Work Text:
Reki is an open lover, many would say he wears his heart on his sleeve.
He loves skateboarding, with his endless rambles about anything regarding the sport, the ideas simply tumbling off his tongue in a voice that breaks and cracks constantly with his excitement and enthusiasm. He’ll go on for hours about wheels and trucks and board length and wood type and this and that and this and that. For most people this gets old really quick, and Reki doesn’t do it on purpose, but it can be difficult to get a word in edgewise— he dominates the conversation by accident, like a car that goes barreling through a crosswalk while someone is waiting to cross, not because the driver is reckless, but because he’s listening to his favorite song and belting along without missing a single lyric. It’s not exactly good , per se, just an honest mistake that happens on occasion. Plus, when he arrives at the stoplight, he brakes; he doesn't want to hurt anyone, after all.
Langa isn’t waiting to cross the street like most of their classmates, mildly annoyed at the person who made them wait a few seconds longer to move. He’s gotten into the vehicle with Reki, the music blasting out of open windows as the driver screams the song delightedly, sometimes humming along to the tune, as well. Slowly, over time Langa learns this song too, he gains an appreciation for the meaningful lyrics, the catchy tune, the masterful instrumentation. And slowly that understanding turns into love, and though Reki’s love for it far more exuberant and intense, he enjoys singing along because when he does he’s sitting by Reki’s side, and at those red lights he’ll look into his eyes or nudge him, and they’re singing these lyrics together. Perhaps they go through a few sidewalks sometimes, but never while anyone else is crossing. When they’re stopped at red lights their music plays obnoxiously loud through open windows and people passing by give them odd looks, but they don’t care.
Reki is an open lover, and when Langa begins to consider the prospect of Reki loving him , it feels weird.
Not because he doesn’t want it. No, he values Reki’s love like nothing else, he keeps it close to his chest, especially after he was distanced from it. Reki shoved him out of his metaphorical car and drove away, leaving him standing in the pouring rain, and it was a feeling Langa never wanted to experience again (it was too familiar). He cherishes this love now, because though he knew it never disappeared completely, it certainly felt like it did in that moment. He tried listening to the song again alone, but it wasn’t the same as when he and Reki sang along to it in that car on their late night drives.
Langa wanted that love more than he wanted to race Adam, he realized. Singing alone was no fun, and he could only imagine that it wasn’t all that fun for Reki either (he would later find out that Reki stopped singing altogether, which is somehow worse). It was only then that he was able to occupy that passenger’s seat again and sing with Reki again, their voices drowned out by the music. He finds he loves this song even more now, and that he loves Reki even more now, too.
Reki is an open lover, he’s taken his heart out of his chest and he cradles it in his hands for Langa to see, with every touch, compliment, tease, it pulses with a warm beat.
Reki is an open lover and… well, Langa is not.
Langa is cold, unable to bear his heart in the same way, words getting caught in his chest before they even have the chance to get to his throat, causing a dull throbbing ache with each sentiment left unuttered. He has a hard time picking out words, especially now that he has to put them into a different language, and sometimes they spill out clumsily in English. He’s met with a pair of confused, bright eyes when this happens, asking for a translation he’s unable to provide, and not because of lack of skill, but lack of something else.
Langa is not an open lover. He doesn’t cry at sad or sappy movies, he doesn’t express himself easily, he doesn’t wear his heart on his sleeve like Reki does, he keeps it hidden under a long-sleeved shirt, a layer of skin, and his ribs. He figures that if he keeps his heart in his chest, maybe it'll break less.
He gets jealous of Reki sometimes when he chats it up with classmates, or with people at “S”. Something aching in that chest of his, those words bubbling under the surface but refusing to come out easily like they do for his best friend. His best friend with the bright shine of the sun, the brightest star. Langa is a star, too, but he’s too far away for his light to warm this planet, an orbit he’s caught in keeping him at a distance. He just hopes that one day his matter doesn’t collapse in on itself and become a black hole. He hopes that one day he’ll be caught in the same orbit as Reki somehow (though he’s not sure it’s possible for stars to do that, he never paid that much attention in science class).
Reki is an open lover, he’s an open person , but when the time comes for he and Langa to make up and reconcile, his words fail him and Langa is at a loss. So he suggests they get in their car and play their song. They skate together and the lyrics come back and everything is right with the world.
Langa is not an open lover, but for whatever reason when Reki brakes suddenly at the side of some country road, his voice cracking horribly on one of the notes of their song (when had it become their song?) Langa can’t help but laugh. He laughs loudly, and warmth fills his chest, and when he opens his eyes again, he finds that his heart is in his palms and he’s able to speak like Reki does, a ramble that feels so odd and unfamiliar in his mouth, but that still makes him grin like an idiot nonetheless.
Langa loves openly in that moment, and when Reki’s face flushes a furious red, he loves some more, more sentences and sentiments breaking free from inside him.
His moment of vulnerability, of loving like this, does not last forever, but he begins to find that he feels content and warm instead of frigid after that evening. He finds that on occasion he is able to bear his heart a bit more easily. He doesn't have to crack bones and cut open his skin, picking at old scabs in an attempt to feel closer. It's not painful, not anymore, not with Reki. He finds a lot about himself that he previously suppressed. It’s weird, but not unwelcome.
There’s still something that prevents him from greeting his peers in the hallway, that keeps him glued to Reki’s side most of the time, that still has those words stuck in his chest. There are days he doesn’t say much at all. There are days more chilly than others, where he pulls on his winter coat, another layer of protection. Maybe on those days he sings a bit more quietly, but there’s always a warm hand on his arm asking if he is okay, a warm smile assuring him that things will be okay even if they aren’t in that moment. Sometimes it’s enough that he sheds his jacket.
Reki loves openly, he cares for Langa and Langa thinks sometimes that Reki’s open love is directed toward himself more often than it was before. He thinks that Reki’s love is more specific when he’s with Langa. This thought still scares him, and he can’t help but wonder if he wouldn’t be a suitable lover for Reki, who just exudes this wonderful glow. Would Langa dampen that if he were to try to love him? Would Langa smother his light with his incapability?
His answer comes randomly, unexpectedly on a nothing afternoon.
Nothing should be special about this moment, nothing remarkable should occur. They are doing nothing, lounging in Reki’s room, Langa laying back on his friend’s bed, holding a magazine up in front of him, only half paying attention to the words and pictures his eyes robotically scan. Reki is laying on the floor, playing with a miniature skateboard quietly, though his brows are furrowed like he’s thinking. Usually when Reki is silent, he’s over thinking. Langa knows this, he’s learned this by now.
And then Reki stops. His hand stalls and he turns on his side to look at Langa. The movement makes the latter lower the magazine to his chest and let his head roll to regard the other, their eyes meeting. Words well up in his chest he can’t say, his heart beats a little faster, begging to be removed and shown. He refuses, he doesn’t know if he can physically do that now anyway, caught in a stare.
“Langa,” Reki says, like he’s about to propose a question, but he barrels on, too impatient to wait for a possible response and Langa is okay with this, he doesn’t care, “have you ever been in love with somebody?”
He stops breathing for a split second, he blinks a few times, he feels the heat pooling into his face and he ignores the heat pooling into his face (and he fails to ignore the heat pooling into his face). He turns his head again so he’s looking at the ceiling instead of those eyes. He’s scared of those eyes right now. He looks at the ceiling and he acknowledges the thumping in his chest, his heart begging to be let out, the words trying to work their way into his mouth. He knows the answer to this question, but he is scared of the answer to this question. He hates it. He hates being scared. He is scared of Reki asking if he’s ever been in love but not of plummeting down a snowy hill at an absurd speed. He is scared of bearing his heart but not of the ridiculous stunts he pulls off at “S.
Finally, a single word fights it’s way out of his chest up into his throat where it waits to be let out on his tongue. It comes out quiet when uttered.
“Yeah.”
“Like, in a romantic way?” Reki presses, and Langa knows he’s still staring at him intently. The word gives him permission to be reused.
“Yeah.”
“Me too,” Reki says, and though he really doesn’t want to, Langa just has to look.
Reki is an open lover. His face is beet red and he has sat up a little, mouth pressed firmly shut and eyes absolutely burning with this love. Langa doesn’t need him to say anything more because he can just tell what Reki is thinking, but the boy speaks anyway (it’s what he does best, after all). “I think I love you , dude.”
Langa (as smoothly as he can) rolls off the bed onto the ground and finds his place by Reki’s side. His face is inches away from the other boy’s when he turns to him, his hand coming up to cradle it. His thumb caresses a warm cheek. This close he can see faint freckles. He’s never been this close.
“Langa?”
Langa is not an open lover, not with his words, anyway. So maybe he can express his love this way instead. Two more weak words escape him, filling the miniscule space between the two teenagers.
“Can I…?”
He reuses Langa’s response from earlier. Have Reki’s words failed him again?
“Yeah.”
Langa closes the gap and expresses his love. It’s clumsy, it’s unsure, it’s sort of awkward— but it’s also lovely, it’s warm, it’s everything , filling up what was supposed to be a nothing afternoon.
And when they break apart, Reki looks at him, stunned. Then, he giggles, smiling. Langa can’t help but do it too, both their hearts are lying on the floor between them, and they’re lying on their sides staring at each other and laughing .
Reki is an open lover, and his words come spilling out at this moment in a flood of flustered incoherence, and Langa his still chuckling and grinning and this love reaches him in the form of a pair of hands holding his face gently and Reki’s words enveloping him.
Langa is not an open lover, but that is alright. He might not always be able to get across what he wants to say, he might not always be as loud and forthright about it as his best friend is, but he’s also found out that he doesn’t dampen Reki’s light like he thought he might. Not at all.
Because when he kissed Reki, it got warmer, like a pleasant summer drive in the late afternoon. When he kissed Reki he swore the sun shone brighter. They stopped their car, their song playing more softly in the background and enjoyed the glow.
God , what a hell of a ride.