Work Text:
"Laaaaanga."
The sky glows with a golden hue as the sun begins to rise, and Reki is just now finishing up in his workshop. Langa has made himself a makeshift pillow with Reki's hoodie and his own arms, and his muscles are sure to be tight when he wakes up. Reki, himself, is yawning wide and long, eyes watering and red as he tries to focus on putting his tools away. His fingers ache and his stomach is rumbling, empty as ever, but he doesn't want to leave a mess in his garage because he knows that he won't clean it up later.
Langa shifts in his sleep, so Reki reaches over and taps two fingers to his forehead. He hears a grunt, and then-
"Mm, you're done?"
Reki hums in affirmation. He's putting away the last of his tools when he hears Langa groan in pain. He looks over and sees his boyfriend slowly lowering his arms, wincing as if he's just wiped out hugely at 'S'.
He walks behind Langa and begins to rub his shoulders. "I told you to just go to bed."
Language grunts. "I would've missed you." He rolls his shoulders back, then forward, then shrugs them up and down. Reki takes his head and his pale chin into his hands to crack his neck. Right, then left. Langa sighs in relief. "Thank you, sweetheart."
He says "sweetheart" in English.
It's one of his favorite things about dating Langa. His soft voice, his accent, and his vocabulary. He speaks, and Reki is enamored. He speaks in English, and Reki swoons.
"Come," he directs, and Langa stands obediently and follows him back into the house. It's a bit chilly outside because the sun is not fully out yet, but it's refreshing. Langa's white skin glows in the rays of the sun, and his own skin blends into them, minus the black streaks of oil from the board he was working on. Their hands together contrast greatly, but they look like an ornate piece of art, carved out by the gods themselves.
Langa's feet are heavy as they pad through the quiet house, but that's okay. His mother is surely getting ready to cook breakfast right now anyway, and his sisters sleep like the dead, even the toddlers. By the time they reach Reki's room, Langa is almost asleep again, so Reki lays him down in the bed, kisses his forehead, and steps back out to wash the oil off of his hands.
Sweetheart.
The water washes down the drain tinted black. When he dries his hands, his nail polish is still perfectly blue.
—
They wake up in the early noon. The sun is up, Reki's room is ungodly warm, and the early morning ambiance is gone.
"Laaaaanga! Langa! Langa! Langaaaaa!"
"Hmmmmmph!"
Reki just huffs back. "Come on, dude! Let's to skate!" He throws on a random purple hoodie and sweats, yanks the curtains open, and swings right back around to pester the living rock that's currently sleeping in his bed.
"Coffee-" Langa rasps in English. He quickly corrects himself, though Reki understood him. "I need coffee."
"We can get you coffee, but you gotta get up first, dude." He grabs both of Langa's hands and begins dragging him out of bed. Langa flops like a dead fish. His face is scrunched up like a red little newborn baby, unused to light and annoyed by all of the beeping sounds in the room around it. "Get. Up."
Langa's blue eyes pop open, looking up at Reki like a sad, overgrown (very overgrown) puppy. "Fineeee," he groans. "You suck."
"You swallow," Reki fires back. He'd stolen the comeback from Miya, but he can't quite deliver it in the same way. His cheeks flush, and he pokes his lips out like a fish. Maybe it's difficult to be cocky and flustered at the same time.
Langa finally drags his ass up from the ground and goes to brush his teeth with the toothpaste that Reki had bought especially for him. Apparently, Reki's Salt Crystal toothpaste was "disgusting" and "unpalatable" — whatever that meant.
He throws himself onto his bed and begins to kick his legs. Then, he rolls over and kicks the other way. He does it again. And again. And keeps doing it until Langa shuffles back into the room, breath minty fresh and quietly saying that word that Reki loves so much.
"Sweetheart?"
"Huh?" Reki hasn't rolled over so quickly this entire time. He stands to attention, hands locked behind his back.
Langa doesn't seem to notice. He's not half dead anymore, but he certainly isn't the most aware of anything right now. He never is, though.
"What skate park do you want to go to, today?" He stretches his toned arms above his head, moving his body side to side. It looks a bit silly because his hands nearly brush the ceiling, but Reki's still (abashedly) riding the feeling of being called sweetheart, and now his eyes are locked in on the little sliver of skin that's been revealed by Langa's shirt riding up.
"Mmm, the one by the shop, I think," he answers, absent-mindedly. He's thinking about how smooth Langa's skin feels, wondering if he should step forward and wrap his arms around the lithe waist.
Before he can act on the impulse, Langa pulls Reki into his chest and hugs him tight. "Love you," he mumbles. "Love you, honey."
Reki's whole body trembles. "Love you too," he replies. "What's that for?"
"Nothing. Everything."
"That makes no sense," Reki argues, but Langa ignores him and leans down to kiss his forehead, then his nose, then his lips.
His head is heavy with a love-stricken fog, and he forgets everything except for that "everything" that Langa was just talking about.