, and Langa laughs at all the right places and Reki laughs, too, the burning in his chest simmering down to a warm glow, ‘cause he loves him, he loves him he loves him. They stomp snow off their boots before heading through the warm ski lodge and back to the parking lot, and they slam the car doors shut behind themselves at the same time, and then they’re breathing hard in the same car, bodies still vibrating. 

“That was awesome, ” Reki says, excited and reverent, and then he sneezes. 

Langa sneezes, too. They both rub at their noses, and then Langa glances down at his bare left hand, the one with no glove. “We keep losing our winter gear,” he says, and Reki laughs, remembering the way he had freaked out in the backseat of this very car, over his lost coat. It was only yesterday but he feels like a new man. Remade. 

“It’s okay,” he says. “We’ll find more.” He puts his own gloveless hand on Langa’s steering wheel, jiggling it back and forth. “I think my fingers are gonna fall off, though. Feel how cold they are.” 

He flexes his hand, and Langa glances down at his fingers, then up to Reki’s face again. Reki feels warm, when he realizes what he said, basically inviting Langa to touch his hand, but he doesn’t take the words back, and Langa shifts in his seat, hesitantly lifting his own gloveless hand and placing it on top of Reki’s. 

His skin is so cold it burns. Reki shivers. 

Langa tries to pull away, saying quickly, “Sorry,” but Reki’s too fast—he grabs Langa’s hand, wrapping his numb fingers clumsily around Langa’s palm, feeling the way Langa’s pulse jumps under his fingertips. It’s enough to make Reki swallow, his throat dry, but he pushes through the flush he can feel on his neck. 

“It’s okay,” he says, keeping his eyes on Langa’s face, trying to reassure him with his gaze. “I’m cold, too, see?” He rubs his thumb firmly across the back of Langa’s hand, and Langa’s pulse jumps again, and he swallows again, before he nods. Reki can feel his own heart pounding in his chest as he squeezes Langa’s hand, ‘cause Langa’s cold, sweaty palm is pressed to his fingers, and Reki’s holding his hand. 

Thirty seconds have passed. It’s the longest they’ve ever managed to hold hands. 

Reki’s heart is beating in his cheeks and his fingertips, his body still buzzing from the mountains, and he can feel Langa’s rabbit-fast heartbeat, too, the both of them nervous and flushed, gazing into each other’s eyes. Reki squeezes Langa’s hand again, and Langa’s breathing hitches and heat spreads through Reki’s whole body, and before he can think he’s pulling their joined hands up to his face, pressing his mouth to Langa’s cold, cold knuckles. 

Langa shivers, his mouth parting, eyes going hazy on the exhale, and Reki gulps down a deep breath. “Wanna warm you up,” he mumbles, and Langa gives a quiet, helpless ah sound, and Reki’s chest is so hot, his face is hot but he can’t tear his eyes away from Langa’s face. 

“Okay,” chokes out Langa, and then he curls his fingers more tightly around Reki’s hand. “Can I—too?” 

Reki nods, hastily, and Langa draws their hands up to his own mouth, hesitating as he puffs out a shaky breath. In the fading light, his lips look chapped and perfect, the dip of his cupid’s bow making such a pretty shadow in his face, and Reki wants to kiss it so bad, he wants to kiss those pale lips until Langa makes that ah sound again him, ‘cause, ‘cause shit. He loves him. Reki’s face is hot, and then Langa puffs another breath and kisses Reki’s fingertips, his lips clumsy against Reki’s fingernails, another shaky breath escaping him. 

“Okay?” he mumbles, and Reki’s stomach squirms ‘cause holy shit he could feel Langa’s mouth move, and he’s nodding, he’s nodding ‘cause he can’t take his eyes off Langa’s lips, the way they press together in a little heart shape as he kisses Reki’s knuckles, the bruised ones with the bandaids wrapped around them. 

“I’m warmer,” Reki manages, and Langa hums softly, his cheeks pink, his hat slipping away from his forehead, strands of his sweaty hair stuck to his temples. He looks unraveled, breathing gently against Reki’s fingers to warm him up, and it makes the glow in Reki’s chest feel almost unbearable. He wants to bring Langa home. He wants to bring him home, and sit on the floor and help him unlace his boots, and he wants them to change into warm, soft pajamas and wrap each other up in their arms, sighing against each other’s chests. He wants them to go home together, to each other, and his heart thumps as he breathes out, just as shaky as Langa. 

I love you, he thinks, and feels himself flush. 

Ah. 

Okay. 

That’s—that’s a thing he’s gonna have to do some thinking about. 

“I had a good day,” Reki says, instead, and then adds, “The best, Langa. Like. Every part of it was awesome. Man, my body feels good, y’know? Even though I’m cold. I can’t wait to do it again.” 

Langa nods, dropping one last kiss against Reki’s knuckles, like he can’t help himself, and Reki’s neck feels very warm as Langa finally, slowly, lowers their clasped hands to the center console. “Can we…” he begins, then trails off, but Reki squeezes his hand and nods, his cheeks itching. He knows what Langa means. Now that they’re holding hands, it feels hard to stop.

“You drive,” Reki says, “and I’ll be the DJ.” Langa uses their joined hands to fumble the car into gear, turning on the engine so the heater rumbles to life, and with his free hand, Reki twists the radio dials. Langa pulls the car out of the snowy parking lot onto the mountain road, and the static fuzzes, and Reki hums to himself so he won’t focus too much on the sweaty press of Langa’s palm to his own. 

Except, who is he kidding? It’s all he’s focused on. 

He clears his throat, twisting the dial backward again. The angle of their hand is awkward, but he doesn’t wanna let go, he doesn’t wanna lose a single moment of Langa’s skin pressed sweetly to his own. “What’s your favorite Christmas song?” Reki asks, as Langa turns on his headlights, the windshield wipers brushing away the falling snow. “I bet it’s Baby, It’s Cold Outside. ”

He says the title in English, and he watches Langa swallow, and then nod, his free hand fumbling on the steering wheel. “It’s Baby, It’s Cold Outside, ” he admits, and Reki grins, his insides beginning to glow warm again, at Langa’s honesty. It’s an embarrassing favorite to have, but maybe any Christmas song would be an embarrassing favorite, and by some stroke of magic, Reki manages to find the song on the very last radio station. The notes are a little staticky, but he sings along anyway, skipping the words he doesn’t know, which is most of them, and watching Langa’s face. Langa’s eyes are focused on the road, but his cheeks are pink, and after a minute, he says, quietly, “Did I ever tell you...um. Your accent? It’s really cute.” 

That word again. It makes the warm glow squirm in Reki’s stomach again, and he wiggles in the seat, squeezing Langa’s hand. “Yeah? I think your accent is cute.” 

“Yours is cuter,” says Langa, and even though his voice is soft, there’s something determined in the way he squeezes Reki’s hand in return, and Reki feels himself laughing, breathless. 

“No,” he says. “Yours is.”

“No, yours.” 

I’m yours, Reki thinks, and he almost says it, but then their car rumbles into the little Christmas-wreathed town, the lights glowing through their windows on all sides, and Langa turns up the music, his low voice rising a little as he sings along, and then Reki’s heart is thumping in his chest again. Langa’s singing, and Reki loves him, and then it’s all he can think, as the snow settles over their windows, as Langa’s voice strains over a too-high note, I love you, I love you, I love you. 

So Reki’s in love with his boyfriend. 

He grapples with the thought all through dinner, a homemade soup that warms him all throughout his body, in his thick multicolored sweater and two pairs of knitted socks. Langa and his mom sit shoulder-to-shoulder across from him, passing each other spoons and salt, and Langa nods along as his mom talks about people she knows in town, his eyes focusing on every single spoonful he brings to his mouth. 

Reki’s in love with him. 

He’s in love with the way Langa inhales his first bowl of soup, then his second, and even the way he begins on a third, gulping down the mouthfuls in his thick turtleneck. He’s in love with the way Langa wipes his mouth carefully with a napkin, waiting until he’s swallowed before speaking. He’s in love with the little faces Langa makes when the soup’s too hot, or when he bites into a carrot funny. The feeling swells big in Reki’s chest, filling his brain, settling heavy at the base of his skull, huge and excited and very, very nerve-wracking.

He’s in love with Langa. 

“Reki,” says Langa, when his mom pauses her story to check her phone, and Reki jolts up in his seat, his cheeks warming. 

“Yeah?” 

“What’re you thinking about?” 

“You,” says Reki without thinking, and Langa’s mom stifles a laugh in her sleeve, and Langa ducks his head, embarrassed. Underneath the table, he kicks Reki’s ankles, and Reki’s body goes even warmer at the way their socks bump together. Quickly, before Langa can pull away again, Reki tangles their feet together, the toes of his sock pushing at the bottom of Langa’s sweatpants, and Langa shifts in his seat, but he doesn’t draw his feet away. 

Instead he nudges them more tightly around Reki’s ankles. 

Reki’s throat feels hot. He gulps down another swallow of soup and then amends, “Like, when you went down the big slope, you did that flip, remember? Dude, that was awesome. You make it look so easy. You’re so talented, you know? It’s crazy to see it, like, in real time.” 

He’s just shooting his mouth off, saying the first things that come to mind, but Langa’s face looks rosy, and he’s a little stiff when he nods, his ears pink. “Thank you,” he says, awkward, and Reki’s heart gives a little jump, pressing against his ribs. 

Oh. Langa likes the compliment. 

How often does he compliment Langa? Maybe not often enough. Langa receives so many praises and back-pats all day long and he always seems to take them in stride, like they don’t matter to him, like the only thing that matters is the adrenaline rush of boarding, not anybody’s opinions. But this Langa is different. This is deconstructed Langa, soft in his sweater at the end of the day, insecure about his cold hands, and maybe he needs a little love. 

Reki squeezes Langa’s feet between his own and adds, “You looked really good out there. Isn’t he talented, Mrs. Hasegawa?” 

Langa’s mom smothers another laugh and nudges her son, standing up and grabbing her empty bowl. “He really is,” she says, and Langa makes a face when she ruffles his hair, tucking his shoulders in. 

“Thank you,” he mumbles again, as his mom hurries around the kitchen island toward the sink, and the room feels even warmer when he lifts his head again, shooting Reki a look. It’s not quite a glare, but the heat is there, and Reki laughs, his cheeks itching. 

“What? It’s true, man.” 

“Are you making fun of me?” 

“What? No. No, no, dude.” Reki rubs his feet over Langa’s again, so so warm in all their socks, and Langa makes another face, but he nudges even closer, and a pleasant squirm goes through Reki’s body. “It’s just, you’re incredible, you know? And I feel like you don’t know.” 

“I do know,” Langa says, kind of stilted and awkward, adding, “I mean, I mean I know that I’m good at...at snowboarding.” 

Reki laughs again. “Okay, man, I see how it is. Way to be humble!” 

Langa makes another face. “That’s not what I…” 

He looks a little frazzled, and it’s adorable, it’s so adorable that Reki wants to hurry around the table and wrap his arms around him and bury his mouth in Langa’s hair, ruffling him up and telling him how awesome he is. But instead he just scoots forward so that he can tangle their feet closer together and says, “I know what you mean, man. Hang on. Look at this.” 

He takes out his phone, typing a quick message. The embarrassment of it starts to crawl up his chest, hot and itching, but Reki shoves it down, ‘cause it’s no match for the thrill of knowing he can compliment Langa, knowing that Langa will like it. He sends the message, you’re cute, and bounces his legs around Langa’s ankles, waiting for him to see.  

Langa’s phone lights up on the table. He glances down at it, and then his ears go pink, and Reki laughs again, a bit breathless. Man. Oh man. He’s never gonna get used to this, is he? It’s addicting, flustering Langa, stoic Langa who always makes expressions he seems unaware of, and ah, Reki wants his hands in Langa’s hair so bad, he wants to kiss him, he wants to kiss him until Langa’s whole face is pink, until his mouth is swollen, until he’s panting. It’s embarrassing, how bad he wants it, but the embarrassment makes him feel warm all over, and Langa’s embarrassed, too, isn’t he?

Maybe it would feel even warmer, being embarrassed together, buried underneath the blankets with each other. 

Langa kicks at him again, swallowing, sitting up straighter. “You, too,” he says, in that stilted voice, and then he says, “Hang on,” and he taps at his phone, typing something. Reki watches with flushed cheeks, grinning, his legs bouncing underneath the table. It’s cute the way Langa always types with one finger, poking at the screen clumsily no matter how much Reki tries to teach him to text normally. He can’t wait to see what Langa’s typing, even though knows it’s gonna fluster him, but then Mrs. Hasegawa comes back around the island and hastily Langa flips his phone over.

“I’m going to go into town for a little while,” Mrs. Hasegawa says, smiling at each of them. “I have some shopping to do and a friend to catch up with. Will you be alright on your own? Langa, maybe you could show Reki how to decorate the tree.” 

Langa nods, straightening up in his seat, his hands going to his lap, where Reki can’t see, and Reki’s whole body feels warm and smothered and giddy. He can’t stop his knees from bouncing under the table, even as he straightens up, too. 

“Yeah,” Reki says. “We can listen to Baby, It’s Cold Outside again, Langa! On repeat if you want.” 

“Stop,” mutters Langa. “Don’t act like you don’t listen to embarrassing music.” He pushes his chair back and stands up, showing Reki where to bring the bowls and how to wash them off in the sink. It’s domestic and cute, bumping elbows with Langa while they do the dishes, and the heater kicks on again, blasting warm air throughout the cabin as Langa’s mom bundles up for the cold, waving goodbye. 

And then they’re alone. 

Reki tries to tamp down the warm, flustering feeling, but it’s impossible, ‘cause it’s filling his whole body, growing bigger with every single thrum of his heart against his chest. Langa tugs on his sleeve to lead him to the hall closet, where they keep old cardboard boxes of decorations, and Reki wiggles his toes in his socks, leaning as close to Langa as he dares. Maybe they can cuddle again tonight. Maybe he can cradle Langa in his arms and finally muster the courage to kiss Langa’s forehead, maybe they can fall asleep like that, heads pillowed against each other. Reki wants to. 

Maybe Langa wants to, too. 

“Here,” says Langa, piling boxes into Reki’s arms, and Reki sings a couple clumsy bars of Christmas music as he carries them to the couch. In the soft glow of the lights, the tree looks prettier than ever, twinkling lights strung around its branches, pine needles scattered around its trunk. There’s a lump in one of the stockings by the fireplace, the one with Reki’s name on it, and he points to it as Langa pads over to the couch with his own boxes. 

“Did you get me something?” 

“Oh.” Langa shuffles his feet, setting down the boxes. He sounds a bit ashamed when he admits, “My mom did. I still can’t decide...I mean, I know I only have a couple of days left to buy you something. But I want to think of the perfect gift.” 

Reki wiggles his toes against the rug. He wants to say that snowboarding was already the perfect gift. He wants to say that being here with Langa is the perfect gift, seeing the way Langa tugs his sleeves over his cold palms, seeing the way Langa’s double-knotted his sweatpants drawstring, seeing the way Langa shuffles a little closer to him, their toes bumping together on the soft carpet. Reki lifts his face, his cheeks itching with the flush, ‘cause man, man Langa is so pretty close up, and god Reki feels all soft and mushy inside and he wants to hug Langa so bad. 

“You don’t have to get me anything, dude,” he says, instead, daring to put his hand on Langa’s upper arm, squeezing through the thick fabric. And oh man, he can feel the firm muscle there and he has to gulp, watching Langa’s eyes squint up at the corners, his cheeks puffing out a little. Reki squeezes again, ‘cause he can, and Langa’s mouth parts on an exhale, just the smallest bit.

“Reki,” he says, his voice strained, and Reki’s stomach curls at the way Langa says his name. He says it more than everybody else combined, and Reki never loved the sound of the syllables until he heard them in Langa’s accent. He squeezes a third time, rubbing his thumb over Langa’s bicep, just to see the way Langa swallows, and the room feels even warmer than ever. 

“I’ll like anything you get me,” Reki promises, ‘cause it’s true. “Plus, I sorta spoiled my present for you already. Those socks I gave you this morning are part of it. So it won’t be much of a surprise.” 

“The socks you made?” 

Reki tries not to squirm. The way Langa’s looking at him—it’s like he wants to hold Reki as badly as Reki wants to hold him, and the feeling is almost too much to handle. “Yeah,” he says, and he casts his eyes around, ‘cause suddenly he feels too flustered to continue meeting Langa’s eyes. His eyes snag on a red hat in one of the boxes, and he pulls it out, tugging it over Langa’s hair before Langa can  stop him. “Here,” he says, wiggling his toes again. “Maybe this’ll inspire you.” 

Langa furrows his eyebrows. He looks impossibly adorable in the Santa hat, and Reki can’t resist taking a step back, pulling out his phone and taking a picture. Langa grumbles a little, but he tugs the hat further down on his head, and Reki saves the picture instead of sending it to anyone. He wants to keep it to himself, this cute side of Langa. 

“Did you make any of the decorations?” he asks, opening the box further, taking out a long chain of tinsel. “Like, as a kid?” 

Langa nods. “We would do craft projects with my grandma,” he says, then hesitates. “I’m terrible at crafts.” 

Reki laughs. He feels good inside, whenever Langa admits something like that. He knows Langa’s clumsy with his hands, fumbling with his handwriting and drilling skateboards and holding Reki, but Reki loves him anyway, and it’s such a thrilling thing to think, he loves him anyway. He’s not sure he’ll ever have the courage to tell Langa that, but it makes his heart glow anyway. 

“S’okay,” says Reki. “You have other talents.” He gathers colorful ornaments from the boxes and grins at Langa as he steps over to the tree, trying to figure out how the ornaments work. “Like snowboarding! And eating. And speaking English.” 

“Speaking English isn’t a talent,” says Langa, his face still rosy underneath the hat, his hair curling around his cheeks, and then he pads over to Reki and puts his hands clumsily over Reki’s own. “Here, you—with the little hook.” 

Reki manages an “ah” sound as Langa guides his hands to the branches, fumbling to help him hang the decoration on the tree. Langa’s palms are sweaty, but they feel good, they feel so good holding Reki’s, and he’s standing so close, his chest pressed to Reki’s back as he helps guide Reki, and Reki gulps. He can feel the rise and fall of Langa’s chest, his uneven breathing. He can smell the pine and the sweat of Langa’s body, and he can feel Langa’s mouth puffing breath onto his ear, and he can feel the tremble of Langa’s hands, always a little uncertain. 

Reki feels uncertain, a lot, too. It makes his heart ache, thinking of them feeling the same way, unable to find the words to reassure each other. 

He doesn’t have good words, but he leans back, pressing himself against Langa’s soft chest, and he feels Langa’s shaky inhale. “Reki,” Langa whispers, and Reki hums, snuggling back against him as much as he dares, feeling the thump of Langa’s heart, and oh man Langa’s heartbeat, and then Langa exhales, almost a whimper, almost a sigh. With his trembling hands, he wraps his arms around Reki’s middle, squeezing his waist and dropping his mouth to Reki’s shoulder, pressing the whole length of his body to Reki’s. 

Reki sighs, too, the warmth filling his face, ‘cause wow, it feels good. 

It feels so good, Langa holding him this way, and Reki tips his head back, lifting his hand to scratch at Langa’s hair, behind his ears. Langa makes a muffled noise against Reki’s sweater, and Reki laughs, his chest and throat feeling all stifled with how much he loves him, this trembling boy tightening his grasp around Reki’s body. “You good, my man?” Reki asks, softly, scratching at Langa’s scalp again, smoothing the hair back. 

“Reki,” Langa mumbles, into his shoulder, and then lifts his head, and through the corner of his eye Reki can see the bright splash of color across his pale skin. He presses his toes into the rug, and then Langa hugs him more tightly, tugging Reki firmly against him, and says, quietly, “Earlier, with that girl? You were...you were blushing.” 

Reki feels his ears twitch. Is Langa still thinking about that? Fighting down the embarrassment, he smoothes carefully at Langa’s hair, tucking it under the hat, brushing his hand over the tender skin of Langa’s ears. “Yeah,” he admits, and Langa makes the sound again, digging his chin into Reki’s shoulder.

“Made me jealous,” Langa mumbles, shamefaced, his bands fumbling with their grip around Reki’s waist, untangling and then re-tangling again, his feet shuffling. “I wanna be...the only one who makes you…”

And, ah, Reki’s stomach swoops with something hot. Langa felt jealous over him? Ah, it shouldn’t make Reki feel this way, but it does, especially with how hesitant Langa seems, 

as if admitting something he’s done wrong. Reki doesn’t want him to feel like he’s done anything wrong. Langa’s so good, so kind and sweet and worried, always trying to do the right thing, trying so hard to be a good boyfriend, to buy Reki the perfect present and translate everything correctly, even though it’s difficult for him. 

Reki loves him so much his heart aches with the feeling. “I get jealous, too,” he says, and his voice shakes a little with the confession. “Sometimes. When I see people looking at you. ‘Cause you’re...y’know.” Beautiful. He can’t say that. His throat is too dry, so he swallows and ruffles Langa’s hair and says, instead, “It’s okay, y’know? You don’t have to feel bad.” 

“Really?” Langa mumbles. 

“Yeah.” Reki’s chest is hot, but he wants Langa to know the truth, so he admits, “I kinda—I kinda like it? A little.” 

Langa shifts, his hands loosening around Reki’s waist, and then tightening again. “Really?” 

“Uh-huh.” 

For a moment Langa doesn’t say anything, but then he squeezes Reki and mumbles something into his shoulder, something in English, and Reki feels warm all over, even though he doesn’t understand the words. He likes when Langa speaks in English, for some reason, ‘cause it feels like he’s giving voice to his private thoughts, too jumbled and incoherent for Reki to understand, but precious nonetheless. 

He wants to kiss Langa more than ever. He shifts, placing his hands on Langa’s lower arms and holding them in place so Langa won’t let go of him, and clumsily he turns around to face him, and Langa’s breath hitches. He blinks at Reki, his eyes so wide and his cheeks so flushed, and Reki clears his throat, snuggling up against Langa again, wrapping his own arms around Langa’s shoulders. 

“You look cute,” he says, and his voice cracks a little, rough and dry from all the cold, and his cheeks itch with embarrassment, but he pushes through the feeling. “With your li’l hat. Prince Langa.” 

Langa’s mouth works for a moment, and then he manages, “Thank you,” so polite, so good and kind and Reki wants him to know how lovable he is, how soft in the glowing lights of the Christmas tree. He wants to kiss his mouth, the mouth that mumbles apologies like breathing, the mouth that stumbles over hard-to-pronounce words in Japanese, the mouth that strains over Reki’s name, and over words like I like you. Reki squeezes him, and Langa swallows and squeezes back, his arms tight around Reki’s waist. 

“I wanted to send you that text earlier,” Langa mumbles. “I wanted you to...to know what I was thinking about.” 

Reki clears his throat. He can feel Langa’s thumping heartbeat, but maybe it’s his own heartbeat, or maybe their heartbeats are the same. “Yeah?” he asks, and his voice cracks again, ‘cause of course it does, his body is cracking at the seams, stuffed too full of love for Langa. “What did it say?” 

Langa shuffles, a little. “Can I show you?” he asks, his voice so low and stifled the words are hard to make out, but Reki nods, he nods and he squeezes Langa’s shoulders, and Langa presses their socked toes as he works his phone out of his sweatpants pocket, swallowing as he turns it on. The light glows soft on his face, shining against his beautiful pale eyelashes, his chapped lips, and then he holds it up, his hand trembling a little, and Reki’s stomach drops at the words. 

I would like to kiss you, Langa had typed out, one careful letter at a time. 

Reki’s throat is dry. His throat is so dry, and it’s hard to breathe when Langa lowers the phone, his shoulders tight and his eyes desperate, the flush high on his cheeks. “Yeah?” is all Reki can make out, and Langa nods, his eyes squinting up at the corners again, his phone falling to the carpet with a thump, and then he says, low and strained, 

“Reki,” 

like it’s the only word he remembers and he looks a little helpless, a little vulnerable, his feelings playing out on his face in a way they never have before and Reki feels the warmth spread to his whole body, his fingertips tingling with it, and clumsily he takes his hand away from Langa’s back and places it on his face.

“I don’t know—how to,” he mumbles, and god, why did he admit that, his face burns with the embarrassment of it, stupid, stupid Reki, and Langa’s cheek is so warm underneath his palm, so precious, almost too good to hold and Langa licks at his bottom lip and says, shakily, 

“Me, either. But I want to try anyway. Can—can we?” 

Reki’s eyes drag down to his mouth, and then, and then he can’t stop staring, at the way Langa’s lips are slightly parted on trembling exhales. He rubs his thumb over the corner of Langa’s mouth, where the skin is dry and chapped, and Langa makes a noise, hugging him so tightly that Reki’s chest burns where it’s pressed to Langa’s, their hearts pounding so hard, together. 

“Yeah,” he manages, and huffs out a breath, tearing his eyes away from Langa’s lips to look into his eyes instead. “I wanna.” 

He’s pretty sure his voice cracks on that word, too, but he’s too dizzy to care, ‘cause the Christmas lights are reflected in Langa’s eyes, Langa’s creased-up eyes, so full of emotion that it hurts, ‘cause Reki’s full of emotion, too, too much emotion to share, and maybe the emotion is the same, maybe Langa’s heart thrums with that same word, love, and Reki squeezes his eyes shut and surges forward. 

Their mouths miss, bumping together awkward, off-center, and Reki’s chest burns, ‘cause of course but then Langa makes that sound again, like he wants, as much as Reki wants, and he breathes something against Reki’s mouth, and Reki’s head swims when he realizes it’s his name. 

Everything is warm, all warm skin and fumbling hands and Reki finally manages to find Langa’s mouth, his thumb pressed to the corner, his heart pounding as he kisses him, he kisses him, his bottom lip pressing to the seam of Langa’s mouth. It’s good, it’s so good that Reki’s knees feel weak, his breath coming in pants as he pulls away and then kisses him again, on the same spot, and Langa whimpers. His hands are so tight at Reki’s back, tangled up in his sweater, and he feels so trembly and hot, and he mumbles Reki’s name every time Reki pulls away, Reki Reki Reki, and every time Reki melts back into him, desperate to feel every part of him, to pour all of his love into Langa’s aching heart. 

He wants to kiss forever. He wants to kiss deep, to slide his hands into Langa’s hair, underneath his hat, to feel Langa open-mouthed and gasping. He wants and he wants, but Langa already feels shuddery and overwhelmed, so Reki pulls away with one last hasty kiss to his perfect lips and whispers, his voice raw and scratchy, “Yeah?” 

Langa’s eyes are still closed. He sort of leans in again, like he’s chasing Reki’s mouth, and something hot thumps in Reki’s chest, a sort of ah. He thumbs at Langa’s mouth, feeling the way Langa exhales before squinting his eyes open, his eyelashes all tangled together. “Reki?” 

“Yeah,” Reki whispers. “S’me.” 

Langa’s mouth twitches on a smile, and then he gives a muffled laugh, dropping his head so their foreheads press together. His skin is warm. It makes Reki’s heart squeeze, dangerously full, ‘cause he did that, he warmed Langa up, Langa who is cold all the time, except when he’s kissing Reki. 

There are no ringing bells, no romantic snowfall; there’s only Langa, wanting him. 

“Are you done...for now?” Langa asks, his voice tangled up, a bit too formal and Reki’s palms feel so warm. He wants to say no, he wants to kiss more, again and again by the light of the tree, but hah, Langa would probably get tired of that, wouldn’t he? So Reki says, 

“Yeah,” and then, “I—I liked it. A lot. Did you like it?” 

Langa breathes out and nods, fast, the fuzzy white edge of his hat tickling Reki’s forehead. “Yes,” he says, and takes another deep breath. “So much. Reki. Reki. Thank you, Reki.”  

Reki’s stomach curls, warm. “You don’t have to thank me,” he says, rubbing at Langa’s cheek again, a bit awkward but hot all the way to his toes. He wiggles them, against Langa’s feet, and then moves his hands safely back to Langa’s upper arms, squeezing the muscle there. “Wanna show me how to decorate the tree again? I think I need your hands to guide me again, like, until I figure it out.” 

Langa huffs another laugh, his eyes sparkling when he lifts his face, straightening the hat on his head. He’s a terrible teacher, but he’s Reki’s terrible teacher, and he loves the way Langa’s mouth curves up as he agrees, “I’ll guide you,” and Reki loves him, he loves him, he loves him so much. 

Chapter Text

Reki can still taste Langa on his mouth. 

He’s flushed from head to toe, his cheeks aching from all the cheesy smiles he’s giving the camera as Langa takes pictures of him in front of the decorated tree, and his mouth is still tingling from their kiss. Reki hadn't thought Langa tasted like anything in the moment—his brain was dizzy with the way Langa fisted his hands in Reki’s sweater and tugged —but now he can’t think about anything else. It’s the salty taste of the soup and the wet touch of Langa’s bottom lip, the taste of Langa’s quick, desperate breaths against his skin, the taste of Langa. 

How’s he supposed to get his head straight after that? 

“Okay,” says Langa, lowering the phone, squinting at the screen. “Thank you. My mom likes photos of everything, I should have taken more of you snowboarding.” 

“More of me bailing, you mean?” 

“Yes,” says Langa, still focused on the phone, and Reki laughs, his cheeks warm, his hands sweaty as he rubs them on his sweats. He’s already aching to touch Langa again. He wants to hold Langa in his arms, he wants to hug him around the waist and drag him closer, he wants to feel the warm squirm of Langa’s body and the thudding of his heartbeat, he wants to kiss Langa again, pressing his mouth to Langa’s until they’re both flushed and glowing. 

Maybe it’s good they didn’t do this sooner, because now Reki’s body is thrumming with it, like the kiss has sparked something to life inside him, all his cells vibrating with the memory of touching Langa. 

“Lemme see them,” Reki says, and if it’s just an excuse to shuffle closer to Langa, pressing their arms snugly together, leaning over his shoulder, well, nobody will ever know. The cabin is empty and the snow is falling thickly outside, burying them inside, and if Langa swallows and shifts against him, rubbing his shoulder against Reki’s chest, making it go all stifled and hot, who will ever know? 

“I like that one,” says Reki, pointing. Langa nods, his hair slipping in front of his face, and ah, he’s definitely leaning into Reki, isn’t he? Reki’s heart is thudding against his chest, now, ‘cause he can smell the snow and the sweat on the back of Langa’s neck, and he loves him, he loves him so much he’s afraid he might blurt it out. Reki wants to wrap his arms around Langa and pull him in and bury his face in Langa’s shoulder. Would Langa start breathing all heavy again? What if he turned his face so Reki could tilt his head and press their lips togeth— 

Langa clears his throat. Reki flushes, rubbing his mouth, cursing his stupid, overactive imagination as Langa turns the phone off, sliding it into his pocket. “We should shower,” he says, glancing at Reki, “and get ready for bed? You can go first, if you want. I think you got dirtier.” 

Reki makes a face. “That’s rude,” he says, jabbing at Langa’s side, and Langa chokes on a yelp, jumping out of the way. “Sorry,” says Reki hastily, his neck itching underneath his thick sweater, and Langa shakes his head, his cheeks pink in the glow of the Christmas lights. 

“You go first,” he repeats, tucking his hair back, looking a bit sweaty. “And I’ll make you hot tea so you can warm up before bed?” 

He’s so sweet. He’s so sweet that it makes Reki’s cheeks warm, his heart sort of hot and suffocated, and his fingers twitch to hug Langa again, to press against his body, and he has to clear his throat and nod before he can get any words out. “Thanks,” he says. “You’re—you’re always thinking of me, huh?”

He means it to sound light-hearted, ‘cause he can’t bring himself to blurt out any of the words pounding in his cheeks, sweet, loving, adorable, good, so good, too good for someone like me , but Langa shifts, darting his eyes away, and then he nods, just once. “Yes,” he says, sort of embarrassed, and Reki’s heart pounds in his throat, ‘cause oh, jeez. Oh, boy. Langa means it. 

I love you, he wants to blurt, and hastily he has to clear his throat and say, “Okay!” cheeks burning ‘cause how can Langa just admit stuff like that? How come Reki can’t say it back, he’s a mess, he’s a total mess but he can’t help it, he can only escape down the hallway and into the bedroom, letting the door thump closed behind him, slumping against it and burying his face in his hands and groaning. 

They kissed. 

They actually kissed, their mouths touched, soft and wet and hesitant, and it was so good, so good Reki feels kinda dizzy, and now Reki can’t stop thinking about it, he’s never gonna stop thinking about it. What if Langa wants to kiss some more? What if he doesn’t want to, and okay, okay, Reki’s not gonna start thinking about Langa politely telling him the kiss was no good, and he scrubs his hands over his face, telling his heart sternly to settle down. 

It’s okay. It’s okay. Be cool, Reki, be cool. 

He grabs his pajamas from his overflowing duffel bag and shuts himself in the bathroom, his hands fumbling with the lock for an embarrassingly long time. He sheds his many layers, making a face at himself in the mirror, shivering as he climbs into the shower. His hair is all sweaty and curling funny, and oh, man, he hopes he doesn’t smell. He wrinkles his nose as he scrubs furiously at his whole body. What if that’s what Langa meant when he said Reki was dirty? What if Reki got sweat on Langa’s face when he held him, what if he smelled so bad that Langa had to breathe through his mouth, oh man what if Reki tasted bad and now Langa’s going to scrub the taste off his lips?

He ducks his face under the hot water and tries not to groan. 

God. Reki’s never been so—so conscious of his body before, the way it smells, the awkward way it moves, the way his feet are each angled slightly outward. He scrubs extra hard at his armpits, which are always sweaty, no matter what he does, and scrunches up his face, hoping Langa hasn’t noticed. The problem is, Reki notices everything about Langa’s body, so Langa must notice things about him, too, right, except so many of those things are embarrassing, so embarrassing that Reki just wants to burn his skin off in this scalding shower. 

Red-faced, he turns off the water and wraps himself in two separate towels. In one of the shower cubbies he can see the harsh chemical ache wash that Langa uses, and it makes his stomach squirm, ‘cause it’s so private and intimate, like something he shouldn’t see. Langa’s so beautiful it seems like he shouldn’t be allowed to have imperfections, but he does, at least things other people might consider imperfections. Reki kinda likes them, the faded purplish scars on Langa’s cheekbones and above his breastbone, where his button-downs sometimes gape open. He likes Langa’s acne scars. He kinda wants to kiss them, and then he’s flushing again and stumbling to get out of the shower, drying himself off as fast as he can. 

Safely bundled into his pajamas, his hair wrapped up in a towel hat, Reki manages to get his breathing under control, although his cheeks are still thrumming with the blush. He slips out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, flushing anew at the sight of Langa sprawled across the bed. 

He looks so relaxed, so un-Langa-like. Reki clears his throat, shuffling his feet in his thick socks, and Langa jolts a little, looking at him.

“Shower’s all yours,” Reki says, jerking his thumb over his shoulder unnecessarily, as if there are multiple showers around, and god his chest is itching ‘cause he’s an idiot. Langa lifts his head, letting his phone fall to his chest, his eyes lingering on the towel wrapped around Reki’s head before he swallows and sits up, swinging his long legs over the edge of the bed. 

“Thank you,” he says, and Reki’s chest itches again at the politeness of it, the same polite words Langa had used after they kissed, except then his voice had been all strained and low and he had been staring at Reki’s mouth, and okay okay okay. Reki rubs his hands on his arms, just to have something to do with them, and Langa frowns a little. 

“Are you too cold?” he asks, stepping closer. “I can turn the heater up. I think Mom said it’s been acting fussy, but I can try to…” 

“No,” says Reki hastily, dropping his hands, even though he’s a little cold, mostly ‘cause his skin is still damp. “I’ll drink the tea! And then I’ll be perfect, don’t worry, dude, don’t worry. No more worrying, okay?” And he claps Langa on the arm, like his own hand isn’t shaking, like he hasn’t spent the last ten minutes worrying that he didn’t kiss good enough. 

Langa hesitates, but then he nods. He shuffles a little closer, until Reki’s heart is beating fast in his throat and oh man oh man oh man and then Langa sort of—bumps his forehead against Reki’s towel hat, gazing upward at it, and then he mumbles something in English and rubs his shoulder and then he disappears into the bathroom, the shower turning on again behind the closed door. 

Reki rubs furiously at his mouth, at his red cheeks. What the hell was that? 

He huffs out a breath, squeezing his eyes shut. Earlier, at dinner, he had felt all warm and confident and kinda flirty, still buzzing with the adrenaline of snowboarding. But now the adrenaline has drained away, leaving just Reki, his same old insecure self, and he’s not even sure, anymore, that Langa will wanna cuddle with him in the bed. He drops cross-legged into the middle of the mattress and gulps down half the peppermint tea, which burns his tongue and warms his stomach instantly. Then he glances around, his eyes catching on Langa’s phone and he frowns, suddenly. 

Langa’s left a webpage open. It’s an article, one of those gossipy advice column articles, and Reki’s eyes skim quickly over the title, which reads, 

How To Know If He’s Into You: Five Simple Signs. 

Reki’s stomach drops. 

He rubs at his mouth, his throat burning from the tea but still cold, somehow. Why is Langa reading stuff like this? Does he think Reki’s not into him? But that’s ridiculous. Reki’s so into him it hurts, he thinks constantly about holding Langa’s sweaty perfect hands, and about kissing his rosy cheeks, and about tangling his hands in Langa’s hair and tugging Langa down to lie on top of him, sighing underneath the weight of him. Reki could stare at him for hours and hours, he just, he just tries not to, ‘cause that would be creepy, and he frowns again, something tugging at the back of his mind. 

Maybe—maybe he should stare. 

The thought makes him squirm on the bed, rubbing his itching hands on his sweatshirt, the soft one he sleeps in. Does Langa want him to stare? Does Langa yearn for Reki to stare at him, does he quietly worry that Reki’s not interested in him, while Reki tries furiously not to let his voice crack around Langa, to be cool? Maybe Langa doesn’t want him to be cool all the time. Maybe Langa likes it when Reki blushes, maybe he wants Reki to blurt out all the intrusive thoughts he has, like, you’re so cute I wanna bite your cheeks, and, I like your cold feet ‘cause they tickle and make me wanna laugh, and, what if we spent a whole entire day just cuddling and kissing and touching each other’s faces? would you wanna, ‘cause I wanna, and man, man, Reki’s so red, he’s so hot all the way down to his sweaty toes and he buries his face in his hands again. 

Okay. Okay. 

His body is so flushed he thinks he’s gonna overheat.

He takes deep, gulping breaths until the itching under his armpits eases, at least a little, and then he tugs the collar of his sweatshirt over his mouth and nose to stave off some of the flush. Maybe he needs to...to be more honest about his feelings. He can’t even remember the last time he told Langa he was handsome, and he squirms on the mattress again, this time with shame. He’s been a neglectful boyfriend. He’s been so in his head that he hasn’t even thought about the reassurance Langa must need. Of course he thinks Reki’s not into him—Reki keeps dodging around him with hot, sweaty hands and blurting out things like “dude, man, my man!” 

Reki huffs out a breath into his sweatshirt, squeezing his eyes shut. Who knew being in a relationship would be so— complicated ?

The shower shuts off, and Reki pries his eyes open, balling up his hands and shoving them in his lap. At the last minute he remembers to turn Langa’s phone off, flipping it over so that Langa won’t think he was snooping, but Langa doesn’t come out of the bathroom right away. Instead he fumbles around behind the closed door, and Reki takes the opportunity to swallow down deep breaths, fanning his face to cool off his blush. He waits, and then he waits some more, and then he starts to worry a little, ‘cause like, what if Langa really is trying to wash the taste of Reki out of his mouth? 

He clears his throat, about to crawl off the bed and pad over to the bathroom, when the door cracks open, just a little. “Reki?” asks Langa, his voice so soft that Reki has to strain to hear. “Can you come...can you show me how to do that thing with the towel?” 

Reki frowns, confused, but then Langa puts his face near the crack in the door, so Reki can see the pink flush of his cheeks and the way his hair drips onto his forehead, and suddenly it makes sense. “Oh,” says Reki, already scrambling off the bed, “on your hair?” 

Langa nods. He opens the door wider, and ah, Reki’s heart stutters and he nearly trips over his own feet. 

Langa’s wearing the yellow sweatshirt. 

Langa’s wearing Reki’s sweatshirt, the same one he wore last night, the strings pulled tight so the fabric’s snuggled high up on his neck, the soft sleeves hugging his skinny arms, and Reki’s face is burning as he rights himself again. Does Langa plan to sleep in that again, his nose buried in the smell of Reki, fingers curled around the sleeves that Reki has chewed on too many times? Maybe for multiple nights? Ah, it’s too much for Reki’s heart, he wants to hug Langa so bad, he wants to bury his face in Langa’s chest and mumble out requests for kisses and he clears his throat, rubbing at his mouth. 

“Ah, uh,” he says. “A towel? Do you have a towel, man? My mom showed me how to do it, it’s really easy, uh, just get a towel that’s kinda dry and I’ll show you, or—or I can just kinda walk you through it and you can do it yourself,” and ah, jeez, is Reki gonna get to touch Langa’s soft hair? His cheeks are itching. His toes are itching, in his socks, and he feels clumsy as he shuffles into the bathroom, which suddenly feels way too small for both of them. 

Langa unhooks a towel from the back of the door. “Can you show me?” he asks, in his quiet voice, and Reki nods, even though his hands feel kinda shaky and nervous. Langa looks so good in his clothes. He looks like Reki, like they’re on the same level, neither of them too good for the other, but that’s stupid, and Reki tries in vain to shove the thoughts down as he says, 

“Sit down, maybe? And, uh—duck your head.” 

His instructions are clumsy, but he manages to get Langa seated on the toilet lid with his head bent so that Reki can place the edge of the towel at the nape of his neck. He wants to touch the damp tendrils of Langa’s hair, but there’s no good excuse for it, so he just swallows and wraps the towel around Langa’s head, twisting it and tucking it into itself so that it sits, a little lopsided, when Langa lifts his face again. 

“There,” says Reki, trying to clear his throat. “Is that—is that good?” 

Langa nods. He doesn’t twist around to look at the mirror or anything, he doesn’t even reach up to touch the towel hat, he just looks up at Reki with this soft, hesitant expression on his face, and Reki’s heart thumps in his chest. Did Langa just want Reki to help him? Probably he could have done it himself, and Reki’s throat is dry when he swallows again, ‘cause he likes the thought of that, Langa wanting Reki to help him with tiny things, the way Reki let Langa strap and unstrap his snowboard boots. His hands itch. He wants to hug, but instead he just adjusts the hoodie around Langa’s neck, smoothing down the soft folds. 

“That’s a good color on you,” he says, feeling the warmth rising on the back of his neck, but it’s true, and Langa should know. “Looks—pretty.” 

“The towel?” 

Reki chokes on half a laugh, his throat burning. He shakes his head, something anxious in his stomach relaxing a little. “The sweatshirt, dummy,” he says, and Langa makes a face, and then he laughs too, a quiet muffled sound. 

“Oh,” he says. “Duh.” He stretches out his legs, bare underneath his shorts, and nudges his socked toes on either side of Reki’s ankles. “Reki?”

Reki’s warm all over, now. “Yeah?”

“Will you—stay?” Langa hesitates, rubbing his hands against his thighs. “I’m going to shave my legs, but I wanted, I mean, I was wondering if you would stay with me while I do it? Because. Because I feel sort of lonely, when we have to be apart? Does that make sense?” 

He glances up at Reki’s eyes again, a small furrow appearing in his forehead, and Reki feels so warm, his chest full of emotion, his throat sorta swollen up. Langa wants to be with him. Even now, in this warm bathroom with his legs still damp from the shower, Langa wants to keep Reki close, just as badly as Reki wants to keep him close. 

“Yeah,” Reki manages, and he reaches for Langa’s forehead, rubbing his thumb over the furrow until Langa makes a face. “Yeah, it—it makes sense. I feel the same way, y’know? So I get it.” 

“You miss me?” 

Reki’s heart pounds, once. He nods, the warmth rising into his face. “Yeah,” he says. “All the time. Even if—” His cheeks itch with embarrassment, but Langa’s wearing that vulnerable look again and the words just tumble out, before Reki can stop them. “Even if we’re just sitting together on the bed, I always think about how I wanna cuddle with you. Is that bad? I mean, I just—I just like being close with you, all the time, and—” He breaks off, rubbing his hands on his sweatshirt, and for a moment he’s too embarrassed to meet Langa’s eyes, he’s too embarrassed to look at anything, but then Langa manages,

“Me, too,” 

and Reki feels himself puff out a breath, a knot relaxing in his stomach.

He glances at Langa again, his face still thrumming with warmth, and Langa looks flushed, too, his eyes squinted up. He bumps his feet against Reki’s ankles again, and with another breath Reki slides down to the floor, fumbling to press the toes of his socks to Langa’s, the wall of the bathroom solid and comforting at his back. 

“We can keep touching, then,” he risks, and Langa nods, his cheeks pink. 

“Please,” he says, and it’s so soft that maybe Reki’s not supposed to hear it, but he does, and his ears burn. 

He tucks his hands between his knees, watching Langa prop one of his long, pale legs up on the edge of the bathtub. Up close, Reki can see the bruises around his ankle where his snow boots dug into the skin, and he has to swallow an urge to rub his thumb over them, to soothe them somehow. When Langa gets scraped up skateboarding, Reki can always bandage the wounds, dropping barely-there kisses against the band-aids if he’s brave enough, but there’s no way to bandage bruises. Instead Reki just scoots closer, so he’s leaning against the edge of the tub, leaning his head on his wrist so he can watch the way Langa begins to soap up his leg. 

Everything feels a bit fragile, like Reki’s holding his breath, and he can’t believe he’s being allowed to watch something so personal, something Langa normally does all alone in the damp bathroom, where no one can see. Langa’s clumsy when he slides the razor up his leg, his limbs long and awkward, and it makes Reki feel breathless, his heart still thumping in his chest, his cheeks warm. “Does it hurt?” he hears himself asking. 

“What?” Langa pauses, around his knee. “Shaving?” 

Reki nods. His chest itches a little—maybe it was a dumb question, but he’s never seen anybody shave their legs before, even though he knows on some level that people must. Langa rubs his cheek with the back of his hand, soap falling onto his shoulder, and then shakes his head. 

“Only if you cut yourself accidentally,” he says. 

“Do you ever—” 

“Yes,” Langa says, his cheeks pink, and quickly he goes back to shaving, sounding embarrassed. “The first time it happened, I got so freaked out by the blood that my mom had to help me. It was so embarrassing.” 

Reki laughs, a little, even though his chest feels kinda stifled and warm, being this close to Langa. He wants to touch. He wants to feel the soap on Langa’s leg, the smooth skin underneath, he wants to soothe the mottled bruises up and down Langa’s shin. It’s flustering to see Langa up so close, but it also soothes the insecurities buried in Reki’s chest, ‘cause Langa’s body is kinda awkward, too, isn’t it? Just like Reki’s. After all, it’s not like Langa’s legs are naturally smooth and soft, he has to do this awkward shaving thing first, his body bent at a weird angle as he tries to reach the back of his ankle, and where the soap has been wiped away, Reki can see the tiny nicks and cuts in the skin. 

Langa’s made up of so many tiny imperfect details, and Reki feels his heart beating faster, taking them all in. 

“What if I shaved my legs, too?” Reki asks, just ‘cause he wants to talk, it feels so warm and comfortable in the bathroom, and he wants to fill it with their words, both his and Langa’s. Langa pinches his eyebrows together, in concentration. 

“Do you want to?” 

Reki briefly considers. He kinda likes his body hair, it’s soft and he pulls on it sometimes when he’s fidgety. “Nah. Too much work.” 

Langa nods, a little, and then he flushes and focuses on his leg again. “It’s okay,” he mumbles. “I—I like you—the way you are.” 

Ah. Reki ducks his head, the warm, itching feeling spreading through his chest at the praise, making it sorta hard to think. Langa likes him. Langa likes his hairy legs and maybe even the way his armpits are sweaty all the time, even though Reki would be way too embarrassed to ever ask him about that. “Thanks,” he mumbles, picking at a tiny hole in his pajama pants. “I like—I like—” The words get all tangled up, his brain like a block trying to stop him from saying them, too embarrassing, man, stupid and embarrasing, but he pushes through, forcing out, “I like your legs.”

There. He said it. His cheeks are so warm he can’t look at Langa, but he hears the way Langa clears his throat. 

“Thank you,” Langa says, his voice kind of muffled and soft, and Reki squeezes his hands in between his thighs. Langa’s embarrassed, too, but he likes the compliments, Reki can tell from the catch in his voice, and it makes Reki’s heart beat faster, pumping something warm into his blood.

He wants to say something else, too, maybe you’re so beautiful I can barely breathe, or the snow sort of makes you look like you’re glowing, or when I see your face my heart feels like it’s home, but when he glances up, Langa is already looking at him, looking all flushed and cute on top of the toilet seat. 

“Reki,” he says, in that strained, cracking sort of voice, and Reki’s heart thumps, like, wanna kiss him wanna kiss him wanna kiss him. 

“Yeah?” 

Langa swallows. He switches the razor from his left hand to his right so he can reach forward, tentatively, and tuck a loose, damp curl back under Reki’s towel hat. Reki’s skin itches where the soft pads of Langa’s fingers brush, and then Langa swallows again and says, “You look—I mean, you’re, you’re really pretty, Reki. Am I. Am I allowed to say that?”

Reki feels so warm he can barely breathe. He tucks his knees up to his chest, one of his feet jiggling, and ah, he had just been thinking the same things about Langa, that he’s beautiful, in this painfully real way, with the nicks on his ankles. Langa’s cheeks are pink in the tiny, cozy bathroom, and he thinks Reki’s pretty, him, Reki. Reki in his awkward, duck-footed body with the stretch marks all over, the scars on his arms from too many skateboarding falls. He’s never thought of himself as pretty before, but now, in the warm light of the bathroom, his chest feels all swollen and embarrassed and kinda glowy. 

Langa’s so good to him. 

“Yeah,” Reki says, bouncing his knees, ducking his head a little. “‘Course you can say it, man, you can—you  can say whatever you want.” 

Langa swallows again, his hand falling away, catching on Reki’s shoulder instead before pulling back, and Reki feels warm throughout his whole body, but mostly in the places Langa touched. He wants to make Langa feel warm, too. He wants Langa’s chest to feel swollen and shy, he wants to be good to Langa, so he swallows past the embarrassment itching in his throat and blurts out, 

“You’re pretty, too, y’know, like, like, like you’re so pretty that—that sometimes I have to pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming, y’know?” 

And, ah, that was stupid, wasn’t it? It was stupid, but Reki still feels warm, so warm in his soft hoodie and his thick socks, and when he glances up, he sees Langa blink. Langa blinks, and then he blinks again, his eyes squinting up in the corners in one of those adorable expressions that makes Reki’s heart pound, and he snuggles his face into the hood of his sweatshirt so that he won’t blurt that out. 

“Really?” asks Langa, something hesitant wavering in his voice, and then he bumps his foot against Reki’s leg. “Don’t...don’t make fun of me.” 

Reki pops his head out of his collar. “I’m not!” Langa’s cheeks are so pink, and it makes something swoop in Reki’s stomach as he latches onto Langa’s sleeve, tugging. “Langa. Langa, you know you’re beautiful, right? Like, the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen in my entire life.” 

Langa swallows. “Really?” 

“Yeah, dude!” Reki wraps his hand around Langa’s arm, so soft in the sweatshirt, and squeezes. With his squinty eyes and the light silhouetting his pale hair, Langa’s so pretty that it makes Reki’s knees bounce. “C’mon, you knew that.”

Langa shakes his head, tucking his hair back, then dropping his hand as the hair slips forward again. “I...I didn’t know that you thought it.” 

Reki can barely believe it. Does Langa really not know? Why hasn’t Reki told him already, why hasn’t he been telling Langa all along how beautiful he is, how much he makes Reki’s heart flutter, how Reki thinks daily about kissing him all over his sweet, sweet face? Hastily he scrambles to his feet, swaying a little, and grabs Langa’s face in both of his hands, tilting Langa’s eyes up to meet his own and ah, the way his heart thumps at the look in Langa’s eyes, the vulnerable, hesitant look, the crease of his eyebrows— 

“Of course I think it,” Reki blurts out. “Langa, I think about it every day! I think about it all the time, man, man you’re the prettiest person alive, y’know? And it’s not just, it’s not just your height and your fancy hair and your eyes, hah, I mean, I mean it’s all those things too, don’t get me wrong, you’re like, super handsome I just mean—I mean it’s the little stuff too, y’know? Like I—I like seeing you in pajamas. And when you floss your teeth. And when you make grumpy faces and hold your stomach when you’re hungry. It’s all so—like, I—it makes my heart go all—”

He fumbles, and he can’t say the words, it’s too embarrassing, it’s all so embarrassing but Langa’s whole face is flushed now, the color rising to his ears and so Reki does the only thing he can think of. He grabs Langa’s hand and presses the palm clumsily over his heart, through his sweatshirt, so Langa can feel the way his heart is pounding fast and irregular against his ribs, and he blurts, 

“That’s what, that’s what I always feel around you, like I’m going crazy, ” 

and Langa’s mouth parts on an oh as he stares up at Reki, his face so flushed, his eyes wide with wonder. 

For a minute Reki casts frantically around for something else to say, something that’s not stupid, and god he talks so much but he’s never good when it counts, and then Langa is swallowing, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, and Reki’s cheeks itch so hot ‘cause he wants to kiss it, that awkward little lump in Langa’s throat and then Langa says, choked up, 

“Really? Reki. ” 

And Reki swallows, his chest so hot, his ears hot, and then Langa shifts, his eyes darting away, and clumsily he touches Reki’s wrist. Reki jolts, ‘cause Langa’s fingers are so cold and then Langa lifts Reki’s hand and presses it to his own heart, still too embarrassed to meet Reki’s eyes.

“I—me too,” Langa mumbles, and then Reki can’t breathe, ‘cause he feels it. 

Langa’s heart is beating rapidly against his fingertips, warmth seeping through the soft sweatshirt, and Reki tries to swallow down air but he can’t. He can’t, ‘cause Langa’s heartbeat is pounding in sync with his own, just as fast, just as stuttering and Reki can’t believe it. 

“Reki,” Langa mumbles again, and Reki blurts out, 

“I want to kiss you.” 

Langa blinks. His eyes dart up to Reki’s face, even wider than before, and Reki feels the heat rising in his body, his ears burning, his cheeks burning and he shuffles his feet, clutching Langa’s hand to his palm. He’s been thinking about it for hours, for weeks, kissing him, and he wants it so badly, he’s just been too embarrassed to say anything. But Langa confessed earlier, with the text message, and Reki’s brave, too, even if he’s not brave like Langa. Then Langa squeezes his fingers around Reki’s, and his throat sounds so dry when he says, “Really? I—I think you can.” 

Reki swallows. “You think?” 

Langa hesitates, then nods. “It’s okay, right? Because we’re together now, and I—I want you to.” His voice cracks a little, something vulnerable and yearning there, and then he admits, even quieter, “I’ve always wanted you to.”

Reki’s so warm he can barely breathe. Always. He wants to say the word back, but his throat is all swollen, ‘cause he loves Langa, he loves him so much it hurts. He shuffles his feet again, and then he nods, too, his heart burning underneath the place where Langa’s palm is pressed. He wants Langa to keep feeling his heartbeat, like it can say words Reki doesn’t have the courage for, and he wants to keep his own hand pressed to Langa’s warm chest. Clumsily he uses his other hand to cup Langa’s face, the way he had earlier, and his heart thumps when Langa leans automatically into the touch, his eyes wide. 

“I wanna kiss you ‘cause I like you,” Reki manages, so flushed he’s sure he’s red all the way to his toes, “and ‘cause you’re so pretty. Hah. Langa. You have no idea how pretty you are, do you? Look, I wanna kiss you here,” he rubs his thumb over the faded frown lines in Langa’s forehead, “and here,” touching his nose, “and—and here,” brushing his thumb over the dip of Langa’s cupid’s bow, too embarrassed to touch more firmly, and Langa swallows, tilting his face up, his cheeks so pink. 

“You—can,” he says, and Reki’s so warm he has to bounce once, on the balls of his feet, to let out some of the energy. Then he ducks his head, pressing his mouth to Langa’s forehead, underneath the soft edges of his towel hat, and then he has to take a sec to breathe, ‘cause he can feel the way Langa’s heart flutters, faster than ever.

“Okay?” he asks, and Langa nods, and then he nods again, lifting his face, leaning up, saying in this strained hopeful voice, 

“Reki,” 

and Reki brushes his mouth quickly over Langa’s nose before tilting his face and pressing their mouths together, ‘cause he can’t wait, he can’t wait and Langa makes the most glorious muffled sound against him, surging upward into the kiss, and Reki squeezes his hand, his knees going hot and weak as their teeth bump together. 

It’s clumsy. It’s awkward and so clumsy, and it’s the worst angle ever, and Langa’s panting after only two seconds, but it’s so warm, and when they fall apart, Langa’s hand is tangled in the front of Reki’s sweatshirt, and Reki huffs a laugh when he glances down and sees that he’s clutching Langa’s sweatshirt, too. His face is so warm. Langa’s face is warm, too, and his breathing is quick and hot against Reki’s mouth, and when he squints his eyes open, he looks just as flushed and embarrassed as Reki feels. 

“I forgot I was shaving,” Langa says, his face creasing up, and Reki laughs, again, his chest itching. 

Man. He loves him. 

He loves Langa so much, his forgetfulness, his shaky heartbeat, his clumsy desperate kisses. “Sorry,” he says, and his voice is kinda scratchy, but in a way that makes him warm, his toes wiggling in his socks. “I can stay while you finish?”

Langa nods. He takes a deep breath, trying to relax the creases in his face, and Reki feels so flushed with laughter as he plops down on the floor of the bathroom again, watching the soap suds dripping onto the tile floor. Langa grabs a towel to wipe them away, and Reki feels warm and brave and good, ‘cause he kissed Langa, twice now, and both times made his heart race, and now he knows that Langa’s heart has been racing, the same way. He tucks his socked feet around Langa’s foot, the one that’s planted on the floor. 

“Can I tell you what I’m thinking about?” Reki asks, even though he knows Langa’ll say yes, and when Langa nods, Reki begins to ramble aimlessly about all the snowboarding jumps he wants Langa to show him tomorrow, occasionally getting sidetracked to mention how awesome Langa is, just to see the rosy flush on Langa’s pretty face. 

That night, when they’re both warm and tucked under the heavy blankets, Langa snuggles closer and puts one of his arms around Reki’s body, hesitant, his cold fingers tucked inside the sweatshirt sleeve. “Is it—okay?” he asks, in a quiet, stilted voice, and Reki tries not to wiggle, but he can’t help it, ‘cause he feels giddy all throughout his body. 

“S’okay,” he says, and then he can’t help blurting out, “It’s more than okay,” and Langa buries his face in Reki’s shoulder.  

They breathe together, into the darkness, and Reki presses his toes to Langa’s thick socks, hugging his arm to his chest. He wants to fall asleep this way, with their bodies pressed together in the stifling heat of the blankets, Langa’s heartbeat thudding against his arm. Reki squirms around on the mattress until his arm is tucked underneath the pillows, so that his fingers can brush at Langa’s hair, smoothing it up off his neck, and Langa makes a muffled sound into Reki’s hoodie.

A warm thrill goes through Reki’s body, and this time he really does wiggle. The moment feels so cozy and precious, the two of them tucked into this bed with snow falling softly onto the window, the twinkling lights strung on the walls around them. He wants to kiss Langa’s forehead. He wants to, but he’s still a little too embarrassed, so instead he just snuggles down and presses his cheek to Langa’s hair. 

“Okay?” he mumbles, and he feels Langa nod, his hand tightening around Reki’s body. Reki feels a glowing sort of thing settle in his heart, like he’s being cherished, and he closes his eyes, snuggling even deeper into the bed, the warm blankets and Langa’s arm enveloping him in the warmest, safest hug. 

Before he drifts to sleep, he has an image of his bed in Okinawa, halfway around the world, and there’s a pang of homesickness in his stomach. He misses his bed. But then Langa makes this quiet little mumbling sound in his sleep, his hand fisting in Reki’s sweatshirt, and Reki smothers a smile in Langa’s soft hair, his heart glowing again. It’s okay, ‘cause he’s with Langa. No matter where in the world he goes, he’ll always have Langa to fall asleep with. 

“We should hold hands on the way down,” says Reki. 

Langa’s scarf whips around his face, loose and wild in the wind, and he nods, then hesitates. Reki feels this thrill go through his body when Langa glances at him, his eyes so blue in his pink, chapped face. 

“We’ll fall over,” Langa points out, doubtfully. With his cheeks bitten red by the cold, it’s impossible to tell if he’s blushing, but his eyes are squinted up at the corners, and Reki bounces in his clumsy snowboots, warm all over, ‘cause he knows that look. It means Langa’s both flustered and a bit flattered, and he tugs at one of his gloves, like he’s really thinking about peeling it off and clasping his cold fingers around Reki’s. 

They had to buy new gloves at the shops this morning. Reki almost wishes they hadn’t, but he grins. 

“It’s more fun if we bail sometimes, right? Here,” and he sticks out his gloved hand, his left one, and Langa fumbles to fit his own thick glove between Reki’s palm and thumb, so they’re clinging to each other’s non-dominant hands. This way, Reki figures, they can catch themselves before they topple too spectacularly into the bushes. 

He squeezes Langa’s hand, and Langa squeezes back, and Reki heaves in a deep, hasty breath as a pleasant flush fills his face. He wants them to take their gloves off. He wants to lace his cold fingers through Langa’s, maybe rub at his knuckles, maybe trace the creases of Langa’s palm with his thumb. Maybe he could even feel Langa’s heartbeat again, and the thought makes him bounce on the skateboard again, wiggling with the excess energy ‘cause oh, man.

Langa’s heart’s probably racing right now. 

“Ready?” Reki asks, trying to shove down the flush and all the mushy, squirming thoughts as he grins at Langa. Langa nods, squeezing his hand again, the sky very bright and blue behind him. Langa’s chest is rising and falling rapidly, both of them exhilarated from racing up and down the slopes all morning, and from dragging Reki out of snowdrift after snowdrift, their blood pumping hot and fast in their sweaty bodies. It’s been a good day. The best. Reki’s limbs are worn out in the best way, his favorite way, and he’s got his favorite boy beside him, clasping his hand. 

Reki’s got a feeling the day will only get better. 

“On the count of three then!” he says excitedly, maybe a little too loudly, ‘cause a group of skiers in colorful coats glances over. Reki’s too pumped up to care. He doesn’t even care that trying to snowboard while holding hands is doomed to fail, since Langa always speeds down the slopes much faster than Reki, he doesn’t care ‘cause they’re in sync, aren’t they? They’ve always been in sync. “One, two—”

“Three!” echoes Langa, and his hand squeezes Reki’s, tight, and he doesn’t let go, even as they tip their boards forward, the wind whipping at their faces as they pick up speed. Reki lets out a loud whoop, ‘cause he can feel his heart pounding in his whole body, so bright and burning and alive, the rumbling white ground racing underneath their bouncing boards, and in the rush of wind he hears Langa attempt a whoop, too, the sound awkward and unsure and Reki laughs, he laughs and tugs on Langa’s hand without meaning to and then shit— 

—and his body is careening sideways, off-balance, and he shouts, trying to let go of Langa’s hand, but Langa won’t let go and then they’re both tumbling, hard, rolling on the slope and into the soft snow, their boards clanking together painfully. 

Langa’s head thumps onto Reki’s chest. Reki makes a face, his mouth full of snow, his head sinking into the snowdrift, the cold dampness already beginning to bleed through his hat.

“Ow,” Langa says, muffled, and Reki makes another face, and then he laughs. He puts both his gloved hands on Langa’s back, squeezing him, and squints his eyes open. The sky is so bright and beautiful above them, the clouds puffing and white. Reki’s heart swells, and he laughs again, ‘cause he’s buried in snow and holding his boyfriend, his boyfriend, his best friend, his favorite person in the whole world and who knew falling could feel so exhilarating? 

He loves Langa.

He shouldn’t say it. Reki knows he shouldn’t say it, it’s too soon, so he forces it down, tugging on the ball of Langa’s hat and trying to grin up at him. 

“You good, snowboarding star?” Reki asks. “Not really used to bailing, I guess, huh?”

Langa lifts his head, making a face. His cheeks are all creased up from the zipper on Reki’s jacket, and another laugh bubbles up in Reki’s chest, ‘cause man he’s cute, isn’t he? He’s cute and he’s Reki’s, and Reki’s heart is pounding from the sheer joy of it, and he wants to grab Langa’s adorable flushed little face and just kiss him silly, ‘cause he just loves him so much. 

“You have snow all over your face,” says Langa, his eyes scrunched up, and Reki laughs again, rubbing his wet gloves on his face. It doesn’t help. If anything, he thinks he gets more snowy, but his heart is bubbly and warm even though he’s cold, and he puts his gloves on Langa’s back and squeezes again. 

He’s so soft. 

“It’s okay!” Reki says, squeezing him. “I had fun. I always have fun, with you,” and Langa’s face flushes, and Reki laughs, his cheeks itching ‘cause they’re pressed so close together, limbs awkward and clumsy in all their snowgear, and Langa’s just as heavy as Reki always thought he would be, on top of him like this. He wants to kiss Langa. He wants it so bad, and so he puts his snowy gloves on the sides of Langa’s face and watches Langa’s nose scrunch up, his mouth puffing out a breath. 

“What do you—” Langa squints up his eyes, puffing out another breath, searching for words, and Reki’s heart pounds as he waits, grinning up into Langa’s face. He’s so pretty like this, sweaty hair all tucked away from his face, cheeks chapped in the cold, and Reki swipes a loose piece of hair away from Langa’s temple and Langa opens his eyes again, looking flustered. “What do you think about? I mean, when you’re, when you’re boarding.” 

The question comes out of nowhere, and it makes Reki’s heart thump harder, his cheeks so, so warm. Langa always wants to know what he’s thinking about. It’s like he wants them to share the same thoughts the way they share everything else, late nights walking home from S, study sessions where Reki doodles and Langa watches, wet snowbanks with their breath puffing hot onto each other’s faces, and Reki squeezes his toes in his boots, his heart flustered and thudding ‘cause he knows the answer, he always knows the answer. 

“You,” he says, and he hears the sharp intake of Langa’s breath, and then he’s flushing hot again, blurting, “It’s always you,” and then he’s kissing Langa, or Langa’s kissing him, and their mouths are wet and desperate and clumsy and it tastes like snow, like the thrill of the wind, it tastes like Langa, like Langa wanting him.

Reki can barely believe it. 

He bpresses up into Langa’s mouth and Langa gasps against him, his mouth fumbling, and Reki’s heart stutters and thrills, ‘cause ah, ah. Langa always fumbles like that, always breathing so fast and hastily when they kiss, panting into Reki’s mouth. Langa likes kissing, and so Reki surges up to press their mouths together again, all warm and flustered at the way he can feel the dip of Langa’s top lip, that precious little cupid’s bow he’s always wanted to kiss. Langa makes a desperate sort of sound and Reki holds him even more tightly, kissing his mouth again and then again ‘cause it feels good, it feels good and his heart is thrumming with how much he loves him, he loves him, he loves him. 

He loves Langa. 

What if Langa loves—  

Reki squirms, ‘cause ah, that thought is dangerous, it makes him jittery all over, and Langa’s panting above him, and Reki pulls away a little, trying to be gentle as he cups Langa’s face with his thick gloves, smoothing back his hair. “Sorry,” he says, against Langa’s mouth, ‘cause he’s warm all over and both his feet are bouncing inside the snowboarding boots. 

“Ah,” is all Langa manages, a bit distracted, and Reki laughs, all flustered and sweaty, ‘cause he did that, he made Langa all flustered and incoherent and it makes his whole body want to bounce. Langa likes it. Langa likes him, and maybe they can kiss even more now, in the bed in the cabin, snuggled under layers and layers of warm blankets with Langa panting hot breath against his mouth, and Reki squirms again. Maybe Langa will want to. Reki puts his hands on Langa’s shoulders, squeezing him. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—in front of everyone.” He laughs again, his cheeks itching ‘cause they must look ridiculous, don’t they? A couple of overgrown teenagers, tangled together in the snow with their boards still strapped awkwardly to their feet. Langa squints his eyes open, gazing down at Reki with that embarrassed look that makes Reki’s heart squirm. 

“It’s okay,” Langa mumbles. “I—wanted to.” He swallows, like he wants to say something else, but then he shakes himself a little, blushing. “Should I get up now?”

Reki laughs, brushing snow off the front of Langa’s coat as Langa wobbles, awkwardly, up onto his wrists. “Yeah, probably,” he says, even though he doesn’t really want to, he’d be content to lay here forever, with the warm weight of Langa’s body on top of him, tucking his damp hair out of his pretty, sweaty face. He already wants to kiss Langa again, ‘cause Langa’s lips look sort of swollen and wet in a way that makes Reki’s heart skip a beat, pressing against his ribs as they both scramble up. Maybe he can kiss Langa again later. Maybe even tonight. What if Langa wants to?  What if Langa loves—?

Langa glances at the sky, squinting one eye closed as Reki struggles to get to his feet. “We should probably leave soon,” he says, almost to himself, and Reki huffs out a breath, brushing snow off his butt.

“What?” he asks. “Why? It’s still early.” 

Langa glances down at him again, his eyes wide. “Oh,” he says. “Did I forget to tell you? There’s—there’s a thing, in town.” He swallows, rubbing his gloves against his ski pants, his eyes darting down to Reki’s mouth and then quickly away again, and Reki’s heart jolts, his neck very warm. “I, um. It’s like a—a Christmas market? I wanted to take you, if that’s okay.” 

The warmth spreads up to Reki’s face. Langa wants to bring him to a Christmas market? “With food and stuff?” 

Langa nods, his cheeks still flushed. They’re facing each other now, in the middle of the snowdrift, and Langa’s scarf is loose around his neck, revealing the snowy knit of his black turtleneck, and for some reason it makes Reki’s stomach squirm so, so giddily. “And there are lights to see,” he says, “when it gets a little darker. And we can buy...we can buy our own ornaments for the tree? You know, to, um. To commemorate our trip.” 

He fumbles over the word commemorate and Reki wants to throw his arms around Langa’s shoulders and squeeze. “Yeah,” he says, and he wants to bounce, but he’ll probably topple back into the snow again if he does, so instead he grabs onto Langa’s arms and squeezes. “Yeah, let’s go! Oh man. I wanna see the lights! And we can buy stuff. I love buying stuff.” 

Langa smiles, and he gets this shiny sort of look in his eyes, one that makes Reki’s stomach flip-flop. “I know you do,” he says, and then he shifts a little closer, on his board. “We can come back to the slopes tomorrow? Bright and early.” 

Reki nods, and then he keeps nodding, his body buzzing with excitement as they wiggle their way out of the snowdrift. They’ll be able to eat all the warm Canadian food, and drink hot cocoa as they wander around, and maybe they can get somebody to take their picture, one in front of the town’s giant, snowy Christmas tree. They’ll see all the lights with their hands clasped together, surrounded by shoppers and the beautiful Christmas music, and it’ll probably even be kinda romantic, won’t it be? Reki tries not to jiggle his legs as he scoots his board back onto the slope, still clutching Langa’s arm. 

“Maybe we’ll see some mistletoe!” he says, just ‘cause he can, and his whole body squirms at the way Langa’s cheeks go pink, both of them flushed and sweaty and a little embarrassed among all the snow. They’re still clinging to each other as they struggle to right themselves on the slope, their boards clanking together, and when Reki glances up, Langa’s already gazing at him, his cheeks scrunched up, the tips of his ears red. 

Maybe it’s too much to hope for, Langa loving him. 

But Reki has never felt more hopeful in his life. 

Chapter Text

The town is bustling, alight with Christmas wreaths, little stands set up on either side of the street full of ornaments and scarves and mugs, and it’s pretty, it’s sparkling and romantic and really, really pretty.

But Reki can barely take his eyes off Langa. 

The thing is, Langa’s prettier than anything else in the world, and he’s even prettier out here among the lights, his boots crunching on the snow as he looks wide-eyed around the market, occasionally lifting his arm to point things out to Reki. His nose is pink in the cold, and his hair is tucked behind his ears again, and in his earlobes are two tiny dots of silver. 

Reki can’t stop staring. 

They went home to change before coming to town, and Langa put on an even softer sweater and a fuzzy coat, and somewhere in the fumbling of their scarves and mittens, Reki missed the moment that Langa put in earrings. Since when has Langa worn earrings? Reki knows he’s staring, he knows his mouth is dry and his heart is beating double-time in his chest, but he can’t help it, ‘cause wow, just, like, wow. 

He thought Langa couldn’t get any prettier. 

“Look,” says Langa, and he puts his mittened hand on Reki’s elbow and tugs, and Reki jolts, neck flushing hot. 

“Wh—what?” 

Langa glances at him, and Reki swallows hastily, ‘cause, shit. Langa’s gonna know Reki was staring at him, at his pretty ears and bony jawline and the way the snowflakes catch in his soft hair and— 

“Do you want to try the beaver tails?” asks Langa, tugging again. A piece of his hair falls into his face, and Reki swallows back the urge to tuck it behind his ear, to brush his fingers over Langa’s pretty, shiny earrings. Langa’s beautiful. Too beautiful for someone like him. “I want to show them to you. You’ve never had one before, have you?” 

Reki shakes his head, clearing his throat. “Show me!” he says, daring to tuck his arm through Langa’s, trying to shove down all his insecurities. Langa glances down at their joined arms as if he’s embarrassed, but he hugs Reki more tightly, anyway, and Reki feels his heart squirm with that warm, overwhelming feeling. He feels breathless with the feeling, with yearning, a yearning to hold Langa more tightly, to kiss his chapped face until it’s warm, to cradle his hands between his own, to love him. Maybe the yearning is only gonna grow stronger, no matter how many nights they spend curled around each other, and Reki tries to shove down the feeling, mustering a grin. “I wanna try them. They’re sweet, right? Man, you’re gonna get a cavity from all the sweet stuff you’ve been eating lately.”

“You’ve been eating the same things as me,” Langa argues, his cheeks flushing, and Reki laughs a little, still breathless. “I mean, yes, they’re sweet. Are you trying to say I shouldn’t be feeding you sugar?”

Reki laughs again. “No! Stop. What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“You’re hyper enough already,” says Langa, and Reki elbows him, grinning, and he sees Langa trying to hide his own smile, burying his mouth in his scarf. This hot, flustered feeling crawls up Reki’s chest as they hug each other’s arms, wiggling around a family of four. He feels the same way he felt buried in that snowbank with Langa—overflowing with love for him, too giddy to breathe. Maybe the longing will never go away. Maybe he’ll feel this way around Langa always, chest pounding, aching with all the feelings, and even though it’s hard to swallow, Reki clings to the yearning tightly. 

He doesn’t wanna stop feeling this way. He wants Langa’s chest to ache the same way, and maybe it does, maybe someday he could fight through the embarrassment enough to ask. 

“I’m not hyper,” Reki says, and then they break through a clump of people so that he can see the menu on the side of the red stand, the brightly-colored images of pastries. “Oh man! Oh man, dude, they smell good! What is it? What are they made of?” 

“Just flour,” says Langa, and he squeezes Reki’s arm again, hugging him just a little closer like Reki won’t notice, but Reki does notice, ah, of course he does—he notices and he can’t help snuggling a little closer, feeling his heart expanding, warm against his chest. “And you can have whatever you want on top. Do you want chocolate? Or cinnamon?” 

“Chocolate,” says Reki. “And can I have the sprinkles on top?” 

Langa nods. “Of course,” he says, and he reaches for his wallet, but Reki jolts quickly and grabs his arm, stopping him. 

“Let me pay,” he says, and Langa starts to frown, but Reki slides his hand down to Langa’s arm, feeling even warmer when he presses their mittened hands together. It’s flustering, but he wants to pay, ‘cause Langa has done so much for him already, buying their ski lift tickets, showing him how to snowboard, kissing him in the bathroom and cuddling him to sleep and—and Reki’s face is really warm now. 

He wants to show Langa even a fraction of how much he loves him.

“C’mon, man,” Reki says, when Langa opens his mouth to argue. “Please?”  

Langa hesitates. His eyes dart to the menu, and then back to Reki, and then he nods. The tips of his ears are pink, and he says, “Alright.” 

“Alright,” echoes Reki, feeling kinda flustered now, ‘cause he’s still holding Langa’s hand, and he doesn’t wanna let go. It feels good, holding Langa’s hand, and then Langa’s mittened fingers curl around his palm, and Reki has to clear his throat, once and then again. “What kind do you want?” 

“All of them,” says Langa, and Reki’s startled into laughing. 

“Of course you want all of them,” he says, and he can hear how affectionate he sounds, but he can’t help it, ‘cause Langa’s ears are still pink, and his earrings are sparkling among the strands of his soft hair and he’s so sweet and pretty and he likes food a little too much and Reki’s just so full of warmth and love for him. Maybe he should guard his heart a little more, in case the love is too much, too overwhelming for Langa, but Reki’s never been very good at holding back how much he loves things.

He tries not to think about that. Instead he tucks their arms together again, hugging Langa close as Langa orders, carefully, in English. Reki pays, and they carry the pastries over to a small bench, where they huddle together again, legs snug against each other, arms bumping in their coats. It’s cold outside but Reki’s chest feels warm when they snuggle close like this, and Langa’s buttons are undone so that Reki can see the pattern of his sweater underneath, and he wants to be even closer to him, in every sense of the word. With his mittened hand, he tugs on the end of Langa’s scarf. 

“When did you get your ears pierced?” Reki asks, pointing at Langa’s ears. Langa pauses, glancing down at their laps to make sure all of their pastries are safely balanced, and then back up at Reki. 

“Ears pierced?” he repeats, the little furrow between his eyebrows that tells Reki he doesn’t understand the words. He’s so close, so pretty and Reki’s throat feels kinda dry when he tugs on Langa’s scarf again. The snow is drifting down around them, their thighs warm against each other, and clumsily Reki lifts his mitten to tap at Langa’s earring. 

“This,” he explains. He wishes he could touch directly, feel the delicate silver of the earring under the pad of his fingertip. He wants to know if Langa’s skin is cold. He wants to know if Langa frowns in the mirror when he snaps the earrings on, he wants to know whether it hurt, having them pierced, he wants to know if maybe Langa would pierce Reki’s ears, too. 

He lets his hand fall to Langa’s shoulder, instead, his mitten brushing against the ends of Langa’s hair, curly and damp in the snow. It’s so pretty, and Reki wants to curl his fingers into it, feel the way the hair meets the skin of Langa’s neck underneath his hat, where no one ever touches him. Langa glances up into his face, and their eyes meet and linger and Reki’s throat feels full, too full to swallow. Carefully, as carefully as he can, he tucks Langa’s hair behind his ears, smoothing it away from his face, letting his hands linger.

You’re so beautiful, he wants to say. Too beautiful for me. 

Langa swallows, and Reki’s body feels warm, his mittened hand tucked against Langa’s neck, buried in his hair. He wants to blurt out that Langa’s hair is soft. He wants to ask if he can brush it later, when it’s wet from Langa’s shower, if he can braid it maybe, twisting the pieces around and soothing the tension in Langa’s temples with his thumbs. His boots bounce against the sidewalk, thinking about Langa snuggling into bed with his head on Reki’s lap, so that Reki can pet his hair softly until Langa’s breathing is all slow and relaxed and— 

His hand bumps over the earring again. Langa jolts a little, and quickly Reki pulls away. 

“Ah,” he says, clearing his throat. “Sorry, I just—hah.” He laughs, rubbing his neck. “When did you get the earrings? I’ve never seen you wear them before.” 

Langa swallows. He touches his ear, the same one that Reki touched, and he looks a little embarrassed when he says, “I got them two years ago.” 

“Two years?”  

Reki sits up straighter. Langa looks even more embarrassed, tucking his hands in his lap, glancing longingly at the food. 

“I’m too nervous to wear them in Japan,” he admits. “I’m...ah. I’m not sure what people think of boys wearing earrings in Okinawa. There are so many things that I….that I don’t know.” He bumps his boot against Reki’s, among the snow, and then says, “The culture is so different.”

Reki settles back down against the bench, pressing close. “Yeah?” 

Langa nods. He looks like he’s not sure what else to say, and Reki wants to ask more, whether Langa wore the earrings in Canada, whether he has more pairs, snowflake ones maybe, ‘cause Langa doesn’t talk about Canada very often, and Reki wants to know. But Langa looks a little overwhelmed, so Reki nudges the food into his lap, and Langa quickly grabs one of the pastries. He takes a big bite, too big for his mouth, really, so that his cheeks look stuffed full, and Reki feels himself laugh, his face all warm and flustered. 

“Any good?” He steals a piece off the side of Langa’s pastry and pops it into his mouth. “Oh, man, oh man . It is good.” 

Langa’s cheeks are very pink when he nods. They eat quickly, and Reki talks about everything they’ve seen so far, the personalized stockings and life-sized Santas, and Langa shares all of the pastries even though Reki technically bought them for him, and Reki is too hungry to argue with him. He takes off his mittens to eat, and Langa does, too, and Reki wants to kiss the powdered sugar that gets all over his fingers, but he doesn’t. He just rubs at a smear of chocolate on the back of Langa’s knuckles, and Langa pauses, sucking in a breath. 

“You’re cute,” says Reki, without thinking, and Langa coughs. Flustered, Reki takes his hand away, his fingertips burning where they touched Langa’s cold skin. “Sorry, dude, I—sorry.”

“No,” says Langa, sounding embarrassed, rubbing his hands on his jeans. “No, it’s okay, I—I liked it.” 

His voice is low and smothered and Reki’s palms feel sweaty. Maybe it’s okay, after all, to say sappy things like that, and the thought makes Reki burn. He wants to say more sappy things, he wants to say I love you, he wants to kiss Langa. He almost glances up to see if there’s mistletoe overhead, but that’s stupid, it’s stupid, 'cause Reki shouldn't depend on silly stuff like mistletoe to give him confidence, he should just be confident, except he's not. He's not, and he can feel his cheeks  flushing warm when he reaches forward, clumsily touching Langa’s jaw. 

Langa’s body startles. Reki’s feet bounce, unintentionally. 

“Sorry,” he says, again, and, shit, is he gonna apologize every time he touches Langa? That’s not romantic, it’s not romantic at all, and his palms burn, so so sweaty. “Can I, um. I wanted to. I—shit.” 

Langa glances up. His eyes look so blue, squinted up in his pale face like that, his eyelashes all tangled together, and Reki’s hand fumbles on his jaw. He tries to cup Langa’s face without pressing his sweaty palm to Langa’s skin, but Langa leans into the touch, pressing his cheek to Reki’s hand and ah, Reki has to swallow again. 

His chest feels all stuck. 

“Wanted to kiss you,” Reki blurts. “I know there’s people around, can we still—” 

And then Langa’s nodding, his eyes squinted up even more, like he’s embarrassed and his cheeks are flushed and then he closes his eyes, leaning in. His mouth makes that heart shape when he purses his lips and Reki’s hands are so sweaty, his heart is pounding in his fingertips as he squeezes his own eyes shut, too. 

Langa’s lips are cold when their mouths bump together. It’s a quick kiss but Reki still feels like his cheeks are burning, his breath getting stuck in his throat, in his chest. He wants to kiss again. He squints his eyes open, tangling his fingertips in the soft roots of Langa’s hair as gently as he can, cradling Langa’s face. 

“Thanks,” he mumbles, and Langa’s breathing is coming all quick, fast and irregular, as his face scrunches up, his cheeks flushed. His hand fumbles with Reki’s coat, grabbing onto the front and tugging on the fabric, his eyes barely open so that Reki can see a sliver of blue that makes his heart pound in his dry, dry throat. 

“I wanna kiss more,” Langa whispers, the blush darkening across his cold, chapped face. “Maybe, um. Later? When we get home?” 

And, and, and Reki’s embarrassed by how quickly he’s nodding, almost desperately, his cheeks itching and his torso itching, under all the layers he’s wearing. Langa’s uneven breathing is warm puffing against his face, and he’s so close that Reki can see the faded lines in his forehead, his funny eyebrow, his crooked hairline, and Langa wants to kiss more, when they get home. He wants to curl up in front of the fire and fist their hands in each other’s sweaters and explore what it’s like to kiss each other, clumsy and slow and awkward and, and, and Reki’s knees are bouncing again, both of them, ‘cause oh man he wants to. 

He wants to so bad. How did he get so lucky? How could this possibly be real?

“Okay,” he blurts out, and Langa nods, his hat slipping further down over his hair, and Reki’s eyes catch on his silvery earrings, sparkling like the Christmas lights around them. He almost blurts out that he loves him. Almost. Almost. 

Almost, but not quite. 

Mrs. Hasegawa sends them two tasks to complete while wandering around the Christmas market: buy eggnog, in a warm jug from a tiny booth strung up with lights, and take pictures. 

And so they buy eggnog, and they take pictures. 

Reki fumbles with his phone camera, sticking his tongue between his teeth in concentration, trying to get a good angle. Langa’s standing in front of a display of pretty glass ornaments, his sweaty hair sticking to his cheeks and Reki has to clear his throat, ‘cause of how beautiful he looks with the snowflakes caught on his shoulders, his skin flushed pink.

“Hang on,” Reki says. “Fix your scarf a little? It’s crooked.”

Langa glances down, hands going to his scarf, and quickly Reki takes several photos while he’s distracted. Langa looks good in all the pictures, his pale skin and hair alight in the bright, cold day, but he looks even better in the candids, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he fixes his scarf. He glances up at the glass display, and ah, Reki’s heart thumps as he snaps another photo. That’s a good one—Langa’s hair flutters in the wind, and the strong line of his nose is silhouetted against the lights, and Reki’s heart is pounding against his ribcage. 

Langa is his, this beautiful, wonderful boy is his and it feels too good to believe. 

“Okay,” says Langa, shuffling his feet and putting his arms at his sides. “I’m ready.” 

He looks determined, his shoulders tight, his feet perfectly lined up, and Reki buries a smile in his scarf as he takes another couple photos. When he’s posing, Langa always looks very stiff and awkward, and it makes Reki’s heart feel so achingly full of affection for him. 

Those last couple photos are awful. But Reki saves them to his folder secretly titled “cute stuffs” anyway. 

“Cool,” he says, stuffing the phone into his pocket and bouncing a little, trying to warm himself up. “Cool cool cool! Your mom’ll love those ones. Where do you wanna take them next?” 

Langa glances around. He shuffles back over to Reki, tugging on his arm, and Reki’s body feels rosy and flushed underneath his layers as he follows Langa around. He takes photos of Langa gazing in awe up at shiny ornaments on a tree, and photos of Langa nearly tripping over a curb, and photos of Langa sneezing into his scarf, his adorable little face all scrunched up and pink. 

He takes one of Langa looking at him, his eyes wide and startled ‘cause Reki just tucked his hand into Langa’s coat pocket—but that one makes Reki’s whole body feel so flustered that he deletes it before Langa can see. 

“Can I take one of you in front of the tree?” asks Langa, pressing his tongue into his cheek as he looks at Reki, his cheeks pink. Reki clears his throat, stuffing the phone away, curling his hand deeper into Langa’s pocket, and Langa flushes pinker, snuggling into the touch. Reki’s heart thumps, ‘cause Langa’s so close and so cute, and Reki feels so warm with his mitten inside Langa’s fuzzy coat, and he dares to nudge closer, too, so they’re pressed together in the middle of the snowy sidewalk. 

“I wanna take one of you in front of the tree,” Reki says. Langa frowns, a little, his tongue poking into his cheek. 

“But you took so many of me,” he says, almost pouting. “I want to take one of you, Reki.” 

Reki feels warm inside, pressing the toes of his boots together. Shoppers bustle past all around them, their laughter rising above the street, their cheeks rosy in the cold. The sun’s going down behind the mountains, and the darkening sky makes the lights glow warmer, the Christmas tree display bright and sparkling in the center of the market. It’s embarrassing, the thought of Langa hunched over a camera, zooming in on Reki, so he clears his throat and says, “Nah, man, I don’t—I don’t take good pictures.”  

Langa frowns again, his mouth pinching, glancing at Reki. “What?” 

“My face’s crooked,” Reki tries to explain. “It makes the pictures come out all wonky.” It’s mostly his smile that’s lopsided, but his eyes also go super squinty in pictures, and when he was younger the school photographers used to scold him for it. He doesn’t mind taking selfies and stupid pictures, but serious stuff like this should be reserved for Langa, who looks graceful and romantic all lit up by the Christmas lights, and— 

“I want pictures of you,” Langa insists, and there’s that pout around his mouth, the one that makes Reki’s stomach swoop. He grins, flustered. 

“C’mon, man, you can take some later.” 

“But I want—” 

“Would you two like a photo?” 

The voice interrupts them, and Reki jolts a little, and they turn around to see an elderly couple behind them, the man leaning heavily on his cane and smiling at them. He holds out his hand, gesturing a little. Reki doesn’t know what the English words mean, but then Langa is clearing his throat and saying, “Oh, um, yes, please,” and Reki does know those words, and his chest feels hot at the way Langa’s voice goes deeper when he speaks in English. 

Then Langa’s handing the man his phone, and tugging Reki toward the tree, and Reki stumbles over the snow, yelping a little. 

“Sorry,” says Langa quickly, his hand catching Reki around the waist, and Reki flushes, feeling silly. Langa’s mittened hand feels good holding him, snug around his coat, and Reki hugs his own around Langa’s waist, so that Langa makes this little choking sound in his throat. Reki’s face’s so warm. So, so, so warm. 

“Ah—are they taking a picture of us?” 

Langa nods. The lights from the Christmas tree glow on his face, and he tucks his hair behind his ear with clumsy fingers, looking at Reki. “Is that—is it okay?” 

Reki nods. His heart is lodged somewhere in his throat, so warm he can barely think, and he and Langa both try to turn around without letting go of each other. Their arms get tangled up in the coats, and Langa chokes again, this time on a laugh, and ah, Reki’s face is so rosy and flushed and he laughs, too, embarrassed. 

“Sorry,” he says, releasing Langa, tugging his hand out of Langa’s coat pocket. “Here, let’s—like this.” 

They turn around to face the camera, the lights from the tree glowing all around them, and Reki wraps both of his arms around Langa, squeezing his soft body and something warm swells up in his chest, because he can’t believe he’s allowed, he’s allowed to hug Langa this way, his boyfriend, his boyfriend. Langa makes a soft, startled noise and then buries his cheek in Reki’s hair, clumsily hugging him back, so their bodies are still angled toward the elderly couple taking the photo. Reki’s heart squirms, so full and so warm and so giddy, ‘cause Langa’s arms are around him, holding him tightly, and Reki tilts his face up so their cheeks are smushed together, grinning hard for the photo. 

He can feel the thrum of Langa’s heartbeat through his skin, his cold cheeks and his stuttered breathing puffing onto Reki’s face, and Langa squeezes him even more tightly as the camera flashes. Reki presses up even closer, and the yearning fills up his chest and his throat with how much he loves Langa, with how warm and good it feels to hold him, out here in the cold, and Langa’s breathing hitches again, and Reki huffs out a flustered laugh. Their mouths—ah, their mouths are very close together, aren’t they? Reki could just turn his face the smallest bit and Langa’s lips would be right there and they could fumble together for a moment under this canopy of lights and— 

The camera flashes one last time, and then the elderly man shuffles forward, saying something in English. Langa pulls away from Reki, tugging his hat carefully down on his face, stammering out a polite response as he takes the phone back. Reki gives the man a clumsy grin, squeezing Langa’s waist a little, and Langa presses close again, ducking his face behind his hair but not before Reki sees the bright flush across his cheeks. 

Ah. Reki’s heart stumbles and then picks up pace again, thundering against his chest. He made Langa blush. Maybe he can make Langa blush more, tonight, when they kiss, ‘cause Langa said they could kiss, and, and, and— 

“Reki,” Langa mumbles, and Reki shakes himself, laughing breathlessly, loosening his hold. 

“What’s up?” His voice cracks a little, and ah, he’s too flushed to get any more embarrassed. “Did the photos come out good? Let me see.” 

Langa fumbles with the phone. He turns it on, and Reki nudges his chin onto Langa’s shoulder to see. All the lights in the photo make their faces blurry, but their bodies are pressed flush against each other, their arms wrapped around each other, and Reki’s heart throbs giddily against his chest. They look like a couple. They look like a real, proper couple, the kind who could actually end up together, the kind who could mumble I love you under the blankets in the early morning, and Reki squeezes Langa again, burying his mouth in Langa’s scarf. 

“I like them!” His voice is muffled, and Langa shifts a little, tucking his hair back again so Reki can see the warmth on his face. 

“Yes,” he says. “They’re—they’re good pictures.” He tucks the phone back into his pocket, turning his face, and his cheeks are so pink and cold and chapped in the wind and Reki can’t help it. He leans in, pressing his lips to Langa’s cheek, and Langa makes a startled noise that sends a warm thrill all over Reki’s body. He’s so soft, his skin is soft, and Reki huffs a laugh, pulling away. 

“Sorry,” he says, but Langa leans closer, his eyes wide like he wants Reki to kiss him again, and so Reki laughs again, breathless, and clumsily presses his mouth back against Langa’s cheek. Langa’s eyelashes flutter a little, and Reki pulls away, his body alight and tingling with the thrill of kissing him. He wants to kiss him again, and again and again, on his chapped lips and on his forehead and on his sweaty hair, but he doesn’t wanna overwhelm him. Langa already looks so flushed in the cold, and Reki probably needs to ask him about this later: how much kissing is okay at once? how can I take the best care of you possible, how can I show you that you’re precious to me, the most precious thing in the world? 

“Reki,” Langa says, and his voice is sort of stammery and breathless, the same way Reki feels, and he wiggles around until his arm is tucked into Reki’s again. He tugs him toward the shops again. “Are you cold? You look cold.” 

Reki’s warm all the way down to his toes with the flush of kissing Langa, of loving him, but he just bounces in his boots, pointing at one of the shops. “Can we get hot chocolate again?” 

Langa nods, and Reki’s heart thumps, warmer than ever. 

They get hot cocoa in paper cups with reindeer printed on them and wander around the insides of the shops for a while, as the sky grows darker and cloudier outside. They end up in a store that sells “ugly” Christmas sweaters, an implication that sort of offends Reki, since they look the same as all the sweaters he owns. 

He sits on the floor by the changing rooms, sipping at his paper cup, content and warm in the cozy shop as Langa tries on one of the sweaters. Langa had asked if he wanted to come into the changing room with him, and Reki thinks about it as he drinks his cocoa, wiggling his toes in his boots. It was cute of Langa to ask. It was super cute, and also very flustering, and Reki had waved his hand hastily and said “nah, nah, dude, I’ll wait for you out here!” He’s pretty sure it would be overwhelming, seeing Langa’s skinny arms and soft stomach underneath his sweaters, even though Reki’s seen him shirtless countless times before, and he gulps down the cocoa, burning his throat so it’s as warm and flustered as the rest of him. 

Langa’s very handsome. It’s nice, being allowed to think something like that, and Reki snuggles down against the wall, cradling his cup between his knees, checking the door again and again, waiting for his boyfriend. 

Finally the door opens and Langa steps out. The sweater is thick and patterned, and Reki can’t stop himself from smiling, his feet bouncing as Langa tugs at the collar, making a face. “It looks good, dude!” Reki says. “It looks comfy! Can I touch it? Is it soft?” 

“It’s sort of itchy,” says Langa, but he sits down next to Reki, his hair soft around his pink face, and holds out his arm so that Reki can touch the fabric. Reki hums, rubbing the sleeve between his fingers, and the song above them changes to Baby, It’s Cold Outside. Reki grins up at Langa, and Langa flushes. “Don’t.”

“But it’s your favorite,” Reki begins, grinning, and Langa pushes at his shoulder, the sweater sleeve pulled up over his palm. Reki mock-gasps, clutching his paper cup to his chest. “Don’t spill it!” 

“I wasn’t going to,” mutters Langa, but he doesn’t shove again, he just leans against Reki, and Reki shuffles his feet, the warm flustered yearning thing spreading through his chest into the rest of his body. His hands twitch to hold onto some part of Langa, his arm or his hand or maybe even his waist, cupping the itchy sweater between his fingers. 

“You want some?” Reki offers the hot cocoa to Langa, and Langa’s hands brush against his fingers when he accepts the cup, taking a careful sip. Reki watches his tongue dart out to lick at the corner of his mouth, and he has to clear his throat again, both of his feet jiggling. “Can I ask you something?”

Langa nods, lowering the cup and rubbing at his mouth with the edge of his hand.  He looks soft and pretty in the patterned sweater, among the jumble of socks and sweaters in the cozy, warm store. “Of course,” he says. “What is it?” 

“Earlier, when we fell,” says Reki. “You asked what I think about when I’m boarding?” He nudges their feet together, watching the way Langa breathes in and out carefully, cupping the hot cocoa between his pale hands. “I was just wondering, like, what do you think about?” 

Langa glances at him. Then he glances away, back down at the cup, some of his hair falling into his face, and he tucks it back carefully behind his ear. There’s a beat of silence, only the quiet Christmas music filling the warm space between them, and then Langa says softly, very softly, 

“I guess I think about my dad, mostly.”

And, oh. Reki’s heart thumps slowly against his chest, and he tries to stop his feet from jiggling, ‘cause the moment feels very still, the music distant overhead. He wants to brush Langa’s hair out of his eyes, but his throat feels sort of clogged up, and he can hear how awkward he sounds when he says, “Oh. Dude, I, I’m so sorry.”

Langa shakes his head a little. “You don’t have to be sorry.” But he doesn’t raise his eyes. 

Reki shifts, his heart thudding in his throat, a kind of tightness there. He wants to curl his fingers in Langa’s itchy sweater, tug the sleeve away from his bruised-up arms, because Langa’s body is stiff with the repressed emotion, his knuckles white against the cup. Reki aches, even though he knows there’s nothing he can do to make the pain go away. Langa’s father died in a hospital bed. It was unexpected. He is buried in a cemetery miles and miles away from this tiny holiday town, and those are the only three things Reki knows about Langa’s grief, other than the way it consumes him sometimes, swelling up so big that Langa can’t speak, can barely breathe.

Reki wants to hug him again. He wants to cradle Langa in his arms until Langa’s breathing goes shaky and uneven, and maybe press soothing kisses to the top of his head, where his hair is all funny from wearing his hat. Would that help? Is he allowed to ask? 

He clears his throat. “Langa,” he starts, and then he has to duck his head, rubbing at his itching cheeks. This moment is about Langa, not about Reki, but still the embarrassment fights him, clawing at his throat so it’s hard to get the words out. “Can I hug you? I mean—I mean would it be okay?” 

Langa does raise his eyes, this time. They’re very blue, and Reki’s heart hurts when it thumbs against his chest, and then Langa nods, his grip on the cup easing very slightly. “Please.” 

The word is so simple. It’s simple, but it makes Reki’s whole chest dry, and his hand is sort of shaky as he tucks it between the wall and Langa’s back, settling it on the waist of his sweater, pulling him closer. Langa gives a shuddery sort of breath, eyes darting down to the cup again, and he hugs it to his chest, right over his heart. 

“I miss him,” Langa says, so so quiet, and Reki’s body hurts. 

“I know,” he says, awkwardly, even though Langa’s never told him so before. He’s never offered many details about his father, leaving Reki to piece together the story through photographs on his apartment, through his mother’s muffled voice on the phone in the other room, through the nightmares that jolt Langa awake in the middle of the night, crying out into the darkness of Reki’s bedroom. “I—shit. I’m sorry.” 

Langa takes another breath. He presses closer to Reki, so that Reki can feel the way his body is trembling, and the lump sticks his throat, making it hard to swallow. He hates how awkward he is about all of this; he never knows the right thing to say, if there’s a right thing at all. He wants to take Langa’s pain away. He wants to share the weight of it, he wants Langa to lean against him until the burden evens out across both of their shoulders, he wants to kiss Langa’s forehead until the tears fall freely. 

In all the time he’s known him, Reki has never seen Langa weep. 

“Is there anything I can do?” asks Reki, and his voice sounds scratchy and too loud, and he curses his own awkwardness, his inability to relax into silence the way Langa can. If there’s a silence, Reki’s always itching to fill it, and he squeezes his eyes shut, ‘cause he shouldn't make this moment about himself, no matter how much he aches to help, somehow. 

Langa shifts. “No,” he mumbles, but then he says, more quietly, “This’s good.” One of his hands brushes against Reki’s knee, and Reki squints his eyes open, watching Langa’s hand hesitate, like he wants to hold onto some part of Reki but he’s not sure how to. The lump swells in Reki’s throat, and clumsily he picks up his other hand, nudging his fingers against Langa’s. Langa shifts again, and then his fingers tangle against Reki’s, their palms resting uncertainly together. 

Langa feels so fragile, as if even squeezing his hand might break him. How can Reki ever be trusted with something so delicate, so complex, so human ? 

What if he hurts Langa somehow? 

He tries to swallow that thought away. Now’s not the time for Reki and his stupid, stupid insecurities, so he swallows again and rubs his thumb, as carefully as possible, across Langa’s knuckles. Reki’s hands are rough from long hours in his garage, and Langa’s hands are terribly cold and chapped, and Reki prays that Langa won’t mind the calluses on his palms, the bandage wrapped around his thumb.

“I’m homesick,” Langa mumbles, and Reki’s heart startles a little, in his chest. Carefully he rubs Langa’s knuckles again. 

“For Japan?” 

Langa shakes his head, a motion Reki feels more than sees, ‘cause Langa’s head is ducked down now, nearly resting against his shoulder. Reki clears his throat softly, shifting closer to him. 

“For your—your old home?”

“For my dad,” Langa mumbles, and oh. 

Oh.

Slowly Reki feels his heart begin to break. 

He tries to work through the lump in his throat. He tries to imagine what that’s like, being homesick for a person, but the only image that swells in his mind is of Langa, the pain of their fight last year, the cold darkness of being without him, the helplessness Reki had felt, being left behind by Langa. Nothing had filled the gap of Langa in his life during that long month; Reki hadn’t wanted to fill it. The idea of filling Langa’s space, even with mindless drilling in the garage or skating in the rain, felt like betrayal.

He can’t speak for a moment. His body feels like it’s hollowing out from the inside, thudding with the pain of not knowing what to do, what to say. Reki thinks of Langa while he’s boarding, while he’s hurting; Langa thinks of his father. 

Is Reki supposed to fill that space for him, the empty space his father left behind? 

How could he ever live up to something so huge? 

He squeezes Langa’s hand, as gently as possible. Langa lifts his face away from Reki’s shoulder, and when Reki glances at him, Langa’s cheeks are red-raw and creased. Reki’s heart throbs with the sudden sight. He half-expects to see tears in Langa’s eyes, but there are no tears. 

Maybe Langa has run out of tears. 

Reki has to work hard to get the words out of his throat. “Does it help, being back here? In...in Canada?” 

Langa’s eyes squint up at the corners, and his fingers tighten on Reki’s. “I don’t know,” he says, his voice shaking a little, and when he’s quiet like this, Reki can hear the accent hesitating in every syllable. “I like being here with you. I like showing you things, and being on the slopes, but…” 

He pauses, working over the words in his mouth, and Reki bites his tongue, waits for him to piece together his thoughts. Langa’s voice is even quieter when he says, 

“But it’s not home anymore.” 

Reki’s heart thuds slowly against his chest. Langa creases up his face, ducking his head so his hair falls forward. “I don’t belong here,” he says, his fingers tight around Reki’s. “I feel like a stranger. The cold is...stronger, and my family is gone, I mean my dad and my grandma, they’re both dead.” He says the word dead quietly, unflinchingly, as if it’s simply another word, and Reki tries not to wince, his heart thudding against his ribs. “But maybe I don’t belong in Okinawa either. When we’re at S it feels alright, but at school, and at work...I don’t fit in. Maybe I don’t fit in anywhere.” 

His voice trembles a little, on those final words. Reki’s chest aches so much he can feel it squeezing against his ribs, suffocating him, and he tries to shift even closer, moving his arm from Langa’s waist to his shoulders, squeezing. 

Langa seems out of place so often. He fumbles with writing in both languages, and in Okinawa people whisper about his pale skin and his light hair, but here people give them second glances all the time, two Japanese tourists stranded in an ugly sweater shop. Maybe Langa’s right. Maybe he’ll be homesick no matter where he travels, because his home is gone, buried in the ground somewhere far away. 

Reki’s throat tightens again. Just last night he had fallen asleep thinking that Langa would be his home, wherever they went; could Langa ever feel the same way about him? 

“You fit in at the skatepark,” Reki says, his voice low and scratchy, from how tight his throat is, and when Langa’s eyes dart up to his face, Reki can barely swallow. His face feels hot. He has no idea what he’s saying, but the words keep coming anyway. “You fit in when we’re doing tricks off the half-pipe, you know? Like, when you land one just right and we do our dap. And, like, you fit in when we’re just going for a ride, coasting by the water and stuff, or, or when we’re watching videos on the roof during lunch, or when we’re so tired after S that we accidentally fall asleep fully clothed. You know. In—in my room. You fit in—then.” 

It’s hard to swallow. He wants to say, you fit in with me, but it’s selfish, it’s far too selfish. This is much bigger than Reki. He would be ridiculous to ever think that his companionship could mend all the gaping holes in Langa’s chest. 

But Langa squeezes his hand, his eyes squinting up again. “Yeah,” he says, and it sounds choked up, and Reki’s choked up, too, but he nods. He nods and he nods and he nods and he says, 

“Yeah. Yeah. Yeah, so, so, you can tell me when you feel homesick, and maybe, maybe it could help if we watched those old skating videos of ourselves or something? Or I can just—” His voice cracks, with embarrassment maybe, “I can hold you.” 

Langa ducks his head. His cheeks are stained so red that Reki can’t breathe, but then he mumbles, “That would be...nice.” 

Reki’s heart thumps, once. He hugs Langa so tightly around his shoulders, as tightly as he dares, his fingers digging into the itchy, uncomfortable fabric. He’ll be extra good to Langa tonight, he thinks. He’ll be the one to make Langa hot tea, his favorite kind, and he’ll give him another pair of socks, the ones with the cats that look like Miya, to make Langa laugh. Then he’ll bury Langa in his warmest hoodie and he’ll snuggle him in bed, underneath all the quilts, and he’ll cuddle him until Langa’s warm all over. Maybe he’ll even kiss him, if that will help. If it will help, Reki will kiss him everywhere, the tips of his fingertips, the bruises on his bony ankles, the inside of his elbow where he has two moles, right next to each other. 

He’ll kiss the nicks on Langa’s legs and the acne scars on his chest and the places on his cheeks where tears would fall, if Langa had any tears left. 

For a while Reki just listens to Langa breathe, his legs beginning to jitter again, because Reki can never sit still for long, never for long enough. He keeps rubbing his hand on Langa’s knuckles, and Langa squeezes his fingers, breathing in and out, the paper cup crumpling in his free hand as if he’s unaware he’s gripping it too hard. Finally, finally Langa lifts his head again, settling his back against the wall and pressing the toes of his boots together. 

“I need to look for your present,” he says. “While we’re here.” 

Reki huffs out a breath, a little unsteady. He had forgotten about Christmas presents, even though they’re surrounded by a market full of them, and he rubs at his mouth. “Did you think of something to get me?” 

Langa shakes his head, squeezing Reki’s fingers, and there’s a hint of frustration in his voice when he says, “Nothing’s good enough.”

Something tugs at Reki’s heart, affection maybe, but also worry. “Dude,” he says. “Why’re you so hung up on that?” 

Langa purses his mouth, his eyebrows furrowing. “I don’t know.” 

Reki lets one of his legs bounce, nodding. It makes sense, somehow. He doesn’t know anything, either, because no one taught them how to do this, how to be so important to one another, but then Langa shifts a little and admits, more softly, 

“I’m bad at...at showing affection.” 

Reki’s words stick in his throat. “What? What, dude, no you’re not.” 

Langa nods, his eyes on the floor. “You said...you said nobody ever flirted with you before. But I tried to. I tried and…and I wanted you to notice me so much. Before we were together.” His voice begins to tremble again when he says, “I tried to tell you how amazing you are, and I tried to touch your hands, I tried my best but maybe it wasn’t enough and I, I don’t know how to be better.” 

His cheeks are flushed again. His fingernails are digging into Reki’s hand, his short, bitten-down nails and Reki’s heart throbs against his ribs. It’s hard to breathe, ‘cause, ‘cause he hurt Langa. He told Langa nobody ever flirted with him, even though Langa was trying to flirt all along, so sweet and good, longing for Reki to notice and Reki’s body burns with shame and guilt, horrible guilt. 

He’s been a bad boyfriend. 

“No,” he tries, and then he has to clear his throat. He hurt Langa, and now he needs to unravel the pain, set things straight, but his tongue is all tied up. He doesn’t know what to say. “No, Langa, dude, dude. You don’t need to be better, you don’t need to do anything else.” 

But Langa shakes his head, Reki’s heart throbs again, painfully. “I’m not like you,” Langa mumbles, ducking his head. “You’re so good at—at the kissing thing, and, and I just stand there, and I know my hands are too cold, and I don’t know how to say things, and I’m just, I’m too awkward. People think I don’t know that, but I do. I know it more than anyone.” 

His voice shakes, a little. Reki squeezes his hand, but his heart is pounding in his ribs now, his throat swollen with guilt. He hurt Langa. He made Langa feel like he’s not good enough, beautiful Langa, Langa with his trembly gentle hands and his unsure kisses, the kisses that make Reki’s whole body feel alight with love, the kisses that make Reki want to cradle Langa in his arms as if he’s fragile because Langa feels so breakable and Reki is clumsy and, 

and now he’s hurt Langa, and then Langa is saying, 

“I don’t know how to do this,” 

and the breath he puffs out makes Reki’s heart pound, pressing panicked against his ribs as Langa rubs his sweaty hands on his jeans, looking at the ground. His face is all creased up, his eyebrows furrowed. 

“What?” Reki chokes out, his heart hammering, and Langa squeezes his eyes shut. 

“I just,” he says, and then it’s like the words stop working, stuck in his brain the way they always get when he’s stressed out and Reki’s heart is pounding so hard in his throat, his body jittering ‘cause what if Langa means their relationship? What if Langa doesn’t want to be with him anymore ‘cause it’s too complicated and too hard, or because Reki forgot to thank him for making him that cup of tea last night, selfish Reki who is always too embarrassed and insecure to accept his affection? And, and Reki’s throat is tightening up, ‘cause he’s making this about himself again, already, when Langa’s in pain, he’s so caught up in his head that he never notices when Langa’s insecure, too. 

He’s a bad boyfriend, a bad boyfriend, a stupid selfish bad boyfriend and it’s hard to swallow through the painful itching in his throat. 

“Langa,” Reki tries to say, “Langa, dude, it’s okay,” but Langa’s already shaking his head, squinting his eyes open.  

“I’m going to buy you a good present,” he says, and then he takes a breath, raising his head and looking over at Reki. “I promise. Okay? I need to show you how much I...how much I…” His mouth works, and then he clears his throat, shaking his head again. “I won’t break the promise this time.” 

Reki’s cheeks go hot. He wants to protest. He wants to tell Langa not to worry about it, that he doesn’t need to promise something silly like that, that he doesn’t even need to promise to love Reki, even though Reki desperately wants him to, but then Langa is unfurling his long, clumsy legs and climbing unsteadily to his feet. 

“I need to take this off,” he mumbles, half to himself, and tugs on the front of his itchy, uncomfortable sweater. Reki nods, and then Langa worms his way inside of the changing room, and Reki stares at the floor, at the crumpled hot cocoa cup that Langa left behind. His heart aches. He messed up. He messed up. How is he supposed to help Langa to feel like a good boyfriend when Reki barely knows how to be a boyfriend in the first place? How can he help soothe Langa’s insecurities when he’s always worrying about his own? How can he ever fill the looming void of Langa’s father, how can he keep Langa safe if Langa never feels at home anywhere, how can he ever tell Langa how much he loves him when he’s so afraid that Langa will grow tired of him and leave and, and, and— 

and Reki has to take several deep breaths, rubbing at his itching cheeks with the sleeves of his own sweater, trying not to cry. 

He’s been selfish enough today. 

Chapter Text

And then Langa says “we should split up” and the words echo in Reki’s mind, thick in his throat, pounding in his head, making his hands shake and his legs bounce as he stands, lost, in the aisle of another Christmas store. 

His heart hurts. We should split up. Langa didn’t mean the words that way, he just meant, he just meant they should shop separately for a while, so he can search for Reki’s present but Reki’s heart still jitters, nervous, his body jitters, his mind jitters and it’s all so much that it hurts. He picks up a glass ornament at random and then quickly sets it back down, his hands so sweaty he thinks he’ll drop it, his limbs shaking so much he’s sure the ornament will fall to the ground and shatter into a million pieces, the edges splintering with so many slivers and cracks the way Reki’s heart is beginning to splinter. 

We should split up. 

What if Langa— 

Reki squeezes his eyes shut, trying to clear his throat. His heart is thumping, and he feels so hot in his coat, so hot that he’s itching all over, and suddenly it’s too much, it’s all too much for his brain and he’s tearing at the zipper, frantic for no reason and, and, and

and Reki’s too much, he’s too much and it feels like he’s out of control, everything slipping through his fingers and shattering on the ground, and 

and if Langa breaks Reki’s not sure he’lll ever know how to put him back together. 

He pulls the coat off and bundles it tightly in his arms, ducking his head, sucking in a breath. It’s okay. It’s cool. It’s cool, it’s cool, it’s cool it’s not cool but what’s Reki supposed to do? Langa wants to shop by himself. He’s probably better off by himself, without Reki around to distract him and rip his heart to pieces and miss the obvious signs of Langa flirting with him, and Reki rubs at both of his cheeks, his body burning, rubbing so hard the chapped skin must look raw, the way Reki feels inside, the way his throat feels. 

Langa’s so good. Reki’s body hurts. How come he can’t show Langa how good he is? 

We should split up. 

Reki squeezes his eyes shut again and sucks in a breath and then hurries down the aisle, blindly, into another aisle and then another and then another. He feels something desperate crawling up his throat as he hurries faster and faster, the shelves and sweaters blurring together, mumbling a hasty apology as he bumps into another shopper, and then another, and c’mon c’mon c’mon Reki get a grip, but he can’t because his body is shaking and he’s frantic for something, something, something. He tears through the store, the desperation building in his throat until even his sweater feels suffocating and constricting, like if he wears it for one more second he’s gonna go crazy and and and, and Reki bursts out of the store, back out into the cold, gulping down fresh air as if somehow it can soothe the frantic burning in his body. 

He stumbles against a lamppost and presses his cheek to the blessed cold, taking big gulps of air. He feels all jittery, like he’s losing his mind, the way he gets when things begin to spiral, when things begin to get bad again. He clears his itching throat and tries to squint his eyes open, tries to take in the glowing lights of the Christmas market. They were so happy. Reki felt so happy, pressing his body close to Langa’s in front of that Christmas tree, his heart thumping too big for his body, full of pure joy as he leaned in and pressed a kiss to Langa’s precious cold face, not only one kiss but two and Reki scrubs at his cheeks again, trying to get a grip, trying to rein himself in, cmon, man, cool, be cool. 

He’s not cool. 

He’s the opposite of cool, and he sucks in another breath, the exhale shaky. What if Langa really does want to end things between them? What if it’s not enough, the swelling joy in Reki’s body when they wrap their arms around each other, the giddy feelings that bubble up in his chest at the shine of Langa’s pretty pretty eyes in his blushing face? Things are more complicated than that. Langa is complicated, and so is Reki, maybe too complicated for him, he never knows how to tell Langa he likes him, he never knows how to work past the embarrassment in his throat enough to tell Langa all of his insecurities, he’s never good enough, never, never never. 

Reki tries to swallow. But it’s hard. His whole body is trembling again, not from the cold, even though the cold is beginning to seep through the knitted sleeves of his sweater, but from the fear. He’s not good enough for Langa. He’s too jittery and chaotic and in his own head, and he feels the sob swelling up in his throat, ‘cause he wanted so badly to be good enough, he wanted this so badly, the hand-holding, the soft gentle kisses under the tree lights. He wants to be able to comfort Langa. He wants to be gentle and patient, holding Langa in his arms and kissing his hair, he wants to know the right things to mumble into his shoulder while he strokes Langa’s back, he wants to be good, he wants to help Langa feel good, too. 

Instead maybe Langa will sit Reki down on the couch with a quiet voice and a slow heartbeat, we should split up, the way Reki’s mother did when she told him softly that she and his dad were divorcing, Langa sitting Reki down and carefully avoiding touching him and whispering that they should go back to being just friends again. No more holding each other at night, no more curling up on bathroom floors together, no more calling Langa pretty, no more kissing his soft, cold cheeks and hearing his breathing hitch. No more stroking his hair. No more fantasizing about Langa saying in his quiet, strained voice, I love you, Reki, ‘cause maybe those words will never be true. 

Reki tries to gulp down air, fisting his hands, trying to squash the itching feeling in his palms. He’s overreacting. But maybe he’s not. Maybe this is the beginning of Langa pulling away from him, because Reki hasn’t figured out how to love him. Langa, too unsure to put his cold hands on Reki, searching up articles on the internet because he feels unattractive, voice cracking because Reki never noticed his attempts at showing affection—maybe Langa would be better off without him. 

Reki’s fists hurt from clenching them so tightly. 

He’s not sure how long he stands there, taking tight, painful breaths, in and out and in and out. His body begins to itch again, too impatient to stand here, and even though he’s cold, he doesn’t think his limbs will be able to handle the sensory feeling of his thick, puffy coat anymore. So he chooses a store at random and hurries inside, the little bell overhead jingling as the door swings shut behind him. 

It’s a jewelry store. Reki’s chest stings. 

He takes a deep breath, forcing himself to slow down—this isn’t the store to hurry around in, bumping into breakables. Everything looks so delicate, a case of matching wedding rings on display front and center, and Reki can barely look at them as he squirms past, toward the rest of the shop. 

Somewhere in his mother’s dresser is a box with one of those rings inside, alone, without its match. Reki found the ring when he was thirteen and snooping for candy. 

He’s never really forgotten the cold feeling it left in his stomach. 

He tries to shove that memory down. Sometimes relationships don’t last; sometimes they end before they’ve really begun. Nobody has ever shown Reki how to love someone in a way that lasts, and his heart is still pounding in his throat as he wanders through the store, eyes catching on pretty necklaces with fragile chains, bracelets with inscriptions too personal to read aloud, so many rings that Reki’s fingers twitch, curling into fists again. 

Could he ever even wear a ring like that? Maybe the sensory feeling would irritate him too much, and he uses his hands for too many crafts and repairs anyway, and he forces himself to take another tight breath. His phone vibrates in his pocket, but his heart is thrumming too hard against his ribs for him to answer, and then his eyes catch on something sparkly and he pauses in the middle of an aisle, gazing through the glass. 

It’s a pair of earrings, almost too small to be seen. 

They’re snowflakes. 

Reki’s throat hurts. His hands shake as he reaches forward, fingers pressing to the glass, leaving ugly fingerprints that make sweat roll down the back of his neck. He’s still hugging his coat to his chest, and his voice cracks when he asks the shop attendant for help, in his best broken English, and his hands fumble so much when he’s counting out his change that he drops coins on the floor, and he has to apologize. 

The word sorry sounds awkward in English. Reki prays he’ll never have to say it again. 

But then he’s free, outside in the bright, freezing air, clutching a tiny, pretty gift bag in one hand. His heart is still thumping in his chest, and he knows the gift isn’t enough, nothing will ever be enough to capture the overwhelming feelings of love he feels for Langa. But the earrings will look so pretty on him. So, so pretty, against his soft hair and his warm flush, and maybe, maybe maybe he’ll let Reki touch them, maybe he’ll let Reki mumble how beautiful he looks, maybe he’ll let Reki kiss his soft earlobes, fingers fumbling with the delicate dots of silver. 

Maybe Langa could still love him after all.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Reki’s trying not to think about Langa breaking up with him while he makes his way back through the Christmas market. He’s trying not to think about lying on opposite ends of Langa’s warm, cozy bed, awake in the middle of the night, throat choked up as he longs to cuddle up into Langa’s arms and finally, finally fall asleep. He’s trying not to think about staring at Langa’s hands, knowing he’ll never be able to press their palms together again. He’s trying not to think about the words crawling up in his throat, words like love, words he might have to shove down forever and ever, pretending he never wanted to say them in the first place. He’s trying not to think about how cruel it would be, to have had these first precious weeks with Langa, learning what it feels like to touch his soft hair and kiss his perfect mouth, all these tremblingly precious dreams and hopes for their future and their relationship only for everything to end, just days before the holiday.

He’s trying not to think about watching Langa stumble through his grief alone, while Reki sits on his hands, helpless, unable to comfort him. He’s trying not to think about his heart breaking, seeing Langa in pain. 

Night has fallen; the stores are somehow more crowded. Reki worms his way through the bustling shoppers, the jingling of the Christmas music loud in his ears, trying to find the cafe where Langa said they should meet up. It’s the same cafe they went the first day, but everything looks different in the darkness and the jumble of bright lights, and when Reki finally spots the storefront, he’s sweating in his coat, heart thrumming against his ribs again. 

He jogs inside, rubbing at his face with the back of his hand, his cheeks bright and flushed from the cold, glancing around for Langa. His free hand is clutching the gift tightly, his body vibrating from all the hurrying, and when he finds Langa, maybe he’ll blurt out an apology, and then he’ll brew Langa’s tea tonight, with two sugars the way he likes it, and bundle Langa up in one of his softest sweatshirts and— 

Reki’s eyes catch on Langa’s hair, and he stumbles to a halt. 

Langa’s not alone. 

Reki’s breath sticks in his throat as he stares at Langa, standing near the wall with his arms wrapped around himself, his hair caught underneath his knitted cap. Reki’s heart begins to pound in his throat, in his flushed face, because Langa’s not alone, the barista from the first night is touching him, is touching Langa, his hand on Langa’s shoulder as he leans in, saying something too soft for anyone to hear, something meant only for the two of them. 

He’s touching Langa like they belong together. 

Reki can’t breathe. He stumbles back against the door again, his heart thundering in his face, his sweaty sweaty face and his sweaty chest under all his hot, hot layers, too hot, too suffocating because the barista says something with a smile, a secret sort of smile, one that crinkles his eyes up and Reki can’t breathe. He doesn’t want anyone to smile at Langa that way, squeezing his shoulder, ‘cause, ‘cause because Reki knows what it’s like to touch him that way, it’s heavenly, it’s so sweet and good to hold onto Langa’s arm, to smile into his face and watch Langa smile back, his eyes squinting at the corners, and Reki’s breathing is so ragged and panicked that it hurts, because what if he’s not allowed to smile that way with Langa anymore? Both of them balancing on skateboards, smiling into each other’s eyes as if they share something precious, something secret from the rest of the world, as if they’re the only two people in the world, as if Langa could lower his voice and whisper something like, I love you, Reki, as if Reki could lean in and laugh against his mouth, as if Reki could feel Langa’s lips curve up into that smile and— 

and his whole body protests when the barista reaches up to brush Langa’s hair out of his face, ‘cause it looks so natural, the way that guy touches him, so confident and easy where Reki would be fumbling and sweaty and Reki’s heart pounds, hot and painful, ‘cause maybe, maybe Langa wants to lean in and laugh with that guy instead, maybe someone like that would make things easy for Langa, someone uncomplicated, someone with fewer insecurities and less baggage and, and, and,

and then Langa leans away from the guy’s hand, his shoulders tightening, and Reki’s stomach drops when he realizes. 

Langa’s uncomfortable. 

Langa’s uncomfortable, of course he is, oh, of course of course. Reki can’t breathe for a second, ‘cause his throat is so tight, and he should have recognized Langa’s body language right away, his stiff shoulders, arms wrapped around himself, and Reki’s selfish selfish selfish and insecure and hastily he hurries forward, bumping painfully against a chair and hissing a curse under his breath, grabbing at his coat before it falls, and then somehow he’s weaving around the tables to get to Langa, his heart pounding against his ribs and shit. The guy reaches for Langa again and Langa flinches away and something hot and angry swells in Reki’s chest. 

Don’t touch him, he thinks, don’t fucking touch him and then he shoves himself against Langa’s side, his arm bumping against Langa’s gift bags, and his heart is thundering ragged against his chest and he can hear his voice crack when he says, 

“Hey, babe,” 

in his best English and the barista’s eyes flick to him, briefly. They’re dark and long-lashed and he’s no longer smiling. 

Reki’s heartbeat is fast and ragged and his whole body is tense, braced for Langa to shy away from his touch, for Langa to mumble don’t, Reki and send him a glance like Reki’s interrupting something he shouldn’t, and his face burns and his throat burns, itching in the smothering heat of the cafe and then Langa shifts, glancing at him, and his arm comes around to press against the middle of Reki’s back. 

“Reki,” Langa says, quiet and Reki’s breath sticks in his throat against ‘cause Langa sounds relieved. His voice is low, and he hugs Reki to his side, his arm so, so warm and Reki’s body burns where he touches, and he leans against Langa, giving the barista a defiant look. 

“Hello,” he says, in English again, and the barista frowns, shifting on his feet, folding his arms. 

Reki can feel the sweat building underneath his layers but he clenches his jaw, heart thrumming with the need to protect Langa, be with Langa, run fast away from here with his hand clasped around Langa’s but all he can do is press close, finding Langa’s hand and squeezing his palm between them. The barista says something to Langa, in English, and Langa says something back, and Reki can barely hear them through the thundering of his pulse but it doesn’t matter ‘cause he’s holding onto Langa, so tight, so tight. Then Langa shifts even closer, dipping his head so it’s pressed to Reki’s, his soft hair tickling Reki’s cheek and Reki’s heart stutters, short-circuits. Ah. Langa. Langa’s breathing is soft and irregular and so close, and he’s so real underneath Reki’s fingertips, pulse thrumming, nothing like the phantom Langa with the shuttered eyes and blank face in Reki’s imagination.

Langa’s holding him. Langa’s holding him close, gentle, and in his low, quiet voice, Reki hears him telling the barista, my boyfriend. 

Reki flushes warm, so warm. His heart’s still thumping in his chest, and his hand kinda shakes as he tucks it around Langa’s waist, squeezing him clumsily ‘cause he wants to hold Langa, too. He doesn’t want anybody to get in between them. The barista’s already turning away, his eyes shadowed by his long eyelashes, hitching his messenger bag over his shoulder and Langa lets out a long, quiet exhale that Reki only hears because he’s so close and his heart thumps again. 

“Langa,” he says, once the guy is out of earshot. “Langa, Langa, dude, my dude, you good?” 

Langa takes another breath. He ducks his head, and Reki’s heart presses against his ribs, ‘cause ah he can feel the warmth of Langa’s face so close to his own, he can feel the way Langa’s fingers press into his sweater, a little desperate, as if he doesn’t want to let go, and Reki’s chest throbs. He wants to hug Langa. He wants to squeeze Langa’s back and nudge his nose against the softness of his sweater and tell him, in a shaky voice, that he’s never too cold or too awkward, he wants to hustle them home so they can snuggle in bed, he wants to bundle Langa in several of his sweatshirts and bury him in blankets and say hey hey Langa it’s okay look while showing him funny skating videos, holding him tightly around the waist until Langa’s finally smiling, his mouth half-hidden in his sleeve. 

Reki just wants Langa to feel good. 

Langa raises his head, sliding his arm away from Reki’s waist, rubbing his elbow. “I’m sorry,” he says, a bit awkwardly, his accent stiff and careful, his eyes darting away. “For, um. For grabbing you like that.” 

Reki clears his throat. His chest is kinda itchy, and he wants to take Langa’s hands in his own and squeeze, rubbing his thumbs over Langa’s bruised knuckles. “No,” he says, “no, dude, I—it’s okay, it’s cool, I—I liked it.” 

Langa’s eyes dart up, wide. Reki feels himself flush, his throat itching now, too, but he doesn’t take the words back, ‘cause they’re true. He likes when they sling their arms around each other’s shoulders, and when they do their DAP in public, and when they clasp hands; he likes when people see them and smile, knowing they belong together. He wants them to belong together. 

“Really?” asks Langa, and his voice cracks a little, his eyes squinting up at the corners, and Reki swallows and nods, his face hot. 

“Yeah,” he says. “I—hah. I didn’t like that guy trying to touch you. Did he hurt you? Are you okay? Sorry I didn’t find you faster, I should’ve come, I should’ve—ah, are you okay? Sorry, sorry, it’s just, you looked like he made you uncomfortable, dude, like super uncomfortable.” 

Langa makes a face, rubbing his elbow again. “I’m always uncomfortable,” he says, and Reki is startled into laughing, ducking his head a little and rubbing his neck. Then Langa clears his throat and says, more softly, “He didn’t do anything. But I just...I missed you.” 

Ah. Reki’s heart squirms, and he glances up again, into Langa’s face, tight and uncertain under the glow of the cafe lights. They were only apart for an hour, but Reki missed Langa, too, he felt so jittery and lost stranded in a gift shop without him, his mind scattered in pieces trying to figure out where Langa’s head was at. He swallows. “Yeah, I...me too.” 

Langa shuffles his feet, glancing down at the ground between them. They’re still standing very close together, Reki realizes, and his heart squirms again at the way Langa reaches up, latching onto the elbow of Reki’s sweater with his fingertips, tugging at the fabric just the slightest bit, like he just needs to hold onto some part of Reki. It makes Reki’s body flush, warm in the place where Langa’s knuckles bump against his arm, and he has to swallow again, shuffling closer. 

“You bought something,” Reki says, nudging the gift bag in Langa’s hand, next to the bag of eggnog. “Did you find my…”

“No,” says Langa, and then he clears his throat, face creasing up as if he’s frustrated with himself. “I, uh. This is just…it’s nothing. I’ll have to come back again and look some more, for your gift.” 

Reki bites his tongue. He doesn’t want Langa to come here alone and search the stores, anxiety gnawing at his stomach, ‘cause Reki wants them to do stuff together, especially the stuff that’s hard. But he doesn’t know how to explain that, so he just reaches forward clumsily and grabs onto the sleeve of Langa’s sweater, too. Maybe later, Reki can show him the five hundred different things in his Amazon shopping cart and convince him to just order one of those, but then Langa presses their shoes together and points to Reki’s gift bag and says, 

“Did you find something?” 

Reki jolts a little, flushing guiltily. He almost forgot about the delicate little snowflake earrings, and his neck burns when he thinks about how pretty they’ll look on Langa, how soft and sparkly they’ll be in the fairy lights when Langa lies on the bed with his hair spread out around him. “Uh, yeah,” he says, and Langa’s forehead creases, and hastily Reki invents, “For, uh—for your mom! Hah. Yeah! She needs a present too.” 

Langa frowns. Reki tugs on his sweater again, his face very warm, his neck warm. He didn’t buy the gift to make Langa feel insecure. He doesn’t want Langa to feel insecure. He doesn’t want Langa to feel like he needs to prove his affection, ‘cause just the thought of Langa liking him makes Reki feel flushed and overwhelmed, and Langa already shows him affection in so many ways. He brought Reki to Canada just to share the snowboarding slopes with him, and he flushes every time Reki holds his hand, and he calls Reki pretty in a strained shy voice, and he makes Reki hot tea before bed, holding him close to his chest until his breathing evens out and, and, and

and Reki’s blurting out, “Let me make the tea tonight, okay? When we get home.” 

Langa blinks, his face still pink. “What?” 

“I want to make you tea,” Reki repeats. He can feel the warmth crawling up his neck, his pulse fluttering fast in his throat and his wrists, ‘cause Langa’s so close and Reki can see the awkward lump of his Adam’s apple and he wants to grab him and hug him, so tightly. He makes himself swallow. “I want...I want to take care of you.” 

Langa furrows his brow and wavers, unsure. “But—you’re my guest, I should—” 

“Dude.” Reki squeezes his wrist, close to his palm, his cold sweaty palm, and Langa wavers again, this time leaning toward Reki. “I want to, okay?” 

Still Langa hesitates, and Reki can see the uncertainty in his face, the crease between his eyebrows, the pinch of his bottom lip between his teeth. Langa’s stubborn. He’s so determined to earn Reki’s affection, buying him gifts and bringing him tea and flirting with him, so determined and awkward and good and Reki, ah, Reki’s itching to tell him it’s okay. There’s nothing left to earn. Reki loves him already, he’s always loved him, he loves him ‘cause he’s talented and so unaffected by it, ‘cause he’s sweet and sometimes stupid, and passionate about the things he loves, a fervor waiting just below the surface. And Reki wants to show him that he’s good, that he’s lovable, he’s so very very lovable.

“Wanna warm you up,” Reki mumbles, nudging their feet together again, and Langa’s cheeks go pink again and it makes Reki feel all flustered inside, so flustered when he thinks about snuggling into the bed together and sipping out of the same mug, their mouths touching the same wet place on the ceramic, their feet tangled together in their thick, homemade socks. He’s still sweaty from the panic of earlier, the fear of not being good enough, but his heart thumps when Langa curls his fingers clumsily around Reki’s hand, tugging on his wrist until their palms are pressed together. 

“Okay,” says Langa, his face kinda flushed and pretty under the lights, embarrassed and uncertain the same way as Reki, and Reki clears his throat, squeezing his hand. 

Maybe together they can be good enough, somehow.

They eat a crock-pot dinner with Langa’s mom, the spices warming Reki’s stomach and his body all the way to his toes, and then he makes all three of them mugs of tea before they curl up on the couch to watch a Christmas movie together. The snow is falling more thickly now, the fire crackling in the fireplace, and out of the corner of his eye, Reki watches Langa lean heavily against his mother.

Something eases in his chest, and he lets out a breath. Maybe nothing can soothe Langa’s grief, but at least he doesn’t have to face it alone. 

Reki slumps deeper into the couch cushions, kinda leaning against Langa, too, tucks his socks underneath his thighs. Langa tugs the quilt more securely over their laps, his hand brushing over Reki’s briefly, setting Reki’s heart thrumming as he tries to focus on the movie. It’s a black-and-white 40s film about a man who watches the world unravel as if he never existed, and even with the subtitles, Reki can’t follow the plot, but that’s okay. His body is warm, his knees bouncing with a quiet sort of vibration, and when he glances at the two of them again, his heart throbs. 

In the flickering lights of the fire, he can see tears on Langa’s mother’s face. 

Reki’s not sure what to say. So he says nothing, holding his tongue until the movie’s over, and then he bounces up and hugs Langa’s mom, without waiting for a reaction. “Thanks, Mrs. Hasegawa!” he says, and she gives a startled laugh, wrapping her own arms gently around his shoulders. “I liked it. Even in English!”

“Oh, I’m glad, honey,” she says, and when he pulls away, she wipes at her eyes and smiles at him and Langa. “That was Oliver’s favorite...oh, what am I saying. Thank you boys for bringing the eggnog. Langa! Don’t run off yet. I have something to give you.” 

Reki bounces in place, glancing between her and Langa. Langa manages a small smile as he struggles to stand up from the sagging couch, and without thinking, Reki catches his wrist to haul him upwards. Langa’s skin is sweaty, and Reki can feel his fluttering pulse underneath his sleeve and his chest flushes even warmer, and then Langa clears his throat and says, 

“Thank you, Reki,” 

and Reki can see the tint of color on his ears, even in the firelight. It makes his heart thump against his chest, even faster than before, something warm and excited swelling in his throat. Carefully Langa touches his own wrist, his fingertips brushing over Reki’s pulse point, then his palm, before finally falling away. Reki bounces again, trying to shove the feelings down, ‘cause Langa was so upset earlier and he might not wanna kiss anymore, but ah he looks so beautiful by the fireplace, helping his mom to her feet, a blush dusted over his cheeks as he rubs his sweaty palms against his thighs. 

Langa’s so beautiful. Beautiful and fragile and human and strong, so so strong. 

Reki tries to swallow, but it’s hard ‘cause his heart is caught in his throat, his eyes stuck on the way Langa smiles at his mom, soft and crooked, and says something quietly in English as she laughs through her tears. Langa’s so beautiful and so wonderful and Reki is so full of love for him that he rises on his tiptoes, fingertips vibrating, and then Langa glances at him and Reki realizes maybe he’s interrupting something. 

“Ah!” He drops back down to his feet with a thump, laughing, high-pitched and hasty. “I’m gonna go shower, okay, okay Langa? I mean—I mean don’t answer that! I’m gonna go shower, I’ll be fast, you won’t even know I was in there, hah, okay, I’m gonna go and I’ll wait for you, okay? Okay? Cool, cool.” 

“Okay,” Langa echoes, and he gives Reki this soft smile, his eyes still uncertain, and Reki clears his throat, his face flushed and his chest flushed and his body so, so warm. He loves Langa. He loves him, and maybe, maybe he can crawl into bed and wait for him there, opening his arms so that Langa can crawl inside his embrace and they can just—they can hold each other. 

They can hold each other. Reki’s heart thumps, and then he’s nodding, and nodding, hastily, and then he spins around and hurries out of the living room, stumbling over the rug, catching himself on the doorframe to their bedroom. 

He showers fast, face full of the steam from the hot water, his legs bouncing. 

He climbs out, rubbing himself dry with the soft, thick towels, wrapping one of them around his hair and pulling on his pajamas. Then he opens the door, steam pouring into the bedroom, and Langa stands up from the bed, a bit clumsily. 

“Reki,” he says, and Reki clears his throat, cheeks itching at the low, quiet lilt of Langa’s voice whenever he says his name. Langa’s holding a flat box, looking sort of embarrassed. “My mom, uh. She got us these, but you don’t have to wear them if you don’t—I mean, uh, I told her you might not want to.” 

“What?” says Reki, surprised. “She got something for me?” 

Langa nods, shuffling his feet. Reki steps forward, peering into the box, and Langa admits, “They’re pajamas.” 

Reki’s stomach does a funny squirm. The pajamas are thick flannel, red with a pattern of snowflakes across them, a button-down front and a soft-folded collar. They look like Christmas pajamas for kids, the kind with matching bottoms, and he clears his throat, feeling an itchy flush creeping up his neck. Langa’s mom bought him pajamas? Warm pajamas he’s gonna wear while snuggled up in bed with Langa, their feet tucked together, a gift from the family of his boyfriend and ah, shit, he should say something nice, something gracious, it’s a gift and hastily Reki blurts out, 

“Uh—cool! Cool! Tell her, uh—tell her I love them!” 

“Reki,” says Langa, and Reki looks up, and their eyes meet, and then a tiny smile begins to tug at the corners of Langa’s mouth, like he’s trying to fight it. Reki’s heart thumps, and then, and then he feels himself starting to grin, too, ‘cause they’re so stupid, aren’t they, standing in this tiny bedroom with the heater blasting, holding these silly matching pajamas. Langa’s eyes crinkle with the smile, and then Reki laughs, the feeling bubbling up in his chest, and then Langa’s laughing, too, without even muffling it behind his hand, still clutching the pajama box to his chest. 

It feels so good to laugh together, their toes bumping together on the rug in their socks, and Reki’s face is so flushed and warm as he nudges his foot against Langa’s. “Did she get some for you, too?” he asks, grinning at Langa’s face, bright and sparkly with those pink, pink cheeks. “I’ll wear ‘em if you do.”

“We’ll look stupid.”

“Nah,” says Reki, but then he glances down at the pajamas and laughs again, his toes curling warm in his socks when Langa laughs, too, a kind of relief caught in the sound. “Well—maybe a little. But don’t tell your mom.”

“I won’t,” promises Langa, still smiling that soft, smothered smile as his hair falls forward around his face. He bites at his bottom lip, all flushed and concentrated and pretty, as he fumbles to separate the pajama sets, handing Reki a shirt and a pair of bottoms. “Here, I hope...I hope they fit. I don’t think she knows your size. She probably just got you the same size as me.” 

“It’s cool,” Reki assures him, ‘cause somehow that makes his heart squirm, wearing the same size pajamas as Langa. “I’m not picky. We’ll look stupid together.” The pajamas are soft and baggy, big enough to allow his body to breathe comfortably, so he balls them up in his hands and grins at Langa. Langa grins back, tucking his hair behind his ear, his silvery earrings catching the fairy lights in a way that makes Reki’s heart speed up, and then Langa says, 

“I’m going to shower, too, will you—will you wait for me?” 

And, ah, Reki’s heart is thumping again, in his chest and in his throat and his flushed cheeks as he smiles. “‘Course I will,” he says, and then he clears his throat, shuffling a little closer, his heart pounding all funny against his ribs. Langa’s hair is soft around his face, his eyebrows all overgrown, his blush warm across the crooked bump of his nose, and Reki clears his throat again and squeezes his eyes shut and leans in to kiss him there, on the tip of his cold, cold nose. 

Langa makes a quiet noise—somewhere between a squeak and a whine, so so soft that Reki feels his head spin. He pulls back, his blush pounding in his face, squinting his eyes open again. 

“Hurry up,” he adds, and Langa’s eyes go a touch wider, and then he’s nodding, and nodding and nodding and hurrying to put the box down, fumbling with his own pajamas, grabbing his retainer case off the bedside table and shimmying into the bathroom. Reki collapses onto the bed, burying his flustered face in the pajamas and breathes out, squeezing his eyes shut again. 

He wants to hear Langa make that sound again, that sound and every other soft, quiet sound, he wants to hold Langa’s body between his knees and cup his face and hear Langa breathe out tiny whimpers as if they’re prayers, he wants to kiss Langa’s forehead and both of his chapped, cold cheeks. He wants to warm Langa up. 

Reki groans, rolling over, muffling his face in the pajamas and the warm, warm quilt. He feels hot to the toes, thinking about curling up in this bed and touching the textured, thrumming skin of Langa’s face, brushing his soft hair away from his eyes, his lovely, emotional eyes. He thinks of kissing Langa’s pale-blue eyelids, the bags under his eyes, the litany of faded scars and small bumps across his cheekbones, the soft hairs on his upper lip. He thinks of whispering how pretty Langa is and seeing the blush spread across his face, and Reki groans again, burrowing down into the bed, the soft bed that smells of dryer sheets and the heater and Langa. 

Reki loves him. 

Reki loves him so much it hurts. His hands hurt, balled up in the flannel, waiting for Langa, ‘cause he wants so badly to hold him and rub his back and make sure he’s okay. He wants to make sure Langa knows he’s lovable, and sweet and precious and good, except Reki doesn’t know how to say those things without stumbling over his own tongue and blushing furiously, but maybe, maybe if they’re curled up together under these blankets—maybe then Reki can be vulnerable, the way Langa is always vulnerable with him; maybe Reki can stutter out, you feel like coming home, and maybe they can kiss each other’s trembling mouths.

He stays there for several minutes, his face buried in the flannel, inhaling the frustratingly lovely smell of Langa, and then the shower shuts off and Reki bounces up. Okay. Okay. Enough pining, he needs to change, and hastily he fumbles to tug his sweatshirt over his head, pulling the flannel pants over his boxers. The pajamas are warm against his skin as he buttons them up, a little itchy but very, very warm. He crawls underneath the quilts just as the bathroom door opens and Langa steps out.

Reki glances at him and then stops. 

His heart pounds. 

Langa—oh. Langa’s flushed from the shower, his damp hair tucked behind his ears, a small towel in his hands, and the pajamas lay so soft and sweet against the dip of his throat that Reki’s mouth goes dry. The red flannel is buttoned all the way to the top, the sleeves snug around his shoulders, and the bottoms rise a good two inches above Langa’s ankles.

“I grew again,” Langa says, cheeks pink, and Reki’s heart squirms. 

“Ah,” he says. Langa’s cute. Langa’s so cute, so much cuter than ever before, so precious and awkward and silly in his Christmas pajamas, and ah, Reki’s sure his cheeks are itching, as bright red as the fabric.  “Hah. Yeah. Yeah, you did. It’s okay, man. It’s cool, it’s all cool.” 

Langa nods. He rubs his hands against the flannel pajama bottoms, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Can I get in the bed?” 

Reki swallows. His heart is thumping funny against his ribs, eyes glued to the way the snowflakes lay right over Langa’s heart, the buttons of the pajamas gaping open a little when Langa begins to climb up, one knee on the bed. “‘Course,” Reki babbles, distracted, fumbling to grab the quilt and hold it open for him, “of course, c’mere, c’mere, Langa, c’mere, I want—ah. Hah. You. You’re really cute, y’know?” 

Langa pauses, his cheeks going pink. “Oh.” He swallows. “You, um. You, too.”

His eyes catch on Reki’s, and Reki’s heart thumps, breathless and flustered as he gazes up at Langa. Langa’s eyes are wide. His face is pink to the ears, and his eyes keep darting down to where the pajamas hug Reki’s shoulders, the snowflake pattern stretching over the softest part of Reki’s arm. He glances up into Reki’s face again, and ah, Reki’s heart is pounding, his mouth dry, ‘cause Langa looks flushed and a little awe-struck, the same way Reki feels. 

He wants to hug Langa, so bad. “C’mere,” he says, tugging on Langa’s sleeve, “c’mere, c’mere,” and Langa fumbles to get under the blankets, wedging himself against Reki’s side, his legs bumping against Reki’s, so warm and itchy in the flannel. He pushes the towel against Reki’s chest. 

“My hair,” Langa says, or asks, his voice rising at the end like a question, a sort of vulnerability in his eyes as he looks at Reki. Reki’s throat feels dry, ‘cause Langa’s asking for help, again, even though he already knows how to wrap his hair in the towel. He knows, but he’s allowing Reki to help him. 

Something swells in Reki’s throat, hot and emotional, but he manages to choke it down and nod. 

“Of course,” he says. “C’mere,” and he takes the towel from Langa’s pale, shaky fingers, and then he can’t resist pressing a kiss to Langa’s cold forehead, and then another, until Langa gives another quiet whine, his eyes squeezing shut. Reki’s heart thunders in his chest, and he has to swallow several times before he can manage to wrap the towel around Langa’s hair, his body itching to bounce in place, his toes pressing against the sheets. He wants to kiss Langa, sweet Langa who knows how to be vulnerable and humble and quiet, sweet Langa who wants Reki’s help. Reki barely knows what he’s doing half the time, he still doesn’t know how to be a good boyfriend, but Langa is allowing him to try and Reki’s throat is so full he can barely speak. 

The words I love you are thrumming in his chest, but he pushes them down as he smoothes the top of the towel hat, ‘cause they had a sort-of fight earlier and they still haven’t talked about it. “Hey,” Reki says,  clearing his throat, resisting the urge to kiss Langa’s damp, crooked hairline, and Langa opens his eyes and looks up at him, and Reki has to clear his throat again at how blue his eyes are. “Are you, uh. Are you mad at me?” 

Langa blinks. His eyes are even wider when he shakes his head, one of his hands tightening in the front of Reki’s pajamas. “No,” he says. “Are you mad at me?” 

Reki breathes out, a ragged sort of breath, and shakes his head, too. “Nah,” he says, and his voice cracks a little when he says, “Never, man, I—never.” 

Langa swallows. He eases his grip on Reki’s shirt, one of his thumbs fumbling over the buttons, and Reki feels a swoop of warmth in his stomach at the way Langa’s hand feels touching him, even through the thick flannel. “I’m sorry,” Langa says, and then his face creases up into that expression, a little embarrassed, a little frustrated. “For...for making you feel…” 

“No,” says Reki hastily, when Langa fumbles, looking lost for words. “I, uh. I’m sorry for...for, y’know. Saying that thing. About the flirting.” 

Langa breathes out, making the face again. “It’s okay,” he says, and his voice is low and sort of ashamed, like he feels bad, and Reki doesn’t want him to feel bad. He tugs on Langa’s sleeve again, shifting closer to him on the bed, until their thighs press together and Langa’s cheeks flush warmer. Reki feels warm, too, all flustered and tingly, and he wants to be close to Langa, so close that he can feel the thud of Langa’s heart against his ribs, and so carefully he rubs his thumb over Langa’s elbow, until Langa’s breathing eases, the tension in his forehead smoothing out as his eyes drift shut. 

He’s so precious, and Reki snuggles down deeper in the bed, the flustered, embarrassed feeling swelling in his chest. 

“I like when you flirt with me,” he blurts. Langa’s eyes snap open, and—and, and Reki’s body flushes, hot and itching, but it’s true, it’s true and Langa should know, so Reki clears his throat and manages, “I like it, when you—when you say I’m cute, or whatever, and when you—hah. I liked it when you told that guy I was your boyfriend. Is that—is that stupid?” 

Langa shakes his head, eyes wide. “No,” he says, and his voice wavers, a little. “No, it’s not—it’s not stupid, Reki.” 

“I’m yours,” says Reki, feeling flushed and silly, and then he squeezes his eyes shut. “Okay! Okay. So now you know. You can—you can flirt with me all you want. And, and you can—hold me. If you want to. Only if you want to!” 

He can feel Langa’s breath hitch, he can feel it ‘cause they’re so close and Langa’s body is so warm and trembly beside his own. “Really?” asks Langa, his voice low and strained, and Reki nods, his eyes squeezed tightly closed, his face flushed so hot he’s sure Langa can feel the warmth of the blush, and then Langa shifts against him and Reki has to choke back a sound. Langa’s hand moves from his stomach to his waist, very carefully, resting in the dip of Reki’s hip and tugging him closer, gently, so gently that Reki’s having trouble breathing, he’s so flushed and warm and ah, he wants to kiss Langa. 

He wants to kiss him so bad. 

Reki squints his eyes open again. The fairy lights glow brightly, the thick curtains keeping them cozy and safe from the snow, and Langa’s breathing is uneven and warm against Reki’s cheek. Their feet bump together under the blankets, and Reki swallows, snuggling closer. 

“Hey,” he says. 

Langa blinks, his cheeks flushing even pinker under the pretty lights. “Reki,” he says, sounding embarrassed and muffled and Reki’s heart squirms, ‘cause he’s so cute and Reki just wants to cuddle up close and kiss him until they’re both sighing happily, sleepy and content in each other’s arms. He wants to, but first he needs to make sure Langa is okay, so he rubs his thumb over Langa’s elbow, trying not to flush at the way Langa’s palm presses into the dip of his waist. 

“I wanted to ask you,” Reki says, trying to keep his voice steady, “about, ah. The—the kissing thing?” 

Langa’s eyes widen again, and he nods, holding tightly onto Reki, and Reki takes a deep breath, ‘cause the flush on Langa’s ears is a good sign. Langa looks a bit—well. He looks a bit dazed, a bit enraptured, even though thinking that word makes Reki wanna squirm with embarrassment, ‘cause how could anyone ever look at him that way, in awe and wonder, the way you gaze at the northern lights above the steepest mountains or a snowfall on a hot summer night?

Reki takes another gulp of air. “You said, uh. You said you felt—awkward, when we kiss? Like, like. ‘Cause you don’t think you’re—good at it, or something.” 

Langa blinks again, and then his face creases up again, embarrassed or frustrated or both. He bumps his forehead against Reki’s towel hat, gazing down at the place where their shoulders press together. “Oh,” he says, and swallows. “I...yeah. Because...because you’re so good at…” He squeezes his eyes shut, a blush rising on his face. “You make me feel so…uh, I…you make me feel so good. And I want, I want to kiss back just as well, but I can’t, because I, um, I think I get overwhelmed.”  

He clamps his mouth shut, then, like he’s said too much, and Reki’s heart thumps. Carefully he squeezes Langa’s arm. “Overwhelmed like in a bad way?” 

There’s a beat, and then Langa shakes his head, the flush rising even higher on his cheeks.

Ah.

Reki clears his throat. He feels impossibly warm underneath the blankets, and that yearning feeling has settled in his chest again, just beneath his breastbone. It sounds too good to believe, that he could make Langa feel good inside, flustered and giddy with his heart all swollen and maybe Langa feels the yearning, too, and Reki has to swallow, squeezing both of Langa’s arms because his heart is so full, trembling with how much he loves him. 

“It’s okay,” Reki manages, rubbing his thumbs over Langa’s arms. “I, uh. I feel the same way, y’know?”

Langa shifts. He reaches up to rub at his face, pushing his hair away clumsily, and Reki’s heart thumps softly against his ribs at how flushed and pretty he looks, so precious, so good, so kissable. “But you’re so natural at it,” Langa mutters, eyes focused on the space between them, on the collar of Reki’s pajamas. “You’re so—fuck.” The swear is gentle and soft and it makes something thrill in Reki’s chest, and then Langa mumbles, “You’re so good Reki and I, I can’t keep up, I always feel so stiff and unnatural and I want so much and I—” 

He breaks off. His face is creased up and flushed and for a moment Reki thinks Langa’s gonna bury his face in his chest, and his heart is thumping, the blush rising on his neck ‘cause ah Langa wants him, Langa wants him and he tries to clear his throat. Langa puffs out a breath, raising his eyes, and there’s something pleading there, as if he’s begging Reki to love him, to want him back and Reki clears his dry, dry throat. 

“Langa,” he says, and he can hear his voice strain on the word, scratchy and dry, as their feet bump together. “You’re—you’re good, too, y’know? You make me feel—hah.” He presses their toes together, too embarrassed to say the words, to describe the feelings thumping through his veins, so warm and alive like they’re lighting up every one of his nerves and he manages, “I like it, okay? A lot.”

Langa’s eyes pinch at the corners. He’s so pretty and so anxious and Reki’s heart presses to his ribcage, to his throat, as if somehow he can wrap his arms around Langa and just show him how wonderful he is. 

Reki has to swallow again. This time he takes his hand off Langa’s arm and touches his face, clumsy, tucking a stray piece of hair back under the towel. Langa’s skin is warm under his fingertips, and he watches Langa swallow, his eyes all creased up, and when Reki lets his hand linger, he feels Langa nudge into the touch and his heart beats rapid-fast against his chest, because Langa has made him feel so many emotions he’s never felt before, a whole myriad of emotions he never knew existed. 

He wants Langa to feel them too.

“You can kiss me if you want,” Reki whispers, too embarrassed to say the words any louder. “You can just do what feels natural, okay? And...and you can figure out what feels right for...for you. For us.” 

The word gets tangled in his throat, us, and Langa’s breath hitches, the softest tremor underneath Reki’s fingertips and oh, it’s so much, it’s so much Reki can barely breathe. And then Langa shifts, his cheeks very pink, the tips of his ears flushed, and asks, “Really?” 

Reki nods. His heart is fluttering in his throat, and he wants them to explore each other, as slowly as they need to, he wants Langa to feel comfortable with him, with kissing him, warm mouths pressed together, hands in each other’s hair. He wants Langa to take his time learning, until the stiffness melts away, or until Reki manages to show him that he loves the stiffness, the endearing hunch of Langa’s shoulders when he’s embarrassed. 

Langa swallows. Then he leans forward, one hand still braced on Reki’s waist, and presses his mouth to Reki’s forehead. 

Reki’s heart stutters. His skin burns where Langa’s mouth lingers, uncertain, and then Langa presses his lips to the spot again, more firmly this time. A shiver goes down Reki’s body, and quickly Langa pulls away, his face pink, asking, “Is it alright?” 

“Hah,” Reki manages, “yeah, sorry, sorry, I—keep going.” Please, he doesn’t say, even though he wants to, and Langa wavers for a moment, one of his hands coming up to cup Reki’s face. The skin of his palm is cold and sweaty, his fingers trembling a little, and Reki swallows and presses into the touch, his heart fluttering even faster ‘cause it’s Langa’s touch, the same trembling fingers that Reki has been allowed to hold, a few times now, the fingers he wants to kiss, to cherish. 

“Okay,” Langa whispers, and then he kisses the space between Reki’s eyebrows, puffing out a tiny breath there that makes Reki shiver again. Oh. Oh, he thinks, and then Langa whispers, embarrassed, “You have—this little wrinkle here,” and he presses his thumb to the spot he just kissed, and Reki has to stifle a whimper, and Langa mumbles, “Always wanted to kiss it,” and then he does, again, his lips cold against Reki’s warm, warm skin and Reki squeezes his eyes shut at how good it feels. 

His whole body is thrumming, alive and warm and yearning, and then Langa kisses his forehead again, and his eyebrows, and oh, Langa notices those tiny things about him, the creases in his face. It makes Reki’s heart pound, it makes him want to blurt out every single thing he’s ever noticed about Langa, the bluish veins underneath his pale skin, the dark stretch marks on his thighs peeking out underneath his shorts, the trembling of his palms when he holds Reki’s hand. Langa shifts on the mattress, propping himself up, so that he can duck down and kiss at Reki’s eyelashes, his eyelids, the faded laugh lines by his eyes and Reki’s so warm he’s squirming. 

“Okay?” Langa mumbles, and Reki nods, embarrassingly fast, squinting his eyes open so that Langa swims in his vision, strands of his hair falling into his face, curly and damp and his eyelashes are so pale and beautiful when he blinks, hovering over Reki. He kisses Reki’s forehead again, like he can’t help himself, and then again and again, and his mouth feels like love, achingly sweet love and Reki can feel himself panting, embarrassed at all the adoration, flushed warm with the sweetness of Langa’s kisses. Langa’s voice is so low and stifled when he mumbles, “Reki,” his lips moving softly against Reki’s skin.

“Hah,” Reki manages, ‘cause his name sounds so lovely in Langa’s voice, and his hands find the front of Langa’s pajama shirt, tugging just a little. “Langa, ah—Langa.”

Langa swallows, kissing him again, the crease between Reki’s eyebrows, and then lifts himself up onto his elbows, moving a piece of Reki’s hair out of his face. “I—” His voice breaks a little, with the strain of the emotion. “I wanna…” 

He fumbles for the words but Reki nods, anyway, ‘cause his heart is thumping and he wants anything Langa wants, he trusts him, he loves him so much. “Yeah,” he says, his voice hitching a little and Langa swallows again, his eyes darting down to Reki’s mouth and Reki’s heart thumps in his flushed cheeks, and then Langa leans down again, his hair brushing Reki’s skin as he kisses underneath Reki’s eye, the apple of his cheek, the fuzzy skin underneath his ear. Reki’s so warm, breathing coming faster, ‘cause Langa’s mouth is so gentle and soft and the tiniest bit hesitant, as if he’s afraid Reki won’t accept all his affection, his sweet perfect affection, and so Reki swallows down the embarrassment itching at his throat and manages, “S’good,” and then, “Ah—thank you,” and Langa makes a muffled sound, burying his face in Reki’s neck. 

His head fits so snugly against Reki’s shoulder and the towel hat bumps Reki’s face and Reki’s so warm he can barely breathe. He wraps his arms carefully around Langa’s soft, narrow shoulders, squeezing him, holding him close to his heart the way he’s wanted to all day, and Langa’s body sags with another whimper, half on top of Reki, the flannel itchy underneath Reki’s palms. Reki nuzzles his face against the towel on Langa’s head, squeezing him, and mumbles again, 

“S’good, Langa,” 

and Langa gives another choked sort of noise. He lifts his face, only a little, and fumbles to touch Reki’s neck, his thumb brushing over Reki’s throat. “Can I,” he whispers, and Reki swallows, the warm, itchy feeling flushing through his body again when Langa presses his Adam’s apple with his thumb, and even the slight pressure makes Reki feel dizzy. 

“Yeah,” he breathes out, “yeah, yeah, yeah,” and Langa makes another muffled noise and presses his mouth to Reki’s throat, kissing him so softly that Reki nearly whimpers, his toes curling in his socks. Langa mouths carefully at his neck, his thumb tracing patterns over the skin that his lips follow, and Reki’s shivering again, trembling a little, at the delicacy of it all, the pure wonder of Langa’s uncertain fingers and warm little breaths against his skin. 

He’s never been so close to anybody else before, he’s never felt anybody’s breathing on him this way and it’s enough to make Reki feel like crying. 

He loves Langa so much, so much. 

And then Langa shifts again, kissing Reki’s jaw, tugging the blankets up over their heads so they’re cocooned in a stiflingly warm lump of blankets and Reki feels a scratchy laugh in his throat. “What are you—”

“Wanna kiss you,” Langa mumbles, into the bone of his jaw, “but m’too shy.”

Reki breathes out, a shaky sort of “ah,” sound and then his hands are fumbling for Langa’s shoulders, tugging him upward. Langa’s body is so soft underneath the flannel, a little trembly, so good to hold, and the feelings swelling in Reki’s chest thrum with love, so much love he can barely believe it. “You can,” he whispers, their noses bumping in the semi-darkness, the cocoon of quilts that smells wonderfully like Langa, his Langa, his Langa, and Langa’s voice is so strained and hopeful when he whispers, 

“Really?” 

the word brushing against Reki’s skin as if Langa can’t believe something so wonderful and Reki nods and breathes out, “Yeah,” and his heart is pounding ‘cause he loves Langa, he loves him and he’s allowed to kiss him and with all the yearning in the world, he nudges closer and finds Langa’s wet mouth. 

It’s bliss, kissing him this way, like a cold drink after a long day and Langa makes that beautiful noise against his mouth as their lips fumble together. Reki tugs his hands out of the tangle of their limbs so he can cup Langa’s face, both of his hands cradling Langa’s jaw as he tilts his head, huffing out a sigh of contentment ‘cause his head is going all fuzzy and blissful and he’s wanted this for so long, so long. 

“S’good,” he mumbles against Langa’s mouth, and Langa whines, chasing his lips when Reki shifts the smallest bit, and Reki’s body goes even warmer at the way Langa kisses him, pressing close, so close that Reki’s hands fumble on his face, lost in the tangle of their bodies. Ah, Langa likes it, Langa likes kissing him and Reki’s so warm and flushed that he can only kiss back, rubbing his thumbs over Langa’s cheeks. 

Langa’s warm to the touch, so warm and his breathing is heavy and he feels this way because of Reki. 

“Reki,” Langa mumbles again, as if it’s the only word he can remember and he chases Reki’s mouth again, kissing him clumsy and off-center so that Reki can feel the bump of his top lip and he feels breathless, suddenly. Langa’s so beautiful, panting and warm in Reki’s arms and Reki can feel the flutter of his heartbeat in his throat as he tilts Langa’s face up so that he can kiss, carefully, at the delicate cupid’s bow of Langa’s lips. 

Langa’s breathing hitches, his throat bobbing on a swallow and Reki feels dizzy again, kissing the same spot, the beautiful dip of Langa’s mouth that he’s spent countless hours staring at, longingly. He’s dreaming of kissing Langa this way so many times, of course he has but he’s never imagined the strain in Langa’s soft voice when he whines, 

“Reki,” one of his hands squeezing Reki’s waist and ah, he likes it, he likes it and Reki gasps out a breath, ‘cause he never imagined this, the swelling feeling of mutual adoration when Langa presses their mouths together again, tilting his face so he can kiss Reki deep and steal all of Reki’s breath away. 

Reki presses up into him, sliding his fingertips underneath the towel so he can feel the fuzzy strands of Langa’s still-damp hair, his chest burning, his mouth so hot when Langa pulls away, panting against him again. Reki kisses the corner of his mouth, breathing hard, giving Langa a moment to catch his breath before he kisses him again, nudging his tongue gently against Langa’s bottom lip the way he read about in magazines and Langa whimpers, his mouth parting, and Reki can feel the flush spreading all over his body, warming him to his toes. 

He tries again, carefully, licking at Langa’s mouth, the wet seam of his lips and Langa gasps a little, his hand squeezing Reki’s waist, the other tangling in the blankets. Everything is fumbling and warm underneath the quilts, and they’re so close that Reki can feel the fluttering of Langa’s pulse and he’s not sure where his flannel pajamas end and Langa’s begin but it doesn’t matter because they match, they’re the same, and when Reki kisses him again, gently, Langa pants against his mouth. He’s flushed hot now, his lips no longer cold, his palm warm where it presses against Reki’s hip and Reki’s panting, too, trying to keep kissing as best as he can. He’s clumsy, but so is Langa, and when Reki pokes his tongue out again, he can feel Langa’s breath hitch again and then— 

and then he feels the ghost of Langa’s tongue, too, brushing against his bottom lip and leaving his mouth wet in a way that makes Reki’s head spin. 

“Ah,” he gasps out, and Langa’s hand tightens in his pajama shirt, mumbling something incoherent in English and Reki hears his name and then Langa kisses him again, a bit desperately, and Reki melts against him, his hands holding onto Langa’s skinny shoulders, his heart thrumming with I love him I love him I love him. 

They kiss for a long time, too long, maybe, until the air underneath the quilt cocoon is too warm to breathe and Langa’s shoulders are damp with sweat underneath the flannel, and Reki’s cheeks are flushed and itching and his mouth is wet from all the kissing. Langa’s tongue feels so good that it makes Reki wanna kiss him forever, just to chase those moments when Langa licks hesitantly at the corners of his mouth, and every one of Langa’s muffled noises and whimpers burrows into the crevices of Reki’s heart, precious, where he’s gonna treasure them forever and ever and with a gasping sigh, he finally pops his head up above the blankets. 

Langa lifts his head, too, the towel slipping off his hair as he looks up at Reki, a little dazed, his mouth sort of swollen and Reki laughs, breathless, his face flushing anew as he fumbles to fix Langa’s towel hat. 

“Here you go,” he says, and he can hear the affection in his voice, he can feel the affection settling comfortably in his chest when Langa gives him a clumsy smile. 

“Thank you, Reki.” 

“Ah, of course.” Reki licks at the corner of his mouth, feels his heart go all smothered and warm when Langa’s eyes dart down to follow the motion. He swallows, and so does Langa, and then Reki puts his hands on Langa’s shoulders again, squeezing. “Uh—thank you. ” 

Langa blinks, and, flushing, Reki adds, 

“Y’know, for kissing me.” 

Langa blinks again. His ears go pink, and Reki’s heart squirms, and then Langa swallows again. “You don’t have to—I mean—I wanted to.” He presses his tongue into his cheek. “ Reki. ” 

The word is soft and reverent and a bit desperate in his voice and Reki can’t help leaning in again, kissing against his perfect lips, still warm from all their kissing. Langa kisses back, and for a while they lose themselves in each other again, in the soft contentment of being together. 

Then Reki pulls away with a sigh, slumping against the mountains of pillows, his body sagging happily into the mattress. The bed feels even softer than ever before, and Langa settles on top of him, his head nestled into the space between Reki’s shoulder and neck, his arms wrapping clumsily around Reki’s body. Reki hides a smile in Langa’s towel hat as he lays his own hands on Langa’s back, squeezing him gently, kissing his ear just to hear the muffled, flustered sound Langa makes. 

“Cute,” Reki mumbles, and Langa buries his face deeper into the crook of Reki’s neck, his feet kicking at Reki’s ankles. Reki laughs, tugging the blankets over them both, his body warm and content in a way he hasn’t felt in years, maybe in his whole life. The weight of Langa’s body makes him sink deep into the mattress and Reki can already feel his eyelids drooping, sleepy and happy and he kisses the side of Langa’s head, right above his uneven eyebrow. “Wanna sleep?” 

Langa mumbles a yes and Reki breathes out, long and slow, closing his eyes and squeezing Langa again. He loves him so much that the feeling weaves its way into his skin, his very fabric of being, sinking into the very core of his heart, and for the first time in months, the yearning in his chest finally feels satisfied. 

Chapter Text

Reki wakes up, cozy and snug and alone. 

He shifts around, groaning to himself, stifling a yawn in the sleeve of his flannel pajamas and groping around the blankets for Langa. He wants sleepy cuddles, maybe a clumsy kiss or two, and he wants to slide his hands up the back of Langa’s pajamas to feel his sweaty, sleep-warm skin but the bed is empty, and Reki squints his eyes open groggily. No Langa? Where’s his Langa? 

“n’ga?” he mumbles, glancing over his shoulder at the mess of blankets, but the room is perfectly still.

Reki sits up, rubbing his face and stifling another yawn, his brain still bleary with sleep. He wants his Langa. He can hear the lull of Christmas music somewhere in the cabin, the slow acoustic kind, and the snow is coming down heavily, blanketing the windows. Langa can’t have gone far, and Reki wants his cuddles, so he rubs his face again and slides out of bed, shivering as he stuffs his feet into his slippers. 

He wanders out of the bedroom, letting the door thump close behind himself. The morning is early and cold, and Reki’s too-big pajama bottoms drag across the hardwood floor as he stumbles down the hall and into the kitchen. The Christmas music is crooning out of a radio on the counter, and Langa’s standing by the stove, the muted sunlight from the windows glowing on his hair and his shoulders, and Reki’s heart gives a soft thump against his chest. 

A spatula in Langa’s hand, an apron tied over his snowflake pajamas, his face furrowed in deep, familiar concentration, the kitchen all cozy from the rumbling heater; everything feels like home. 

Reki aches to cuddle him, so he shuffles up behind Langa and wraps his arms around his waist, mumbling, “G’morning,” into his neck. Langa jolts a little, dropping the spatula, so Reki pets his stomach soothingly, sighing at the warmth that bleeds through the apron and the itchy pajamas. Langa is warm from the stove, warm from the cozy cabin, warm from the flush on his neck when Reki nuzzles him. Everything is soft and good; Reki is home.

“Good morning,” says Langa, his voice a bit awkward from misuse, and his cold hands fumble to press over Reki’s own hands. He squirms a little, clearing his throat, and Reki puffs out a breath, lifting his head slightly to nudge at Langa’s collar, moving the itchy fabric away with his chin so that he can press a wet kiss to the lovely bone at the top of Langa’s spine. 

Langa jolts again, Reki’s name spilling out of his mouth, and Reki laughs breathlessly, burying his face in Langa’s back. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, and then, ‘cause the world is soft around the edges, a bit blurry, he murmurs, “baby,” and squeezes Langa around the middle. Langa gives a strangled sort of sigh, tipping his head back, sagging so his body is pressed to Reki’s chest, his weight heavy against Reki’s body. Reki’s heart thrills, ‘cause Langa is his baby, such a sweet domestic boy in this cozy kitchen, and the word feels so good in his mouth as he mumbles it again, against Langa’s skin. Langa’s heart thumps irregularly, through both of their bodies, as he  squirms against Reki like he’s trying to get closer, impossibly closer, and his voice sounds low and stifled when he mumbles, 

“Reki,” 

and Reki’s heart squirms again, so warm and happy, at his name in Langa’s voice. He presses his mouth to the back of Langa’s neck, and then Langa’s head falls back against his shoulder and another thrill goes up Reki’s spine. Langa’s skin is pale-white above the red of his collar, the veins in his neck thin and bluish, and clumsily Reki kisses one of them, nudging Langa’s collar out of the way again. Langa’s breathing is heavy, his chest rising and falling rapidly as Reki mouths at his neck, slowly, taking his time. The music lulls gently through the warm kitchen and it feels as though they have all the time in the world to hold each other this way, pressed together in the early morning. 

Langa’s skin tastes faintly like sleep and Reki kisses him carefully, his heart beginning to thrum in his chest, a quiet sort of excitement. He’s never kissed anyone this way, mouthing at skin just to learn how it tastes, he’s never even wanted to know anyone so intimately but Langa is clutching at his wrist and breathing heavy, head tipped to the side in a silent plea for more. Smothered with warmth, Reki presses wet kisses down Langa’s neck, lingering at the dip where it meets his shoulder, the skin there soft and sensitive. Experimentally he licks at the spot, and Langa chokes on a sound and hastily claps a hand over his mouth, and Reki feels a shiver go through his chest, through his palms. He hugs Langa more tightly, mumbling, “Okay?” 

Langa nods hastily, his breath coming quickly, and his voice is strained when he manages, “Please— Reki .”

Reki feels another warm thrill go through his chest, and clumsily he licks at the spot again. Langa’s shaky exhale is almost a whine, his hand clutching at Reki’s wrist, perfect stoic Langa who stands stiffly behind him in classrooms and who stares blank-faced at his skating competitors, Langa losing his cool only in front of Reki, in this safe bubble of a warm, snowed-in kitchen. Reki feels that giddy feeling bubbling in his chest again, the feeling like he’s special, and he kisses the sensitive skin of Langa’s neck, sucking gently until Langa gives another muffled groan, sagging more heavily against him. 

Langa has such a thick exterior sometimes, impossible to get through, but he has no walls up now, it’s just him and Reki and the heat from the stovetop, their hearts beating fast in tandem and Reki squeezes him so tight, burying his mouth briefly in Langa’s shoulder. Langa is so trembling and vulnerable, only for Reki, only for Reki.

It’s enough trust to make Reki wanna cry. 

He lifts his head and kisses up to Langa’s neck again, licking gently at the skin, dragging his teeth carefully along one of the tendons in Langa’s neck, and Langa pants out the most beautiful noises, Reki’s name in every other breath, and Reki’s chest is so full, the yearning spreading to every one of his fingertips, his body vibrating with how much he loves Langa. He kisses the dip where his neck meets his shoulder again, and whispers, “Hey, Langa?” 

Langa makes an incoherent sort of hnngh sound and Reki laughs, breathless, tugging him closer to his chest, nuzzling his face into Langa’s neck. The skin there is warm now, ‘cause of Reki, and he wants to suck a bruise into the crease of Langa’s shoulder, a bruise hidden by the thick collars of his turtlenecks but visible in his pajamas, only for the two of them to see, only for Reki. He kisses the spot gently, and Langa works out, “What?” in his strained, breathless voice. 

“Wanna give you a hickey,” Reki mumbles into the skin, squeezing his arms around Langa’s middle. He’s too drunk on love to feel embarrassed, and it’s worth it for the way Langa groans, the pink flush spreading over his neck and down beneath the collar of his pajamas. 

“Reki,” he manages, and then puffs out a breath and mumbles something in English, and Reki hugs him more tightly.

“What?” 

Langa swallows, twisting his face so that Reki can see the sliver of his blue, blue eyes in his creased-up, blushing face. “You,” he says, and then he seems to struggle for words, as if his brain is too offline to do the translation. Finally he manages, “You can,” and then, “Please,” so polite and formal and the thrill of wonder runs through Reki’s chest again, his heart swelling. 

“Hah,” he manages, and snuggles his face in Langa’s neck again, feeling the rapid thrumming of Langa’s heartbeat, the irregular rising and falling of his chest as he pants. “Cool,” he mumbles, tugging Langa even closer to himself, “cool, cool, cool,” and he presses his mouth to the skin, licking at the dip of his neck, tasting the sweat and the sleep, the taste of the sheets where Langa cuddled close to Reki all night long and Reki’s body is still vibrating, giddy and alive the way he feels when he’s reading a new skating magazine or watching Langa doing a new trick, trying something new. He’s trying something new, they’re trying something new together, something exciting, as if they’re both on the bunny slopes together, finding their footing on the brink of something beautiful. 

He bites gently at the spot and Langa whines, and Reki’s body thrills with that yes yes yes feeling and Langa’s panting the same thing, yes Reki yes oh, as Reki sucks at the skin, soothes it with his tongue. He can feel Langa’s stomach tensing underneath his palms, his pajamas rumpling under his fingertips and he’s acutely aware of every one of Langa’s breaths, he’s hyperfixating on the way the sounds work their way out of Langa’s strained throat. Langa’s so real and he’s Reki’s and Reki licks at the spot again, pulling away and rubbing at the skin with his thumb, checking to make sure the redness lingers. 

“There,” he says, and he can hear the raspiness in his own voice, and it’s only then that he realizes how fast his heart is thumping, the way it does after an adrenaline rush or a big race. He clears his throat, hugging Langa with his free arm. “Does it—does it hurt?” 

Langa shakes his head. His breathing is still heavy and uneven, and clumsily he reaches up, feeling for the spot with his pale fingers. Helpfully Reki presses it again with his thumb, and Langa gives a sort of gasping noise, his eyes fluttering. Ah—Reki gulps. 

“Does that —”

“No,” Langa interrupts, his eyes squeezing shut, the flush rising to the tips of his ears. “No, it, it doesn’t hurt, Reki. I—it’s good.”

Reki tries to breathe easy, tries to steady the rapid pounding of his heart. Cool, he tells himself, be cool, cool cool cool, and carefully he rubs the spot again, the skin kinda damp with spit in a way he hopes isn’t gross. The bruise is faint and pretty against Langa’s pale skin, blooming against the acne scars across his collarbones and down the front of his chest, and Reki swallows back the urge to kiss every single one of them, to find out what kinds of other scars and marks cover Langa’s skin, a catalog he can map out with his fingertips. 

Instead he tugs gently on Langa’s shoulders, and Langa turns around hastily, bumping his shoulder against Reki’s chest, and without needing words they catch each other around the waists and press their mouths together, and Reki groans into the kiss right away, ‘cause it feels good, Langa’s thin, chapped lips against his own, kinda cold the way Langa’s mouth always has been. 

It’s wonderful, knowing these things about Langa, the way he pants into Reki’s mouth but continues to kiss him with all the determination of an almost-nineteen-year-old snowboarding prodigy, the way his hands fumble on Reki’s back, the words he gasps out in English, words that Reki has come to know and love by their sound alone, yes and please and good. He presses Reki back against the counter opposite the stove, and Reki half-yelps at the way the wood digs briefly into the small of his back, but then Langa’s hands are there instead, holding him, tight and clumsy and gentle all at once, and his mouth is on Reki’s, swallowing up any sounds he’s making, and Reki loses himself in the rise and fall of his chest, the intimacy of their shared breathing. 

He loves him, he loves him so much it’s beating in every thrum of his heart, every bounce of his knees as he surges up to kiss deeper, pour out all of his emotions into Langa, Langa, Langa. They kiss for so long that Reki loses track of everything except for Langa’s lips on his mouth, on his jaw, and just as Langa kisses the sensitive skin under Reki’s earlobe and Reki gasps there’s a ringing sound that makes them both jump. 

“What—”

“Ah—” Langa’s stumbling away from him, scrambling back to the stove, and Reki’s heart is thundering in his throat, confused. And then he smells it. Smoke. The stove is smoking. 

“Shit,” Reki says, whipping his head around the kitchen, searching the ceiling. “Is that—is that the smoke alarm?” 

“I think so,” says Langa, and even with his back to Reki, he sounds mortified, turning to dump something charred and black into the trash can. Reki wrinkles his nose, scrambling across the kitchen to where he can see the smoke alarm blinking, still beeping loudly. He climbs up onto a chair and turns it off, and when he hops down, Langa is busying himself in the sink, scrubbing off the stovetop pan. 

It’s flustering, ‘cause they really got so caught up in kissing that they burned breakfast, but Reki feels a laugh itching at his chest anyway, and he grins. He wants to tease Langa, he’s so full of affection, but Langa’s shoulders look a little tight, maybe ‘cause he’s embarrassed but maybe ‘cause he’s cursing himself for messing up again, for not being good enough and Reki clears his throat, hurrying over and wrapping his arms around Langa’s waist again. 

“Guess we lost track of time, huh?” he says, squeezing, and Langa huffs out a quiet breath. 

“Yeah,” he says, lifting a soapy hand to tuck his hair back. His face is very pink. Reki squeezes him again, and Langa breathes out again, his forehead a bit furrowed in a way that makes Reki wanna kiss him all over his face, the way Langa kissed him last night. Instead he just nudges his knee into the back of Langa’s thigh. 

“Were you making me breakfast?” he asks, and then, ‘cause he can’t help it, he adds, “You’re so cute, man.” 

Langa huffs another breath. He steps backward, his heel pressing into the top of Reki’s slipper, like he’s trying to kick him but without any force behind it. “I got hungry,” he mutters, a little defensive, and Reki laughs without meaning to, ‘cause his heart is so squirmy and mushy and man he loves him. 

“That’s my Langa,” he says, affectionate, and then he leans in and nuzzles Langa’s ear, kissing his cheek. Langa’s tall enough that Reki has to stretch a little to kiss him comfortably, his chin hooking over Langa’s shoulder, but Langa sighs a little and relaxes against him, and Reki’s body hums, happy, pleasant. Langa, stiff Langa, sagging at Reki’s touch. 

“I wanted to make you pancakes,” Langa admits, in a quiet voice, tipping his head so Reki can kiss his face even more easily. “With maple syrup? So you could try it. But I guess I sort of...forgot about them.” 

Reki laughs again, into the warm skin of his blushing cheek, and nudges his nose against the side of Langa’s. “S’okay, dude,” he says, sliding his hands around Langa’s middle again so that he can hug him. “I liked what you did instead. You wanna make them again? I can help you get the ingredients and stuff.” 

Langa breathes out again, turning his face so that his lips bump against Reki’s, and Reki makes a sort of squeaking noise on accident, his face burning, but Langa doesn’t tease him about it, he just tilts his head and kisses him, long and gentle. Reki lets his eyes close, his cheeks still itching with the flush, but Langa’s mouth feels so good against him that eventually he relaxes, swallowing down the embarrassment ‘cause there’s no reason for it. 

Langa wants him. Langa wants to kiss him, no matter how much Reki embarrasses himself, no matter how much Langa feels embarrassed, too. They want each other, and maybe it’s the most beautiful thing Reki’s ever felt. 

Finally Langa pulls away, his cheeks still pink, some of the tension eased away from his forehead, but he still looks determined when he nods. “Let’s make them again,” he says, and so Reki gives him one last squeeze before pulling away, rolling up the too-long sleeves of his pajamas. He turns up the music on the crackling radio and does a couple of stupid dance moves until Langa laughs, his face rosy, and then Reki gathers the ingredients with a warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest and a grin tugging at his mouth, helping Langa mix the pancakes, watching him pour them into the frying pan. 

“You got some on your face,” says Reki. Langa frowns, concentrating on his perfectly circular pancake, and Reki reaches forward to rub pancake batter off Langa’s cheek. Langa tilts his head up without taking his eyes off the pan, mumbling distractedly, 

“Thanks, honey,” 

and Reki pauses, his hand hovering in the air, something warm beginning to pound in his heart again.

Honey. He’s never heard the word mumbled in Langa’s accent before, and his body feels all smothered and flushed ‘cause it’s so soft, so domestic and sweet and it makes Reki feel precious somehow, something to cherish, and he swallows, his throat suddenly swollen. Honey. Langa called him honey , maybe even accidentally, as if the word has been lingering on his tongue for so long that it just fell out. 

It takes a moment, but then Langa glances over at him, his eyebrows creased in confusion. “What?” he asks, ‘cause Reki must have a funny look on his face, and Reki clears his throat, taking his hand back and rubbing the pancake batter onto a dishtowel. He can feel himself flushing from the neck up, the stifling, yearning feeling thrumming through his body. 

“What did you just call me?” 

Langa frowns, and then it seems to dawn on him, and his mouth parts, his eyes widening. He swallows audibly. “I—um. I. Reki.” 

“You called me,” Reki begins, and Langa says hurriedly, 

“I won’t say it again if you don’t want,” 

and quickly Reki interrupts, “No! No. I—hah. Can you say it again? Langa? Please,” and he can hear the begging in his own voice but he can’t help it, nobody’s ever called him something so sweet before, something that makes his insides all mushy and giddy all at once. 

Langa swallows again, glancing up into Reki’s eyes. “Honey,” he says, soft and strained, and Reki feels a breathless feeling crawling up his throat, and he manages a laugh, nudging his foot against Langa’s. 

“Ah—again?” 

Langa shifts closer, setting down the pancake batter, his hand coming up to hold onto Reki’s arm in the soft, soft pajamas. “Reki, honey,” he says, and Reki feels the warmest thrill all through his body and then Langa blurts, “You’re so cute,” and Reki chokes out another breathless laugh, dropping his head so his forehead thumps against the bridge of Langa’s nose, and Langa squeezes his arm, pressing even closer. 

For a while they just hold onto each other, snuggling together in front of the stove as they watch the pancakes bake. Reki nuzzles his head onto Langa’s shoulder, and Langa wraps his arm around Reki’s waist, and even though he’s clumsy trying to flip the pancakes with his right hand, he doesn’t let go. 

“I like when you call me honey,” Reki tells him, softly, his mouth brushing against Langa’s collar. He feels all gooey inside, his toes warm inside his slippers, and even though it’s embarrassing to admit, so what? He’s safe. He’s safe here, with Langa, Langa’s arm solid around his middle, Langa’s old broken radio crackling through the sound of jingling sleigh bells. Langa makes a muffled noise, turning to bury his face in Reki’s hair. 

“S’what my mom called my dad,” he admits, in the quietest little voice and Reki’s heart squeezes, so tight in his chest.

“Hah,” he manages, snuggling even closer, and when they’re pressed together like this, he can feel the thumping of Langa’s heart against his ribs. Langa nuzzles at his hair, pressing a kiss there, and then another one, something a bit desperate in the way he clings to Reki, and Reki wraps both of his arms around his body, squeezing as if somehow he can hold Langa together.

It feels like a lot to live up to; almost too much for Reki to comprehend, but the pancakes are sizzling golden-brown on the frying pan, and Langa’s pajamas are itchy against Reki’s skin, and he smells like cinnamon and flour. The old heater kicks in overhead, in the tiny cozy kitchen, and the big things feel scary but the small things feel safe, so so safe. 

Reki buries his mouth in Langa’s shoulder, quietly grateful for all of the small things they share, and thinks that maybe he doesn’t have to be enough to fill the space of Langa’s dad, after all. Maybe it’s okay to just be Reki. 

They hit the slopes after breakfast, and Reki’s really getting into the groove of things—pretty soon he might actually be kinda good, and the thought makes him feel all puffed up with pride—but around 2 pm, the ski lifts stop. Reki and Langa huddle in the ski lodge in their snowy boots with all the other skiers, listening to the announcements about “inclement weather” and “safety precautions.” 

“So we can’t snowboard anymore?” Reki asks, after Langa clumsily translates yet another announcement. 

Langa shakes his hair, trying to peel his sweaty hair off his cheek with his glove. “I guess not.” 

He looks so put out about it that Reki can hardly find it in himself to complain. “Well, okay,” he says. “Hey, it’s cool, man! We’ll find something else to do. Maybe we can sneak into one of the bars in town! We’re old enough to drink here, right?” 

Langa wavers a little, making a face as he pulls hair out of his mouth. It’s so cute Reki feels himself grinning, and then Langa says, “I don’t know? We should probably go back to the house. I mean, I don’t know how bad the snow is going to get.” He glances at the window of the ski lodge, which is already thick with snow, and Reki follows his gaze and then nods. 

“S’okay,” he says, and then grins and nudges Langa in the arm of his puffy coat. “Hey, anything is nice if it’s with you.” 

Langa chokes, rubbing his mouth hard with the side of his glove. Reki laughs, this glowy feeling in his chest at the way Langa looks away, trying to hide his blush, and then kicks at Reki’s foot in revenge. It feels so good flirting with him, watching him flush to the tips of his ears, and maybe when they get home, they can cuddle some more. Maybe they can bake gingerbread cookies and make out on the floor of the kitchen while they wait for the oven to heat up, their limbs tangled together, or maybe they can watch more Christmas movies, buried underneath the same blanket on the living room floor. Langa’s mom went into town this morning, and maybe they can steal a couple more hours of precious alone time together before she comes home. 

“If you don’t stop,” Langa mumbles, tugging on his scarf, “you’re going to make me want to kiss you,” and Reki laughs, his cheeks itching warm, the glowy feeling swelling in his chest as he jostles closer, bumping the toes of their boots together. 

“Oh, yeah?” he says. “Really? Is that a challenge?” 

Their eyes meet, and then Langa nods. “Maybe it is.” His cheeks are pink, but he reaches for Reki’s arm and squeezes it, and Reki laughs again, a bit breathless. They’re doing it. They’re flirting, and he presses closer, tugging on the ends of Langa’s scarf, too, their gloves bumping together. 

“I mean, you’re probably cold from all this snow,” Reki says, grinning, his heart thumping, “and somebody’s gotta warm you up, huh?” 

Langa nods again, his eyes darting down to Reki’s mouth in a way that makes Reki’s heart squirm, his cheeks so so warm, his body bouncing just the smallest bit and then Langa’s eyes widen, flicking back up to his own. “Oh,” he says. “I forgot, I—we can sit in the hot tub, if you want. I forgot to show it to you. It will—it will help us warm up.” 

Reki stares at him, his heart thumping in his chest, his mouth suddenly dry. “The—the hot tub?”

“Uh-huh.” Langa tucks a piece of Reki’s scarf inside his coat, oblivious to the way Reki’s mouth goes even drier. “It’s behind the house, on the back porch. The water feels really good on sore muscles, you know, after you’re on the slopes for a while.” He pauses, moving his hand back to Reki’s arm, his cheeks still warm with the blush as he searches Reki’s eyes. “Do—do you want to?”

Reki’s nodding before he’s even done speaking, ‘cause man, oh man, oh man. “Yeah,” he blurts out, his mind already racing with the thought of cuddling with Langa in the hot tub, both of them rosy with the warm water soothing their aching limbs, kissing outside in the snowy air with their toes burning in the heat. It sounds like heaven, and hastily Reki’s tugging on Langa’s arm, pulling him toward the exit, rambling about muscle soreness to cover up his eager impatience. 

He’s so warm underneath his heavy coat. A hot tub halfway up the mountains with the most beautiful boy in the world; how did Reki get so lucky? 

They barely make it into the car, awkward in all their heavy layers and snowboarding boots, before Reki catches Langa’s face in his hands. Langa leans in right away, and Reki’s heart thrills so excited as they kiss, clumsy and eager, teeth bumping together, Langa’s hands fumbling to clutch the ends of Reki’s scarf. Langa’s puffing these quick, cold breaths onto Reki’s face when they pull apart, but he kisses Reki again, and again until Reki’s face is flushed, his heart thumping so hard in his chest that he’s sure Langa must feel it, and the thought sends another thrill through his body. 

“Reki,” Langa mumbles against his mouth, and Reki gasps yeah with a breathless laugh before they’re kissing again, the keys lying forgotten in the ignition, everything forgotten except the warm fumbling of their mouths together.

Reki could kiss Langa this way forever, across the front console of a freezing minivan, awkward in all their snowgear, Langa’s cheeks chapped and thrumming underneath his fingertips, Langa’s mouth panting against his every time they pull apart to catch their breath. Reki could kiss Langa anywhere, anytime, and when he drags his tongue across Langa’s lower lip, Langa whines and Reki’s heart thunders with yes yes yes ‘cause he loves him, he loves this so much, making Langa feel good, and he wants to do it for hours and hours while the snow buries their car in a deep, deep snowdrift so they have to keep kissing forever. 

But then his skin begins to itch beneath his heavy coat, impatient to be free from the layers, and everything starts to feel a bit suffocating all at once and Reki has to pull away, gasping. “Hang on,” he pants, and he tears at his scarf, ‘cause suddenly it’s so much and Langa’s breathing is heavy and Reki’s scarf is stuck and the sensory irritation of it hurts his brain and he’s so frustrated all of a sudden that he could scream, but then Langa’s saying, 

“Reki, Reki, Reki here,”

and his cold hands are fumbling with Reki’s scarf, unknotting it quickly, pulling the fabric away from Reki’s throat so that Reki’s skin can breathe and Reki huffs out, tearing at the zipper, wiggling hastily out of his coat until the itching has eased, the suffocating feeling receding down his throat, heart still thrumming in his chest. 

Langa’s quiet for a moment, hand lingering on his shoulder, just petting his arm and then he asks, hesitantly, “Are you okay, Reki? Did I do something, or…” 

“No,” Reki cuts off, “no, no, no Langa.” He drags in a breath, rubbing his face, trying to settle his breath. “Just got in my head. S’okay.” 

“Are you sure?”

Reki nods. Now that he’s got his coat off, the world is easing back into place, his heartrate slowing down again. His legs still itch in his snowpants and his feet hurt from being trapped so long, but he’ll be okay until they get home. He takes a second to mourn his dreams of lowering the back seats and crawling under the car blankets and kissing in the minivan until neither of them can breathe, and then he says, “It’s just something that happens in my brain, y’know? Hah—I mean, I mean, you probably don’t know, it’s kinda dumb, it’s just, it’s just that my body decided I couldn’t wear the coat any longer so I had to take it off, like, right that instant.” 

Langa nods, the tension in his forehead easing. He looks a little relieved when he rubs Reki’s shoulder again and says, “Are you okay now?” 

“Yeah, yeah, of course. Can we go home?” 

Langa nods quickly, fumbling for the keys, reluctantly letting his hand slide away from Reki’s shoulder. Reki rubs his sweaty hand on his ski pants and then reaches for Langa’s hand again, tangling their fingers together as Langa turns the car on and pulls out of the parking lot, the windshield wipers struggling against the snow. The hot tub sounds even nicer than before, now—Reki just wants to strip off his sweater and ease himself into the soothing water. Maybe they can drink tea and kiss. He wants to try using his tongue more, see what other sounds he can pull out of Langa, and he settles deeper into his seat, excited at the thought of learning new things about Langa, so many new things. 

“Reki?” asks Langa, and Reki glances at him. Langa has his bottom lip caught between his teeth, and it makes Reki’s heart do a pleasant squirm. 

“Yeah?” 

“You’ll tell me if it happens again, right?” Langa glances at him, his cheeks pink. “I want to make sure you’re okay.” 

Reki feels even warmer inside. The heater in the old car hasn’t fully kicked in yet, so the vents are blowing cold air on him, but Langa looks so genuine and serious, worried about Reki and his silly sensory processing problems. “Yeah,” says Reki, squeezing his hand on the center console between them. “Of course.” 

Reki wants to cuddle in the hot tub. 

He’s jittering with it, excited, bouncing around while they change into their swim trunks, and, ah, it’ll be a little embarrassing, huh? They’ve never really cuddled shirtless before but it’ll be nice, Reki knows it’ll be nice ‘cause Langa’s skin is so soft and pretty and maybe he’ll put his shoulders around Reki’s, pull him close. They’ll huddle in the hot water and watch the snow drift down the sides of the mountains, and Reki will finally be allowed to fit his head in the crook of Langa’s neck, closing his eyes and sighing contentedly. 

“Here,” says Langa, and Reki snaps to attention. Langa’s holding out a bath towel, his cheeks pink as he keeps his eyes on Reki’s face, another towel clutched around his own shoulders. “For, for the cold.”

“Oh, yeah! Thanks, dude.” Reki pokes his tongue into his cheek, grinning at Langa as he wraps the towel around himself. “Should I stop calling you dude? Y’know, ‘cause we’re boyfriends?” 

Langa’s face is so pink. He shakes his head a little. “I like that you call me that, Reki.” 

“Ah—really?” 

Langa nods. “You’re the only one who calls me dude. So it’s sort of...it’s nice.” 

Reki feels warm inside, wiggling his bare toes against the rug. It feels exciting to be in swimming trunks in a cabin half-buried in snow, and Langa likes that Reki calls him dude, something Reki’s been tearing his hair out over since they started dating. Maybe he doesn’t need to be romantic all the time. Although—although he does like being romantic sometimes, like, like, like he could definitely go for some romantic cuddling outside in the hot tub, with his head on Langa’s shoulders, his hand curled around Langa’s waist, feeling the quickness of Langa’s breathing when Reki grins up at him and, and— 

“Let’s go!” he says, quickly, bounding toward the door. “I wanna see the hot tub.” 

Langa follows him, still looking faintly flushed, fumbling to unlock the door to the back porch. Reki huffs out a clumsy curse when the cold air hits them, and he huddles behind Langa as they hurry to the hot tub.  The snow is coming down in thick flurries around the house, catching on top of the water and melting instantly, and Reki can’t stop shivering as they struggle to pull off the pool cover.

“M’ like an icicle,” he manages, teeth chattering, and Langa fumbles quickly for the side of the hot tub. 

“Hang on,” he says, and he turns a knob so that the water starts to bubble, rolling up from several jets around the sides. Reki’s stomach does a little jump even as his body shivers, ‘cause oh, man, they’re gonna get to cuddle in the middle of that wonderful, warm water.

“Dude,” he says, grinning at Langa. “You have a whole jacuzzi and you just, what, forgot to tell me?” 

“I was distracted,” says Langa, defensively. 

Reki laughs. “By what? The mountains?”

“By you,” says Langa, pushing his hair back, and Reki’s stomach jumps again, his whole body flushing warm. Ah. Ah, is this—is this Langa flirting with him? Langa glances at him, and Reki’s heart thumps as he bounces on the balls of his feet, ‘cause Langa’s cheeks are pink in the cold, his hair curling around his cheeks, loose and fluttering in the wind and he’s so beautiful that Reki wants, he just wants to bound across the porch and wrap his arms around Langa and kiss him breathless. 

He wants to, but his body is trembling from the cold and so quickly he sheds his towel instead, scrambling over the edge of the hot tub into the water. It’s so hot it hurts, and he gives a little yelp, his toes stinging, the heat rising up onto his chapped face. “Is it warm enough?” asks Langa, and Reki nods, he nods quickly, resisting the sudden urge to wrap his arms around himself. It’s stupid, but what if Langa doesn’t like his body? Should he be nervous? Hastily he sinks down to his knees, finding a sitting position along the hot tub’s ledge. 

The bubbling water feels good on his sore legs. He swallows, reminding himself of the other night in the bathroom, when Langa gazed at him with wide eyes and stammered that Reki was pretty. Langa’s seen the softness of his arms and his stomach before, the scars that litter Reki’s body, some of them more intentional than others, and he still touches Reki likes he’s precious, with that awe in his eyes as if he can’t believe he’s allowed to, and Reki swallows again, stretching out his feet. 

Maybe he is pretty, since Langa seems to think so. 

He glances up, wiggling his toes among the bubbles. Langa’s still hesitating by the edge of the hot tub, holding his towel around himself. Reki wants to press their bare shoulders together and cuddle, even if he’s a little embarrassed, so he stretches out his arm. “C’mere,” he says. “It feels nice.”

Langa hesitates again. His pale hands look so cold where they clutch at his towel, and he swallows, eyes darting down to Reki’s collarbones, and Reki feels himself beginning to flush again. Maybe...maybe Langa will wanna kiss him there, on the neck, the way Reki kissed him this morning, and the thought is enough to make Reki squirm, knees bouncing underneath the water, and he’s about to blurt it out again, C’mere, but then Langa shifts uncertainly and Reki remembers. 

He remembers the article on Langa’s phone, the way Langa seemed so unsure of himself when Reki said he was handsome. His heart squeezes, and hastily he drops his arm back into the water. 

“Are you—shy?” Reki blurts out, and Langa’s mouth pinches up into something defensive, a little stubborn. 

“No,” he says, but he still hesitates a moment more before sliding the towel off his shoulders, holding it in front of himself, folding it carefully. He’s stalling, and Reki quickly averts his eyes, glancing away toward the snow to give Langa his privacy. His heart is thumping. Oh. Oh. Does Langa feel self-conscious, too? Beautiful Langa, with the deep dimple in his lips, with his long awkward limbs that seem so graceful when he’s flying down a steep slope, beautiful Langa with his prince hair and the crooked nose that makes him look just a little rugged? Langa’s always worn t-shirts when they’ve swam before, so Reki’s only seen him shirtless briefly, while they changed quickly between school and S, brains too preoccupied with skating to care about anything else. Is Langa nervous? Does he worry that Reki won’t like his body, the way that Reki worries about sweating too much or jittering around Langa or smelling weird? Does he make faces in the mirror and pick at his teeth, his hair, worrying that he’s not enough? Reki swallows, knees bouncing, hands itching to catch Langa around the shoulders and hug him. 

Langa’s beautiful. But of course that doesn’t mean he always feels beautiful. 

“The snow’s really coming down,” says Reki hastily, ‘cause he’s just trying to say something and the only thing he can think about is wrapping his arms around Langa, cuddling him close, reassuring him that he’s lovely, so lovely. “I mean, I mean like I’ve never seen snow like this! It’s kinda crazy. Kinda cool, too, y’know, like the snow’s really powerful, I mean, don’t you think—” 

There’s a quiet splash and Reki glances over, trailing off. 

Oh. 

Oh, wow. 

Langa’s easing into the water, watching his feet carefully, his pale torso disappearing beneath the bubbles. His breastbone is littered with the purple and pink of his acne, his bony shoulders flush with goosebumps, stretch marks on his sides and Reki can barely breathe ‘cause he’s so beautiful. He’s beautiful, because he’s Langa, the same Langa who nuzzles his cold nose into Reki’s neck in his sleep, Langa who insists on writing his own thank you cards even though his handwriting’s terrible, Langa who pants when they kiss, and Reki’s chest squeezes tightly ‘cause he loves him. 

He loves every awkward, beautiful inch of him. Langa glances up, just as Reki’s eyes catch on the hickey on his neck, bright red against the pale skin, and Reki’s chest flushes hot. 

“Sorry,” he blurts out, glancing up at Langa’s eyes again. “I wasn’t—I wasn’t staring.” 

It’s the stupidest, guiltiest thing he could have said, and Langa swallows, his cheeks pink, one hand coming up to touch the mark on his neck. His hair is pulled up, tied in a small knot at the back of his head, loose strands falling forward in front of his face and he’s so beautiful, he’s so beautiful Reki can hardly tear his eyes away.

“It’s okay,” says Langa. He clears his throat. “You can—um. You can stare, if you want.” 

Reki’s heart thumps, once, in the flush on his cheeks. “Really?”

Langa nods, shifting, glancing up at him again. There’s something vulnerable in his eyes and it makes Reki’s whole body feel tingly, a bit nervous, a bit overwhelmed with how much he loves him. Langa has always been brave for him. He stood at the top of the steep mountain with Reki, and he told Reki about his father, all the aching wounds in his heart and now he’s letting Reki see his bare skin, all the nicks and imperfections and anxieties. 

Reki wants to hug him so bad. He wants to scoot over on the ledge to Langa’s side of the hot tub, wrap his arms around Langa’s body so they can watch the snow fall together, he wants to touch the acne scars that look like a sprinkle of kiss marks over Langa’s chest and shoulders, and he wants to kiss him, until Langa’s mouth is warm and his skin is flushed, until Reki somehow finds the words to blurt out how beautiful Langa is, how every mark on his body comes together to create something so perfect and human and whole. 

Reki shoves his hands under his bouncing legs. He wants to kiss. He wants to tell Langa he loves him, but the words get all tangled up in his mouth, and then Langa admits, quietly

“I thought you might not want to. Stare, I mean.” 

Reki bounces again, his chest thumping. “What? Why—why would I not want to?” 

Langa shrugs a little, rubbing his hands on his bony knees. “I don’t know,” he says, but there’s this thing in his voice, a sort of snag, as if he’s holding something back and Reki’s heart thumps again. Clumsily he scoots along the ledge, the water rippling around him as he moves closer to Langa, and Langa glances up at him, bumping his feet against Reki’s. 

Reki’s throat feels very full, and there’s that nervous feeling in his chest again, as if he can barely contain all of his emotions, the overwhelming yearning he feels around Langa. “Can I, uh. Can I come closer?” he asks. 

Langa nods, and he reaches out, his fingers touching Reki’s wrist among the bubbling water. Reki’s pulse thumps at his touch, and he swallows, shifting even closer, until their knees are touching. He wants to hug Langa, but he’s not sure it’s okay yet, so instead he just nudges their feet together again, tangling their ankles together. Langa’s legs are smooth against his own.

“D’you wanna talk about it?” asks Reki, awkward, ‘cause he’s not so good at this, still, the whole talking-about-their-feelings thing, and his heart squeezes at the way Langa’s forehead furrows. 

“I just.” He tightens his shoulders, staring at the place their knees brush. The snow falls gently onto his shoulders, catching in the ends of his damp hair, and he looks so quiet and vulnerable as he struggles to piece the words together in his brain. Reki waits, watching him, his heart pressing against his ribs as Langa’s thumb rubs circles into his wrist, anxiously, and then after a long, long pause, Langa exhales. Softly, he admits, “Sometimes I’m worried that you’re not attracted to me.”

Reki curls his toes against the hot tub floor. “Langa—” 

“I know I’m not—a pretty girl, or anything like that,” Langa says, hurriedly. “I grew too tall too quickly, and I’m not very good at balancing it, and, and, I have all these stretch marks, on my back, and I know I look sort of awkward sometimes and I get worried that if you see all of those things you’ll—you’ll change your mind.”   

Reki’s heart is beating so fast he can barely think. “No,” he blurts out, and then, “Langa, I could never change my mind about you.” 

Langa glances up at him again, and Reki can see the self-consciousness tight around his mouth and his whole body squeezes. Hastily he slides his hand down to Langa’s palm, wrapping his fingers around Langa’s hand and squeezing, tight, ‘cause he never wants to see that look in Langa’s eyes, never, and then he’s tripping over himself to say, 

“Dude, you’re so beautiful I can hardly think. I just— when I’m around you I just— gah. My brain is just like—like, like look at Langa’s collarbones! Look at his pretty hair! Look at his mouth, god, I think about kissing you constantly, I think I would die if I never got to kiss you again, like I’d genuinely just curl up and die ‘cause I like it so much and I just, I just, I just wanna wake up next to your every morning for the rest of my life so I can kiss you all over your stupid pretty face.” 

Langa’s eyes are wide, and Reki’s breathing hard, his face flushed, his chest burning ‘cause he’s kept all those things bottled up for so long, and then Langa’s voice cracks when he says, 

“Really?”

and Reki’s nodding so fast, blushing furiously, his own voice strained when he says, “You’re the prettiest person alive. And I think, I think your stretch marks are hot. And your acne scars. I wanna kiss them.” 

Langa stares at him, the flush seeping through the delicate skin on his cheekbones. Reki’s face is so hot, but he doesn’t take the words back ‘cause they’re true, he’s seen the stretch marks on Langa’s back before when they were changing before S, when Langa was too preoccupied with skating to think about anything else and Reki’s eyes caught on his bare skin and then, for the whole moped ride when he was pressed to Langa’s back, Reki thought about them. He thought about getting to touch them, whether they would feel like grooves underneath his fingertips, evidence of Langa growing so tall it made Reki dizzy and fuck he wanted to kiss them. He had always wanted to kiss them. 

He swallows. Langa swallows, too, his eyes darting down to their fingers, and he squeezes Reki’s hand. “Really?” His voice cracks again, and then he says, “I—thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Reki says, face red. “I can’t help it.” 

This startles a laugh out of Langa, and his eyes are sort of glowy when he glances up at Reki again, the tightness in his shoulders easing. Reki’s heart is still thumping, but it’s worth it, all the embarrassment in the world is worth that relieved look in Langa’s eyes. He doesn’t mean to, but before he can stop himself, Reki’s confessing, 

“Sometimes I think you’re out of my league,” 

and he hears the breath catch in Langa’s throat. 

“Reki,” he says, and his hand fumbles with Reki’s fingers, turning his palm over so he can press his fingertips to the dents there, the countless scrapes and skateboarding scars. “What are you talking about?” 

Reki’s cheeks itch, and he tries to keep still, but his legs start to bounce anyway, out of his control. “Y’know,” he says. “‘Cause I look like—me, y’know, and you look like—” He gestures to Langa, splashing water up onto his chest by accident. “Like that.”

The color deepens in Langa’s face. “Wh—at?” 

“You’re handsome,” Reki says, his face hot. “And I’m—y’know.” 

“You’re handsome, too,” says Langa, blinking like he doesn’t understand, his fingers wrapping around Reki’s hand again. “Reki. Reki. ”

Reki clears his throat, and then Langa says, eyes wide, 

“Do you not know that you’re handsome, Reki?” 

God. Reki can feel the blush rising up on his neck, spreading down his chest, hot and itchy and god, god does Langa have to say stuff like that with such an honest look on his face, his eyes searching Reki’s face, as if he’s oblivious to the way Reki’s cheeks still look chubby even though he’s almost grown, the way Reki’s hair never lies flat no matter how much he messes with it, the way Reki’s bottom teeth are funny ‘cause his family could never afford to have them fixed? Langa’s palm feels so hot against his own, underneath the boiling water, and Reki tries to glance away, but then Langa’s other hand is on his face, touching his jaw with wet fingers and turning Reki’s gaze back to him and god, god Reki’s blushing so much he can barely sit still. 

“What?” he manages, and Langa breathes out, 

“Reki, you’re beautiful. ”

Reki feels himself flush impossibly hotter, and he mutters, “You can’t just say stuff like that,” but Langa’s already saying, 

“You have the cutest dimples, and, and I love your eyes, and when your hair is too long without your headband on and you have to keep pushing it out of your face and, and, and the freckles you have, on your hands, and on your face and—and I, I think all the time about, about where else they might be, and—”

Reki puts his hand over Langa’s mouth, flushing at the way Langa’s lips move against his palm ‘cause god, geez. “Okay! Okay, okay,” he blurts, and shit, he’s breathing so hard he thinks he’s gonna overheat, pass out right here in Langa’s hot tub so Langa will have to carry him inside like a princess and god Reki’s face is so hot. His hands are hot, and his chest is itching hot, and his throat is hot when he takes his hand away and mumbles, “Okay, so you think I’m…”

“Handsome,” says Langa immediately, squeezing Reki’s hand, and ah, Reki’s heart is squeezing so hot, thumping against his chest and why does it feel so good? Hearing Langa say these things is embarrassing, so why does he never want it to end? “You’re very handsome, Reki. And. And you’re cute, also, and, and there are so many other wonderful things about you, too. You’re so passionate about everything we do, and you’re so talented at drawing, and you make me excited to wake up in the morning, and you never worry about stuff like burning pancakes, you just take things in stride and find a way to make them good and I think—I think that’s really beautiful.” 

This warm thing is swelling in Reki’s chest. He ducks his head, drawing up his shoulders like somehow he can hide the blotchy red blush spreading all over his neck and collarbones, except he knows he can’t, Langa can see, and it’s like all of Reki’s most embarrassing emotions are laid bare for him to see, and he shouldn’t like it so much. The yearning feeling is swelling up again, squeezing his chest, and he wants to be closer to Langa, to open up his heart and let Langa know him, all the embarrassing, precious things. 

God, he’s blushing so much. He gulps down a breath, and then he manages, “Okay,” and then, and then his heart is thumping so hard in his chest and god, Langa called him beautiful, him, Reki, and before he can stop himself he’s squeezing Langa’s hand and muttering, “Anything else?” 

Langa’s scooting closer in an instant, his knee bumping against Reki’s. “Ah—so many things, Reki, Reki. I—I love how you roll up the sleeves of your hoodies even when it’s cold, and how you forgot your coat on the plane, and how—how you get so flustered, ah, when I kiss you.” 

Reki scrunches up his face, flushing even hotter, burning in all the places they’re touching: their ankles, their palms, Langa’s breath puffing against his cheeks. “ You ’re the one who gets flustered!” 

“Maybe,” admits Langa, and then he squeezes Reki’s hand and says, “But I can’t help it because you—you’re so—I love the way that you kiss me, and the faces you make, I could just—I could die thinking about it.”

His voice dips low into something reverent and Reki’s flushed so warm he can barely breathe ‘cause how could Langa sound that way about him, like Reki’s some sort of god to worship, some sort of angel come into his life and the overwhelming yearning feeling is swelling so big in Reki’s chest, thrumming with kiss him love him kiss him love him and before he means to, his hands are on Langa’s upper arms and Langa’s eyes are wide, so wide and blue, his breath stuttering. 

“Really?” Reki’s voice cracks and his face burns but he presses his toes into the bottom of the hot tub and gulps the embarrassment away. “I...hah. Fuck.”

Langa swallows. It’s so pretty, the bob of his throat and Reki wants his mouth there, sucking bruises all over Langa’s pretty throat and pretty collarbones and pretty, scarred shoulders and he has to gulp again when Langa shifts closer. Langa presses their legs together, against the warm seat of the hot tub, his damp shoulder brushing against Reki’s in a way that has Reki biting his tongue, face hot, so he won’t make a sound. 

“I like when you curse,” Langa admits, barely above a whisper and Reki swallows again.

“Hah,” and has Langa always looked so gorgeous? His face is so pale in the cold, cheeks bitten red with his hair swept away from his ears, his adorable blushing ears and even his shoulders look flushed, wet with the bubbles when his skin brushes against Reki’s again, whisper-soft. Reki squeezes his arms, and Langa gives a soft breath, his eyelashes fluttering and oh, he’s so pretty, so vulnerable for Reki and Reki has to gulp again, rubbing his thumbs along the faint muscle of Langa’s biceps. 

“M’cold,” Langa mumbles, his eyes half-closed, hair fluttering in the wind. 

“Ah—really?” Reki can feel his heart pounding, his cheeks so hot. The steam is rising above the hot tub, but maybe it’s not enough, and he tries to shove down the swell of disappointment. “D’you—d’you wanna go inside?” 

Langa shakes his head. His eyes open wider, and the pretty flush begins to spread across his cheekbones again when he says, “Maybe, maybe you could warm me up.”

Oh.

Reki’s heart pounds even faster, his palms burning when he squeezes Langa’s arms, sliding them up to his shoulders, then back down again ‘cause his whole body is thrumming with yearning, yearning to be closer to Langa, to warm him up inside, until Langa’s rosy-faced and panting. “Oh,” he says, and his voice nearly cracks on that word, and then he’s hurrying to say, “Yes, yes yeah yeah what should I—” 

“Kiss me?” says Langa, and Reki’s heart thumps in his throat ‘cause he’s so pretty flustered and then Langa tips his head, baring the side of his neck and mumbles, “Here?” 

And Reki’s heart thumps against at the hopeful strain in his voice, and he can barely tear his eyes away from the way Langa swallows, his skin so pretty with the goosebumps rising along his neck, shivering slightly in the cold and Reki wants to kiss him so bad, until the love seeps so deep into his skin he can feel it in his bones. “Yeah,” says Reki, and he hears the soft whine in Langa’s exhale, and it makes that hot, excited feeling thrill all up his body ‘cause Langa likes this, being so close to Reki, their fumbling hands on each other

He dips his head, leaning in and pressing a kiss to the side of Langa’s neck, thrumming with life in the freezing air, and he feels the shaky exhale, the way Langa’s body sags in relief and the same feeling flushes through Reki. He kisses again, his mouth warm against Langa’s cold, cold skin, and Langa shivers a little, pressing closer to him. 

“Reki,” and his voice is higher than normal, strained, as if the air up here is too thin. His voice is so sweet and Reki wants to kiss him again, his mouth aches to kiss him, so he does, brushing his lips over Langa’s throat once, twice, a third time. Reki can’t get enough of him, the yearning feeling is already swelling up in his chest, and Langa is making the softest breathy noises that make his heart pound, so he dares to lick carefully at the same spot, and Langa shivers again. His throat bobs on another swallow, and the sight makes Reki’s heart thump, Langa all flustered over him, and he can’t help kissing the awkward bump of Langa’s Adam’s apple, the mole right next to it that always moves when he gulps. 

He’s wanted to kiss Langa like this all day. It feels so right, the way Langa breathes his name on every exhale, so much encouragement in his voice that it goes straight to Reki’s head, making him dizzy. He nips at the spot, gently until Langa’s whining again, and it makes Reki feel so good and warm that he keeps kissing, hands squeezing at Langa’s shoulders, his body twisted awkwardly on the seat so that he can kiss down to the hollow of Langa’s throat. There’s no room for embarrassment when Langa’s as flustered and eager as him, and it’s so pretty, the way Langa tugs him closer, the way Reki can feel his breathing growing heavier, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Reki bites clumsily at the dip in Langa’s collarbones and Langa groans, one of his hands coming up to tangle in Reki’s hair. 

“Reki,” he pants, “Reki,” and then he’s tugging on Reki’s hair and Reki comes up willingly, his own face flushed, breathing hard. Langa’s eyes are squinting up at the corners, his bottom lip caught between his teeth and it makes Reki’s heart squirm, hot, in his chest. He wants to bite that lip with his own teeth, make Langa whine again, then soothe the pain with so many soft kisses until Langa’s head swims. He wants to wrap Langa up in a warm bundle of his love, where nothing else can touch them, only cuddles and giggles and pet names whispered in scratchy voices in their cozy, cozy little cabin. 

“Warmer?” Reki manages, and Langa nods, his cheeks pink, and then hesitates and shakes his head. 

“Not—not warm enough,” he says, “yet,” and he’s so cute when he gives Reki that pinched-up pouty look that Reki just wants to melt into a puddle in his lap, his insides all mushy and affectionate. He loves Langa so much, so much that his face is warm and his hands are warm and he nearly laughs, ‘cause he’s just so glowy with how precious Langa is, how much he loves him. 

He feels so good and excited and happy knowing that Langa wants to kiss him, Langa wants Reki to kiss him and warm him up, but he still wants to tease a little first. “Mmkay,” he agrees, and he leans in, kissing Langa’s cheek. Langa makes a noise in his throat, lips parting, and Reki feels that rush of affection again, a smile tugging at his mouth. He kisses Langa’s cheekbone, the skin under his eye and mumbles, “This better?” 

“Reki,” and ah, Langa sounds so breathless, and Reki kisses his temple, then his hairline. Everywhere he kisses feels warm, and inside he feels even warmer, the swell of love spreading through his limbs, all the way to his fingertips. His body thrums with the feeling, love him kiss him love him kiss him, so he mouths at Langa’s earlobe, kissing the delicate skin beneath. 

“Good?” he mumbles, giving Langa’s jaw the tiniest kitten lick and Langa whines, trying to turn his head to chase Reki’s mouth. 

“Reki,” he whines, and Reki laughs, breathless, his cheeks flushed. 

“What?” He pulls away, squeezing Langa’s arms again. “You’re still not warm enough? You want me to go in and make you some tea or something? Here.” He moves like he’s gonna stand up, even though his body has no plans to leave the comfortable safety of the bubbling water, and Langa’s breathing catches on another whine as he grabs Reki’s arm. 

“No,” he says, his eyebrows crinkling, “don’t leave,” and Reki sags against him immediately, wrapping his arms tight around Langa’s body. 

“I won’t,” he promises, and then he kisses Langa’s cheek, squeezing him like an apology, his heart so full and warm where it presses against Langa’s shoulder and now that he’s kissing Langa’s cold, pretty face he can’t stop, he never wants to stop, he wants to kiss him and cherish him forever and Langa makes another soft, needy sound in his throat and this time, when he turns his head, Reki doesn’t pull away. He kisses Langa on the lips, the perfect lips that mumble pet names and clumsy translations, and then mumbles, “Good?” against Langa’s mouth. 

Langa nods, gripping Reki’s arms in the tightest hold, and Reki sags against him, soothing his thumb over the tightness in Langa’s jaw until it eases. Then he tilts his head, fumbling to press their lips together again. They’re a bit off-center the way they were during their first kiss, but the impatient huff of Langa’s breath against his skin makes Reki feel all warm inside, and clumsily he cups Langa’s face to guide their mouths back together. 

Somehow it’s natural, easy and thrilling all at once. Reki closes his eyes and revels in the familiar taste of Langa’s lips, the dip of his Cupid’s bow, the chapped skin around his mouth. Langa’s chest rises and falls, his hand coming up to squeeze at Reki’s arm, and the noise he makes against Reki’s mouth is enough to make Reki feel lightheaded, so good, so good. He licks at the seam of Langa’s lips, trying to draw that sound out of him again, and Langa whines, nudging his own tongue against Reki’s. 

The tingling feeling goes all the way through Reki’s body. He tilts his head, pressing their tongues together again, and Langa whines breathlessly, his face so warm and his heart fluttering so fast, his hand squeezing at Reki’s arm. Every point of contact is so hot and alive, their fingers pressing into each other’s skin, their tongues touching and pulling away and then touching again, the gentlest of touches, ‘cause Reki’s not sure his body can handle much more without going into sensory overload, and then Langa sighs against him, long and content. Reki pulls away, kissing his nose and then his mouth again, scooting closer in the water, mumbling against Langa’s lips, “You’re so cute.”

“Mm.” Langa kisses him again without arguing. His eyes are closed when Reki peeks at him, his eyelashes white against his pink cheeks, and he’s so beautiful that Reki’s heart begins thumping in his chest again. Quickly he squeezes his eyes closed again and licks at the corner of Langa’s lips, easing his mouth open so that he can nip at his bottom lip, digging his teeth in just the slightest bit in the way he wanted too, so badly, earlier. 

Langa’s body jolts beside him, a startled whine in his throat. Reki’s about to pull away and ask if it was okay, but then Langa’s arm slides up to his shoulder, squeezing desperately, and he gasps, “Again?”

And, ah. Reki swallows and does it again, and Langa pants into his mouth, whimpering and pressing close to him, and Reki whimpers a little, too, ‘cause his face is so warm and his heart is thumping so fast in his chest, overwhelmed with emotions, so much love for him, more love than Reki knows what to do with. He tries to focus all that love into the kissing, running his tongue along the roof of Langa’s mouth until Langa’s shuddering, biting at the tip of Reki’s tongue, and that shouldn’t feel good but it does, it feels so good that Reki’s head goes hazy, and for a while he loses track of time, he loses track of everything except Langa’s warm, trembling body pressed against his own. 

They only pull away when Reki starts shivering, the snow coming down more thickly around them, swirling under the awning and into their hair. “You have snow in your eyelashes,” Langa whispers to him, his voice so low and thick with emotion, and Reki swallows and nods, gazing at him. Their eyes linger on each other, and the words swell up in Reki’s throat, I love you, but before he can say them, Langa is lifting a hand, brushing the snowflakes off Reki’s eyelashes and kissing him softly again. 

“I’m cold,” Reki mumbles, against his mouth, when Langa pulls away, and Langa nods, puffing a breath against him. 

“You want to go inside? And, and put on our pajamas?” 

Reki nods, too flustered to even feel embarrassed about the pajamas. He wants to see Langa snuggled up in the warm Christmas pattern, maybe with a cup of hot cocoa tucked between his knees, and he wants to cuddle him, hug him around the shoulders and stroke his pretty, pretty hair. “Yeah,” he says, and they kiss again, the snow settling on their shoulders, blissfully unaware of the oncoming storm. 

Chapter Text

The cabin begins to shudder while they’re poking at the logs in the fireplace, coaxing the flame into a crackling fire, a blanket draped across their knees. They’re snug and warm in their matching pajamas, and Langa keeps pressing kisses to the side of Reki’s head in a way that makes him feel all squirmy inside, his hands shoved in his lap. He wants to kiss Langa’s mouth, he thinks, but then the cabin shudders again, more powerfully this time, and Reki shivers, biting his tongue and glancing at the window. It’s dark out, and he can’t see anything beyond the snow covering the glass. 

“You think it’s gonna storm?” he asks. It’s probably a dumb question, but he’s never seen snow like this before; he never imagined that it could shake the solid log walls of their safe little home. Langa glances at the window, too, and there’s something in the way he swallows, a flicker of fear that makes Reki shiver again.

“I don’t know,” Langa says, uncertain.

Reki feels his knees begin to bounce. Langa shifts, wrapping his arm around Reki’s shoulders, and Reki snuggles hastily into the touch, tangling their hands together. Langa presses another kiss to his temple, but Reki can feel the way his fingers tremble, a sort of uncharacteristic fear. Langa has never been afraid of things like steep slopes and rainstorms, so his fear makes Reki afraid, as if his soul could be rattled right out of his body by the wind roaring against the windows, and he clings more tightly to Langa’s hand. 

Reki hasn’t felt homesick all week, but now the beautiful, delicate snowfall has turned terrifying and he finds himself aching for the comfort of the sunshine, the warmth of his mother’s hug. Somewhere halfway across the world, where the sun is bright and hot in the sky, his sisters are probably snuggling into his mother’s bed, cuddled around her to listen to a Christmas bedtime story, a tradition they have around the holidays. Somewhere halfway across the world, his family is cooking meals together and setting the table with four places instead of five, without him. 

Reki snuggles even deeper into Langa’s side, clearing his throat. “Hey,” he says, and then he has to pause for a moment, trying to get his voice under control, keep things steady, keep things cool. “What d’you think’s going on in Okinawa right now?” 

Langa shifts, moving his head so his mouth is no longer buried in Reki’s hair. “What do you mean?” 

Reki shrugs, feeling stupid, his cheeks flushed as he shifts underneath the blanket. For some reason he’s too embarrassed to say, I miss my mom, so instead he says, “Y’know,” and then he’s rambling. “What d’you think Joe’s doing? Does he close the restaurant for the holidays? And what about Shadow? I bet he’s super sappy on Christmas, I bet he goes home to spend it with his family. D’you think he has a family? I should’ve asked him. That would be so lonely, y’know, like, if he didn’t have a family to spend the holidays with or, y’know, you—you know.”

His voice falters, and Langa’s hand tightens around him. There’s a sort of heaviness in the room when the cabin shudders again, and too late, Reki realizes what he’s said. Langa’s the one with half his family missing. Langa will never spend another holiday with his father, and Reki swallows, his throat suddenly scratchy and painful. They both miss their families, but Langa’s homesickness probably aches ten times deeper than Reki’s, and he feels ashamed of himself for bringing this up. 

“I’m sure Shadow has a family,” says Langa, his voice impossibly quiet. “Are you...are you worried about him? Did something happen?”

Reki shakes his head hastily. “Hah—no, no.” Fuck. He should have never made Langa think about this. He’s being stupid, and the shame itches at his throat as he shoves himself deeper against Langa’s side, his body so soft in his pajamas. Stupid, stupid, stupid, Reki thinks, and the cabin shudders again from the wind and the snow outside, and that one aching part of Reki’s heart can’t get warm no matter how tightly he holds the blanket around himself. 

“Are you...sure?” asks Langa, still quiet. “I...is something bothering you?”

Reki hesitates, but the words get all jumbled up in his head, stuck in his throat, and it’s stupid, it’s all stupid. He just needs a little love, that’s all, so he shakes his head and snuggles closer, unable to stop himself from reaching up and tugging Langa’s arm more tightly around himself. “Nah, s’okay. It’s nothing. Just got in my head, y’know.” 

Langa is quiet again, breathing carefully into the warmth of the room. The fire crackles and the wind roars outside, and the weight of Langa’s arm feels so good on Reki’s back that he squeezes his eyes shut, trying to focus on Langa, nothing else. The thought comes creeping up again, you made him sad, you don’t deserve him, stupid stupid you, but Reki tries to swallow it away, focus on Langa, focus on Langa. Langa’s fingers fumble against the sleeve of Reki’s pajamas, his fingertips bumping against Reki’s arm in a way that always makes Reki’s cheeks flush; Langa’s thigh is snug against his own on the thick rug, solid against the jittering of Reki’s knee; Langa’s shoulder is moving with his breathing, in and out, in and out, soft, comforting. Reki wants to lay his head in Langa’s lap. 

Reki wants to lay his head in Langa’s lap, and he swallows again, ‘cause they’re allowed to do those things, now. They’ve kissed in hot tubs and snowdrifts and Christmas markets, and they’ve sat together in pale-lit bathrooms, and they’ve whispered each other’s names in the throes of early morning light, and the words I love you have lingered on Reki’s tongue for so long. A week ago he would never have imagined snuggling his face into Langa’s lap, puffing out warm breaths against his stomach, feeling Langa’s gentle fingers carding through his hair, but now they’re here, and the words are on the tip of his tongue, will you pet my hair, when Langa shifts against him again.

“Reki,” he says, quietly.

Reki clears his throat, squinting his eyes open. The fire blurs in front of him, and his body still kinda hurts. “Yeah?”

Langa hesitates again, his eyebrows furrowing when Reki glances up at him, as if he’s struggling to fit the words together in his brain. “Are you sure nothing’s wrong?” 

Reki’s throat feels dry. “I—What?”

Langa opens his mouth again, but then Reki feels a vibrating on the floor underneath them, and Langa looks down, moving his knee away from his phone. The screen is lit up with an incoming call from his mother, and Langa clears his throat, his brow furrowed as he tucks his hair behind his ear. 

“Hang on,” he says, and picks up the phone, unfolding his legs and standing up unsteadily. Reki bites back the sudden protest that swells in his throat, his hands twitching when Langa’s fingers untangle from his own, leaving Reki’s palm empty and sweaty and alone. No, he wants to blurt, don’t go, and a lump rises in his throat, as if he’s gonna cry, and that’s stupid, it’s stupid but without Langa’s body snuggled against him, Reki feels all cold and shaky. His palms itch to grab at Langa’s leg, ‘cause he needs Langa right now, he needs the comfort of home, he needs, he needs, he needs— 

He shoves his hands in his lap. 

And Langa frowns down at his phone, wavering on his feet. He presses the accept call button and lifts the phone to his ear, saying, “Mom?” in a low, worried voice, and then he steps out of the warm cocoon of their blankets, and Reki feels his throat close up. He tries to shove the feelings down, the stupid stupid feelings but he can’t help it, his body feels all jittery and stranded by the fire without Langa, and desperately he twists around to watch as Langa pads across the living room in his socks, clutching the phone to his ear. 

Then there’s only the sound of the storm roaring over the roof. 

It’s cool. It’s cool, and Reki drags in a ragged breath, rubbing his forearm across his face, feeling the itching on his cheeks, the way his heart thumps in his neck and his throat and his face. It’s cool. It’s cool, but now the thought is swelling in Reki’s chest again, you’re not good enough for him, you upset him, you’re too clumsy and too chaotic and you’re not good enough, never good enough, never good at all and it takes all his willpower to suck in another breath, trying his hardest to work past the frustrating tightness of his throat. His eyes are kinda stinging now. His body feels so cold beside the empty space Langa left behind, and he knows he’s being irrational, but with the storm shuddering the walls and the floorboards, the thoughts are impossible to shake. 

He tries to breathe, turning around, wrapping his arms around his legs. The fire is still kinda blurry, and his throat is all tight and itchy, ‘cause what if Langa doesn’t wanna hug him when he comes back? He can hear Langa’s voice in the other room, low and strained, too quiet to understand the words, and what if he’s telling his mom that Reki did something wrong? What if he’s saying that Reki reminds him too much of his father, Reki never knows how to say soothing words, Reki needs to sleep on the couch tonight like his own father used to, instead of curled up safe in Langa’s arms, with their socked feet tangled together underneath all of the quilts and Reki’s swallowing hard, his knees bouncing, his cheeks flushed and he knows he’s being stupid but what if— 

“Reki.”

Reki turns around so fast his head goes dizzy, heart pounding against his ribs. Langa’s standing in the middle of the living room again, still several steps away, fidgeting with his sleeves, the phone still clutched in one hand. 

His face is all twisted up. Reki’s heart thumps once, this time with fear. 

“What?” 

Langa rubs his hands on his sleeves. His forehead is creased, and he’s lingering too far away from Reki, his body language stiff and tight. Something’s wrong. Something’s wrong, and maybe it’s Reki, maybe Reki’s done something wrong and his throat is so tight. Langa shifts, and his voice wobbles a little, maybe with fear, when he says, 

“The storm—it’s getting bad.” 

Reki stares at him. The cabin shudders with another powerful gust of wind, and Langa flinches, as if he’s been burned. 

“My mom said…” His voice wavers again. “She says she has to stay in town. She can’t come home. She says she doesn’t know when she...and tomorrow...tomorrow’s Christmas Eve and she says she doesn’t know…” 

Oh. Oh. The sick feeling thumps in Reki’s throat again, and his hands tighten in the blankets, his palms itching the way they do when things begin to build up in his brain, too many things, and he knows he needs to get up and go to comfort Langa, put his arms around him and stroke his back but he can’t move. He can’t shake the lingering fear, the fear that Langa doesn’t want him, the fear that he did something wrong ‘cause Langa isn’t coming any closer, and his mom is trapped, miles away from them and they’re all alone here, no family. The cabin shudders again with the force of the storm and Langa seems to curl into himself, his arms tight around his body, and Reki can feel his heart pounding, his body beginning to sweat underneath the blanket. The room seems to tilt, and Reki hears his voice crack when he asks, 

“Are you okay?” 

and Langa’s body tightens again, one of his hands pushing his hair off his face, his eyes all creased up, staring down at the phone. “It’s almost Christmas,” he says, and his voice wavers again. “I...it’s almost Christmas, and my mom is gone and...and I...I can’t even buy your gift, Reki.” 

His voice strains over the last word, almost breaking and Reki’s heart begins to pound, in his ears, and in his cheeks. Oh no. Oh no. Langa’s body is going stiff at the edges, tucking in on itself in the way it does when he gets upset, shutting Reki out, shutting everyone out and Reki’s throat is filling up, so tight he can barely breathe. Langa is in pain, because of Reki, his body strung up so tight because he still believes, after all this time, that he needs to buy Reki a gift. He’s still worrying about Reki even though there are so many other things to worry about, more important things, and before he can stop himself, Reki blurts, 

“You don’t need to—I mean—why do you care so much about that?”   

and Langa’s eyes snap up, his chest heaving with the intensity of his breathing. 

“What—what do you mean?” His voice is so strained, the accent thicker than ever, so close to cracking. “I waited too long, I couldn’t find anything in time and now it’s—it’s too late.”

“Yeah, but—” Reki’s brain is all tangled up, and he wants to put his hands on Langa’s shoulders, he wants to ease the tension but he can’t, he can’t even get up ‘cause his legs are jittering too hard, and Langa’s too far away, holding himself away from Reki and Reki’s brain is screeching too fast to process any of his words before they tumble out of his mouth. “It doesn’t matter, like—it’s not that important. You shouldn’t—you shouldn’t worry about me.”

“I am worried,” says Langa, and his voice is even more strained, louder than before. “Of course I—I want to show you how much I—and I can tell something’s bothering you, something’s wrong but you won’t tell me because you don’t think I’ll understand and, and, and you never tell me when you’re upset.” 

His voice wavers terribly, and Reki’s heart thunders in his ears. He flounders for an excuse, it’s not true, it’s not true, except it is true, he’s too in his head, always too embarrassed, too ashamed of his problems and his insecurities, too ashamed to be vulnerable and all Langa wants is vulnerability, and Reki’s not good enough, he’s too complicated and difficult and embarrassed and then he’s blurting,  

“‘Cause it’s not important,” 

and Langa’s face creases up, his hands gripping his sleeves so hard his knuckles are white. 

“Do you think I don’t care about you?” he asks, his voice trembling, and Reki’s heart trembles, too, his body shaking, and he tries to shake his head, but his head won’t move. 

“No, but—”

“But what?” 

Reki tries to take a breath, but his lungs won’t work, they’re too tangled up, too difficult, and his throat hurts when he says, “You deserve someone better than me, you—you don’t know it yet but you do.” 

Langa stares at him. The world seems to shudder with the wind, the cabin rattling around them, and it’s hard to breathe, it’s hard to feel anything over the overwhelming jittering of Reki’s limbs and the burning in his chest, and then Langa opens his mouth and closes it again. His face is pale. He looks almost colorless.

“You really believe that?” 

Reki can feel his limbs vibrating, he can feel his body spiraling down into the dark, dark hole where he’s not good enough for anyone, not good enough to share someone's air or someone’s warm bed, not even good enough to look anyone in the eye, and he knows he shouldn’t nod but he does. He nods. And Langa’s body tightens again, biting his lip so hard it goes white, and then Reki sees it. 

There are tears in Langa’s eyes. 

Reki feels like all the air has been punched out of him. He can’t breathe, he can’t say anything and then Langa’s saying, choked, “See, I can’t—I can’t—I can’t even show you how much I love you. I keep trying to show you, but I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.” 

The world spins, Reki’s brain stuck on those words, I love you , those words that he’s been wanting to hear for so long but not like this, never like this, not with Langa’s voice trembling and broken and the tears beginning to slide down his pale cheeks, his hands still clutching at himself, at his phone, and Reki tries to open his mouth and say something but then Langa’s voice is filling the room again, wobbling, saying, 

“If I could love you right, you wouldn’t have to feel that way,” 

and then he’s turning around again, one arm across his face to rub the tears furiously away, the fabric of his pajamas tight around his shoulders. Reki’s head is pounding, follow him comfort him help him, but his body is rooted to the floor and then Langa stumbles out of the room, his hand catching on the corner of the wall before he disappears completely, and then the cabin is shuddering again, and Reki’s body is hot and his chest is cold,  his heart somehow expanding and shrinking all at once, thumping against every painful crevice of his ribcage. 

Langa is crying. Langa is crying. Langa, who he thought was past the point of tears, Langa who has already suffered so much, Langa who keeps his emotions hidden under a thick layer of stoicism and stubbornness, Langa is crying because of him. 

Reki’s head hurts. His whole body hurts, and it’s hard to breathe. His legs are bouncing so hard it’s painful. Langa is crying. Those words echo in Reki’s brain again, I love you, and everything hurts worse ‘cause he wanted to hear those words so badly, he’s always wanted Langa to love him, but now he does and everything has gone wrong. Reki feels sick, his chest all choked up, the lump growing and growing in the back of his throat where it hurts the most. Langa loves him, and everything is wrong, they’re all alone in this fragile little cabin, trembling from the terror of the snowstorm and no one is around to show them how to do this, how to love each other. Reki tries to swallow, but then he can feel tears burning behind his eyes, and he wants Langa back, he wants Langa’s arms around him, soothing, and he knows he should follow Langa but his body refuses to move. 

His head pounds. He’s not good enough for Langa, talented, beautiful Langa, he’s always hurting him, and he should have known Langa would blame himself for the ugly voice that rears in Reki’s head, spitting not good enough not good enough not good enough and Reki’s cheeks are wet. The room feels terribly big and way too small all at once, suffocatingly small, and he tears the blanket off, breathing hard. He was too afraid to tell Langa he loved him. He was too afraid, and Langa was too unsure, and now the storm is shaking their tiny cabin, and maybe Langa’s right. 

Maybe it’s too late. 

Reki can’t breathe, then, and he’s not sure how much time passes, his head whirring around, his body shaking in front of the fireplace, stuck inside his suffocating body, his limbs shaking. He shouldn’t have told Langa that he deserves somebody better, but it’s true. It’s horribly true and Reki has always known it, from the very beginning, from that trembling first night in the cafe when the barista touched Langa’s beautiful hands, and his body burns. In the thrill of being allowed to kiss Langa, his sweet chapped mouth, and hold him and touch him and tease him until his face flushes pink—in the thrill of being allowed to love him, Reki forgot that Langa deserves better, and now the shame burns through his body, hot, so hot. 

He was so close to telling Langa he loved him, so close to being ready. But it doesn’t matter now. He waited too long, and now it’s too late. 

And Reki’s crying so hard his body is shaking, and when he presses his hands over his face , his palms are soaked and the feeling is too much and he can’t stand it and so he tears at his hair, he stumbles to his feet and rubs his hands furiously on his pants, his grapples for something, anything, but his heart is thundering and burning with the need to run, to find his board and throw it to the ground and speed until the pain is gone, until his body stops vibrating so fucking badly and he wants to go to the bedroom but he can’t because he hurt Langa, and so instead he hurried, blindly, body shaking, for the door of the cabin. 

He remembers his boots. 

He forgets his coat. 

The storm rocks him on his feet when he shoves the door open, nearly blasting it shut in his face, but he throws his weight against it and manages to heave it open again. It’s so cold outside that it burns Reki’s whole body, but he’s too worked up to care, he’s too worked up to think about anything at all, and so he stumbles out into the snow and lets the storm blow the door closed behind him, and then he’s outside, in the wind, the cold blowing straight through the thin fabric of his pajamas, and he’s never felt anything as powerful as the snow and before Reki can stop himself, he’s shouting, he’s shouting a long wordless yell into the storm and the wind whips it away, as if he was never there to begin with. 

Maybe the world would be better off without Reki. 

Maybe Langa would be. 

Reki can feel the sobs building up in his throat again, ‘cause after all this he still wasn’t good enough for Langa, and he wanted so badly to be good enough, he just wanted to be able to wake up to soft mornings with Langa and wrap his arms around Langa in an apron, kiss his pretty face, make him flush and hear him whisper Reki’s name in that low, quiet voice as his fingers fumble with Reki’s hair. He just wants to love Langa, all his broken pieces and intense determination, but maybe he’s too clumsy, too human and he yells again, not so loudly this time, but the wind still carries it away and leaves a deep, aching hole in Reki’s heart, so big that it threatens to swallow him whole. 

Langa is wrong. He loves Reki perfectly. It’s Reki who can’t manage to love himself the same way, no matter how hard he tries. 

It’s cruel, a cruel truth, that their love can’t fix each other and Reki can feel himself shuddering, squeezing his arms around his stupid jittering body, the tears freezing as they slide down his cheeks, dripping down onto the snowy collar of his pajamas. These insecurities will always chew at the fabric of Reki’s heart, eating him alive from the inside out, and he doesn’t know how to stop Langa from blaming himself for them, and  maybe they’re not good for each other, and the thought hurts so badly that Reki sinks down to his knees, crouched in the snow, and puts his head in his hands. 

He’s not sure how long he stays that way, the storm raging around him, caging his head in his arms as he huddled underneath the porch awning, the house lit up by delicate Christmas lights until the storm shakes the house so badly that they fuzz and blink out and then Reki is all alone, in the darkness. He balls himself up more tightly, hating himself, hating everything. Why won’t anyone tell him how to do this, how to love someone? His throat is all choked up, and he wants to cry, but he can’t, at least he thinks he can’t, and then he realizes that he already is, his shoulders shaking with it, his throat racked with sobs and fuck, he presses his hands over his eyes and tries to gulp for air and everything is so cold and freezing that he can barely breathe, his body is beginning to go numb, and he’s so stupid, so stupid coming out here in the middle of a fucking snowstorm, stupid stupid stupid stupid Reki, idiotic Reki, worthless pathetic Reki and he wants to scream, so he does but it breaks midway through and he sobs, his throat aching, his chest aching. 

He wants Langa. Why can’t he be good enough for Langa? He just loves him so much, and then he’s sobbing again, his face buried in his arms. 

The snow begins to build up around him, settling on his back and his shoulders and his soaked hair as he shakes with the sobs, eyes squeezed so tightly that everything is dark and cold.  Maybe the snow will bury him out here, and the thought sends a zing of panic through his body, but also, also it feels like he would deserve it, and he chokes into his arms, pressing his eyes into his sleeves until they hurt. How can he go back inside? The cozy little home they built up this morning feels so far away, as if he finally pinched himself and awoke from the lovely dream of being with Langa, and he can’t stop seeing those tears welling up in Langa’s eyes, in Langa’s pale face, his beautiful blue eyes that have always been so full of emotion that only Reki could understand. Langa’s eyes, so full of hopefulness when Reki holds his hand and so full of flustered embarrassment when Reki kisses him too much, and so bright and alive on top of the mountains, and now all Reki can see in his mind are those beautiful eyes wet with tears, the pain spilling over onto Langa’s face. 

His body hurts. He hugs himself so tightly, but he’s too cold, he’s so cold he’s shuddering and he can’t stop. He has to go inside. 

He has to, but he can’t. 

He wants to go home. 

Another wave of emotions rolls over him, and he’s pressing his hands over his eyes and trying to stop shaking but his mind is full of his bright, colorful home in Okinawa, where his family teases him every day, where Langa looks so comfortable in his bedroom, sprawled out on his bed. Everything was so simple before, when the feelings were one-sided, buried deep inside Reki’s heart. They could have been friends forever, if only Reki had kept his stupid feelings to himself, but his body shudders with fear and pain when he thinks about what might happen now. 

If Langa leaves him— 

No more waking up and seeing Langa’s pretty hair tucked around his pillows as he snuggles deep into Reki’s bed, no more dreaming about holding his hand, no more brushing shoulders as they walk to school together, no more wrapping his arms around Langa from behind, no more listening to the hitch of Langa’s breathing and no more leaning in and pressing his mouth to the flush on Langa’s face and no more laughing breathlessly at the way Langa’s hands tighten around his waist, his voice low and strained when he whispers, Reki, and 

and Langa loves him, and Reki feels guilt and shame building up in his body as his shoulders finally slump, exhausted, drained of tears ‘cause Langa loves him and Reki doesn’t deserve it. 

Langa shouldn’t love him. The thought hurts, but it’s true, and Reki’s eyes ache as he finally lifts his head, trying to squint against the raging storm. His body is covered in snow, and he can’t see anything but a blur of white, the snow slowly overtaking everything, and although he’s only a few feet from the door, for a moment a dull kind of fear rolls over him. It might be too late. The door might be snowed in, impossible to open, the cozy little home shutting Reki out, and maybe he would deserve it. 

Reki’s legs shake as he rises to his feet, scrubbing at his face. His hair is wet, plastered to his face, and his pajamas are soaked with snow, clinging to his shivering body. He fumbles to step through the banks of snow built up around the doorway, his hands numb, his body beginning to burn inside, a sort of heat that has him clenching his teeth ‘cause it’s like he needs to tear off his clothes again, tear his way out of the itchy, too-thick fabric and his palms stick to the frozen doorknob when he tries to twist it, putting all his weight into pulling it open. 

The door shifts an inch and then sticks in the snow. Reki’s breathing is coming hard, his chest heaving, but if he can only get inside the cabin, he thinks, then, then, then it won’t be too late. 

If only. 

If only. 

He has no phone, no coat. He could scream into the house, but would the wind whip his words away? Reki swallows, steels himself. His cheeks hurt, burning from the cold, and somewhere inside the house Langa is probably sitting on the floor, crying, or maybe staring at a wall, in pain because he gave his heart to Reki and Reki didn’t know what to do with it. 

He throws all his weight into pulling on the door again, and this time something gives—it slides further into the snow, and Reki is able to wiggle inside. His body is burning, his limbs exhausted and somehow still jittering ‘cause Reki’s body will never give him a rest and he wants to sob again, but he’s all cried out, and he tugs the door closed again with the last of his strength and sinks to the floor. 

He’s freezing and wet and shivering, and the cabin is silent. 

Reki can feel the tears pricking at his eyes, sliding down quietly, hot against the cold of his body. He wants to find the bedroom and knock clumsily on the door and ask Langa, in a halting scratchy voice, if he can maybe come in the bed with him. It would feel so good, climbing on top of the soft mattress and feeling it sink beneath his knees, peeling off his cold pajamas and crawling underneath the heavy quilts, into the safe cocoon of their blankets, maybe even be allowed to snuggle up against Langa and choke out his feelings, how sorry he is, how badly he wants this to work, how deeply he loves him, so much that sometimes it’s scary and overwhelming and he’s sorry, because he loves him but sometimes he doesn’t know what to do. 

Reki drags in a breath, pressing his hands over his eyes. He wants to find Langa. He wants Langa to whisper his name and wrap his arms around him, pressing those wet kisses to his temple the way he did when they were snuggling in front of the fire, he wants to press his head to the solid thud of Langa’s heartbeat, he wants to know if Langa still loves him. He wants it so bad he’s desperate, the feeling tearing at his brain and his heart but he’s too exhausted to stand up, he’s shaking too hard, his body burning with a cold so cold that it’s turning into a hot, blistering feeling in the middle of his bones. 

His hands fumble with the buttons of his pajamas. He can’t get them undone, and with frustration building behind his eyes and in his palms, he rips them open, the buttons tearing off, the pajamas ruined and tears burn his eyes again ‘cause he ruined them. He ruins everything. He’s not good enough, and he has to gulp down a small sob, a very small sob ‘cause he doesn’t deserve to find Langa and cuddle him, anyway. He made Langa cry. Even if Reki snuck into the bedroom and tried to climb into the bed, Langa might tell him no, Langa might turn him away and the thought of rejection is so painful that Reki can’t breathe for a solid thirty seconds, just holding himself, head bent and eyes squeezed tightly shut. 

Finally he manages to strip the wet pajamas off, until he’s shivering in just his boxers, and he means to stumble to the couch, at least, but his bones hurt too badly and so instead he just curls up on the rug in the entryway. His feet brush against the soft lining of his coat and his throat fills up again, tears stinging his eyes. Clumsily he fumbles for the coat, tugging it over himself, the beautiful skiing coat that Langa found for him on that first day in town, patching up Reki’s mistakes with unflinching, unconditional love. Langa has given him so many wonderful gifts already and somehow he’s still unaware of it, and Reki cries into the fabric of the lining until the world goes dark. 

Reki is hot. 

He’s so hot, his body swelling with the stifling heat, but somehow he’s shuddering, burning up outside but cold inside, deep down in his aching bones, and everything is slow and fumbling around him, the darkness suffocating. Someone is whispering Reki, Reki, Reki with increasing desperation, and Reki is too hot to speak, his tongue thick in his mouth, so instead he whimpers, the sound muffled in his ears. He needs something to hold. He needs to hold Langa, and then he whimpers again, his eyes burning, his throat burning ‘cause where’s his Langa? He needs his Langa, he needs his hands in the soft fabric of Langa’s pajamas and his body curled underneath the heavy quilts with Langa, he needs Langa, he needs him, needs to find him, needs to get up now and go but his limbs are too heavy, the skin itchy and he feels a sob welling up in his throat. 

He needs his Langa. His body is full of the word, Langa Langa Langa and he barely realizes he’s mumbling it aloud, desperately, voice too raspy to recognize and then he feels someone shift beside him, a knee pressing to his side.

“Reki,” and it’s low and soft and terrified, and Reki’s so hot and he needs Langa, his Langa, and he whimpers the word, Langa, and then there’s a cold touch on his forehead, a blissfully cold touch. 

The world goes fuzzy for a moment, and all Reki can feel is the press of cool fingertips against his burning, burning skin, and he needs it, he wants more of it, and he whines, tilting his face up, trying to press into the touch. “Langa,” he mumbles, and the voice whispers, 

“Yes, Reki, Reki, I’m here,” 

and oh, the touch, it’s Langa.

Reki feels himself whimper on the exhale, his body sagging with relief because Langa, his Langa is here, brushing Reki’s sweaty hair off his face with cold fingers, shuffling closer, his quick, tense breaths surrounding them. His cool palm cups Reki’s flushed face, his thumb brushing over the feverish skin on his cheek and it’s bliss, it’s the most wonderful thing Reki’s ever felt, Langa’s cold hands, and he’s gulping deep breaths, tilting his face so Langa will touch him more. 

Everything is fuzzy, too warm. Langa’s voice is quiet and mumbling, fading in and out of coherence, catches of so worried and what happened and Reki, my love and Reki feels himself shudder at that last one, my love, the words too much for his flushed body, his pounding heart, his clumsy limbs, his hands too heavy to reach up and find Langa’s face. He needs to touch Langa, too, Langa’s always cold, maybe he needs warmth, and Reki has so much warmth to give him and he’s whimpering again, trying to get his mouth around those words, Langa my love but he’s too sick, his tongue too clumsy, and so instead he just gives a small, helpless sob. 

“Reki,” and Langa’s voice is clearer now, laced with worry. His hand brushes Reki’s hair off his forehead again and Reki sobs at how nice it feels, how gentle, how wonderful. He wants to touch Langa like that too. He wants to love Langa. He wants to tell Langa he loves him, but the words are all muddled up in his hot, muddled-up head and all he can do is whine, fumbling for one of Langa’s knees, the fabric of his pajamas itchy underneath Reki’s burning palm. 

Langa’s hands smooth his hair off his neck, off his ears, over his eyelids and for a while his hands are all Reki can feel, the only good thing in this world that is too big and too small and too hot and too cold, and his voice murmurs those quiet, worried words again, honey, and oh baby, and Reki, Reki, and slowly Reki realizes that he is trembling, and that Langa is trembling, too, his hands shaky as they brush gently over the bridge of Reki’s nose. He manages to squint his eyes open, just a bit, and Langa swims in his vision, brightly lit somehow, his hair falling in soft curtains around his face and Reki’s throat swells because he looks like an angel. Reki’s angel. A soft, sweet boy come to save him and Reki whimpers, his hand shaking as he lifts it to Langa’s face. 

His hand doesn’t feel like his own as he watches his thumb touch the corner of Langa’s mouth, his hand settling against Langa’s cold cheek. Langa is so pale, his eyes so wide and worried, this painful furrow in his brow as if he has done something wrong and doesn’t fully understand what. “Sorry,” Reki mumbles, not sure why, except it feels like something he should say, and Langa shakes his head hastily, his own hand coming up to hold Reki’s palm to his cheek.

Langa’s breathing is shaky, Reki realizes. “Don’t apologize,” Langa whispers, and oh, there’s so much pain in his expression that Reki’s body begins to hurt. “I should— I’m sorry, Reki, I—what happened? Why—did you go outside?” 

Reki barely remembers. The snow...there was yelling, someone was yelling, and he remembers Langa, with tears in his eyes and Reki’s heart squeezes with a sharp pain. “You were crying,” he mumbles, and then, “Made you cry,” and his throat is so full, his body aching, and his voice wobbles on the words like he might start crying, too, ‘cause he remembers now. 

He hurt Langa. 

He hurt Langa, and the world swims for a moment, Langa’s face blurry, creased up, biting his lip. He hurt Langa, so why is Langa still here, cradling Reki’s aching head in his hands, touching his face so gently with words like Reki, my love in his cracked voice? The sob wells up in Reki’s throat again, and then Langa mumbles, “You’re sick,” and ah, that—that’s why. Langa is here because he’s sick, feverish with heat, his body sore and heavy and aching. Langa is worried about him. 

Reki’s heart squeezes, so tight and painful and all he can do is turn his head, bury his face in the sleeve of Langa’s pajamas. His body aches to hold Langa, to love him. Maybe Langa will allow Reki to cuddle him just this one last time, ‘cause he’s sick. Reki has to swallow, his throat hot and painful, ‘cause probably it would be wrong and selfish to ask, and he’s already been bad enough but he can’t stop himself from mumbling, “Bed?” 

Langa shifts again, squeezing his hand. “Of course,” he says, and his voice cracks. “Of course, Reki, honey, let’s—let’s get you to the bed.”  

Everything is clumsy and too heavy as Langa tries to help him stand, his arms warm and solid around Reki’s waist, and Reki’s shivering again, for some reason, even though his skin is burning up. His feet hurt, and he has to lean heavily on Langa as they shuffle down the hallway, and he barely remembers anything until Langa settles him carefully on the mattress, the bed so soft that Reki whimpers and melts into it, his body sagging. Langa will hold him, he thinks, his arms careful and safe around Reki’s body and whisper sweet words into Reki’s hair and Reki will mumble sorry until he runs out of words, but then Langa’s whispering something and taking his hands away from Reki’s body, and then he’s gone, and Reki whimpers again, pressing his hands to his face. 

Everything is pounding. Suddenly Langa’s hands are on his shoulders again, whispering Reki, Reki, and Reki realizes he’s mumbling into his hands, “don’ leave me m’sorry m’sorry, wanna hug” and Langa touches his face, pries it out of his hands, tilts his chin up so that Reki can see the blurry contours of his face. He blinks, and Langa swims into focus, beautiful Langa and Reki’s throat swells up again. 

“I’m just getting you some clothes,” Langa whispers, stroking his hair. He still looks worried, so worried. “Okay, Reki? Do you want your hoodie?” 

“My pajamas,” Reki manages, and Langa swallows. 

“They’re all wet,” he says, awkwardly, and then Reki remembers. He tore the buttons off. He got the pajamas dirty, soaked with snow and sleet and tears, and shame swells up in his throat again, ‘cause they had cuddled so sweetly in those matching pajamas, warm and soft with their arms around each other, they had something so precious to share and now Reki’s ruined it. 

“I ruined them,” he blurts, eyes burning, and Langa’s hands cup his face hurriedly, thumbs rubbing at his cheeks. 

“No,” he says, “no, Reki, I—we’ll wash them, okay? Here—you can wear mine.” 

 The world is fumbling again, and then warm, itching fabric is sliding over Reki’s shoulders, wrapping safely around his back, and Langa’s trembling fingers do up the buttons for him, his knuckles bumping against Reki’s throat. His touch feels good and Reki whines, trying to lean closer, trying to chase Langa’s soft hands, and he ends up with his cheek smushed against Langa’s firm, solid chest as Langa struggles to pull the too-big pajama pants up over Reki’s boxers. 

The pajamas smell like Langa, like cinnamon and sweat and Reki gives a small sob of relief, wrapping his arms around Langa’s cold, bare torso. Langa squirms a little, tugging one of Reki’s hoodies on, the sleeves riding up too high as he reaches to smooth Reki’s hair out of his eyes. Reki lifts his face, gazing blearily up at Langa, and he mumbles, 

“Please,” 

the word he always feels too embarrassed to say, because it’s too selfish and too vulnerable and too needy, but his inhibitions have been burned to the ground with the heat of the fever and all he wants is Langa, his Langa, his Langa is the soft yellow sweatshirt that smells like Reki. 

Langa wraps his arms around him, squeezing him, mumbling, “Reki, Reki,” and then he’s pressing those damp kisses to Reki’s forehead and temples, his voice wobbling as he whispers, “love, my love” and then “Reki, oh, Reki ,” and Reki chokes on a sob, burying his face in the shoulder of the sweatshirt. Langa cradles him against his chest, so gently, and the sob swells in Reki’s chest because he feels so precious, so wanted, so loved. 

Maybe he doesn’t deserve those things, but Langa has never cared; he has always loved Reki so willingly. Reki squeezes his arms around Langa’s back so tightly that for a moment he can’t breathe, and Langa pets his hair, murmuring soft things into Reki’s ear the way Reki imagined he would, earlier, by the fireplace. 

Reki’s eyes are hot. Somehow, in spite of everything, Langa has found a way to love him. 

“Bed,” Reki mumbles, again, when Langa tucks his damp hair behind his ear and Langa nods, whispers, “Yes, yes,” and pulls the blankets aside, guiding Reki backward clumsily until he’s laying among the pillows. Reki is too exhausted to feel embarrassed about the way he reaches out his arms, tired, and makes weak grabby motions with his hands. “C’mere.” 

Langa makes a soft, helpless sound and climbs into the bed, sliding under the quilts and snuggling against Reki’s side, and Reki whimpers at the bliss of touching him, and then Langa wraps his arms around Reki’s body and buries his face in Reki’s shoulder. He mumbles something intelligible, maybe Reki, and Reki’s body finally, finally relaxes, sleepy and heavy against the soft mattress, and he squeezes Langa’s arm. 

“Reki,” Langa mumbles, “my love, oh, oh, Reki, are you, are you okay?” and he sounds like he’s crying again, and Reki can feel tears blurring at his own eyes. 

“I m’now,” he manages. The cabin shudders, and then they each shudder, too, clinging to each other, and Reki squeezes his eyes shut at the memory of the fierce cold outside. He was so afraid earlier, but now he’s wrapped up with Langa and he’s safe, he’s alive and he’s safe and he’s loved, and maybe that’s enough, and his throat swells and the tears spill out of his eyes and then he’s fumbling to press his mouth to the top of Langa’s head, the crooked line of his hair.

Maybe there is no deserving. Maybe there’s only them, wanting each other. 

Langa whimpers, squeezing Reki’s body, and then he pulls himself up to press the same kiss to Reki’s forehead, and they cling to each other, crying together, into each other’s hair, crying until they’re too exhausted to cry any longer.

The world smells of cinnamon and maple sugar when a soft hand shakes Reki’s shoulder, and he mumbles in his sleep, his head fuzzy, everything dark behind his closed eyes. He can feel the heavy quilts on top of him, weighing him down, and his aching head is nestled among warm, smooth pillows, and then a hand is brushing his hair from his hot forehead, a voice whispering, 

“Reki, wake up,” 

and the voice is so familiar, the achingly lovely accent with the strain over the vowel sounds, that Reki feels his eyes flutter open right away, blinking against the sun shining onto Langa’s hair. 

And, ah, the sun is out. 

The storm is over. 

For a moment Reki can only blink, softly dazed at how beautiful Langa looks, a smear of maple syrup on his cheek somehow, his hair falling into his face, his mouth chapped and red as if he’s been chewing on his bottom lip. The heater rumbles to life around them, and the cabin is no longer shuddering, and even though Reki’s head feels stuffy and dizzy, he feels something itchy and warm swelling in his chest. 

“n’ga,” he mumbles, half Langa’s name, and he sees the tint of pink in Langa’s cheeks as he nods, shifting on the bed. 

“I brought you breakfast,” Langa says, a bit stilted, a bit awkward, the folds of Reki’s yellow hoodie soft around his neck. He nudges a small tray against Reki’s knees, and Reki glances down, still a bit bleary and slow from sleep, and his heart thumps, once, softly, against his chest. On the tray are two plates of waffles, clumsily arranged, messy with powdered sugar and syrup, and two steaming mugs of cocoa, one with whipped cream, one with the tiny marshmallows Reki likes so much, bobbing gently to the surface. 

The yearning feeling swells in his throat, his face warm, his chest so warm that he thinks he might cry, and then Langa clears his throat. 

“We’re not supposed to eat in the bed,” he admits, shifting on the bed, pulling his feet up so they’re crossed underneath him, settling on the opposite side of the tray so he’s facing Reki, his hands in his lap. “But, um. My mom’s not here, so…” 

Reki glances up at him, a lump in his throat, and Langa swallows. 

“She’s...she’s fine,” he says. “She’s staying with a friend in town. The snow stopped, so she said...I mean, the roads...but she’s going to try her best to make it back here by Christmas.”

“Tomorrow?” Reki’s voice is scratchy, and it sorta hurts to talk, but when he cups his hands around the mug of hot cocoa, the warmth bleeds through his palms and throughout his entire body. The fairy lights twinkle gently behind Langa as he nods, fumbling to tuck his pretty hair behind his ear, and the ache in Reki’s chest isn’t so bad, anymore. He wiggles his feet underneath the quilts, bumping them against Langa, and his throat swells a little when Langa shifts into the touch. 

He loves him. He loves Langa so much that his chest itches, overwhelmed with the feeling.

“M’sorry,” Reki says, nudging his toes underneath Langa’s thigh, so warm and snug that he flushes a little, his hands fumbling on the mug. He’s sorry for everything, but he doesn’t know how to say that, so he just says, “I, uh...about your mom. I’m really sorry.” 

He knows how important Langa’s mom is to him, how much they lean on each other when things get tough, how deeply Langa needs her sometimes, like a small child lost in a shopping mall. But Langa’s cheeks are still pink as he shifts again, meeting Reki’s eyes, pressing his socked toes to the lump of blankets over Reki’s legs. “It’s okay,” Langa says, still a bit awkward, quiet and determined and honest. “Because...because I’m with you, Reki.”

The lump swells in Reki’s throat again, frighteningly fast. “Hah,” he manages. “I. Yeah. I—me too.” 

He feels stupid, his head stuffy, his throat too full of emotion and his brain too clumsy to say what he means, I’m home when I’m with you, but Langa nods a little, as if he understands. The smile he gives Reki is small and clumsy, and Reki manages to smile back, something fragile and aching passing between them. Even through the rough patches, they’ve always found a way to understand each other. 

“Wanna eat?” asks Langa, softly, and Reki nods, wiggling his toes deeper underneath Langa’s warm thigh.

“You remembered the marshmallows,” he says, nudging Langa with his knee. “I mean, I mean, hah. I mean, of course you did.” 

Langa glances up at him again, and Reki gives him another clumsy grin, his insides all stuffed up, warm and fuzzy with that same yearning, the love for Langa buried deep in his chest. Of course Langa remembered the marshmallows. Langa has always remembered things about Reki with so much intensity, ready to step in and blurt out praises whenever Reki starts to feel insecure; Langa has always listened to the things he says and nodded along and remembered, mentioning Reki’s designs and drawings when even Reki’s forgotten about them, and Langa’s silly to think he’s bad at showing affection, ‘cause he shows Reki affection without even trying to. 

“You have maple syrup on your face,” Reki says, nudging Langa with his knee again. “S’cute.” 

Langa pauses, his fork halfway to his mouth, and Reki sees the tips of his ears go pink. He looks flustered, but he still puts the fork in his mouth, chewing the waffle and swallowing before reaching for his face, rubbing his hand over his mouth. “Where?” 

“Nah,” says Reki, something warm and glowy nestling in his chest. “I’m not gonna tell you.” 

Langa frowns, and Reki laughs. It kinda hurts his throat, and his head is still all stuffy and hot, but it feels good to laugh, and Langa looks so silly and precious, his hair all mussed from sleep, his wrists bare in the too-small hoodie, making a face with maple syrup smudged all over his cheek. “Stop,” Langa complains, wrinkling his nose, and Reki laughs again, pressing their legs together, snug and warm. 

“Okay, okay,” he says. “C’mere.” 

He leans forward, wetting his thumb with his tongue and then reaching for Langa’s face. Langa’s eyes widen, darting down to follow the motion as Reki cups his chin, tilts his face up, rubs his thumb over the sticky skin on his cheek. Reki can feel the warmth thrumming through Langa’s face, and it makes his throat kinda dry, and he swallows, trying to keep the teasing smile on his face, but it’s hard, ‘cause Langa’s just so cute, flustered over something so simple as Reki touching his face. Reki lets his thumb drift down, brushing against the corner of Langa’s mouth and Langa’s lips part on a quick inhale, and Reki’s heart thumps, warm, in his chest. 

“Ah—hah.” He pulls his hand back quickly, wiping his thumb on the front of his pajamas, feeling the flush rising onto his cheeks. He wants to kiss Langa. He wants to, but he can feel the fever still thrumming through his body, the soreness in the back of his throat. He’s sick, and he remembers the snow, the storm and their fight, and he swallows and manages a sheepish smile. “Guess I probably shouldn’t, huh? Haha.”

Langa swallows, too, opening his mouth like he’s going to argue, like he’s going to say that he doesn’t mind getting sick from Reki kissing him, but if he argues, then Reki’s gonna wanna kiss him even more, so quickly he says, 

“Let’s eat, okay?” 

Langa closes his mouth, looking a bit put-out, but the mention of food must be enough to persuade him, because he nods. For a while the only sounds are the soft clinking of their forks and knives against the plates, the thump of their mugs against the wooden tray and the shuffling of Reki’s feet underneath the quilt. The waffles taste fluffy and sugary and heavenly, and the cocoa warms Reki’s entire body from the inside out, soothing his sore throat. Langa licks powdered sugar from his top lip and Reki yearns to kiss him,  to pepper kisses all over his pretty face until Langa’s flushed and embarrassed, his forehead all furrowed up, burying his face in the soft front of Reki’s pajamas. 

Well. They’re Langa’s pajamas, and Reki swallows, shoving another bite into his mouth. 

The memories of last night are all blurry, and a part of Reki wants to pretend they never happened, he wants to pretend he never stumbled out into the snow and shouted for the whole world to hear. But then he glances up at Langa again, watching Langa’s throat bob as he gulps down his hot cocoa, and something squirms in Reki’s heart. Last night, Langa said he loved him. Langa cradled his feverish body and whispered, Reki, my love, and the memories make Reki feel choked up, because he loves Langa, too. 

He doesn’t want to pretend anymore.

“Hey,” Reki says, when the food is mostly gone, and Langa’s scraping powdered sugar and syrup off his plate with a fork. Langa glances up, sticking the fork into his mouth, and Reki can’t stop the smile that tugs at his face, his chest all itchy and swollen with affection. “I, uh. I’m sorry for making you cry, last night.” 

Langa swallows, and slowly he pulls the fork out of his mouth, putting it back onto the tray. “It’s okay,” he says, shifting a little, glancing to the side. “I...I think I was overreacting. I’m sorry. I was just...it was a bad night.” 

His voice wavers a little, and he tucks his hands into his lap, making a face and Reki’s heart thumps. Langa looks so uncertain, as if he’s still afraid he’s done something wrong, even after bringing Reki the most wonderful breakfast in bed, and hastily Reki’s leaning forward, wrapping his hand around Langa’s wrist, tugging on his arm until Langa glances up at him again. His eyes are so wide and blue, full of worry, and Reki swallows, his throat full. 

“Come cuddle me?” he asks, and Langa’s mouth wobbles. 

He nods, and then he nods again, and again, hastily moving the tray out of the way, scrambling up the bed, fitting himself against the headboard and wiggling his legs underneath the covers. “Yes,” he says, “of course, Reki, ah, Reki,” and then Reki’s heart is thumping warm in his cheeks, and he tugs the blankets up, and Langa slides under, snuggling his body against Reki’s side and Reki feels himself sag against the pillows, breathing out in relief. It feels good, the warm softness of Langa’s body, blissfully good and then he’s wiggling his arms out of the heavy quilts to wrap them around Langa’s shoulder, tugging him closer, and Langa makes this soft sound, almost a whimper, as he buries his face in Reki’s chest. 

His heartbeat thumps through both of their bodies, and Reki’s chest feels so warm, nearly overflowing. 

He hugs Langa tightly, so tightly, petting his hair until Langa’s breathing steadies, his hands fisting in the back of Reki’s pajamas, his body going heavy and boneless as his legs press against Reki’s. “You don’t have to be sorry,” Reki mumbles, into his hair, and then admits, more quietly, “It was a bad night for me, too.” 

Langa clears his throat, a wet sound, and nuzzles closer to Reki’s heart. “M’worried about you,” he mumbles, and Reki swallows, ‘cause ah, his throat is kinda hot. “Last night, you...you were practically delirious. I wanted to call the hospital.” 

Reki swallows again. “M’fine,” he manages, and Langa shakes his head, lifting his face to frown up at him. 

“Reki,” he says, voice wobbling. “You always say that.” 

Reki means to argue, but then he sees the little furrows in Langa’s forehead and the words die in his throat. His neck itches, a little ashamed. Langa’s...Langa’s not wrong, maybe. Reki likes to be fine, he likes to pretend he’s fine so no one will waste their time worrying about him, but he’s not supposed to pretend anymore. Langa has been so vulnerable with him. Langa whispered all those aching secrets about his father, about his homesickness, and he let Reki wrap a towel around his dripping wet hair, and he showed Reki the stretch marks that span his body, evidence of all his growing pains. Langa has always helped Reki to be vulnerable, too, kissing him in front of the Christmas tree, holding his hand as they tipped over the edge of a steep slope, crying with him in each other’s arms last night. 

Langa will still love him even if he’s vulnerable. 

Reki swallows. “I kinda freaked out,” he admits, the scratchy thing in his voice again, and he tries not to wince as he rubs his sweaty hands along the soft sweatshirt on Langa’s back. “Last night, I...uh. I guess I got in my head, and I thought maybe I did something wrong, like you were gonna break up with me. So I went outside to...to...I dunno. I just. I just couldn’t think of what else to do. I was so frustrated with myself.” 

Langa squeezes him, his eyes all squinty at the corners, a bit red. “Reki,” he says, and he sounds choked up. “I never want to make you feel that way.” 

“No,” says Reki, and then he has to gulp down a deep breath, puffing out his cheeks on the exhale. His face is hot, itching. “No, you—you didn’t make me. It’s this thing in my head. I never feel good enough, no matter what other people say. It’s nothing to do with you, dude, I...it’s not ‘cause you’re bad at, at showing affection or any of that.” 

Langa’s eyes crease up again, his mouth pinched at the corners as if he’s trying not to cry. “Are you sure?” 

“Of course I’m sure, dude.” Reki squeezes him, pressing his mouth to Langa’s hair again, a long, shaky kiss ‘cause he’s not sure how else to show Langa that he means it, that he loves him. Maybe Langa won’t believe him right away. Those fears and insecurities will linger underneath his skin the same way they do under Reki’s, and maybe they’ll take a long time to fade, but Reki will keep loving him every day until they do. 

For a while they just cling to each other, the heater rumbling overhead, their feet tangled together under the safe cocoon of the blankets, and Reki’s beginning to feel sleepy again when Langa mumbles something against his chest. Reki clumsily lifts his hand and strokes Langa’s hair again. 

“Wha’, baby?” 

Langa squirms, lifting his head. “You are good enough,” he mumbles. 

And, ah, a warm flush goes through Reki’s whole body, spreading quickly up to his face, coloring his cheeks. “I—what?” 

Langa’s eyes pinch at the corners. “You said you never feel like you’re good enough,” he says, something a bit strained in his voice, like a pout. “But you are . You’re amazing, Reki. You’re the most incredible person I’ve ever met, and you’re brave, too, and you’re a good kisser, and you make me feel so many things, you...you make me feel alive again.” 

Reki’s throat is full, his face so flushed and his body burning, his heart squirming, overwhelmed, so overwhelmed, ‘cause he knows Langa feels that way, he calls Reki amazing all the time but it feels so good to hear the words again, to feel the way they fill up every crevice in his brain, until all he can feel is Langa’s love for him. “I,” he chokes out, and then Langa squeezes him tight and says, 

“For a while I felt like I could never be happy again and you— you gave that back to me,” 

and then he’s crying, Langa’s crying again, his beautiful face wet with tears and Reki’s heart squeezes because oh, they’re not tears of pain, they’re tears of gratitude, of aching hope and wonder, Langa’s crying because he’s so vulnerable and so in love and then Reki can feel himself crying, too, the tears sliding down his cheeks as he presses his mouth to Langa’s forehead again, and again, and again. 

They are allowed to be vulnerable. 

They are allowed to be in love. 

“You gave me so much,” says Langa, and his voice breaks on a tiny sob, “so many things, Reki, you gave me a whole new life and I just wanted, I wanted so badly to be able to give you something perfect in return.” 

And, oh. Reki’s throat is all swollen, and he holds Langa so tightly, kissing his forehead, his eyelids, everywhere he can reach. Langa’s face is damp with tears as he sucks in air, precious Langa, stoic Langa who struggles to show his emotions but always shows them to Reki, sweet sweet Langa who never understands how truly wonderful he is, how incredible. Reki kisses all the furrows on his forehead, his body aching because Langa gave him a whole new life, too, a life full of tender nights in the skatepark, wrapping bandages around each other’s fingers, a life full of busy afternoons in his garage, chattering away to someone who would finally listen. Langa gave him silly videos on his phone and marshmallows in his hot chocolate and clumsy kisses in a snowdrift, Langa gave him friendship, Langa gave him love. 

“You already did,” Reki says, and he presses his mouth to Langa’s forehead again, squeezing his eyes shut with the swell of overwhelming emotion. “You already gave me the best gift in the world. I—it’s you. It’s always been you.” 

Langa chokes on another sob, and then he’s leaning up, fumbling to kiss Reki’s nose, his breath heavy and uneven the way it always is when they kiss, the only time he’s ever winded, and then he’s whispering, 

“Reki, Reki, Reki,” 

as if the name is a prayer, the only thing he wants to worship and Reki’s throat strains on a tiny laugh, tears burning at the corners of his eyes, happy tears, so happy. 

“You made me breakfast in bed,” Reki manages, his throat so swollen, so warm, “and you took care of me when I was sick, and you bought me that coat, and our ski lift tickets, and you showed me how to decorate the tree and you translated English for me all week and you let me watch you shave your legs and—Langa, Langa, dude, don’t you get it? You give me all these amazing little gifts every single day.” 

And Langa’s crying, his tears damp on Reki’s skin when he fumbles to kiss his cheek, the same tears on each of their faces and Langa kisses his cheek, and then the corner of his mouth and then his nose again, and his mouth feels so good that Reki gives another laugh, his body so full of love and he can’t help saying, 

“See? Like that?” 

“ Reki,” and oh, Langa is hugging him so tightly, his face buried in Reki’s hair and Reki squeezes him, burying his own face in Langa’s shoulder, breathing in the familiar way he smells, the familiar tremble of Langa’s hands around his back, the familiar fumble of Langa’s cold feet against his ankles. This, too, is a gift, the way Langa holds him, the way they hold each other, their own language of love, clumsy kisses against each other’s ears and temples, something precious and soft and only for the two of them to share. 

He loves Langa and Langa loves him, and is there any greater gift in the entire world? 

Chapter Text

After they brush their teeth clumsily in their tiny shared bathroom, Langa heats up soup and helps Reki to the couch, tucking him under too many blankets in that quiet, determined way he has, intensely focused on making sure Reki is warm enough. Reki’s kinda embarrassed at all the fussing, but he drinks the soup until it warms him all the way through his stomach, and then they cuddle among all the blankets and pillows and watch Christmas movies on Langa’s laptop. 

Everything is soft and comfortable, the screen smaller than the TV in their bedroom, the windows white with flurries, everything muffled by the snow. It’s kinda hard to pay attention to the movie, though, ‘cause Langa keeps tracing the lines of Reki’s palm, his fingertips ghosting over Reki’s skin in this way that makes Reki shiver. “Dude,” he manages, curling his fingers over Langa’s, squeezing clumsily, “you’re not even watching.” 

Langa glances up, his hair messy around his face. He’s smushed between Reki and the couch cushions, his body awkward and long-limbed, but he looks dazed and flushed and his fingers fumble to clutch Reki’s hand, too. “But I’ve seen this movie before,” he says. 

Reki chokes on a laugh, his cheeks itching. “Yeah, but I haven’t!” 

Langa tilts his head, a piece of hair falling into his face. “Am I distracting you?” 

His expression is so serious, not like he’s teasing, and Reki smothers another laugh, his heart squirming with that suffocatingly warm surge of affection for him, his sweet boyfriend, oblivious that the way he touches Reki’s hand gives him so many stupid, flustered butterflies. “Yeah, man,” he says, squeezing Langa’s hand again. “Just a little.” 

Langa’s eyebrows pinch a little, concerned. “I’m sorry.”

Adorable. He’s so adorable, and Reki’s so warm inside. “Nah, dude,” he says. “Don’t be.” 

He fumbles to hug their clasped hands to his chest, tilting his head on the pillows so he can grin at Langa, their noses so close that he can see every pore on Langa’s face, he can see the way the tension smoothes out of Langa’s forehead in relief, the way Langa nods. Their lips are close, too, and Reki’s body shivers pleasantly with the feeling of Langa puffing cold breaths on him, the way Langa shifts around, squirming closer to Reki to get comfortable. Reki’s still sick, his head stuffy and his skin fever-warm, but the sounds of Charlie’s Brown Christmas fill the living room, and their socked feet are tangled together underneath the pile of heavy blankets and the day feels soft, comfortable, a little blurry around the edges. 

“I was just,” Langa begins, and then pauses, his eyebrows furrowing as he gently pries Reki’s fingers away, opening up his palm again. “I was just admiring your hands, Reki. Because they...they’re so pretty.” 

His voice trips a little over the word and Reki can feel his face warming, the room suddenly smaller and stuffier, the heavy blankets on top of him making him flush all the way down his chest. “Hah,” he manages, trying to laugh again, but the sound gets stuck in his throat. “Ah, what?” 

“They’re pretty,” says Langa, and then he takes a breath. “And they’re really strong, too.  I’ve seen the way you use those wrenches to get the wheels off my board, your grip strength is incredible, and they’re still so pretty, like, like—” He fumbles a little, curling his fingers through Reki’s and glancing up, their noses bumping together and Reki flushes ‘cause he’s so close and so pretty and then Langa says, a bit strained and embarrassed, “You have freckles on your knuckles, Reki, I—I want to kiss every one of them.”  

“Ah,” Reki manages, his heart thumping, his face so flushed. “You—you can.” 

Langa blinks, and something like pure adoration colors his face, wonder and love, and it’s the same way he looks at the mountains, the way he gazes up at the S track all lit up with sounds and colors and the thrill of the race, and Reki’s throat swells up, ‘cause oh. He’s wanted—he’s wanted Langa to look at him that way for so long, and it’s just as overwhelming as he imagined, the weight of Langa’s love for him, the deepness and the fullness of all his feelings. 

“Reki,” Langa says, and his voice trembles a little, so full of love and he lifts Reki’s hand, pressing his mouth to Reki’s knuckles. It’s not the first time he’s kissed Reki’s hand this way, but it feels new, so new and good and overwhelming that Reki’s shivering again, snuggling deeper into the couch, as close to Langa as he can possibly be. I love you, he thinks, I love you I love you I love you,  and then Langa gives his hand a soft squeeze. “Reki,” he says again. “Can I...can I say more things?” 

“About—about me?” 

Langa nods, squirming against the cushions, snuggling closer to Reki until their bodies are flush together, their knees bumping cozily underneath the blankets. “I want to tell you all the things I love about you.” 

And, oh, Reki’s throat is swelling again, his eyes burning, and he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to speak, but he manages to say, “Uh—okay. Yeah. Uh. If—if you want to,” and he tries to hide how much he wants it, but his voice shakes a little and gives him away and he can see the soft, glowing adoration in Langa’s smile, the way he squeezes Reki’s hand. He’s so focused on Reki, all his attention devoted to the way he’s searching Reki’s face, the way he rubs his thumb over Reki’s knuckles, his hands cold and a little trembly in the most beautiful way. 

And then he says, softly, “You made snowboarding fun again,” and Reki’s throat swells so much he nearly cries. 

Langa’s mouth is soft on his cheek when he kisses him, just once, so soft and gentle as if the brush of his lips is a butterfly kiss, just his eyelashes fluttering over Reki’s skin, a soft kiss and a promise and then he’s whispering, “I loved going to the ski lodge with you and seeing how big your eyes got when you were taking everything in, and I love the warm feeling of satisfaction when I see how happy you are, and how you always get all bouncy and—and you move around so much, when you’re excited. It makes me excited, too. Reki, you make me fall in love with everything and it only makes me fall in love with you more and more, every day.” 

 “Langa,” Reki manages, choked up, overwhelmed and Langa squeezes his hand, kissing his knuckles again, and tears well up in Reki’s throat before he manages to swallow them down again. “I—fuck.” 

“You’re so wonderful,” Langa whispers. “Everything about you is wonderful. I thought maybe I would get to the top of the mountain again and feel nothing, the way I used to but then you started laughing everytime you fell and you made me forget everything else. You make me so happy. I couldn’t even believe how happy I was when you said you wanted to go again, and again and you just—you make all my memories full of color again.” 

His voice shakes, his hair swept away from his face with a dozen bobby pins and his eyes wide and blue and endless and Reki’s throat is so swollen. “Really?” he manages, and Langa nods, his exhale trembling, his palm sweaty when he clutches at Reki’s fingers. 

“I want to cherish them forever,” he whispers. “The memories? And you.” 

“Fuck,” Reki manages, his voice wobbling, and then he has to squeezes his eyes shut so he won’t cry and he wraps his arms around Langa, their bodies pressing so close together underneath the sweaty heat of the blankets that he can’t tell where he ends and Langa begins, and he muffles his mouth in Langa’s shoulder, the smell of the hoodie somewhere between his smell and Langa’s and the lovely, homey smell of the cabin. “Me too,” he mumbles, and Langa exhales again, curling his hands around Reki’s body, holding him close. 

For a while they simply hold each other, the movie playing gently through a monologue about the Christmas Star, Reki’s head full and blurry with the last traces of fever, and with all the emotion. He buries his face in Langa’s hoodie and thinks of the mountains, and the snowboarding, all the steps of Langa’s childhood they’ve been retracing together, carefully, breathing new life into old, faded memories. When Langa pulls back to press a small, shaky kiss to Reki’s hair, a thrill of warmth and love makes Reki shiver and he pulls back, too, mumbling, “We could come back here, y’know.”

“Where?”

“To Canada,” Reki says, fisting his hands in the back of Langa’s hoodie. “We could come back every holiday if you wanted or—or even to live, maybe, someday. If you wanted we could—we could have, like, our own family together.”

Langa doesn’t seem to breathe for a long moment. Then he pulls away further, pressing his body into the couch cushions and cupping Reki’s face and repeating, “Really? Really?” the way he did when Reki confessed, and his eyes are so wide that Reki feels flustered, the warm flush spreading up his neck again. 

“Well, yeah,” he says. “Don’t you—don’t you want that too?” 

He’s always wanted them to have their own home together, from the very beginning, a home where they could have a dog and their own kitchen and a big driveway for skating tricks and a garage for his workshop. They could spend endless days hanging out in the garage together, the fan whirring while Reki worked and joked around and Langa could watch him, perched on the edge of the workbench, wearing Reki’s hoodie the way he is now, and anytime he wanted, Reki could sidle up to him and stretch to press a kiss to his face, and it’s such a nice daydream that Reki feels all warm and flustered, and Langa—Langa’s eyes are shining with that hopeful, wonderful glow. 

“I do want,” he says. “Oh—Reki.” 

And then he scrambles up, sliding one leg over Reki’s body so he’s sitting on top of him, his hair falling forward into his face and his cheeks are all pink and Reki tries to swallow ‘cause—fuck. Langa’s limbs are awkward, and he’s too big to really be in Reki’s lap this way, but Reki grabs at his waist anyway, hauling him closer, wrapping his arms around him and muffling his face in Langa’s chest. 

He’s so warm. It’s enough to make Reki wanna cry again. 

“Is it okay?” Langa manages, embarrassment stifled in his voice, as if maybe he’s a little ashamed to have crawled so eagerly into Reki’s lap, but Reki nods hastily against his chest and squeezes him. Langa feels so good, so heavy and safe and he’s all Reki’s, they belong to each other, all their memories colored by the wonder of spending time together and he just wants to cuddle Langa in his arms forever. 

“Anything’s okay if it’s you,” he mumbles, and he hears the hitch in Langa’s breathing, and then the way he sighs. 

“Okay,” Langa whispers, settling more heavily on top of him, his soft arms caging Reki in so gently, holding him, their chests pressing together in their pajamas and Reki makes a muffled sound as his face presses to the warm space in between Langa’s neck and shoulder. He hugs Langa around the middle, squeezing him in that soft, soft sweatshirt until he feels dizzy, ‘cause Langa’s breathing in quick puffs against him, his hands coming up to fumble with Reki’s hair, smoothing it out of his face, up off his neck and Reki gives a shaky exhale, not a whine, it’s not but maybe it’s a little needy, ‘cause it feels nice. He tilts his head so Langa will brush away the sweaty tendril of hair clinging to his skin, and Langa smiles, a little. 

“Does that feel good?”

“Mm,” Reki manages, and then he remembers something, Langa ashamed over his cold hands, and he opens his eyes again. Langa’s pretty face swims into view, almost too pretty to be real and Reki swallows. “You—you have nice hands, too, y’know?” 

Langa’s cheeks tint pink, his neck flushed all the way down to the folds of the yellow hoodie. “Oh—really?” 

“Uh-huh.” Reki shifts, a little, tugging Langa even closer. “I kinda like—you know how you bite your nails sometimes? I think it’s kinda—it’s hot. I know it’s not supposed to be, okay, but I can’t help it and—and when your palms are kinda cold? Feels nice, like, when my skin’s warm.” He’s mumbling the last few words, but Langa’s eyes are wide in that way they get when Reki compliments him and it makes Reki feel flushed all the way down to his toes, smothered in the thick socks and the heavy, heavy blankets. 

“Really?” asks Langa, and there’s something strained and hopeful in his voice and Reki nods, feeling the flush crawling down his chest. “Are you—are you too warm right now? I can move.” 

“Ah—no.” Hastily Reki tightens his arms around Langa, holding him more snugly against him. “Stay.”

Langa makes a muffled sort of noise and snuggles down again, his thighs squeezing both sides of Reki’s body, so solid and real against him. The weight of him is so good, so comforting, that Reki feels himself sagging into the couch, closing his eyes as his head falls back against the pillows. Langa shifts, a little, and then he touches the collar of Reki’s pajamas. 

“D’you want to unbutton this a little?” he asks, softly. “If you’re too warm.” 

Reki opens his eyes, blearly, and tries to piece together the words. Everything is very warm, and Langa’s fingers feel blissfully cool when they bump against his collarbones, and for a moment he forget what Langa even said, but then Langa’s fingers twist hesitantly at the top button of Reki’s pajamas, and Reki’s breath sticks in his throat. Ah. Oh. Suddenly he feels wide-awake again, and he’s nodding so fast that his hair flops down into his hair again. “Yeah, yeah, if you—if you want.” 

Langa bites at the corner of his bottom lip, in flustered concentration, as he undoes the top button of Reki’s pajamas, and then the one below that. He pauses, glancing back up into Reki’s eyes. “Okay?” 

“Ah—yeah.” Reki nods, his cheeks itching, ‘cause wow, the way Langa’s eyes drag down to his collarbones, his eyes so wide, as if all his attention is hyperfocused on the sliver of Reki’s skin, even though he’s seen Reki shirtless a hundred times, yesterday even, and Langa’s hands are cold and a bit shaky as he smoothes the collar out of the way, staring in awe down at Reki. 

Langa adores him. 

It’s obvious, and it makes Reki feel so flustered he can barely breathe, and it’s also the most incredible thing he’s ever experienced, the same thrill as landing hard on the concrete after a wildly successful skating trick. Langa adores him, messy chaotic Reki, with his hair falling haphazardly into his face without his headband, his silly flannel pajamas rumpled and half-unbuttoned, his skin flushed with fever and with the overwhelming feelings thumping his veins. “Wanna kiss you,” Langa breathes, that focused look in his eyes again, as if he barely realizes he’s said it aloud and Reki squirms, coughing a little as he tries for a laugh. 

“M’still sick,” he says, and Langa drags his eyes back up to his face, a pout settling on his lips, and how can Reki say no to a face like that? He feels his resolve crumbling. “Well—okay, but not on the mouth, okay? ‘Cause then you’re gonna get sick, too.”

“ Reki,” Langa whines. 

Reki feels his ears burning. Does Langa really wanna kiss him that badly? “You heard me, dude.” 

Langa huffs, still pouting, and he shifts down Reki’s body a little, so he can touch his cold fingertips to the side of Reki’s neck. “But you have the nicest mouth,” he says. “It’s so pretty, Reki. And it’s always warm. And you make these little noises whenever I kiss you, so I know you like it, and you put your hands all over me, like you’re so happy and I can feel you smiling and I like when you—”

“Okay!” Reki blurts, hastily, and Langa touches the underside of his jaw, and Reki nearly whimpers at how nice it feels. He cranes his head to the side, instinctively, so Langa will touch more and Langa makes a soft sound in his throat, a sort of curious sound, and cradles Reki face gently with his blissfully-cool palm. 

“You’re sure I’m not too cold?” 

“Ah,” Reki manages, his whole body flustered, and then Langa mumbles something to himself, in English, as if he’s filing something away for later and then he moves his hand back to Reki’s neck, leaning down and brushing a feathery kiss against Reki’s chin, where his facial hair is prickly and rough. 

“Can I?” 

Reki feels the words more than hears them, and he’s nodding hastily, squeezing his eyes shut against the rising blush ‘cause Langa handles him so sweetly, as if he’s precious, and he knows Langa could never treat him any other way, it’s just his nature, a kind soul buried underneath layers of clumsiness and misunderstandings. Langa kisses his jaw, mumbling, “I like when you don’t shave,” and Reki feels hot, tilting his head back to give Langa more room, ‘cause his body hair is something he feels weird about, sometimes, but never when Langa’s kissing him. 

When Langa’s kissing him, his body simply becomes something to love. 

Langa nuzzles his nose at the underside of Reki’s jaw, where the hair is softer, more downy, and mumbles Reki’s name into his skin. It feels so good that Reki’s body relaxes more heavily into the couch, his head tipping back with a sound halfway between a groan and a sigh, feeling the brush of Langa’s lips against his neck, against his throat. The heater rumbles through the cabin, all the sounds muffled by the heavy blanket of snow and Langa’s palms are so wonderfully cold when he touches Reki’s face, sitting up slightly. 

His thumbs brush at a bead of sweat rolling down from Reki’s hairline and Reki makes a face, trying to catch his breath. “Sorry,” Reki huffs out. “For, like—sweating so much. I—ugh.” 

“Oh,” says Langa, rubbing his thumbs over Reki’s cheeks, “no, no, I—I like it.” 

“You—”

“Because it’s you,” says Langa hurriedly, and when Reki squeezes his eyes open, he can see that Langa’s blushing again. “I—I like everything when it’s you, Reki.”

It seems incredible, impossible, the way that Langa squints up his face and leans forward to press a kiss to Reki’s sweaty forehead, and Reki feels his skin itching with another flush, so warm, all over. Langa’s treating him so gently, and Reki has to swallow and fist his hands in the front of Langa’s hoodie and remind himself: Langa loves him, Langa loves him, Langa loves him. 

The insecurities still linger. Maybe they always will. But then Langa whispers his name again, “ Reki, ” and Reki swallows again, squirming, his body thrumming with the warmth and the yearning, kiss him love him kiss him love him, oh god you love him, and Langa begins peppering gentle kisses all over his chin and jaw, until Reki’s squirming again, overwhelmed with all the attention, all the affection. And, god, he can  feels tears pricking the corners of his eyes again as Langa pecks the edge of his mouth, the side of his nose, all over his cheeks, his palms callused and blissfully cool and then Langa’s whispering, 

“So good, Reki, so perfect, so amazing, you’re so beautiful,” 

and the tears are slipping down the sides of Reki’s face before he can stop them, and he whimpers, and Langa’s breath hitches. Then he’s murmuring again, “Reki, oh Reki,” and he’s kissing the tears again, his thumbs rubbing them away from Reki’s temples, and Reki lets himself cry, overwhelmed, so overwhelmed at the thought of being enough, just like this. He’s so sweaty and stuffy-nosed and incoherent, lying here on this couch surrounded by pillows and Langa’s perfect hands, and he’s nobody special, only Reki and Langa is still whispering these wonderful words to him, as if somehow only Reki is enough. 

“So good,” Langa mumbles again, kissing his temple, and then his damp eyelashes, and then his forehead and Reki half-laughs, half-sobs, lifting his arm to rub hastily at his nose. His face is damp with sweat and tears, but Langa sits up a little, pulling the sleeves of the hoodie down as far as they’ll go and wiping carefully at Reki’s cheeks. 

And when he’s done, Reki slumps, exhausted, against the pillows, and carefully Langa does up his buttons again, snuggling down into the space between him and the cushions. The movie has ended, so Langa reaches over and fumbles to put on another one, and Reki takes the moment to slow his breathing, tangling their socked feet together once more. The heater has made his mouth all chapped, and he allows himself to imagine kissing Langa, briefly, their mouths sweet and warm as they fumble with each other’s chapped faces, but then he shoves the image away and curls himself around Langa’s body instead, wrapping his arms around Langa’s soft waist. 

“Are you okay?” asks Langa, more of a formality than anything because he’s so damn polite and Reki manages a laugh, rubbing his sweaty hand on Langa’s hoodie. 

“‘Course I am,” he mumbles, his voice scratchy. “S’just...man. You really know how to fluster a guy.” 

“Only you, Reki,” Langa says honestly, and Reki laughs again, embarrassed, burying himself deeper in the swell of the pillows. 

“See,” he mutters. “Like that.” 

“Mm.” Langa smooths his hair back with both hands, tucking the loose strands behind Reki’s ears, and for a while Reki lets himself be cherished this way, his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling as he struggles to get his breathing back to normal. Langa scratches gently at his scalp and brushes his cool knuckles over the flushed skin of Reki’s neck, petting him until Reki’s sighing again, his body going boneless against the couch. It’s good. Langa is always so good to him, and for the first time Reki allows himself to believe he deserves it, that this is real life, and not some dream he’ll wake up from if he dares to be too happy. 

Langa isn’t a dream. He’s shaky and awkward and imperfect, and he shuts down sometimes when the grief and the anxiety become too overwhelming, and he runs away from problems the same way that Reki does, but they always run back to each other in the end, and maybe that’s better than any dream, anyway. 

I love you, Reki’s about to mumble, but then Langa shifts, leaning forward to drop another kiss to Reki’s forehead. 

“Have you decided which movie is your favorite yet?” he asks, softly, and Reki thinks of Langa bundled in the car with his parents, watching old Christmas films on the DVD player as their van trundles through the snow. Maybe someday he and Langa will be the ones in the front seat, hands clasped on the gear shift, rumbling along the mountain roads for their own holiday trip, and maybe they’ll have a little family, too, wrapped up in blankets in the backseat watching Santa Claus come home. 

“Nah,” Reki whispers back. “Not yet.”

Time feels dreamy and unreal when Reki is sick. Morning blurs into early afternoon, and they drink more soup on the couch and then Langa draws Reki a bath, pouring in too much bubble bath and helping Reki into the bathroom, even though Reki protests. “I can walk, dude,” he says, as Langa wraps his arm more securely around Reki’s waist. “M’not a baby.”

“You’re sick,” Langa says. He helps Reki sit on the edge of the bathtub and then smoothes his hands over the sweaty hair on Reki’s forehead. “Put the pajamas by the door when you’re ready? I’m going to wash yours, too.” 

Reki shifts, ashamed when he remembers the pajamas he tore off by the front door, soaked down to the bone. “Okay,” he says, and then hesitates. “I, uh—I sorta ripped them.” It comes out in a rush. “I didn’t mean to, I just needed to get them off ‘cause, you know, you know the thing where my brain gets all frustrated and—I didn’t mean to ruin them. Can you, can you tell your mom I’m really sorry? Actually, scratch that, don’t tell her, I’ll just, I’ll just hide them in my suitcase and make something up or—”

“Reki,” Langa says, his forehead furrowing up, and Reki swallows down the words itching at his throat, all the protests and excuses and self-deprecating apologies. Langa squeezes his arms, gently, rubbing his thumbs over the flannel sleeves. “I can wash them, okay? And then we’ll, uh. We can try to sew the buttons back on. I know my mom has a sewing kit.” 

Reki pauses, hesitates. “You know how to sew?” 

Langa hesitates, too. “Well…” 

Of course he doesn’t—Langa’s terrible with his hands, he can barely hold a pencil but Reki thinks of his own mother, standing over his shoulder and showing him how to hold knitting needles, and he takes a breath, some of the shame receding. Maybe he’s messy sometimes, but he knows how to clean up his messes, so he says, “S’okay, man. I can probably figure it out, y’know?” 

The furrows smooth out of Langa’s forehead, and he nods, relieved. “You can figure anything out, Reki.” 

Reki clears his throat, embarrassed, but something warm spreads through his chest, too. He leans his head up and tugs Langa down by the front of his hoodie, and their noses bump together, and Langa makes a soft, surprised noise and god, his mouth is right there, and Reki wants to kiss him but he swallows back the urge, ‘cause he doesn’t wanna get Langa sick. Instead he tilts his head and kisses Langa’s cheek, and Langa makes this whining noise, screwing up his face. 

“Reki, please .” 

“Told you,” Reki mumbles, cheeks itching, releasing his hoodie. “Not while I’m sick.” 

Langa squints his eyes open, his face all creased up. “It’s not fair!” 

“You big baby,” Reki says, but then he can’t help himself, he tugs Langa down to kiss his cheek again, and then the frown lines in his forehead, mumbling, “my baby,” into the skin, and Langa shivers a little, clinging to his arms. When they finally pull away, his cheeks are pink, and he rubs his sweaty hands on the front of the hoodie, and this time he doesn’t complain.

“Come to the laundry room when you’re done?” he asks, and Reki nods, his face still flushed. A part of him wants to ask Langa to stay, to sit beside the tub while Reki washes his hair, to hold his hand and listen to his senseless rambling. Maybe someday they can do that. Someday they can have a bathroom they share, just the two of them, and if they want, they can sink into the bathtub together, with Reki’s head resting on Langa’s chest as they breathe in the steam, and maybe then the yearning feelings will finally ease. 

Or maybe they will only grow stronger. Reki kinda likes the yearning feelings, anyway, the way they press against his ribcage, the way they thrum through his body when Langa walks into a room, the way they flutter excitedly in his stomach when Langa wraps his arms around his body. He pulls his pajamas off once Langa leaves the bathroom, folding them clumsily and laying them outside the door, and then he climbs into the bathtub and lets out a long sigh as the hot water envelops him. 

He soaks in the bath for a long time. Slowly his head begins to clear, and it’s easier to breathe through his nose, and he drinks the tea Langa left for him, something minty that soothes his throat. Then, finally, he climbs out, wraps his head in a towel hat and dries himself off, creeping carefully into the bedroom. He’s gonna open his own suitcase to find new clothes, but then he sees Langa’s drawers open, the sleeve of a soft turtleneck hanging out, and he’s shivering from the bath and the sweater looks so warm and he can’t help himself. Clumsily he pulls on Langa’s clothes, rolling up the legs of the sweatpants and folding down the neck of the sweater. Everything smells like Langa, and Reki breathes in, a warm feeling settling deep in his bones. 

It’s like being wrapped up in Langa’s arms, and clumsily he pads down the hallway, searching for the laundry room connected to the kitchen. 

Langa’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, the top half of his hair pulled up into a sparkly Christmas scrunchie that probably belongs to his mom, and a bubble of affection swells in Reki’s chest. Langa’s wearing another one of his hoodies, a red one. “Hi,” Reki says, leaning against the doorframe, and Langa glances up, and then he drops his phone in his lap. 

Reki laughs, his cheeks going warm at the way Langa stares, his mouth parting, his eyes darting down to Reki’s thighs snug in the sweatpants and Reki’s waist soft in the oversized sweater. “Reki,” he says, and his throat sounds dry, his eyes so wide. 

“You’re wearing my clothes, too,” Reki teases, shuffling his feet a little, trying to hide the pleased blush spreading down his chest. “It’s only fair, right?”

Langa stares at him, his hands twitching in his lap, his mouth still parted. “ Reki. ”

“Hah—what?” 

Langa swallows, shaking his head a little, as if to clear it. “You—you look—fuck.” The curse is so soft, and Reki squirms, the flush warming his shoulders and his torso underneath the sweater, and then Langa fumbles to uncross his legs, staring up at him. “You look like—mine.” 

The last word is a bit stifled, as if Langa’s ashamed to admit it, his hands twitching again like he wants to reach for Reki but isn’t sure he’s allowed. The dryer is rumbling at his back, and the tiny room is cozy with folded blankets and baskets full of spare pillows and Reki wants to curl up on the carpeted floor with him, so he shuffles forward and clumsily scrambles to sit down. “I am yours,” he says, reaching for Langa’s hands, tangling their fingers together. “All yours.” 

Langa swallows again, glancing down at their hands, squeezing Reki’s fingers. His palms are clammy, but Reki likes it; the touch is familiar, so undeniably Langa, just like the awkward roll of Langa’s shoulders and the way he clears his throat before speaking. “All mine.” 

The pleasant flush warms Reki’s skin all over again. “Yeah, man.” 

“I like that,” Langa mumbles, rubbing his thumbs over Reki’s knobbly knuckles, staring down at them as if entranced. “You should wear my clothes more often.” 

Reki laughs a little, his cheeks itching, and wiggles a little to get comfortable in the turtleneck. It fits his body differently than his clothes normally do, tighter around the shoulders, the collar snug around his throat, but it’s still nice. And it’s even nicer seeing the loose collar of his red hoodie rumpled around Langa’s collarbones, messier than he usually looks, with the gear pattern loose over his skinny torso. 

“You, too,” he says, and then he untangles one of his hands to reach up and tug at Langa’s little ponytail. “And you should wear this, too.” 

Langa makes a face, and Reki laughs, thumbing happily at the sparkly scrunchie. “My hair was in my face,” Langa mutters, and then he tugs on the front of Reki’s turtleneck, pulling him closer until Reki’s settled in his arms, their chests pressed comfortably together, their arms tucked around each other, Reki’s cheek snuggled up on Langa’s shoulder. He kisses Langa’s neck softly, just ‘cause the loose collar of the hoodie leaves so much room for kisses. 

“S’cute,” Reki mumbles, closing his eyes, satisfied. “You’re cute.” 

“You’re cuter,” Langa mumbles, burying his fingers into Reki’s hair, stroking it carefully, rubbing his thumbs over the sensitive skin under Reki’s ears until Reki’s humming happily, cuddling closer, their knees bumping together. 

The dryer continues to rumble as they hold each other, and the room smells of linens and pine, and Langa’s fingers are fumbling in Reki’s hair, precious, the way he’s precious trying to write out a shopping list in his illegible handwriting, which only Reki can ever manage to read. “Can I ask you something?” Reki murmurs after a long while, when Langa’s scratching his stubby nails gently at the base of his scalp.

“Yeah,” whispers Langa, turning his head, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to Reki’s cheekbone. “What is it?” 

“Did you like me all along?” Reki mumbles. “Or did you just...decide to give things a try when I confessed to you?” 

Langa shifts, his hands stilling. “Reki, I...I liked you for a long time.” 

Reki swallows, the warm feeling beginning to swell in his chest again, blooming in his cheeks. “Really?” 

Langa nods, against him, and then clears his throat. “I liked you from the beginning. When you skated over me that first day, I...I felt something in my heart that I never felt before. You were so bright, like the sun, I couldn’t stop looking at you, I thought about you all the time, what it might feel like to hold your hand, whether your palms were sweaty all the time, like mine. You looked so good in your DopeSketch shirt that I couldn’t think. I didn’t have words for all the things I was feeling, when I looked at you, and when I listened to the things you said, I...I wrote down so many of those things at night, when I got home. Slang and things. I wanted to understand you. I think at first I wanted to be like you, but then the feelings grew too strong, and I started to think about kissing you, and touching your body, and, and holding you close, and I thought I would die if I ever got to do those things, so I never said anything.” 

Reki’s whole body feels swollen with love, warm to the touch, so snug and safe wrapped up in Langa’s sweater and Langa’s arms. “Really? Dude. Since the beginning?” 

It feels impossible, that the whole time they’ve known each other, while Reki was hyped-up and jittery and excited over how much he liked his new friend, Langa had all these warm feelings buried deep down, too. It feels like a dream, but Langa nods, shifting again, so his thighs are pressed to either side of Reki’s body. “Yes,” he says. “The whole time. I think...I think you’re the first person I’ve ever loved.” 

Reki lifts his face, the blush warm on his cheeks. He pulls back enough to look at Langa’s face, the pink flush across his nose, the creases at the corners of his eyes, and he’s so lovely that Reki has to bite his lip against a smile. “Me, too,” he manages, his heart thumping warm in his cheeks, ‘cause he still hasn’t said those words yet, I love you, but then Langa’s leaning in, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth, and Reki huffs out a breathless laugh. “Ah—be careful, dude.”

“I’m not good at being careful,” Langa mumbles, and Reki laughs again, cupping his face and smushing his cheeks and kissing his nose, then his forehead. 

“So reckless, dude.”

“You’re the one who went out in the snowstorm,” Langa says, and Reki gives a sheepish laugh, dropping his hands to squeeze at Langa’s thighs instead, and Langa’s breath catches, his eyelashes fluttering in a way that makes Reki’s whole body squirm, flustered. 

“You’re so cute, man.” 

“Stop,” mumbles Langa, and Reki rubs his palms over the outside seam of Langa’s sweatpants, tucking his thumbs into Langa’s pockets, just savoring the way he can feel all the tremors and jumps of Langa’s body underneath his hands, the way Langa breathes and moves and lives. He wants to slide his hands up under Langa’s hoodie, press his palms over his heartbeat, feel the bare skin thrumming with life, but then the dryer rumbles to a stop, beeping softly into the silence and Langa squints his eyes open, his face flushed. “Your pajamas,” he manages, and Reki hums, squeezing his legs one more time before they both twist to reach for the dryer door. 

The clothes that tumble out are soft-wrinkled and warm to the touch, and on one of the shelves they find an old sewing kit, and Reki settles with his back to Langa’s chest while he threads the needle, Langa’s arms secure around his waist. It’s a nice position, maybe one that would have flustered Reki a week ago, but now he just feels comfortable and snug, caged in by Langa’s bony knees, leaning heavily against his body so that he can feel the thrum of Langa’s headbeat. Langa hooks his chin over Reki’s shoulder, watching his fingers. 

“You really do have pretty hands,” Langa mumbles, as Reki picks up the pajamas, and immediately Reki drops them again, laughing, his chest suddenly itching with the compliment. 

“Dude. I’m tryna work.” 

Langa hums, nuzzling deeper into Reki’s shoulder. “I’m just watching.” 

A wave of affection rolls over Reki, and he laughs again, reaching up to ruffle Langa’s hair. “I know, honey.” Langa gives a sort of sighing sound at the pet name, and Reki feels warmer than ever, all fuzzy inside, and he snuggles close to Langa, tugging his hands tight around his waist. “Lemme find the right size buttons. Or, well, I guess they can be different sizes, right? No one’s gonna see me except you.”

“No one but me,” Langa mumbles, nodding into his shoulder, and Reki squirms a little, happy, ‘cause Langa sounds so deeply satisfied, as if holding Reki this way is the only thing he’s never needed. Reki fumbles to place the button on the right spot, pushing the needle through, but it’s easy to get the hang of it, just like knitting, or braiding his sisters’ hair, or fixing his mom’s vacuum. “I told you,” Langa says, again, after a while, squeezing his arms around Reki’s middle. “You’re good at everything.” 

A pleased flush rises on Reki’s neck. “Aw, shut it.” 

“It’s true.” 

“I was worried—” Reki starts, and then his fingers fumble, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to get the needle through the button again. “I was worried I wouldn’t be very good at this, y’know? Being in—in a relationship. I mean, maybe I’m not very good at it, I dunno, I just—I was worried, y’know, that you would find somebody who knew what they were doing, and then you’d leave me behind for them.” 

Langa puffs a breath into the space between them, tugging Reki tightly against his chest. “You really felt that way?” 

“I—yeah,” Reki admits, his ears warm. “Sorta.”

Langa buries his mouth in Reki’s shoulder, squeezing him, and then mumbles, “You’re the only one I want, Reki, I...you’re the only reason I want to be in a relationship at all. If it’s not with you, I don’t want it.”

The warm feeling spreads quickly through Reki’s chest again. “Ah—really?” 

Langa nods. The words thump through Reki’s body, the only one, the only one, and slowly he realizes it’s true for him, too. He can’t imagine wanting to spend his life with anyone except Langa, he can’t imagine wanting to brush his teeth next to anyone else or wake up with anyone else’s hair in his mouth. 

He puffs out a breath, sagging against Langa again, warm and content. “Me, too,” he says, and then he can’t help asking, “You don’t mind that I’m, uh—like, inexperienced?” 

Langa shakes his head. Another piece of hair falls out of his scrunchie, and Reki feels himself smiling, reaching up to tuck it behind his ear, clumsy in the small space between their bodies. “I’m inexperienced, too,” Langa says, softly. “And sometimes I get nervous, but I know that you’re nervous, too, so it helps. You make me feel...safe.” 

And that, in the end, is the word that helps Reki relax against his chest, a sigh dragging the last of the anxiety out of his body. Safe. He makes Langa feel safe. Langa, who has feel lost and unmoored since his father’s death, no home to speak of, Langa who has craved danger and adrenaline on racetracks trying to feel something, Langa finding a heartbeat again on the bunny slopes, smiling and holding Reki through the beginnings of their budding new love. So many things have made Langa feel reckless and unanchored and talented, larger than life, but it’s Reki who makes him feel safe. 

He curls his fingers around Langa’s, using his free hand to fumble with the pajamas again. He’s clumsy with the buttons, the same way he’s clumsy with their love but he’ll get better at both, over time. “You make me feel safe, too,” Reki mumbles, as Langa buries his mouth in his hair. “You make me feel like...like I’m coming home.” 

There’s a beat, a whisper of snow against the windows and a rumble of the heater overhead, and then Langa mumbles the word, too, in a voice softer than wind: “Home.”

In the cozy warmth of the afternoon, they video-call Reki’s family, all three of his sisters crowding into the tiny screen of his mom’s phone and demanding to see the snow. Reki’s laughing only two minutes into the call, his cheeks rosy and his side warm where Langa is snuggled against him, still wearing Reki’s hoodie, and if his family notices that Reki’s dark turtleneck is definitely not his own, the only hint is a small, secret smile his mom gives him. 

Reki feels good. His fever has faded, and when they call Langa’s mom, she says the roads should be clearer tomorrow. “I’m glad you boys have each other,” she says, her eyes crinkling at the corners in the same way that Langa’s do, a smile that has Reki squirming a little, pleased and flustered. “Don’t forget our tradition, Langa! You’ll have to share it with Reki this Christmas Eve.” 

“Uh-huh,” says Langa, cuddling Reki closer to himself, laying his head on his cheek. Embarrassed, Reki tries to clear his throat, turning his head to mutter,

“Dude, we’re in front of your mom.” 

“Mm,” says Langa, as if he doesn’t understand why this is a problem, turning to press a quick kiss to Reki’s forehead. His lips are chapped from the heater, and the soft press of his dry skin makes Reki flush, screwing up his face and snuggling deeper into the space between Langa and the cushions, as if somehow he can hide from the way Mrs. Hasegawa laughs. 

When the call is over and Langa has dropped the phone into the cushions, wrapping both his arms around Reki’s sweater and pressing his mouth contentedly to Reki’s head, Reki jabs his knuckles into Langa’s side, “What’s the tradition?”

“What?” 

“The tradition your mom mentioned, dude,” Reki says, squirming a little to wrap his own arm around Langa’s waist. “What is it?” 

Langa clears his throat, tucking his toes underneath Reki’s thigh again. “Oh,” he says. “Well, when we lived in Canada we would always bake cookies on Christmas Eve, to leave out for Santa. I mean—I mean, I knew Santa wasn’t real by then, of course. I—of course.” 

Reki feels himself grinning. “Of course.”

“Stop,” says Langa, his ears going pink.

Reki bounces on the cushions, propping his elbow against the back of the couch and grinning harder. “Aw, c’mon, man, tell the truth. How long did you believe in Santa?” 

“ Stop .”

“No, really!”

Langa rubs his hand on his shorts, making a face. His legs are long and pale curled up on the couch, smooth against Reki’s hand when he squeezes Langa’s knee, grinning and watching his face. Finally Langa mutters, “It’s not my fault. Nobody ever told me it was supposed to be pretend.”

“You’re so freakin’ cute.”

Langa makes another face, that adorable pinched-up pouting face that Reki finds so endlessly endearing and then Reki’s laughing, wrapping his other arm around Langa’s body, too, cuddling him tightly, leaning in to smush his mouth against Langa’s cheek. 

“So cute,” he mumbles into Langa’s blush-warm skin, “so adorable, man, you’re the cutest thing, I just wanna eat you right up.” 

Langa makes this flustered huffing sound and the laughter bubbles up in Reki’s chest again, so warm, and he kisses Langa’s cheek again, and then his nose and his forehead and his dark undereye bags until Langa’s whining, tugging on the back of his sweater. “Kiss me,” he mumbles, and Reki laughs again, breathless, trying not to look at Langa’s mouth as he shakes his head. 

“No can do, man.”

“You can. ”

“You’re gonna get sick, and then your mom’s gonna kill me.”

Langa huffs again. “Don’t care,” he says, like a petulant baby, and he purses up his lips into this little heart shape as if he’s somebody’s grandma coming to peck their forehead, and Reki’s laughing again, his heart all warm and squirmy and he crushes Langa in a huge hug, burying his face in the hood of his red sweatshirt. His heart is thumping in his chest, and if he keeps looking at Langa’s mouth, Langa’s pretty pale mouth with the chapped lips that Reki could soothe with his tongue—if he keeps looking at Langa’s mouth, he’ll end up kissing him for sure, and then they’ll probably topple backward on this couch and lose themselves in each other’s arms and they’ll never end up baking the cookies. 

So Reki scrambles off the couch, stretching out his hand to help Langa up, and Langa makes a face and stands up by himself and Reki’s laughing again. Langa hugs him, his hands tucked up the back of Reki’s turtleneck to press to the dip of his spine, and Reki’s laugh chokes off, his body flushing. Langa’s cold hands feel so good holding him, the skin dry against the damp sweatiness of Reki’s back, and he has to clear his throat a couple of times, clinging to Langa, trying to reign in his self-control so he won’t kiss him. 

Kiss him love him kiss him love him, his heart thrums, and Reki half-gives in, pressing a hasty kiss to the side of Langa’s neck before pulling away. 

“Can we bake the cookies?” he asks, clinging to Langa’s upper arms. Langa’s so soft in the hoodie, his cheeks pink, and his face goes soft when he nods, too. 

“My mom keeps all her recipes in the kitchen,” he says. “C’mon.” 

So they bundle themselves up in the kitchen as the sky grows dark and peaceful outside, and Reki fumbles to turn on the old radio until the cabin is full of the jingling bells of Christmas music, and they each pull on an extra pair of socks to keep their feet warm on the wooden floor. Reki finds another pair of the socks he knitted for Langa, the ones with the yeti design, and Langa stares at them for a whole minute after tugging them on, wiggling his toes.

“You’re so talented, Reki,” he says, that honesty raw in his voice, and Reki tries to laugh it off, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“It’s nothing, man! It’s just, like, I know how cold your feet get.” 

“You’re so kind,” Langa says, glancing up at him, their eye contact lingering. “You’re so good to me. I...I could never ask for anybody better.” 

 The kitchen feels so warm, as if the love is seeping into Reki’s body, filling him up inside with all these fuzzy feelings and when he tries to laugh again, it comes out all flustered. The music melts into something slower, a deep voice crooning over the words White Christmas and Reki’s chest itches to pull Langa into a hug, hold him close. He shuffles closer, wrapping Langa’s arm around his waist and leaning into him, and then he points to a paper bag left on the countertop. “Hey, did your mom ever drink the eggnog we bought her?” 

Langa leans against him, too, his cheek against Reki’s hair. “I don’t know. It should be in the fridge.” 

“Can I try it?” 

A bit surprised, Langa nods, turning around and opening the fridge, still clinging onto Reki’s waist. “Have you never had eggnog before?” he asks, reaching up to the top shelf and pulling down the jug, and Reki shakes his head, jiggling one of his legs. 

“We can drink it cold, right?” 

Langa nods. They find mugs with silly reindeer painted on the sides, and they clink their cups together clumsily before drinking, and even though the eggnog is chilly from the fridge, a warm, fuzzy feeling settles in Reki’s stomach. The sky is clear outside of the plaid-patterned curtains, and there’s something nostalgic about turning on the oven, the way it warms the entire kitchen. It reminds Reki of holidays with his mom, sitting curled up on the countertop as a child and pressing cookie-cutters into dough with his sisters. Now he’s the one mixing the dough, Langa’s hands pressing to his hips each time he lingers near, and it makes him feel all grown-up, his stomach tingling each time he takes a sip out of his mug. 

Soon he begins to feel all warm and light-headed, his hands a bit uncoordinated as he rolls the dough, and Langa molds himself to Reki’s back again, his arms around Reki’s waist. “You’re not gonna help?” asks Reki, laughing a little, and his voice sounds clumsier than usual, tripping over the words. Everything is a little blurry around the edges, and Langa hums, nuzzling into his hair. 

“Feels good,” he mumbles, and Reki snuggles back against him, tilting his head to the side to press a kiss to Langa’s jaw, and Langa shivers. And then Reki gets a closer look at him, the way Langa’s cheeks are splotchy-red, the color seeping down the pale skin of his neck and it dawns on Reki, all at once. 

The eggnog, the warm fuzzy feeling in his stomach… 

“Dude,” he says, another laugh swelling in his throat, “did that eggnog have alcohol in it?” 

Langa blinks, slow and confused. Reki laughs, his cheeks tingling. Langa looks so pretty like this, his cheeks flushed, his hair curling softly around his face, his movements slower than usual. “No,” he says, and then hesitates. “Well...maybe. Do you feel...drunk?”

It’s such a funny word in Langa’s accent, so unlike him, and Reki feels himself grinning, snuggling deeper into Langa’s arms, reaching up to touch his flushed face. “Just a little warm,” he says. “But your face is all red.” 

Langa touches his own face, as if he’ll be able to feel the blush and Reki laughs again, wiggling his toes in his socks. He kinda likes the warmth in his stomach, the safety of Langa’s arms wrapped around him, knowing that this, too, is something they can explore together, without worrying about a thing in the world. “I feel good,” Langa says, and he sways a little, on his feet, touching his mouth gently, and the warm feeling spreads up to Reki’s face, because oh, he wants to kiss Langa again, so much. Langa’s lips look so soft. They’re always so soft when Reki kisses him, so pretty and gentle, and Langa’s breathing always grows so heavy, so good, only for Reki, and why can’t he kiss Langa, again?

Langa glances up and meets his eyes and for a moment Reki’s so warm he can’t breathe. Then he shakes himself, a little, because right, he’s sick, he’s probably still sick and he shouldn’t be kissing his boyfriend...his pretty, pretty boyfriend who’s been begging for kisses all day...his sweet, caring boyfriend who has never denied him anything in the world…

Reki clears his throat. His head is all fuzzy, full of Langa. 

“Wanna kiss you,” he admits, and then clears his throat again. “But we shouldn’t, right?”

Langa’s eyes drift to his mouth. “We should.” 

“Langa.”

Langa squeezes his waist, and the radio lulls into the next song, something soft and pretty with lots of piano, and then he reaches up and touches Reki’s mouth, thumb brushing against Reki’s bottom lip. Reki’s face burns at the touch, and he has to swallow, hard, because oh, Langa’s beautiful cold hands, Langa’s pretty hands with the dry skin on his fingertips and the chewed-up ends of his fingernails, and then he’s catching Langa’s hand in his, pressing his mouth to Langa’s fingers. 

“You’re so wonderful,” he mumbles, kissing Langa’s ring finger, then his thumb. “So beautiful, you know that? Man. You’re so—you’re so precious to me.”  

Langa blinks again, and then he gives this soft sniffling sound, shifting against Reki. “Really?” 

Reki’s throat is so full, and he nods. “Let me finish the cookies, okay? Here. Drink some water.” 

He finds Langa a glass in the cabinet and Langa sips the water slowly, through a straw, still hugging Reki around the middle as Reki lays the cookies, carefully, on a sheet of parchment paper. They’re round little balls with a thumbprint in the center of each one, and watching the cookie sheet fill up gives Reki a sense of deep satisfaction, as if things are finally coming together. He’s cuddled up with his boyfriend in this cabin halfway up a mountain, baking Christmas cookies on the eve of the holiday, and they’ve been through hell and back together and somehow that makes everything seem just a little bit sweeter. 

He slides the cookie sheet into the oven, setting the timer so that nothing will burn, and then Langa tugs on the front of his sweater. “Dance with me?” he asks, softly, and Reki turns to him, sort of surprised. 

“Did you say dance?” 

Langa nods. Under the warm, glowy lights in the kitchen, he looks gentle and unraveled, his hair loose around his face, a precious sort of Langa only made for Reki to see, in the quiet evenings they share together. “It was part of the tradition,” Langa explains, and then he clears his throat quietly, tugging again. “I used to dance with my...with my parents.”

Reki’s throat fills up, and he nods, allowing himself to be tugged forward, until his front is snug against Langa’s, Langa’s arms wrapping softly around his waist. Langa lets his forehead fall against Reki’s, so that their noses brush together, and Reki has to swallow again at the thump of his heart, the way he can feel the warm thrum of Langa’s delicate, textured skin. “You’re so beautiful,” Reki whispers, because he can’t stop himself, and even though his body feels warm with embarrassment, he means the words with his whole being. 

Langa swallows. His arms cradle Reki, and then the music blurs gently into the next song, the soft piano filling the kitchen. It’s a new version of the song, but the notes are familiar all the same, and Reki feels something in his body relaxing, long and slow as he breathes out, wrapping his arms around Langa’s body. 

“It’s your favorite song,” he whispers, and in the glow of the Christmas lights, he watches Langa’s cheeks go pink. 

“It is,” Langa mumbles, and then his eyes drift closed, his beautiful eyelashes white against the blush of his skin. “You’re the only one who knows that, I...no one else...only you, Reki.”

Reki’s body is soft, boneless, as if the only thing in the world is Langa’s arms around him, swaying gently to the slow rhythm of the music, a deep voice crooning the opening words to Baby, It’s Cold Outside. He can feel the thrum of Langa’s heartbeat where their bodies are pressed together, the warmth of Langa’s skin when he slides his hands up the hoodie to hug Langa’s thin torso. Every bump of Langa’s spine nudges through the skin, and Reki rubs his thumbs over them, his throat full of Langa, of how wonderful it is to know him and to love him. He couldn’t have one without the other, he thinks, because the moment he knew Langa he loved him, and the moment he loved him, he yearned, more than anything, to know him. 

“I love you,” Reki whispers, into the quiet, and he feels the last of his walls crumble away.

Langa’s eyes flutter open, slowly, and for a moment they gaze at each other, the world nothing more than Langa’s tangled, pale eyelashes, the creases around his eyes, the thin blue veins visible through his undereye bags. Then Langa blinks, and then he blinks again, his eyes squinting at the corners, his mouth wobbling and he buries his mouth in Reki’s shoulder, holding him so tightly. 

“Reki,” he mumbles, “Reki, Reki. ”

Reki squeezes him, softly, so softly. “Wanted to tell you for so long,” he mumbles. “Since the first day we went snowboarding, you know? That’s when I knew for sure. I—hah. I think I loved you the whole time, but I was just, I was always too embarrassed to say anything.” 

Langa hugs him, burying his face deeper in Reki’s sweater, holding Reki so close to his heart that Reki can feel every throb and strain of his body, every shaky breath. Reki presses his mouth to Langa’s hair and holds him gently, swaying slowly, one of his hands coming up to tangle in Langa’s hair. Langa doesn’t speak, but he doesn’t need to, because Reki understands him on some level deeper than words, something in their bones, something in the life that thrums through their veins and he can feel the overwhelming love in their joined heartbeat, yet another thing they share. 

“Reki,” Langa mumbles finally, his voice strained, cracked along the edges as he lifts his face, the tears still damp on his flushed cheeks. Their eyes meet, and something like aching wonder passes between them as they cling to each other, their shared breaths puffing into the delicate space between them. “I...does it ever ache, for you?” 

“Ah,” and Reki’s exhale is a bit shaky, his body warm.  “You mean, like...here?” 

He wiggles a hand between their bodies and presses it to Langa’s sternum, over the bone, and he feels Langa’s breathing stutter, his face flushing. Langa nods, his hand coming up to hold Reki’s wrist, pressing his palm to his own heart, and Reki feels his body ache with that familiar, wonderful yearning, the ache that reminds him, every day, how much he loves him. 

“Yeah,” Reki says, a breathless laugh in his throat, “I feel it, too.”

And then Langa’s kissing him, and Reki melts into the touch with a sigh, all of his worries and fears crumbling away, everything falling away except for Langa’s hand on his back, hugging him close, and Reki kisses him like he’s never kissed him before, pure and whole, without worrying. There is no reason to worry, in this moment, because he loves Langa and Langa loves him, and they will still love each other even if Reki’s kiss is a little off-center, even if he bumps his nose against Langa’s while tilting his head, even if his hand is sweaty as it fumbles underneath Langa’s hoodie, the other still pressed to his heart. Langa’s lips are chapped and perfect, and Reki can feel the dip of his cupid’s bow as they fumble together, bodies overwarm from the eggnog, both of their hearts thrumming happily with kiss him love him kiss him love him. 

“Love you,” Reki whispers into the kiss, and then he whispers it again, kissing Langa’s cheeks and nose and the soft hair on his upper lip and then, when Langa whines, his mouth again, his sweet, sweet mouth. He nudges his tongue gently against the seam of Langa’s lips. “I love you, Langa.”

“Ah,” Langa pants, tilting his head and pressing his tongue to Reki’s, and then Reki’s panting, too, his body flushed underneath Langa’s hands, “me too, Reki, ah, I, me too.”

They kiss until neither of them can breathe, their hands tangling in each other’s hair, in each other’s clothes, arms wrapping around waists and socks bumping together, the room filling with the smell of cinnamon and sugar and the sounds of Langa’s heavy breathing, his hands pressing flat to Reki’s chest when Reki finally pulls away. “Love you,” Reki manages one more time, breathless, and he watches Langa swallow, his cheeks pinker than ever before. 

“Reki,” he says, and there’s a whine in his voice. “When you say that, my heart…”

Reki breathes a laugh, his face warm. “Mine, too,” he says, and he reaches up to tuck Langa’s soft hair behind his ears, brushing his thumbs over Langa’s pretty flushed cheeks. “Mine, too, Langa.”

Langa breathes out, wrapping his arms more securely around Reki’s waist again, and then Reki settles his head on Langa’s shoulder as the song changes again, a symphony of beautiful sounds in their beautiful home, the sounds of Langa’s childhood, of all his happiest memories, here in this very room. It’s precious to be allowed to share something like this with him, and Reki hugs him tightly, closing his eyes as they dance slowly, clumsily, around the tiny kitchen, the way Langa did with his family.

And maybe the tradition will live on, Reki thinks, holding him close, because maybe Reki is his family now, too. 

Chapter Text

There are church bells ringing when Reki wakes up. 

He yawns and burrows down into the cushions, rubbing at his eyes with the blankets. Church bells…and the overwhelming smell of pine and cinnamon...and he feels so cozy and warm and the couch is so soft underneath him that he wiggles deeper into the blankets, muffling a sigh in the pillows. 

They never made it back to the bed last night. They fell onto the couch among all the pillows and each other’s arms, laughing into each other’s mouths as they kissed, smushed together from chest to hip to toe, lost in one another. Now, in the bleary morning, Reki’s alone but still warm, remembering Langa snuggling on top of him, his mouth fumbling to push away Reki’s turtleneck so he could kiss Reki’s throat and jaw and mumble into the skin, I love you, Reki, I love you, I love you, I love you. 

Reki muffles another yawn in the pillows, squirming contently, and then….oh. 

It’s Christmas. 

It’s Christmas, and suddenly he feels himself waking up again, his toes stretching out toward the arm of the couch, his skin beginning to tingle. It’s Christmas, and the church bells are part of a song, something instrumental on their crackling radio and a bit of childlike wonder begins to kindle in Reki’s heart. It’s Christmas, the day they’ve been waiting for, buried underneath all this snow with stockings hanging over the fireplace and eggnog in the fridge, all the songs playing in the ski lodge and the wreaths hanging all over town. 

He feels his legs beginning to jiggle with excitement, and he tries to worm his way out of the thick cocoon of blankets, struggling to kick the quilts off his legs. Langa’s no longer snuggled up with him, so maybe he’s making breakfast again, cozy in those adorable Christmas pajamas and Reki squirms again, smothering a grin as he sits up. Maybe he’ll kiss Langa again. After all, it’s too late to be cautious now, if Langa’s gonna catch his cold he definitely already has, and Reki likes the idea of them sharing their first-ever Christmas kiss, mouths warm and sticky from pancakes and hot cocoa, bundled up in this cute little cabin. 

There’s something comfortable and happy settled in Reki’s stomach, ‘cause this might be their first Christmas together but he knows it won’t be their last, and he swings his legs a little before scrambling off the couch. 

The Christmas tree is soft and twinkling, the sun shining through the snowdrifts against the windows, and the chiming bells keep playing out of the radio sitting on the floor. Reki rubs his hands on his sweatpants, nudging at his wrapped presents underneath the tree with his toe. He can’t wait to watch Langa open them, the way his eyes will go all shiny with awe over the socks, the way his fingers will tremble as he tries to fit the earrings into his ears, the soft, strained way he’ll say, Thank you, Reki, and Reki can already feel himself flushing with happiness as he turns, hastily, and there— 

There’s Langa. 

Langa, standing in the doorway, a Santa hat lopsided on his head, the red hoodie rumpled around his neck and mistletoe clutched in his hands. 

Reki’s heart trips over a beat. That’s—that’s definitely mistletoe, the leaves small and delicate and wrapped up in a red bow, the berries peeking out underneath, the same mistletoe he saw hung up around the Christmas town, where couples embraced and kissed to the sound of chiming church bells. They definitely didn’t have mistletoe in the house before, not that Reki knew of anyway, and he can feel his heart pounding as he glances up at Langa’s face. 

Langa looks shamefaced, shuffling his feet. “Oh,” he says, and then swallows. “Reki. I thought you would still be sleeping.”

“Is that—” Reki stumbles over the word, strange in English. “Mistletoe?” 

He doesn’t miss the way Langa flushes, ducking his head a little to look down at the plants clutched in his pale, sweaty hands. “I meant to hang it up,” he admits, shuffling his feet again. “In...in the doorway? And I...I put on the music, and everything, for…” He pinches up his mouth like he can’t remember the word, and a warm bloom of affection begins to spread through Reki’s body. “For atmosphere,” Langa finally finishes. “I really...I was trying, Reki.” 

He glances up again, his cheeks pink, and Reki can feel himself smiling, his whole body soft with love for him, sweet Langa, precious Langa trying to orchestrate the perfect romantic Christmas morning. Earlier this week, Reki might have been sweating and babbling at a time like this, so nervous that somehow he would mess up, but he knows now that it doesn’t matter if he messes up, because they will have another kiss after this one, and another after that. 

They will always have each other. 

“You got me mistletoe,” Reki says, beginning to grin, ‘cause it’s what he wanted all along, isn’t it? Since the first night they arrived, he wanted to kiss Langa under the mistletoe. “You’re so cute, man.” 

Langa clears his throat, flushed up to the tops of his ears. “Reki.” 

“You wanted to trick me into kissing you,” Reki teases, padding quickly across the rug in his socks, his chest all warm and stuffed full of affection. “You wanted me that badly, huh?” 

Langa looks a bit embarrassed, but he nods. “I—yes.” 

He’s so cute, he’s so cute that Reki can barely contain himself—he wants to jump into Langa’s arms, the way he used to before they were together, and hug him tightly until their bodies are molded into one another. But instead he just shuffles close, so close their toes bump together, and grins as he watches the flush spread across Langa’s cheekbones. He’s so pretty, and he’s even prettier when he gives Reki a small smile of his own. 

“I wanted to kiss you,” Langa admits, softly, “so I bought it, when we were shopping.”

The church bells die away as the song slows into silence, and Reki feels the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth again, their feet bumping together in their thick knitted socks. He remembers the gift bag clutched in Langa’s trembly hands that night at the Christmas market, the waver in Langa’s voice when he said he couldn’t find anything good enough for Reki, while all along Reki had been fretting that he wasn’t good enough for Langa, and everything inside Reki aches with happiness as he whispers, 

“Langa, you got me a present.” 

Langa blinks. Something softens in the creases of his eyes, and he whispers, “What?” 

Reki reaches up, wrapping his hands around Langa’s wrists, rubbing his thumbs over the sides of Langa’s hands, his cold, precious hands. They’re so close now that he can see the bald spot in Langa’s eyebrow, the stray white eyelash in the dip of his undereye bag, and he aches with how much he loves him, the warmest, sweetest ache in the world. “Look,” he says. “You got me a present! And you didn’t even realize it.” 

“The—the mistletoe?” A soft furrow appears between Langa’s eyebrows. “It’s not...it’s just...it’s silly.”

“Yeah,” agrees Reki, squeezing his hands, “yeah, man. It’s kinda silly, but you know, you know I dreamed about this, right? Like, kissing you under the mistletoe? Man, I wanted it so bad,” and he laughs, breathless, a bit flustered as he reaches up, thumbing at Langa’s cheek, brushing the eyelash away. “I wanted it, dude, and you gave it to me.” 

Langa blinks again, and then his voice cracks a little, when he says, “ Reki.” His forehead bumps against Reki’s, his hair falling into Reki’s face, his pretty, soft hair, and Reki’s throat is all itchy and flustered when he laughs again, reaching up to tuck the loose strands behind his ears, underneath the fuzzy edges of the Santa hat. Langa’s hands are still clutched around the mistletoe, holding it between their sweaty bodies instead of hanging it overhead, delicate and untouchable, and then he squeezes his eyes shut and presses a cold kiss to Reki’s nose. 

It’s clumsy and soft and perfect, and the radio crackles with the beginning of another song, the bells chiming once again, and Reki laughs again, wiggling his toes in his socks ‘cause it’s Christmas and they’re together. He tilts his head up, bumping his nose against Langa’s chin and finding his mouth, wrapping his arms around Langa and the mistletoe and kissing him.

Langa’s lips are chapped. It’s so familiar, so easy that it makes Reki’s whole body tingle, his nerves alight, and he laughs against Langa’s lips again, just to feel the warm puff of Langa’s breath as he laughs, too, knocking his forehead against Reki’s. His eyes are closed when Reki peeks at him, his white eyelashes so soft and delicate against the flushed skin, and Reki pecks his mouth, watching him. When their lips touch, Langa’s eyebrows crease just a bit, the flush rising as if he’s concentrating and flustered all at once and Reki’s stomach swoops, pleasant, so pleasant. 

He closes his eyes and presses their mouths together again, tilting his face so the kiss deepens, and Langa sighs against him, his arms going soft where they’re wrapped around Reki’s body. The mistletoe is still caught between their sweaters, and Reki feels the tickle of the leaves against his chin and tries not to laugh again, but a warm, fuzzy feeling spreads all throughout his body anyway. Of course it’s not very romantic, not in the traditional sense, ‘cause they’re in their pajamas and the radio’s crackling, but Langa’s kiss feels like home, and maybe that’s the most romantic thing of all. 

Langa sucks clumsily on his bottom lip and Reki can feel his heart swelling, warm against his ribcage. He nudges his tongue against Langa’s, the tiniest touch, and then pulls away, his heart thumping at the way Langa leans forward automatically, chasing Reki’s mouth. “C’mere,” Reki says, tugging him closer, stumbling over the rug as he backs up toward the couch, and Langa opens his eyes, still so flushed, and together they topple backward onto the couch, landing in a pile of pillows and blankets and the smell of sleep. 

Reki laughs, again, when Langa’s head thumps onto his shoulder, the white fuzzy ball of the Santa hat bumping against Reki’s face. He squeezes him, and then Langa lifts himself up, making that pouty, creased-up flustered expression, pulling the mistletoe out from between them and dropping it on the floor. 

“S’the perfect gift,” Reki says, and he means it, but Langa still makes a face up at him, his mouth pinched up adorably. 

“Are you being serious?” he asks, and Reki nods, kissing that crease between his eyebrows, the confused worry that never seems to quite fade. He loves the worry, simply for being a part of Langa. 

“It’s perfect ‘cause it’s from you,” says Reki, wiggling so that he can squeeze Langa’s hips with his knees, a full-body hug. Then he kisses Langa’s eyebrows and the bridge of his nose, until Langa’s whole face is flushed pink, his eyes squinted up, kicking a little at Reki’s feet. Reki feels warm all over when he thinks about pulling new socks onto Langa’s cold feet, and he teases, “Maybe you can be my gift, too.” 

Langa makes a face. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“It means I get to love you,” says Reki, squeezing him, and then adds, “That’s all I wanna do, y’know. For the rest of my life, if I can.” 

Langa buries his face in Reki’s chest and mumbles something, in English, and Reki grins, tugging at his shoulders. 

“What’d you say?” 

Langa lifts his face again, his cheeks pink, and mumbles, “Nothing.” 

“C’mon, man,” Reki says, and presses a quick kiss to Langa’s forehead to coax him along, feeling flushed at the way Langa’s face goes even pinker. “You promised to translate for me, remember?” 

Langa tilts his chin up, something determined hovering around his mouth. “Only if you kiss me.” 

Reki laughs, curling his toes in his thick, cozy socks. “Of course, dude. You’re so cute.” 

Langa opens his mouth, maybe to argue, but Reki tilts Langa’s chin up and kisses him full on the lips, his nose pressing into Langa’s cheek. Langa makes a muffled sound against him, his eyes fluttering closed immediately, allowing Reki to tilt his face so that his cheek settles into Reki’s palm. His skin is warm, and Reki feels that squirmy thrill go down his body as he squeezes his own eyes shut, focusing all his attention on kissing Langa. 

Langa, who is warm, because of him. 

Reki rubs his thumb over Langa’s cheek, mouthing softly at him, his pale chapped lips, feeling the grooves and ridges of Langa’s face underneath his fingertips. Langa makes that quiet sound again, almost a humming, and he nips gently at Reki’s bottom lip until Reki groans softly against him. Their hands fumble with each other’s waists, holding onto arms and shoulders, and it’s all so achingly familiar, so intricate and wonderful like a puzzle Reki will never stop figuring out how to put together. 

Finally they pull apart, and Langa rubs at his mouth, catching his breath. “That thing I said…” 

Reki blinks hastily, his whole body still warm with the flush of kissing. His heart thumps a little. “Yeah? What was it?”

Langa’s cheeks are pink. “I said, for infinity. I want you for...for infinity.” 

And, oh. 

Reki’s never heard the word in English before. 

“ Infinity,” he tries, his tongue tripping over the foreign sounds, and Langa nods, his eyes darting down to Reki’s mouth again as Reki tries to wrap his tongue around the word. “ In—finity? ”

“Yes,” says Langa, his cheeks still stubbornly pink as he glances back up into Reki’s eyes, his thumbs rubbing over the soft part of Reki’s upper arms. It’s the same word he’s said countless times before, in the skate park and in the backseat of cars and in Reki’s bedroom, when they’re changing before S, but he’s never said it in English, his voice so low and soft and intense in a way that makes Reki’s stomach flip-flop. “Not only the kissing, but...but everything. I want to be here to see every one of your bruises and scrapes and, and I want to see you in every shirt you own, and I want to spend every Christmas with you.” 

The radio crackles, and Reki’s body is so warm, his cheeks so flushed, and Langa is so beautiful, his face a myriad of blues and purples and stray hairs, an imperfect human who fits into all the gaps of Reki’s life so perfectly. “For infinity,” Reki tries again, squeezing his arms around Langa’s soft body, and Langa nods, his face pink. 

“ Eternity,” he says, in English, and Reki tries, 

“ Eter—nity, ” 

and Langa doesn’t laugh at his pronunciation, he only nods and translates the word, and Reki curls his toes in his socks again, a bit breathless with the beauty of the foreign language, the strangeness of the syllables, the endlessness of its meaning. He hugs Langa so tightly, burying his mouth briefly in Langa’s shoulder, holding him close as the pale flurries of snow drift against the windows. It’s Christmas morning, and everything feels new and trembling and thrilling, the way it feels to stand at the top of a mountain and look out at the whole world. 

Reki knows what that feels like, now, because of Langa. He hugs him tighter. 

“Wanna spend every Christmas with you, too,” he mumbles into Langa’s hoodie, and Langa squeezes him, pulling away a little so that he can look into Reki’s eyes, smoothing his hair out of his face with his perfect, cold hands.  

“Maybe we can have our own holiday traditions,” Langa suggests, and Reki squeezes him more tightly at the sheer thought of it, growing old together with their own recipes scribbled on fading parchment paper, baking cookies by the refrigerator light on the eve of their fiftieth Christmas together. He wants that. He wants to dance to Langa’s favorite Christmas songs, and he wants to drink eggnog together until their bodies are blurry and warm and he wants to tumble onto the couch and kiss until they fall asleep by the light of the tree. 

Carefully Reki kisses Langa’s nose, the very tip where it always gets the coldest. “This’s a good one,” he says. “Y’know, the mistletoe.” 

Langa flushes, and in response he leans forward and smushes their mouths together again, and Reki feels himself laughing into the kiss, this warm bubbling feeling in his throat, ‘cause maybe this will always be something he can tease Langa about, the mistletoe. The perfect present he had given Reki, maybe the best gift Reki’s ever received, and he squeezes his eyes shut and wraps his arms around Langa and kisses him back and— 

There’s a thump at the door. 

Langa jolts upright immediately, his hair wild under his Santa hat, and for a moment they both stare at the door, the Christmas tree lights continuing to twinkle unassumingly. Then Langa scrambles off Reki and Reki scrambles off the couch and they’re both running for the door, slipping in their socks, their hands fumbling at the doorknob so they can throw all their weight into dragging the door open and there— 

There, among all the snow, is Langa’s mother. 

Langa doesn’t waver, he leaps out into the snowbank in his socks and sleep shorts and tumbles into his mother’s arms, and she laughs, bright and happy in the crisp winter air, squeezing him tightly. Langa’s body trembles, his shoulders shaking as if maybe he’s crying, and then Mrs. Hasegawa opens her other arm and beckons Reki in, and, well. 

This time Reki doesn’t bother with his boots. 

The snow soaks straight through his socks as he jumps down onto the porch, wrapping his arms around Langa and his mom, burying his face in Langa’s hair. It’s freezing, and he’s shivering before Mrs. Hasegawa even hugs him, but between their bodies there’s a warm pocket of air and Reki puffs breath into it, his heart thumping, because the day is cold but one of Langa’s parents managed to come back home and maybe that’s the greatest gift they could ask for.

“You made it,” Langa says, muffled, into his mom’s coat, and she laughs again, squeezing them. 

“I thought the car was going to give up on me,” she says, “but I guess it’s a Christmas miracle!” 

Langa makes a discontented sound at her cheesiness, but one of his arms wiggles out to wrap around Reki’s waist, pulling him closer, and Reki’s face flushes pleasantly even in the stinging cold, and for another moment they all just hold each other and breathe. 

Finally their little huddle breaks apart, and Reki yelps as he jumps back over the threshold and into the house, tearing his wet socks off. “Cold,” he blurts out, as Langa stumbles into the house after him, and his mom shepherds them further into the foyer, unwrapping her scarf. 

“Oh, baby, do you even have any clean socks left?” she asks, watching Langa peel off his socks, wincing. “You never pack enough…” 

“I’ll find some,” Langa begins, but Reki grabs his arm, and Langa pauses, glancing at him. Reki feels a grin tugging at his mouth, even though he’s still shivering uncontrollably from the cold, and he reaches up and straightens Langa’s Santa hat, his palm brushing against Langa’s cheek, chilly and bitten red from the wind. 

“Hang on,” Reki says. “Lemme give you your present first.” 

They all end up curled in the living room, snug on the couch with the blankets thrown over their knees, presents piled up around them and their stockings lying in their laps. Reki’s cradling a mug of hot cocoa, complete with mini marshmallows, and every few minutes Langa taps on his arm and Reki hands him the mug, bumping their hands together on purpose. 

“You have whipped cream on your nose,” Reki tells him, and before Langa can move, he rubs it off with his thumb. 

Langa wrinkles his nose, and Reki laughs, remembering that first day in the cafe when Langa licked his fingertip by accident. It feels like a lifetime ago, the both of them too nervous to kiss, too nervous to even hold hands, and now here they are, snuggled up so close on the couch, surrounded by wrapping paper as Langa opens yet another gift from his mother. 

“Hair ties?” he asks, confused. 

“Honey, I know you’ve been stealing mine.” 

Langa frowns down at the gift, but Reki can see the blush creeping up his ears, and he grins, snuggling closer and wiggling his toes underneath Langa’s thigh. “She’s right, man,” he says, and Langa elbows him, but Reki just laughs, feeling warm all over. “C’mon, it looks good.” 

He’s kinda embarrassed to say something like that in front of Langa’s mom, but everything is so cozy and comfortable in their little cabin that it almost doesn’t matter, like Mrs. Hasegawa is part of his family now, too. That pouty frown is still settled around Langa’s forehead, but he tears open the hair tie packet anyway and pulls one out. 

“Your hair is getting so long,” says his mom, affectionately. “Here, let me help you.” 

Langa looks for a moment like he might resist, but then his shoulders relax and he hands the hair tie to his mother. He tilts his head, and Reki watches with a growing sense of wonder in his throat as Langa’s mom carefully pulls off his Santa hat, gathering the baby hairs off his pale, lovely neck. For the first time he notices the way her hands tremble, just slightly, the same way Langa’s always do, but there’s something almost natural about the way she ties the hair tie, as if she’s made peace with her body. 

Reki wants to reach forward and smooth a loose strand off Langa’s forehead, so he does, rubbing his thumb over Langa’s funny eyebrow. “Looks good, man,” he says, again, and his stomach flushes warm at the way Langa’s eyes crease up. He kicks at Reki, a little, but the motion is so soft that it feels more like a caress, and Langa’s foot stays pressed to his leg, both of them tangled up among the blankets. 

“Your turn, Reki!” says Mrs. Hasegawa, and Reki jumps a little, flustered when he tears his eyes away from Langa and his pretty, pretty hair. 

He tears open another present, babbling thank yous—Langa’s mom brought them both presents from town, and it’s kinda embarrassing how many things she got Reki, mostly tourist stuff like a maple leaf hoodie and a water bottle, but also this really nice sketchbook with a photo of him and Langa tucked inside. Reki will probably be too embarrassed to ever use the sketchbook, but it’s kinda nice, like, the photo of him and Langa, this one time they were napping together on the sofa and she snuck the picture unawares. It makes his stomach feel hot. Langa’s all snuggled into him, drooling on his sweatshirt.

Hastily he hides the sketchbook before Langa can see. 

“Sorry I forgot to get you something,” Reki tells Mrs. Hasegawa, shamefaced. “I meant to but then—” 

“I thought you got her something at the Christmas market,” Langa interrupts, frowning at him.

Reki stumbles over his words, face warm when he remembers the tiny snowflake earrings he pretended were for Langa’s mom. “I, uh—”

“It’s okay, sweetie,” says Mrs. Hasegawa, reaching across Langa to squeeze him on the arm. “You boys got me that eggnog! I don’t need anything else.” 

Reki nearly chokes. “Ah—oh, yeah, yeah.”

The eggnog bottle is half-empty, probably still on the kitchen counter. Later today they’re gonna have some explaining to do. 

Reki squirms closer to Langa, nudging him, and Langa’s cheeks are pink when he glances over, his eyes guilty. Reki feels guilty, too, but then the corners of his mouth quirk up, and Langa makes a face at him, looking like he’s trying to fight down a smile of his own. Controlling his expressions is maybe not Reki’s best trait, so hastily he grabs the socks he wrapped up for Langa and stuffs them into his hands, saying, 

“Here! From me.” 

Langa blinks down at his lap, face still pink. “Oh,” he says, and quickly he fumbles to unwrap the gift, his fingers clumsy on the tape holding the wrapping paper together. The paper falls open, and there in Langa’s lap are three and a half pairs of hand-knitted socks, one of them with several dropped loops ‘cause it was Reki’s first try. 

His cheeks itch, and he has to clear his throat before pointing to it. The sock has pink hearts and no match, because Reki got too embarrassed halfway through knitting it. “I, uh. Forgot to finish that one. But I’ll make you the other one when we get back home, if, like—if you want it, I mean.” 

Langa glances up at Reki, and Reki’s heart thumps when he meets Langa’s eyes. Langa’s face is soft and glowy with the same awe as before, the same way he’s looked each time Reki gave him a pair of the socks. “Reki,” he says, and then he’s nodding, tucking the stray piece of hair behind his ear again. “Can you—can you finish them?” 

“You really wanna—you don’t think it’s girly?” 

Langa shakes his head. “Not if it’s from you.” 

Reki makes an aborted noise, rubbing the flush on his neck ‘cause god, Langa’s just saying things like that with his mom around, and Mrs. Hasegawa smiles, ruffling Langa’s little ponytail. “You made these, Reki?” she asks. “My, you’re very talented.” 

The flush rises, and Langa nods. “You are, Reki.” 

“Okay, okay,” Reki mutters, shoving weakly at Langa’s hands, pushing the socks up against his stomach. “Try them on, okay? Your feet are prob’ly freezing.” 

Langa doesn’t argue. He tugs his feet up onto the cushions, choosing the socks with fun written across the toes, and carefully pulls them on. He folds them over his bony ankles, where the hair has begun to grow again, and pokes his toes against Reki’s leg. “They’re warm.”

“Yeah,” says Reki, his face red. “They’re s’posed to be.” 

“I love them,” says Langa sincerely, and he glances up at Reki’s face, and Reki’s heart thumps, ‘cause the way Langa’s lips part—it looks like he’s lingering on the verge of whispering, I love you. And Reki loves him, too, but he’s too shy to mumble those words in front of Langa’s mom, so instead he nudges his hand against Langa’s arm until Langa reaches for him, tangling their fingers together. 

“I have something else for you, too,” Reki admits. 

Langa’s eyes go wider. He seems to glow, his lips parting, his cheeks rosy, all this awe and devotion shining through his body as he tightens his grip on Reki’s fingers, saying, “Really?” 

Reki nods, warm in the face of all that affection, and man, he thinks he would give Langa the whole world if only to have Langa look at him that way. He doesn’t have the world to give, but he does have a tiny wrapped box that he wiggles out from between the couch cushions, where it had gotten lost in all the shuffling. 

“It was sort of an impulse buy,” he admits. “I thought they’d look—pretty on you.” 

Everything looks pretty on you, he thinks, and he licks at the dry skin on his bottom lip, ‘cause Langa looks so warm and soft cuddled up in Reki’s hoodie, and he wants to see him look this way every day.  He can’t say that in front of Langa’s mom, but he hopes Langa understands anyway, and he thinks he does, because the look in Langa’s eyes when he takes the box from Reki’s hands— 

It’s awestruck and heavy with love. 

“Thank you,” Langa mumbles, as polite as ever, and Reki shoves his hands in his lap, kinda jittery and nervous as Langa carefully unwraps the present. He knows Langa will love it. He knows Langa will look so pretty with the earrings on, sparkling in his ears with his hair all tied up, but what if he’s too pretty for Reki’s heart to handle, what if— 

The box falls open and Langa makes a soft sound. 

He glances up at Reki again. His hands are trembling a bit, and Langa’s mom is looking down at the earrings, too, and Reki’s heart swells in his throat, ‘cause Langa looks—overwhelmed, a bit broken maybe, and he gropes for Reki’s hand again, squeezing his fingers tightly. 

“D’you like,” Reki begins, and Langa says, 

“ Yes,” and then, “Oh,” and then he creases up his face, rubbing at his nose. “Reki, where did you—”

“In town,” Reki blurts. “There was this—a jewelry store. I wasn’t gonna buy anything ‘cause I didn’t know what you liked or, or if it was too early to buy jewelry or—but I saw these and I—I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”   

Langa’s eyes are a little wet. “You thought about me?” 

Reki nods. He feels like he’s holding his breath, and Langa’s mom shifts quietly against the cushions, tugging her knees up as a single tear falls onto Langa’s cheek. Hastily he rubs it away, and Reki’s throat swells up, and then Langa’s leaning forward and smushing his face into Reki’s shoulder and wrapping his arms around Reki’s body, hugging him tightly, and Reki squeezes his eyes shut and hugs him, too. 

I love you, he thinks, and he feels the words in Langa’s trembling arms, too, in Langa’s uneven heartbeat, in Langa’s hair tickling his face when Reki presses his mouth to his head. He knows Langa’s mom is watching them, or maybe watching the snowfall or the twinkling lights or the way the marshmallows bob to the top of the hot cocoa, forgotten, but all of Reki’s attention is full of Langa. 

Finally Langa pulls away, rubbing his sweaty hands on his shorts, making a face as he tries to tuck loose hair back into his ponytail. “I like them,” he says, quietly, and presses the box into Reki’s hands. “Help me put them on?” 

Reki nods. Langa’s mom stirs again, picking up the mug from the coffee table and kissing Langa’s head. “I’ll go start the tea,” she says, and Reki glances up and sees the sparkle in her eyes, and his chest itches, kinda embarrassed and warm. He manages a clumsy smile in return, and then she’s padding across the room, and Reki tries to focus again on the tiny, sparkly snowflake earrings. 

“You never wear any in your ears,” Langa mumbles, bumping his knuckles against Reki’s earlobe, and Reki laughs a little, rubbing his mouth. 

“Yeah,” he says. “I like Koyomi pierce them just for fun. They might be closed up by now, I dunno.” 

“Can we try?” 

“Huh?” Reki glances up. 

“Can we try?” repeats Langa, shifting a little. “I...I want to see how they look on you, too.” 

Reki’s face goes warm. “Langa,” he says. “I bought these for—for you, dude.”

It’s kinda flustering, Langa noticing that his ears are pierced even though he rarely wears earrings anymore. Langa’s cheeks are pink when he shrugs, glancing down at the box again. “I want to see.” 

Reki clears his throat, ‘cause—well, how can he deny that? “Okay,” he concedes. “One for you and one for me?” 

Langa hesitates for a moment, and then nods. Reki feels very warm as he fumbles to pull one of the earrings out of the box, where it’s nestled in the white cushion, and then tucks Langa’s hair out of the way. His fingers brush against the soft skin around Langa’s ear, where the hair is white and fuzzy and Langa shivers, a little, leaning into the touch. Reki swallows, ‘cause Langa’s face is cold, but his skin is thrumming with life, so pretty and delicate underneath Reki’s fingertips. He fumbles again trying to fit the earring through the tiny hole, and Langa tilts his face slightly, so that Reki can see the bony line of his jaw and he has to swallow, again. 

He wants to kiss Langa’s jawbone. Clumsily he manages to slide the earring on, pressing the cap onto the back, and then he leans down and bumps his mouth against Langa’s jaw and Langa makes this startled, embarrassed sort of noise. 

“You’re so pretty,” Reki mumbles, “fuck.”

Langa makes the muffled noise again, shifting on the couch so that his body is turned toward Reki’s, and then his hand comes up to cup Reki’s face, lifting his chin so that their mouths fit together, and Reki sighs into the kiss, his whole body sagging. It feels so good, the way Langa pressed their lips together and then pulls away and then kisses him again. The touches are careful, soft, their mouths brushing together on every exhale, and Reki lets all his attention drain into the way Langa’s bottom lip is slightly chapped, a bit of dry skin catching on Reki’s lips each time they kiss.

“So pretty,” Reki mumbles again, into his mouth, “it shouldn’t be allowed, man, you’re unbelievable.” 

Langa’s skin is so warm as he pulls away, then leans in and kisses Reki again, lingering as if he never wants to stop. Then he mumbles, “You’re the pretty one.” 

Reki’s stomach squirms pleasantly, ‘cause maybe, maybe it’s true. “Well…” 

“Can I put the earring on?” Langa asks, pulling away again, and his voice is so soft, his accent perfect, his whole body gentle and precious against Reki’s as he tugs his socked foot up onto the cushions, resting his chin on his knee. “I want to see what it looks like.”

The snowflake sparkles in his ear, silver against his flushed skin, his hair swept up and out of the way and he’s almost too beautiful to bear, but then Reki remembers that Langa is his, he’s allowed to kiss Langa’s earring and take pictures of him smiling and see him fumbling, sleep-clumsy, to take the earrings off before bed. He still feels that ache of yearning, but it’s a good ache, one full of love, and he manages a grin, nodding. 

“Yeah,” he says. “C’mere.” 

So they share the earrings, sparkling together when they angle the camera just right and catch the light of the Christmas tree, and then they share a giggly afternoon of swiping through all their photos together, bundled up at the kitchen counter while Langa’s mom bakes more cookies. She sees the eggnog bottle but doesn’t say anything, just gives Langa raised eyebrows, as if to say they’ll talk about it later, but not today, because today is Christmas. 

“You think we’ll be able to snowboard again before we leave?” Reki asks, leaning against Langa’s side, hooking his chin over his shoulder and pressing his cheek to the loose tendrils of Langa’s hair. Langa hums a little, turning the phone off. 

“Yes,” he says, determined, and his mom laughs and chides,

“Maybe, Langa. If the snow settles down.” 

“It will,” Langa says, as if he’s never been surer of anything in his life, and one of his hands comes up to tangle in Reki’s hair, smoothing his thumb over the back of his neck. 

Reki leans into the touch, allowing his eyes to drift closed, a smile soft on his face. It feels so nice, Langa’s fingers running through his hair, gentle as if they have all the time in the world for these simple touches, and then some. Langa presses his mouth briefly to Reki’s temple, and Reki laughs a little, opening his eyes ‘cause he’s still flustered about the idea of affection in front of Langa’s mom, but she has her back turned now, pouring eggnog into a mug for herself. 

“Maybe we can go outside anyway,” Reki suggests. “Snowball fight?” 

Langa wrinkles his nose, but then he brightens, sitting up straighter. “Oh,” he says. “Mom, do we still have that sled in the hall closet?” 

And so they find themselves digging through the closet, tossing aside old coats too small to be worn, scarves that have seen better days, until they find an old wooden sled propped up against the wall. Reki’s fever is gone—mostly—and he knows going outside is probably not the best idea, but hey, he’s never been one to put health before adventuring, anyway. They bundle up and trample out back into the snow, each of them holding one handle of the sled, together. 

“You’ve done this before?” Reki asks, pulling his scarf away from his mouth, a question it feels like he’s asked a hundred times since they arrived. He half-expects Langa to nod and tell him that he went sledding with his dad every Christmas, but Langa shakes his head. 

“No,” he says, and the wind feels crisp and cold around them, like breathing in new air for the first time. “I think my grandma gave me the sled, but I’ve never ridden it before.” 

Reki feels this thrill go through his body, and he shivers, but not from the cold. When Langa glances at him, Reki grins, adrenaline already thumping through his veins, ‘cause Langa has done almost everything in Canada already, reliving old memories, the Christmas market, the cafe, the ski lodge, but he hasn’t done this. This is new, something precious and wonderful just for them, a reminder of how much life they still have left to live.

“M’excited,” Reki says, squeezing the handle of the sled, reaching around with his other arm to punch clumsily at Langa’s shoulder. They’re struggling in the deep snow, and it’s slow going, but Reki’s in no rush. “Probably not safe, though, huh?” 

Langa furrows his eyebrows, glancing out across the snow-laden pine trees. “I didn’t think of that.”

Reki laughs, bright in the cold air, ‘cause of course Langa didn’t think of that. “S’cool, man,” he says. “I’m sure it’ll be fine! We’ve survived worse.”

The snow is so thick he’s sure they’ll barely be able to get moving on the sled, anyway, much less pick up enough speed to crash into anything. They find a small clearing among the trees, at the top of a small hill, and after checking around to make sure there are no obstacles in the way, they set the sled down carefully on the ground. 

“We’ll have to sit on it first,” Reki says, “and then push ourselves off, I guess?”

“I don’t know,” says Langa. “Yes?”

Reki laughs again, hooking his foot through the rails of the sled so it won’t slide away, and then he puts his hand on Langa’s arm in his thick coat and tugs him closer. Langa glances at him with wide eyes, so blue out here in the white glowing world, and then hurriedly tugs his scarf down away from his mouth. Reki laughs, his heart so warm at how eagerly Langa always wants kisses, and he leans in, stretching up to brush their mouths together. 

The touch is light, gentle, and Reki pulls away to pull a breath against Langa’s lips, whispering, “Good?” 

“Mm,” Langa mumbles, “more.” He tugs on Reki’s scarf, his eyelashes fluttering and white atop his cheekbones, and Reki feels the laugh bubbling in his chest as he obliges, pressing close so that their mouths fit together, just right. Somewhere nearby he hears the soft thump of snow falling from the trees, and the air around them is so alive, the world humming with sounds so quiet he never could have imagined them.

Langa tilts his head, his perfect lips gentle against Reki’s, and Reki licks carefully at the dip of his Cupid’s bow before pulling away. “Love you,” he whispers, and Langa puffs out a breath, a sigh really, and lets his eyes flutter open. 

“I love you, too,” he whispers back, and for a while they just gaze at each other, as if they’re the only two people in this wide, beautiful world. 

And then, with their hands clasped in their thick, clumsy gloves, they clamber onto the sled, ready to take on the new slopes together.