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Even deep into the night, the air was hot and stifling. Sweat dampens Langa’s forehead, causing strands of his hair to stick to his skin. He sneaks a glance in Reki’s direction, finding the redhead in a similar state, holding his board on his shoulders behind his head as they walk towards the entrance of S. The private and illegal skating site has just reopened recently, after ADAM found a way to sneak it right under the noses of the police.
And even though neither boy likes ADAM, they do still enjoy the skating courses and the atmosphere of the place. It was the thrill they both craved, ears defeaned by buffeting wind and screaming voices. They go every other night to skate together, whether as a beef, or to simply practice. As long as they did it together, they enjoyed their time at S.
The rest of their little gang aren't here tonight. JOE said he was going on a date with someone, while CHERRY said he has an important meeting to attend to. Reki and Langa both agreed that the “meeting” CHERRY is attending is that date JOE had mentioned. Not that they were going to say anything about that to the man's face. Miya complained about having too much homework and simply stopped answering their texts afterwards. SHADOW has been on a break from skating, taking time to save up money for his own flower shop.
Reki hums a tuneless song, not a care in the world. The lamps that line the main road of S highlights his curly hair and amber eyes. His freckles stand out against the tan of his skin, kissed from the summer sun’s rays. They've been skating a lot, even on the hotter days, Reki finally shedding his thick sweatshirts in favor of crop tops and sleeveless tank tops. The sight of Reki’s toned biceps had been enough to nearly make Langa faint the first day he'd donned a sleeveless shirt.
Langa officially loves the summer, since the heat forces Reki to not hide under a sweatshirt, unlike what he's seen during the spring.
Reki catches Langa’s eye and grins at him, bright and blinding as the sun. Langa’s cheeks warm a little, as they always do under that magnificent grin.
He's going to finally ask Reki. To be his boyfriend. To go on a date with him. Whichever comes first, or whichever he manages to ask.
He’s already extremely nervous, but seeing Reki’s bright smile eases some of those nerves. He smiles back softly, ignoring the crowds of other skaters just arriving at the same time. The S gates open, and Reki throws his board down, hopping on top and turning to gesture at Langa. Langa finally feels himself grin, his anxiety getting replaced with his excitement of skating with Reki, for now.
He hops onto his own board- the board Reki made for him- and they take off together, side by side. It's time like these that Langa is glad he has a goofy footed stance, so he could face Reki as they glide across uneven ground. Maybe that's not the best idea, since Langa has fallen off of his board doing this before, but he doesn't really care. Reki always looks happiest and at the most ease when skating, and the content smile that curls his lips is always enough to make up for any bumps or scrapes Langa may receive from crashing.
They drift together, not yet doing anything too flashy or impressive. Instead, they stay in each other’s field of view, talking about nothing and everything. Langa could get lost in Reki’s warm gaze.
“And he flew super high from this giant ramp!” Reki exclaimed, throwing his hands up for emphasis. Langa chuckles at his mannerisms, and nods to show that he's still listening. “And somehow, he landed it! Isn't that insane?”
“Well, he’s Tony Hawk,” Langa pointed out with a small smile.
Reki crosses his arms over his chest, pumping at the ground to speed up again. “I guess you're right about that,” he said with a giggle. Langa’s stomach fills with butterflies at the sound; so soft and inviting. “Still, dude’s crazy.”
“I mean, I agree with you,” Langa replied. He watches Reki twists on his board, kicking up dirt and a few pebbles with his board’s wheels. He's such a little ball of energy… one that Langa loves to watch. He doesn't normally do well with extroverted people, like Reki, but there's something about the redhead that's always drawn him in. It's almost as if when Langa runs low on battery, social or otherwise, he just has to talk or hug Reki and he's reenergized again. “Tony Hawk is pretty cool.”
“Yeah,” Reki said in agreement, nodding his head a little. Then, he points a finger at Langa, and the Canadian’s stomach flips at how soft his expression is. “But you're still way cooler than him. You're definitely my favorite skater.” He grins hugely, shutting his eyes for a moment under the intensity.
Langa’s face heats up, and he has to look away, chewing on his lower lip. How does Reki just say things like that to him and not expect him to fall head over heels for him? He probably doesn't, or probably doesn't even realize the effect he has on Langa. He probably doesn't even see Langa in that way.
But… Langa is still going to try and ask him out. Tonight. In a few minutes. When it's right. And when they're alone.
Oh fuck he's going to panic.
Stay cool, Hasegawa. Stay cool! Just don't think about it too much. Even if Reki doesn't feel the same way towards you- oh god let him feel the same way towards him- then he's too nice to hate you! He’ll still want to be friends with you because he's just that nice!
He swallows heavily, his hands sticky with sweat as he digs his nails into his palms. He looks up when Reki laughs brightly and sharply turns a corner, rushing ahead of him. His eyes widen, and he takes this as a challenge, pushing his worries aside in favor of racing Reki.
They have no destination in mind. They merely skate, wrapping around each other teasingly. If Langa saw any other couple of people skating like this, he'd assume they were flirting. But Langa has no idea if Reki likes him that way. So he just takes it as his energetic friend letting out some of his extra gas.
“Langa!” Reki shouts suddenly, and the Canadian instantly turns his eyes to his best friend. Reki waves at him, and then makes a heart with both of his hands. Langa’s eyes widen, and he's so taken by the moment, and the exhilaration of the race, that he finally blurts words out with absolutely zero thought behind them:
“Will you go on a date with me?!” Langa asks, raising his voice to make sure Reki could hear him. He thinks the redhead does, because a bright pink blush spreads across his face, making the freckles on his cheeks poke out further from his tanned skin. Langa grins at his reaction, hoping it's a good one, getting lost in Reki’s gaze. “I've been meaning to ask for a while, and I thought now would be a good time t-”
It happens so quickly, Langa isn't even entirely sure what occurred. One moment, he's looking at Reki’s flushed face, the next, a truck is forcing its way into his field of vision, the redhead disappearing. Langa chokes, one of his wheels getting caught on a rock, and he stumbles off of it, arms and legs getting scraped by the rough ground. He lands face first, and a particularly sharp rock ends up cutting his cheek open.
He doesn't even register the pain as he scrambles forward, desperately to where he'd just seen Reki. The truck is still driving, disappearing around the next corner, but he can't find Reki.
Reki’s board is rolling slowly nearby, absent of its rider. Bile rises into Langa’s throat at the sight of so much blood. He reaches Reki’s board, and holds it close to himself, his own blood staining the bottom. Reki wouldn't like that, but Langa’s mind can't process that right now.
“Reki?” he calls, his voice tearing from his throat into a scream. It's loud and terrified and desperate. His heart is in his throat as he pulls himself to the edge of the path, where it drops to a steep cliff. He looks down, and his entire world stops when he sees the familiar shock of red hair in a crumpled state at the bottom. He can't think, he can't process, all he can do is stare, his lungs aching as he hyperventilates. “REKI!” His voice echoes around him, and it doesn't sound like his voice. It sounded like a wounded animal, like a person on death’s doorstep.
Without thinking, Langa pushes himself over the edge feet first, slowing his descent by burying his feet in the cliff face. Dust is blown in his face, but he doesn't care, panicked gaze locked on Reki. Who isn't moving oh god he's not getting up and there's so much blood no no Reki can't leave him too no please no-
He hits the ground hard, ankle giving out under him with a sickening pop. He hits the ground again, this time on his side, the breath getting knocked from his lungs. He wheezes, clawing at the dry earth in front of his face, dirt clinging to his skin in a thin film. His own blood is dripping sluggishly from his cut open cheek, and it throbs painfully in time with his heartbeat, but he doesn't care.
He makes it to Reki’s side, tears flooding his vision, and he almost can't see Reki’s face. But, when it finally clears up enough, he can see Reki’s chest rising and falling. And while it's shaky and wet sounding, he's still breathing. Langa can feel a small amount of relief wash over him, before it is instantly replaced with dread and horror at Reki’s state.
There is blood matting on the back of Reki’s head, hair tangling in a wet clump. More blood pours from his nose, and his arm is bent at an unnatural angle. There are multiple deep gashes and brushes covering his body, with the largest gash being on the side of his chest. The area around it is already turning a deep purple, swelling to double its side. His breaths are short and rapid, his lips already turning a light blue.
If either of Reki’s lungs were punctured, or if his head injury is bad, then there could be a high risk of him dying.
He remembers when his dad was in a similar state. Blood staining his chin, his breaths short and rasping and wet. He hadn't known what to do then, and could only watch the life drain from his father’s eyes, drowning in his own blood.
That could happen to Reki now, too.
Langa could not allow that to happen.
He lowers his head, and hovers his ear just over the side of Reki’s chest with the severe bruising. He holds his own breath, listening for any signs that his lung is punctured and or collapsed. His own breathing increases rapidly when he hears the halting breaths coming from the lung, and he just knows it's pneumothorax. And at this point, he can hear the trapped air and fluid, revealing the lung to have collapsed, too.
He's suddenly back at his room in Canada, a book on the ins and outs of medical field knowledge clutched between his hands. He reads and rereads every passage, and pays extra attention to the pages about chest and lung injuries.
Because, if he'd known this before the accident, he could have saved his father from dying. His death was due to pneumothorax in both lungs- but if Langa had known, he could have saved him. But instead, he'd been useless, watching as his father suffered directly in front of him, snow stained red.
All of the knowledge he's studied up to now comes rushing back to him, and he straightens Reki out, ready to begin a half baked treatment to save him. But, the sound of a rasping breath, of a pained moan stops him, and when he looks down, he nearly vomits to see Reki staring back at him. The amber eyes are glazed over with pure agony, his blue tinted lips hung open slightly as he struggles to breathe, tears pouring from the corners of his eyes.
Reki isn't unconscious, as Langa had originally thought.
No. He's awake. And he's aware .
He's in the worst amounts of pain, pleading eyes staring into Langa’s.
Langa nearly forgets everything when he realizes Reki could feel everything. His heart twists painfully, and he nearly chokes. Reki doesn't deserve this. Reki doesn't deserve to be in so much pain. Reki shouldn't be crying, shouldn't be struggling to take each breath. He should be grinning, across a small gap from Langa as they skated together, without a care in the world.
He wants to break down then and there.
But he steels himself, even as Reki whines, blue lips trembling as he weakly coughs, blood splattering on his chin. He has to focus right now. Reki’s life depended on his focus.
He reaches into his pocket, acquiring the pocket knife his father had given years and years ago for his tenth birthday. He's glad he'd decided to bring it out with him tonight, and he grips the mahogany handle tightly. He also fishes out the pen he'd just so happened to bring along, and sets the knife aside, taking the pen apart.
His mind is racing with the procedure, and he moves quickly, pulling out the pen cartridge from the plastic. He yanked the ballpoint from the cartridge, and placed the opposite side in his mouth, blowing as hard as he could to get as much ink from it as possible. He can't cut any of it off, since it's already going to be a close call with its current size. He's afraid it won't be long enough, that it won't reach out of Reki’s chest when necessary.
But he can't think like that right now. He just has to do.
Once he's emptied most of the ink from the cartridge, he searches for a stick. He finds one nearby that's probably from a bush, and returns to Reki’s side, ignoring the throbbing in his ankle. He gently pries Reki’s jaws open, and situates the piece of wood between his teeth.
He grabs his knife again, and lifts Reki’s shirt, cutting enough of the fabric off to reveal his left nipple and breast. Reki watches through dull, wet eyes, his breathing picking up in speed when Langa accidentally jars him. Langa pauses once Reki’s chest is revealed to the fullest, swallowing heavily against the bile trying to rise into his throat. He's read all about this treatment, this procedure. But to actually do it- he's terrified he's going to make it worse.
Reki coughs, the sound thick with blood and other fluids.
Langa’s grip on his knife tightens, and he takes a deep, calming breath. He meets Reki’s eyes, heart breaking all over again to see the pure pain and confusion in the amber eyes. “I’m sorry, Reki,” he said softly, his voice cracking, and Reki’s brows furrowed as he tried to understand his words. He swallows again, gut twisting at what he's about to do. “This is going to hurt.”
Then, he locates the puncture space on Reki’s chest- the area just above the dark bruising and just below his nipple- and readjusts the grip on his knife. He presses the flat side of the blade perpendicular to Reki’s nipple, and tests the skin and muscle until he finds the softer spot in his flesh. He draws in one last breath, and then plunges his knife into Reki’s chest.
The reaction is instantaneous. Reki’s head flies back, a scream ripping through his throat, his feet kicking out instinctively. Langa grits his teeth together, and can hear the stick straining under the pressure of Reki’s bite. At least it's not his tongue.
He blocks out Reki’s pained cries, focusing on keeping the knife still and even. He guides it through the flesh and muscle of Reki’s chest, counting in his head the centimeters as the blade sinks deeper and deeper. Reki writhes under him, hands clawing at the ground, scraping up clumps of dirt. Tears and snot mixes on his face, sliding from his skin to the dirt under him.
He stops once he's sure he's reached Reki’s pleural space, and pauses, body trembling. Reki’s blood is pooling around the knife’s blade, getting on his fingers and falling like waterfalls down Reki’s side, getting caught under his arm and making the dirt a muddy red. He prepares himself, refusing to meet Reki’s surely pained gaze, and carefully pulls the knife back from his chest.
Reki stutteringly gasps when the blade is pulled from his flesh, body trying to curl inwards instinctively. But Langa lays a hand on the uninjured side of his chest, keeping him down. He grips the pen cartridge tightly, his own breathing shaking with the fear of operating on his best friend in the worst of places. But he shakes himself inwardly, and gets back to work. He can't leave the hole in Reki’s chest open for long without a tube or needle of some kind in it, so he slides the cartridge through the cut flesh.
He continues to push and guide it until he's reached the end of the puncture, when the hiss of air escaping through the cartridge reaches his ears. He makes sure that the cartridge would not fall out, and rips at his own shirt, wrapping the pieces around the cartridge to keep it still and the rest of the hole plugged, so more air couldn't be trapped.
The cartridge is barely long enough, with only the tip breaking free of Reki’s chest. But it's enough, and Langa can feel his shoulders relaxing as more and more air drains from Reki’s pleural space. Okay, so that takes care of the pneumothorax, now to carefully check his head injury.
He slides to be situated behind Reki’s head, and lets out a sigh of relief to see the redhead’s eyes are shut. Good, he shouldn't have to deal with this pain anymore.
Once he's comfortable, he gently angles Reki’s head forwards, tracing his fingers lightly along the back of his skull. The skin gives out under his fingers at one point, the skull soft in a small area. Fuck. He looks at Reki’s ears. Fuck. Blood is leaking from both ear, and as he looks closer at his face, he could see clear fluid gushing from the corners of his eyes that aren't tears.
He has a skull fracture. And a depressed fracture, at that. He grits his teeth with frustration; there's not much he can do for that with the small amount of supplies he's already used. But, he does rip up what's left of his shirt, fashioning it as a bandage he wraps around Reki’s forehead and the depressed area. Then, he turns Reki’s head to rest it on its side, so he's not applying any pressure to the fracture.
The other broken bones and minor injuries could wait, since they're not immediately life threatening. He reaches into his pocket to grab his phone and to call an ambulance, when the headlights of a car blinds him. He squints his eyes, confused to find a car stopped directly in front of him and the redhead. He grabs one of Reki’s wrists protectively, glaring forward.
One of the car doors opens, and someone hurries over to where they are. “Langa-kun!” He knows that dramatic voice and tone, and he stiffens when he recognizes ADAM’s masked face. The man crouches beside Reki, and Langa keeps his narrowed glare directed at him. “Oh my goodness- I saw what happened on one of my cameras! I came as soon as I could to help!”
“We have to hurry then,” Langa snaps in response. “Can you drive us to the hospital!”
“But of course!” ADAM replies, and stands back up in a flourish. He reaches back down to grab Reki, but Langa slaps his hand away.
“I've got him,” Langa said quickly. He doesn't trust ADAM to not jostle Reki, or to worsen his lung injury. He doesn't even know the extent of Reki’s wounds, so Langa focuses on lifting him on his own. “Just open one of the doors.”
“On it, boss!” ADAM exclaims, and rushes back to the car. He pops open one of the backseat doors, and gestures for Langa to place Reki inside.
Langa wets his lips and glances down at Reki nervously. He takes a calming breath through his nose, and starts with gathering Reki’s legs. He slides one of his arms beneath Reki’s knees, jumping out of skin when Reki yelps in pain. The redhead writhes once more, and Langa realizes he'd regained consciousness at some point. He swallows heavily, “I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry,” he repeats in a whisper as he wraps his other arm around Reki’s shoulders. On the mental count of three, he carefully lifts Reki from the ground, easily taking his smaller friend’s weight.
Reki screams, animalistic and terrified and desperate. He tries to twist and turn in Langa’s hold, but the Canadian doubles his grip on Reki’s shoulders. He doesn't want the redhead to tear the hole in his chest open, doesn't want him to knock the cartridge from his skin or to have it sink deeper into his flesh, to the point Langa wouldn't be able to grab it if he needed to.
“I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” Langa continues to whisper, guilt at hurting his friend so spectacularly making his heart ache. He reaches the open car door, and eases himself into the seat. He carefully situates Reki across the seat beside him, resting his head in his lap. Reki pants heavily, his breaths short and cut off from his pneumothorax. It's not as bad as it had been earlier, since more and more of the air is being drained from his pleural space, but he's still struggling to breathe, understandably so. He brushes the hair from Reki’s face gently, before nodding back to ADAM, who shuts the door.
He sees that someone is already in the driver's seat, and it takes him a second to recognize the man as SNAKE. ADAM enters the car on the passengers side, and sends a glance in SNAKE’s direction. SNAKE nods and starts the drive for the hospital.
“How bad is he, SNOW?” ADAM asks over his shoulder, glancing back at them from the corner of his eye. There's a hint of concerned sympathy, which sounds strange coming from him.
Langa looks down at Reki’s dirt and sweat covered face, bile rising in his throat. “Barely there,” he replied, his voice tight with tears. His adrenaline rush is already starting to fade, and he grasps at it desperately. He can't get tired until he knows for certain that Reki was going to be okay. “I don't want him to die.” He's crying, even though he doesn't want to in front of SNAKE or ADAM. Especially not in front of ADAM. But it's all catching up with him, and he clutches Reki’s shoulders tightly, his tears dripping on the redhead’s face.
Reki wheezes beneath him, the blue in his lips nearly faded. His eyes are glazed over, but there's still recognition as his hand shakily grasps Langa's, weakly squeezing it. Langa can feel his lips trembling, and he chokes on a sob, reaching up with his free hand to brush his fingers down the side of Reki’s cheek as softly as possible. Reki’s lips curl upwards, as if he's trying to smile, but it turns out to be more of a grimace.
“We won't let him die, SNOW,” ADAM promises, and snaps his fingers at SNAKE. “Go faster. He's obviously in a critical state.”
“Yes Master Ainosuke,” SNAKE says quickly, and the car speeds up.
Langa keeps a steadying hand on one of Reki’s shoulders, to keep him from moving too much and making things worse, and maintains eye contact with his friend no matter how badly it hurts. He maintains eye contact until Reki’s eyelids finally begin to droop closed, letting him blessedly fall back into unconsciousness.
Langa hopes they'll get to the hospital soon.
~~~
Things come to him slowly, sluggishly. He's greeted by a pounding in his head, a dull ache that is spread throughout most of his being. He groans against the pain, his head lolling to one side as he struggles to gain control of his own body. It feels so far off, as though it were just out of his reach, fingertips brushing against the controls.
His world is dark, eyes shut and refusing to peel open. He can't even open his own damn eyes… unless those aren't his eyes? He can't tell, because who even is he? All he feels like is a disembodied nothing.
His eyelids flutter, and a flash of light hits his retinas. His retinas? They have to be his retinas, right? How else would he be seeing out of them? Another groan escapes the lips he thinks belong to him, with a voice he assumes is his.
Where is he? Why does everything hurt? Is this his body? It doesn't feel like it.
The fingers and toes are numb, pin prick needles dancing along the veins of the arms and legs. The nose is thumping with blood, and the chest is heaving, pain exploding through them with every breath.
Those belonged to him, right? They're his body parts, right?
But… if they were his, wouldn't he be able to move any of it?
The eyelids flutter again, and he's nearly blinded when they remain open. He almost wants to screw them shut again, but they refuse to go lower than a halfway squint, and he moans, pounding in what he believes to be his head worsening.
Wherever he is is too bright. The stomach he's connected to clenches tightly, and he thinks he may be forced to vomit whatever contents it may or may not have. The fingers and toes are no longer numb, and they curl inwards, hands grabbing fistfuls of the fabric he's laying in and on.
The head he thinks is his lolls to the other side, and then back again, and he can feel the brain in it bouncing around as it shakes. A tongue slips out from the head’s mouth, wetting the lips connected to its face.
Oh- wait. What's the muffled sound? Are those… what are they called…. words? He thinks they might be words. He focuses the eyes on the face of his (?) head forcefully, and turns to stare at the source of the sounds. He blinks rapidly, meeting the concerned face of another boy (he's a boy too, right? he thinks he is, but he's not sure).
“Reki!” the boy exclaims, the noises evening out into a word. The voice is sharp compared to the muffled sounds he'd heard earlier, ringing clear and concise. He knows what this boy is saying, right? He knows that language, right? Something grabs one of the hands connected to his body, and he looks down as best he could, neck aching. “Oh, Reki, you're finally awake! I've been so worried!”
Oh… wait. Reki. That's his name. Isn't it? It feels like it is. It feels familiar enough. But.. it's almost like the rest of his current presence, far away and not quite his. He blinks at the boy blurrily, a large grin on his face.
“The doctor is already on her way, okay?” the boy continues to speak, and he can hardly keep up with how fast he's going. His mind spins with all of the words he's saying at once, struggling to understand any of it. The hand gripping his squeezes, a strange feeling setting off the nerves of his body. He doesn't respond to the boy- or, well, he can’t respond, because he doesn't know how to answer to what he's saying. He blinks once more, frowning at him. The boy pauses, and frowns back, eyebrows scrunching. “Reki? Are you okay?”
He continues to stare at the other boy. The other boy with pale skin and blue hair and blue eyes. The other boy with a soft voice. The other boy who's holding his hand and saying things he doesn't fully understand. The other boy who seems to know him, when he doesn't even know himself.
He narrows his eyes, trying to get a better look at the other boy. There's a flash of something in his cloudy mind, of blue hair hovering in front of his vision, of pain and agony and fuck he couldn't breathe why is he doing this it hurts-
He wets his lips, because they suddenly felt dry. His whole mouth and throat feel dry now, too. He swallows heavily, brows scrunching together as he stares across at the other boy.
“I- I'm sorry,” he says, his voice scratchy from disuse. His throat hurts as he speaks. He swallows again, and he can feel his fingers start to shake. This boy hurt him, didn't he? That's what he's seeing, right? But what was that? Where did those images come from, and why? He doesn't know. He clears his throat, and shakily smiles, “But- who are you?”
The blue boy’s eyes widen in horror, and he drops his hand.