Work Text:
Blown from the dark hill hither to my door
Three flakes, then four
Arrive then, many more.
-Edna St.Vincent, "Not So Far as the Forest"
1
It starts like this:
Langa flat on his back, sun in his eyes, and his hands against the ground beside him. Gravel digging cuts into his palm, sweat at the nape of his neck from the heat. And Reki, looking down at him with an unreadable expression.
Langa shuts his eyes, it’s only for a minute, he tells himself. Just this minute, he’ll pause it. Come back to it later, it’s a promise. I’ll come back to it later. This:
Langa flat on his back, sun in his eyes, hands against the ground beside him. Reki’s unreadable expression. Something falling from above them, Reki’s unreadable expression, tight purse of his lips. No, it’s stretching into a smile.
“Langa, you did it!”
I didn’t, he wants to protest, why am I like this? I didn’t land it. But his head feels like a well, steadily filling up with water. He needs a bucket to get out the words, to carry them to his mouth, to get them through and out of his lips. Langa doesn’t have something like that, he only has—
His body flat on his back, sun in his eyes, Reki’s unreadable smile.
“Langa?”
He opens his eyes after a while, when did it get so dark? Is that the sun setting? What’s—a cool press of something on his cheek.
And something falling from above him, from above them. Red speckled with white. Snow in Okinawa.
No, no, it starts like this:
Reki’s after-school English club meets two days a week, Tuesday and Thursday, from 3:45 p.m to 5:30 p.m. When Langa first found out about this, he stared at Reki for what he, now, realises in hindsight to be an inappropriate amount of time. And then tilted his head, and then wanted to ask the question ‘why?’ but didn’t get to. Reki was rolling his eyes at his hesitation and sticking out his tongue at him as he walked backwards into the empty classroom that held the other members of his club.
Reki’s after-school English club, so much of that sentence didn’t make sense. Langa would go over the words about a dozen times as he sat on the cold floor outside the classroom. Bits and pieces of them practicing conversation and referencing recent western pop culture media would float over to reach him. But it was never Reki’s voice that carried.
After the most boring hour and a half of his life, the door finally opened. Students filed out, Langa counted them as they did. One, two, three—Oh, he knew number three, that’s the boy who sits in front of him in class, Langa had once lent him a pen. It was one of his favorites, hey, the one he’s tapping against his notebook now looks oddly familiar and—
“Langa?” Reki’s voice, finally. “What are you doing? Were you waiting here this whole time?”
Of course, I was. Reki has always had this habit, this habit of asking obvious questions. Were you waiting here this whole time? Do you want to work where I work? Do you want to learn how to skate? Were you waiting here this whole time?
But that’s such a mouthful to say aloud, and it’s a bit embarrassing to acknowledge the redundancy of them, he’d then be admiting to something. So, Langa just nodded and pulled himself up to his feet.
“You know,” Reki said, walking alongside him, “you could’ve just gone to the park alone. I wouldn’t have minded or anything.”
“But you’re supposed to teach me,” Langa responded. And then inwardly winced, did that come out as too rough? Was he acting like he was entitled to Reki’s time?
Reki didn’t miss a beat, unaware to Langa’s internal spiral, “I mean, yeah but you could just go ahead and start practicing the things you already learned without me. I can meet you there after, you’ll be bored if you just wait for me like this. And plus, eventually someone’s going to come tell you off for being in school after hours when you’re not even in a club.”
Langa hummed thoughtfully, that did make sense. So, “Should I join one?”
They walked through the school doors, it was hotter outside than he remembered it being but Langa didn’t mind. It was less a scorching heat on his skin and more a hug from something warm, all around. Reki propped his board, ready to let go and get on. Langa was still waiting for an answer.
“No, no, no,” Reki said, a frown etched on his face. Langa resisted the urge to reach over and straighten out the lines. “You need to focus on skating, you absolutely should not join a club. Understand?”
“But you’re in one.”
“I didn’t have much a choice. Do you really think I’d want to spend more time in school than necessary?” Reki shook his head. He let his skateboard fall, catching it with his foot before it could get away from him. And brought his up hands, crossing them to form an ‘x’, before he let those fall, too. “My little sister joined a club and wouldn’t stop talking about it to my mom and then my mom wouldn’t stop talking about it to me. That’s how I ended up this way, don’t make the same mistakes as me.”
In Langa's defence, he can manage holding eye contact, had never had many qualms about it, but found himself falling short when it comes Reki staring at him so intensely. Okay, he nodded.
They set off at the same time. That night, Langa landed his first ever heel flip. And Reki smiled so wide, Langa, in a delusional state of happiness, thought the morning sun had come early to congratulate him, too.
—Is that how it started? Is this how it starts? No, they’re not there yet.
Reki’s after school English club meets two days a week, Tuesday and Thursday, from 3:25 P.M to 5:30 P.M. So, Langa goes to the skatepark alone. He should just stick to practicing the things he can land, at least two times out of three, he knows. But the thought of doing something bigger and better and higher consumes him whole. What’s a regular heel flip in the face of an inward one? What’s an ollie to someone like Adam? How wide can Reki really smile? What would it take? Langa can go so much bigger and better and higher.
And he does, he really does. Until he doesn’t because he can’t and this isn’t at all how he imagined Reki finding him.
“You did it!” he says as Langa is starting to believe his spine to be fractured at multiple points. “I saw! You landed it, I mean, kinda sorta, but you landed it.”
As far as these things go, Langa’s pretty happy about that being the last thing he hears before the world goes blank.
He opens his eyes after a while, when did it get so dark? Is that the sun setting? What’s—a cool press of something on his cheek.
“Hey,” Reki says from above him. “Are you okay?”
Langa tries to sit up but regrets it almost immediately as a sharp pain shoots up in his back. The feeling something akin to being pricked by a million tiny needles.
There are hands on his shoulders, steadying him. The feeling something akin to being pricked a million tiny needles. After some groaning and grumbling, Langa manages to be somewhat upright.
“There you go,” Reki coos. There’s that cool thing again, this time at the side of his neck. Langa follows his hand with his eyes, oh—
Reki presses the soda can harder against his skin as his other hand holds a tight grip on his jaw; turning him so he’s not directly faced with the other boy. “Do you feel better? I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone pass out after a trick.”
Langa pulls back sharply, the hold on his face disappears and with it goes the cold feeling on his neck. “I didn’t pass out.”
“Did so—Can you stay still? I’m trying to make sure you don’t suffer from a heatstroke or something.” Reki reaches forward again.
Langa slaps his hand away. “It’s fine,” he says.
“Clearly not.” Reki waves a fingers in his face. “Look, your eyes aren’t even focusing.”
“That’s not—“ Langa sighs, closes his eyes for a second. “When did you get here?”
“Hmm. About thirty minutes ago? You were getting of the rail.”
“So you saw me...” Langa trails off, not knowing how to describe it.
“Attempt a varial when that’s something we haven’t gone over with together?”
“Yes.” Langa looks away sheepishly. “That.”
“Yes,” Reki echoes in the same tone. And then brightly, animated, “It was so cool! I can’t believe you managed to land that. It took me weeks.”
“I didn’t,” Langa clears his throat, “I didn’t land it.”
“Yeah you did,” Reki responds all matter of factly. “Even if it was just for a minute, I think it still counts.”
Langa doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t say that it doesn’t count if it’s just for a minute because any second he’s off his board is one that could cost him his leg. That it's all his opponent would need. That it's all Adam would need. Langa doesn’t say that there’s a very distinct line that separates ‘good enough’ and ‘good’, and that right now, he stands in the middle. He’s doing a poor job at balancing, but that’s the point, isn’t it? He can’t be both at the same time.
Langa doesn’t say any of these things but Reki speaks up like he hears it anyway.
“Come here, I want to get your other side, too.”
Langa scooches over, too occupied with his thoughts and feeling too warm to protest.
“Wait.” Reki brings over his skateboard from behind him. “Sit, you must be sore.”
He sits. And watches as Reki comes up in front of him, positions himself in a way that has him right between where his legs are spread a few inches from the board. Langa’s forearms rest loosely on his knees, he almost pulls them back as Reki gets closer and closer.
Their faces mere inches apart.
From this distance, Langa can make out every detail on Reki’s face. The cut on his eyebrow, the red spot on his lower lip where the skin’s been bit off one too many times. There’s an eyelash astray right under Reki’s left eye.
“I’ve never met a person more ill-suited for warm weather than you,” Reki says, fanning him with one his books. Right, the uniform, Langa is only just noticing it. He must’ve come straight from school. “Isn’t summer a thing in Canada, too?”
Langa averts his gaze, and his chest, and the silly things inside him that are trying to compel him to say—to tell Reki, did you know you have a wish? Would you like to make it now? Would you like to guess wrong and give it to me instead?
“It didn’t get this hot in my city,” he answers eventually.
“No wonder.” Reki forgoes the book, one last press of the can on his forehead before taking it away. He opens it, takes Langa’s the wrist and places the drink in his hands. Closing Langa’s fingers around it, “Drink up.”
Langa takes a sip, it’s lemon flavored. He knows Reki prefers cherry, what he doesn’t know how to deal with this. “Thanks,” he says.
Reki watches him drink about half of the can before nodding to himself and finally, finally stepping away. Langa tries not to make his uneven breaths as obvious as they feel.
Grabbing Langa’s board from where it got away from him, Reki comes to sit next to him. Their knees bump together, their hands could almost touch.
“You know,” Reki starts off, “when I was just getting into skating, I tried to do a Gazelle. I’m not really sure what I was thinking but I’d seen some other kids land the trick and I watched about a hundred videos and was convinced that I could do it.”
Langa turns his head but Reki isn’t looking at him as he speaks. It doesn’t matter, he’s content with watching people who aren’t watching him.
“I—eh, I couldn’t obviously,” he laughs off. “But what I lacked in ability, I made up for in pure enthusiasm . My sister didn’t really agree, she said I looked stupid but she was like, very small. Too small to have proper opinions so I didn’t mind her too much. And I kept trying and trying and eventually I sprained my ankle and couldn’t skate for weeks.”
....
“Oh,” Langa says softly.
Reki faces him, his expression is bright. His eyes, the corners of his smile, they may not match up with the words he’s saying but they align with him perfectly. “Yeah, it’s not that kind of story. I’m just saying that if you keep chasing whatever it is you’re chasing with such speed, you’re going to end up crashing. And then you won’t be able to get it or there at all.” Reki continues, “I mean, you’re already leagues further than I am but to you, or I guess to me, it seems like you feel really behind. You’re not. You’re fine, Langa, you’re good.”
“If I lose, then you—“
“You’re not going to lose,” Reki says, wrapping one of his arms around Langa’s shoulder. Pulling him closer. “Weren't you listening? I just told you you’re good. And even more than that, you’re trustworthy. I trust you. Even if you didn’t land a single trick today or tomorrow, and suddenly forget how to balance on your board and—well, you get my point. I trust you to be able to get it right and I trust you to win a week from now.”
Langa isn't quite sure how to respond to that, so, he just hands over the soda and hopes it’s enough. Seeing the way Reki downs the reminder of the drink in one go, maybe it is.
There are some things Langa is familiar with when it comes to friendships, relationships in general. To be on the receiving end, the giving end, the ‘this is the part where we just sit in silence’ end. Expectations, hoping, waiting. None of these mean ‘faith’, so none of these mean ‘trust’. Langa doesn’t think he’s associated or been associated with either of those words outside of the people in his family. And even then, that’s such a few number. Is it even ‘people’? Does it even count?
“I trust you too,” he says, so quietly it’s almost swallowed up in the night that’s falling on them. It almost doesn’t reach Reki’s ears, so, it almost doesn’t mean anything at all.
“I’d hope so,” Reki says. “How far do you think you’ll get if you don’t trust your teacher?”
Langa shakes his head, that’s not what he’s saying. It’s not even close. But to explain what he means is to go through the mortifying ordeal of being understood—because Reki, Reki would understand. And Langa just isn’t ready for that yet, so he bites down the rest of his words and tries to smile. Reki lets him.
They sit there in silence for a few more minutes, Langa spends the entire time working up the courage to cross a gap. The distance between his hand and Reki’s, it’s growing harder and harder to ignore.
If you keep chasing whatever it is you’re chasing with such speed you’re going to crash— Right. But Langa can slow down, he can go so slow with this. He’ll take the seconds apart and dip them in molasses, he can stretch it out— just one inch closer, just grab his hand to get up.
Reki beats him to it, pulling both of them up to their feet. Except, there’s a miscalculation somewhere, overestimation of his own strength, underestimation of Langa’s—Reki loses his balance, Langa wraps his arm around his waist to prevent him from falling over.
There’s a miscalculation somewhere, Reki pressed against his chest. Looking up at him. He steps back, some things fall back into place, but his hands are Langa’s chest. And—
Something’s steadily falling from the sky, Langa can see it. Heavy through the air but landing softly on Reki’s hair. It can’t be real, maybe he really did have a heat stroke earlier, maybe this is all a hallucination. Maybe there was something in the soda, or Reki’s words. Maybe he stared too long, where he shouldn’t have when he shouldn’t have.
It can’t be real but there it is, red speckled with white. Snow in Okinawa.
“Langa?”
He blinks a few times. His vision blurs and blurs until it eventually focuses. The white is gone, the night is warm. And Reki’s staring at him like something’s wrong.
Nothing’s wrong.
Langa reaches up to remove Reki’s hands from his chest. “Let’s skate.” They’re cold to touch.
2
Before Langa was born, his parents had a hard time deciding between whether to live in Canada or Japan. His mom tells him it wasn’t so much fights about whose hometown won over but the compromises they were willing to make for one another. His mother, especially. His father, especially.
Once, his mom brought up the fact that it doesn’t snow in Okinawa. She’d said, out of the 365 days in a year, out of the very many years she lived there and her mom lived there and her mom’s mom lived there, it never once snowed. It wasn’t a very solid argument, seeing as if his father wanted to snowboard that badly, he could book a flight to Hokkaido in the on-season. But it wasn’t meant to be, that wasn't the point. His mother had just said it as a quip, or a fun fact. His father, however, took it as a challenge, and came back with a very, very old news article that read—
‘Cold snap brings snow to Okinawa for the first time ever.’
They’d laughed about it. Discussed it some more, didn’t quite get anywhere. Then, came Langa on one of their stays in Canada. The decision was easy after that.
A cold snap, Langa thinks over it. There wasn’t even a chill in the wind that evening. And yet as clear as day, snow stark in Reki’s red hair.
No matter how he tried to make sense of it, he couldn’t. Maybe, Langa would fair better if he just stopped. But, could he?
“Can you—“ Cough. “Langa—“ Cough. “Langa, can you please—“ Cough, again.
Langa shakes himself out of his thoughts to see Reki in a fit. Hunched over as he appears to be attempting to hack up his whole lung. Belatedly, Langa realises he hasn’t stopped hitting the chalkboard erasers together this entire time. He quickly throws them onto the nearest table and grabs his water bottle.
“Want some?” he says in lieu of an apology.
Reki wordlessly accepts. Once his coughs have died down and he’s done drinking, he straightens up. “You know you’re supposed to do this outside the window, right?”
“I was...” Langa says sheepishly, itching the back of his neck. “Until I wasn’t.”
Reki stares at him for a moment, a straight expression on his face before he groans. One hand covering his face, “Now I have to mop this area again.”
“I’ll do it,” Langa says, grabbing the mop from him. “It was my fault.”
“I’m allergic to chalk, I can’t do your thing,” Reki pouts.
“It’s fine, I’ll just do this spot and go back to cleaning them.”
“Really?” Reki asks, a suspecting tone, before shaking his head. “No, no. I’ll feel bad if I let you do all the work.”
“I mean—“ Langa looks around the classroom in the search for something the other boy can do. They spent the better half of the hour cleaning up the place together so there’s not really much left to take care of. Still, “Maybe put up the chairs?”
“Langa, great idea!” Reki nudges him teasingly before heading off on his task. “Hey, by the way, have you noticed whenever either of us gets assigned clean up duty, the other does too?”
“That’s not true,” Langa says quietly, focused on the spot of the floor that got the worst of the chalk dust. “You got paired up with Mei once.”
“Mei,” Reki hums thoughtfully, almost at the end of the first row. “I remember Mei, I didn't mind clean up with her much, she was fun to talk to. Have you ever spoken to her? I mean, I don’t know how well you’d get along but she’s nice.” Reki stops. “It’s been so long since Mei though, it’s been you ever since her actually.”
Langa ignores the last part, he’s not about to reveal that he volunteered to clean up with Reki so many times that now the teachers automatically pair them up. He’d rather have Adam hold him in one of his ‘love hugs' for an hour than take credit for something this... pathetic. “Why wouldn’t we get along?”
“Huh?” Reki stops at one of the tables. “Hm. I don’t know, your personalities are just really different. I don’t see you guys matching up.”
But you two do? Did you match up well with her? “Different how?” Langa settles.
“Eh—She’s really extroverted. And outgoing, kinda. You might feel uncomfortable. She’s more like me, to be honest.”
“But you and I get along,” Langa points out, scrubbing harder. The chalk has long since disappeared.
“We do,” Reki agrees as he continues on, not looking at Langa. It's not like Langa is looking at him either. “But we’re us, you know?”
I don’t.
“We share similar interests. Like skating and.... food. And! We’re both boys, so it’s usually how it goes for us anyway. It’s like this: even if Mei and I don’t have that many things in common, we’ll still have something to talk about just because we both like talking. But you and her don’t even have that, it’ll just be bothersome for you.”
Langa thinks that even if he and Reki didn’t share any interests whatsoever, he’d still want to be his friend. He’d still want to listen to him talk. And he’d still want every other dumb, stupid thing his heart bargains with him for with Reki. Even without the common ground of skating. Even without the... food.
By the time Reki’s done with his speech, he’s also finished up with the chairs. He comes to stand in front of Langa, who puts away the mop and the bucket, and busies himself with the board erasers again. This time, he makes sure to lean over, outside the window.
Langa feels a presence behind him, a weight ever so slightly grazing his back. “You said you were allergic.”
“You’re all the way out there, I’ll be fine,” Reki says. “Plus the way you’re stood, I’m scared you’ll fall over. Then crash. Then die. My star pupil, gone so soon.”
“Thanks for the concern,” Langa replies drily.
“You’re welcome!” Reki hesitates, “Hey, you’re not upset with me, are you? Because of what I said about you and Mei?”
Langa rolls his eyes, safe in the knowledge that Reki can’t see. He tries to keep his voice neutral as he says, “Why would I be?”
“Well, if you—“ Reki almost jumps at Langa’s abrupt turn. Langa can feel his eyes on his back as he puts the erasers back in their place. “If you like her or something, I pretty much just—what are you doing?”
In retrospect, Langa didn’t think this through. His mind too occupied with repeating ‘don’tsayitdon’tsayitdon’tsayit’, that he failed to notice that Reki’s taken his spot by the window. That Langa is cornering him, closing him in, with one of his arms outstretched forward.
Reki’s looking at him all wide-eyed, looking up at him all wide-eyed which makes it ten times worse. Close the window, Langa. But from where he stands, he can feel Reki’s breath on his neck, and his heart is beating so fervently in his chest. Trying so hard to remind him of all the things he wants and has wanted.
I know already, Langa thinks, really I know it well, you can stop now.
It doesn’t calm down, not even a fraction. If it were any situation, with any other person, Langa could easily let himself fall and feed into the high of the feeling inside him. But it’s not any situation, and it’s Reki. Reki-- Reki's different, he wants to settle down his chest and his nerves. And he can’t fall or feed or get high. Right now, all he feels is clammy hands and his throat closing up up.
Langa ignores it, closes the window. “I don’t like Mei,” he says, like it’s something secret.
“Okay, you don’t like Mei,” Reki says. “You don’t like Mei and you’re not upset with me.”
“Right.”
“And you’re trying to throw me out of this window right now—“
“I just closed it—“
“—so you’re standing in front of me, like this, because...” Reki’s voice grows smaller, there’s a faint tint, a light pink, spreading across his cheeks. And, Langa makes out faintly, the tips of ears. Is it too cold? Is it too warm? It can’t be him. “—because?”
“No reason,” Langa says after a bit.
“Okay,” Reki replies and—this, he must imagine this—leans in. The windows are closed and even if they weren’t, no gust of wind can propel a fully grown seventeen year old boy forward. So, so. Reki leans in? Reki’s eyes, glacing down—No, that can’t be right. It’s a trick of light—Except, Langa, you turned the switches off yourself, and the sun is setting.
Langa thinks about how badly he wishes he could kiss Reki. And then about how badly he wishes Reki would kiss him, so he wouldn't have to be the one at fault when it, inevitably, ruins them. He ruins them just because Langa always, constantly, irrevocably, chases after things that come with risks of breaking him. A broken bone, a broken heart.
Langa thinks he thinks too much about it, he thinks so much about it that he doesn’t even realise when he’s doing it. Leaning in, lips pressed against Reki’s, kissing him.
For one perfect moment, he is being kissed back. Receiving as much as he’s giving. For one perfect moment, he has Reki fitting perfectly in his space, his arms around his waist, Reki’s palms on either side of face. Warm to the touch.
And then, the moment passes. Reki’s hands come to his shoulders and push. Langa’s taller than him but he’s not any stronger, and even if he was, it wouldn’t matter. Langa felt struck the second Reki stopped kissing him.
“I—“ Reki stammers, taking a step back. Then another, then another. “Langa, we—“
As much as Langa wishes he could close his eyes and pretend none of this is real, none of this is happening, he can’t bring himself to look away from Reki. At some point, Langa had foolishly thought that he knew the other boy well enough. That because he knew what flavour ice cream he prefers and how many cups of noodles he can eat in one sitting, because he knew that Reki owns seven pairs of the same hair band and washes his yellow jacket everyday so he can wear it everyday, that because he knew what he looks like when he’s laughing, when he’s excited, when he’s upset, he knew it all. He’d seen it all.
He’d never seen Reki like this. Hesitant and doubtful. Looking at Langa like he’s some sort of stranger. Like this was something unexpected. Like Langa doesn’t wear his heart on sleeve and has never stared at the side of Reki's face for a second too long. Like, like Reki didn’t kiss him back a minute ago.
“I have to go,” he finally manages to get out. “We’re all finished up here, so, I—and I have a thing with Koyomi and my mom and yeah.” He stumbles and stutters his way to the door and once he’s there, “I’ll see you around, later, Langa.”
And then he’s gone.
Like a shitty pop-up window, Reki’s earlier words come to mind. This isn’t the context, Langa wants to tell his heart, who’s finally decided to give up on the rapid, incessant pit patter. Context matters, this isn’t what he meant when he said—
We’re both boys, so, it’s usually how it goes for us anyway.
The window he didn’t close well enough, too distracted by Reki’s, well, just Reki, opens up. A storm’s worth of wind, a storm’s worth of snow. They rush in to the classroom in tow. The flakes settle in no time, cover every inch of the floor.
I just mopped that spot, Langa wants to say, you can’t snow here. This is Okinawa and I just cleaned up my mess.
But they’ve never listened to him, so why would they start now?
A cold snap, there, Langa presses his cold hands against his eyes, that’s an explanation.
3
They don’t speak for two weeks. It rains the entirety of the first. Always, somehow, managing to catch Langa off guard.
On Monday morning, he decided against skating to school but carried his board with him anyway. Just in case—just in case Reki was waiting for him by the door, or sitting atop his desk in class. In case Reki tapped his shoulder to pass a note, one that’d read ‘do you want to get ice cream on our way to the park?’. All of these ‘what if’s’, he carefully tucked them into the front pocket of his backpack. By the end of the school day, he’d reach in to find them gone. Reki didn’t even attend. And Langa didn’t go to the park. It rained on his walk back and he didn’t think to bring an umbrella with him, and even if it didn’t, even if he did, it wouldn’t matter. What good would going do? For him? For Reki?
On Friday morning, Langa checked the weather forecast before heading out. It read: clear skies. And true enough, there were practically no clouds that day, the ocean stretched blue and blue; stretched like it was woken up from a deep slumber. He was halfway to school when it started to darken above him, looked to his right to find the ocean had turned a colour between green and grey. I’ll make it in time, he’d thought, picking up pace before realising that he wouldn’t cover much distance on foot. The downpour hadn’t started yet, so he propped down his board and got on. Langa made it to the gates fifteen minutes past the first bell, with a great clap of thunder, the dam on the sky seemed to break. Rain drenched him all over. By the time he got to class, there were multiple apologies on his lips, there was his white shirt clinging onto him like a second skin, and his wet hair plastered to his face.
And Reki, who decided to be kind, who held his gaze for a minute, before looking away as he awkwardly shuffled to his seat. Langa could feel Reki’s eyes on his back the entire duration of the class. Say something, reach out. Let’s pretend nothing ever happened, I won’t bring it up. Ask to be friends again, make it the first day again.
But Reki didn’t say anything so Langa didn’t say anything, and Friday came and left. The weekend came and left. And now it’s almost the end of week two. And Langa misses him.
Reki doesn’t seem to share the same sentiment. If anything, he goes out of his way to avoid Langa. Showing up to the park only when he knows Langa won’t. He catches him sometimes, the red hair, the yellow hoodie, the pack of bandages hanging out of his back pocket. He sees him at times they couldn’t meet up before because he was too busy running errands for his mom. Langa almost stops him once, on the street, just to tell him he can stop trying to so hard. I don’t go there anymore, he wants to say, it’s yours. You can have it back.
And as for ‘S’, Langa can’t tell if Reki doesn’t come because he hates the scene, hates him, or if he doesn’t feel anything at all towards either of those things and just knows that Langa frequents it every other night. Reki might be staying away just to stay away, for his own peace of mind. Where that leaves Langa, he doesn’t know.
There’s no corner of his mind that’s not occupied with Reki. That day, in the classroom. The kiss, it plays in his head on repeat. The guilt might just swallow him whole, and on most nights he welcomes it to, but not before lying in bed, letting the scene unfold behind his eyes. Again. The kiss, Reki’s lips during and after, stepping away from him. Saying they’d see each other later, knowing there was no such thing. Langa should’ve known then, too. Maybe he did, to some extent. Maybe the windows opened to let him know.
But, what now? What does he do with that knowledge?
And what does he do with this?
The invitation reads: Snow, have you missed the feeling just as I have? Friday, 10 p.m at the location attached.
Have you missed the feeling just as I have?
Langa wouldn’t say he has, not exactly. But there are other things he yearns for just the same. His heart, to beat. No, to race. The higher the altitude, the shorter your breaths, Langa knows this well. It’s not something he misses, it’s something he desperately needs.
The word spreads fast enough in the community they have going for them. Anticipation even faster. After all, it’s been a while since the previous race between Adam and Snow. Many, for a very long time, thought it would be last. Many, in their defence, couldn’t factor in Langa’s childish heart and adrenaline-junky tendencies.
Spreads and spreads. When Thursday night comes around, Langa can’t help but wonder if the news has reached Reki. And if it has, what is he thinking right now? Is he even thinking about it at all? Langa has an answer in his heart, he shuts his eyes to it.
When the clock strikes a quarter past midnight and his phone display remains dark, he shuts his eyes to that, too. But falling asleep is nearly impossible, if only Langa could let it go. Then again, if he can’t have Reki and if he can’t have the park and if he can’t have the non-permission permission to stare and pine, can’t he keep this one thing? The kiss, again, again, again.
Eventually, the wanting in his chest carves a hole too painful to bare lying down and so, he gets up. Throws a hoodie on and tip toes his way across the living room to the door.
In the dim glow of the streetlights, Langa can faintly make out the dark clouds. He didn’t bring an umbrella and there’s too much risk of waking up his mom now if he goes back.Langa pulls on his hood and carries on. It’s not so much him leading the way as it is his feet. The rain comes down slowly, lightly it taps his shoulder. Hey, it starts off, the rain is hesitant. Where are we going?
Don’t ask me, Langa says, crossing his arms, I don’t know yet.
Hey, the rain again, do you remember me from last time? I clung onto your shirt and you carried me somewhere warm.
Langa doesn’t answer. The sky lights up, a second later he hears thunder, a second later the rain picks up.
Hey, do you know about that boy? The one with the red hair? He looked at you for a very long time.
Langa takes a right and another, and when he winds up at the park, he’s not surprised at all. I know, he thinks as he takes a seat on a nearby curb, his hand in the grass behind him, I know I said this could be yours. That you could have it back. Langa lets himself fall backwards. It’s just for tonight, he promises.
It ends like this:
Langa’s back against the grass, soft rain on his eyelids, and a warm hand brushing the water off his face.
No, no, it’s more like this:
Langa’s back against the grass, soft rain on his eyelids, and a voice—
“Langa?” Reki says. “Langa, wake up.”
He listens, and goes a mile further, Langa sits up. It’s still night, how long did he lie there? Why? Maybe this is a dream, did Langa sleep walk?
“Reki,” he gets out after a beat has passed. His voice is rough, coarse. Langa clears his throat, rubs the rain out of his eyes and ignores the protest it makes. “What are you doing here?”
“What am I doing here?” Reki’s unreadable expression. “What the hell are you doing here? It’s almost one in the morning, and if you haven’t noticed, there’s a literal rain storm in the making. Are you insane? Is that what it is? Have you gone absolutely batshit?”
Langa doesn’t answer, he’s still trying to make sense of things. Has found that he has little to no talent in that field. Langa’s been trying to make sense of things for past two weeks, maybe even longer, maybe for as long as he’s known Reki can smile at him like that. And this is where he ended up. This.
Reki grabs his shoulders, gives him a little shake. “Hello? Hello?”
“Hello,” Langa replies.
“You’re unbelievable,” Reki says, shrugging off his jacket. He reaches over to wrap it around Langa’s head, tussles his hair along with it in an attempt to dry him. “First, passing out in the park in the hottest time of the day. And now, passing out in the park in the middle of a downpour. You always do things in extremes, did you know that? Always. The race with Adam, did you think I wouldn’t find out? Did you think I wouldn’t be mad?” Reki takes a breath, a pause. Langa’s grateful for it, what started out as a comforting touch to his hair was slowly becoming painful to his roots.
“Well, I am.” Reki, in a voice much quieter than he’s used to, “I’m mad.”
There’s so much to address, Langa doesn’t know where to begin. He asks the rain, where should I start? But it’s quieted down now, not unlike Langa’s heart, it, too, is cowardly in the face of Reki. In the face of his feelings regarding Reki.
“Did you think the same about me, that day in the classroom?” asks Langa eventually. He ignores the red and yellow warning signs flashing off in his head, it’s fine, he tells them. There’s nothing to lose here.
“What?”
“That day in the classroom,” Langa repeats, “did you think I was acting extreme then, too?”
This time, it’s Reki’s who’s silent for a while. Langa must’ve surprised him, there’s a strange feeling of accomplishment that rises as he watches Reki’s eyes widen. His mouth fall open slightly. A strange feeling that comforts him, says he's not the only whose heart wavers between the two of them.
“That’s not what we’re talking about,” Reki answers, letting go of the jacket, letting go of Langa. His hands rest in his lap.
“But it’s what I want to talk about.” Langa reaches up to take off the jacket, even if it means being rained on. “We haven’t talked about it in two weeks.” We haven’t talked about anything at all.
“Langa,” Reki says. “That’s not what I came here for, I don’t know what you want me to say.”
I don’t want you to say anything, I don’t want you to say anything I want you to. Langa just desperately wants to know if he can fix what he broke. And if he can, he wants Reki to tell him how.
“What did you come here for?” Langa asks instead.
“The Adam thing,” a breath. “I thought, I don’t know, if you were here. I wanted to tell you not to go. I wanted to tell you that my feelings about it haven’t changed regardless of how he seems now. You shouldn’t go. It’s not safe.”
Langa takes a moment to think about it. Not the race, not Adam, not the kiss. Reki and his intentions. He might be wrong, he’s probably wrong, he’s definitely wrong. But.
But, “At one in the morning, in the middle of heavy rain, you came to a park you didn’t even know I’d be at, to tell me I shouldn’t race Adam because it’s not safe.”
“The way you say it, you’re making it sound weird.”
“And you don’t want to talk about that day in the classroom because you have nothing to say.”
“Now you’re really making it sound weird.”
“The day I kissed you,” Langa says. Reki lifts his head, their eyes meet. “The day you kissed me back, that’s what you have nothing to say about.”
“You’re my friend,” Reki says, brushing over the things that matter. To Langa, at least. “Why wouldn’t I be concerned that you’re off to do something reckless, stupid? Something that will hurt you? Why wouldn’t I be angry, that you keep breaking your promise?”
“I wasn’t hurt the last time.”
“Something that might hurt you then!” Reki says, his tone rising in frustration. “Just because we’ve been off for a couple days now doesn’t mean I suddenly stopped caring about you.”
A beat. Two, three. A clap of thunder.
“Okay,” Langa says. “Okay. I won’t race Adam tomorrow night.”
...
“You...won’t?”
Langa nods. “Can we go back to being friends now, then? Will we pretend nothing happened?” It’s what he desperately wanted hours ago. To sit like this in front of Reki, to talk to him like the past two weeks never happened to begin with. But now that he’s here, he finds himself aching for more. Is it greed? Is that what doesn’t allow to have Reki as is after the kiss they shared? Langa, who knows the feeling of Reki’s lips against his own, it must be the greed inside him that doesn’t let him settle with the memory alone.
“We didn’t stop being fri—.”
“—What if,” he continues. The rain urges him. “If there’s a next time, if we do everything the same and there’s a next time and if that’s the same too. Are we going to stop talking again?”
Langa leans forward, there’s a tremor to his hand as he reaches over to Reki. As he rests it on his thigh. Picking lint off as he says, “I kissed you first. So, you must know. You know, don’t you?”
Reki softens, “Yeah, Langa, I know.”
“What do you think?”
When minutes pass torturously with no response, Langa decides, “I’ll give you an out.” And then, kisses him.
No, no, no, it ends like this:
Langa half on the grass, half on Reki, his hands bunched up in the other boy’s shirt, and being kissed back.
Unlike last time, Langa is painfully aware of the time limit on this. And so he waits for Reki to pull away, to take the out now that there’s no Adam or race or skating in the mix. There’s nothing standing in his way. He waits for Reki to stop kissing him, he waits and waits and waits.
Nothing comes.
Above them, the rain gets heavier. Langa feels it hit their hands, their cheeks, their hair. Like ice. Langa’s learnt to ignore it by now.
Reki, however. He pulls away but it’s only from the kiss, he doesn’t push Langa away this time so Langa tightens his hold.
“Can we aim for a week this time?” Langa asks, brave of heart.
“Maybe just.” Reki’s gaze fall back on his lips. “Just a day this time. I'm still--”
“-Okay.”
Reki pauses, “What's that?”
“What?”
“The rain,” Reki says. “It’s like ice, you don’t feel it?” Then, something catches his attention. “Look! Langa, that is ice.”
In the gravel around them, in the grass behind them, tiny pellets. Oh, oh. It’s not just Langa.
“I guess, it’s sleet?”
“Close enough to snow?” Reki asks.
Something’s steadily falling from the sky, Langa follows it with his eyes. Heavy through the air but landing softly on Reki’s hair. Red speckled with white, snow in Okinawa.
“Yes,” Langa says. “Close enough.”