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Reki isn’t dumb. He’s been on this planet for seventeen years, and he knows how things work. People like Langa—tall, cool, stupidly pretty Langa—don’t go for guys like him. Not in real life.
In real life, Langa’s supposed to date someone equally breathtaking, someone ethereal, someone who looks like they walked out of a shoujo manga panel, all long lashes and soft smiles and effortless grace. Someone like—like maybe Cherry, if Cherry weren’t old, or like one of the countless girls who watch their races and sigh dreamily when Langa lands another impossible trick, blue hair shining under the skate park lights like it’s been kissed by the freaking moon.
So yeah, Reki gets it. He’s realistic about these things.
But it doesn’t make it any easier when Langa is right there, sitting on his bedroom floor, long limbs folded neatly, eyes trained on Reki like he’s listening to the most important story ever told. Which, to be fair, Reki is ranting about a new board design, but still. Langa’s eyes are too blue, too intense, and it’s making his brain short-circuit.
He wonders, not for the first time, if Langa even knows how unfair he is. He probably doesn’t.
Langa tilts his head, snow-blue strands falling over his forehead. “You’re really cute when you talk about skateboarding.”
Reki chokes on air. “Wh—what?”
Langa blinks at him like he doesn’t understand why Reki looks like he’s just been hit by a semi-truck. “I said you’re cute.”
“No, yeah, I heard you,” Reki says, ears burning. “I just—uh, what?”
Langa frowns, clearly confused. His accent comes through thicker when he’s thinking hard. “Is that weird to say?”
“Yes—no—I don’t know,” Reki groans, dragging a hand down his face. “You—you can’t just say stuff like that out of nowhere, dude!”
Langa just stares. “Why not? It’s true.”
Reki sputters, his heart doing something absolutely stupid in his chest. “Because—you—Langa, have you seen yourself? You can’t just go around calling me cute like it’s normal.”
Langa’s brows furrow. “You don’t think you’re cute?”
Reki groans again, collapsing onto his back like the sheer weight of the conversation has taken him out. “Langa, man, look at you. You’re—you’re like, the hottest guy in all of Okinawa, maybe even all of Japan, and I’m just—I don’t know, me. You don’t even—”
A shadow falls over him, and Reki cracks his eyes open to find Langa leaning over him, blue eyes steady and serious. His face is so close. Too close.
“I think you’re really cute,” Langa says, slow and deliberate, like he’s explaining something important. “And I think you don’t get it.”
Reki’s heart is screaming. “Get what?”
“That I like you,” Langa says simply, and Reki swears the world just tilts.
He forgets how to breathe. His brain cannot compute. “Y-you—you like me?”
Langa nods like it’s obvious. Like it’s always been obvious. “Yeah.”
Reki opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. He’s buffering. “But you—you’re so—”
Langa tilts his head. “So?”
“Langa!” Reki hisses, flailing his arms. “You’re—you’re perfect, man! You’re this snowboard prodigy with legs for days, and you’ve got, like, this effortless hotness that’s illegal, and—and you could literally have anyone—”
“I want you,” Langa interrupts, as if that should be the end of the discussion.
Reki has never malfunctioned this hard in his life.
“You what?”
Langa, still hovering over him, tilts his head again, exasperated. “You don’t believe me?”
“I—” Reki shuts his mouth, because he honestly doesn’t know. Everything in him is screaming that this is impossible, that this isn’t how things work, that Langa is Langa, and he’s just—just Reki. But Langa is looking at him like he’s never wanted anything more in his life, like he’s always wanted this, and suddenly, Reki is hit with the realization that maybe—just maybe—he’s been an idiot this whole time.
“…You’re serious?” he whispers.
Langa sighs, then, like he’s been waiting for Reki to catch up forever. His hand lifts—hesitant, gentle—and brushes a strand of red hair out of Reki’s face.
“I think I’ve been in love with you since you taught me how to push,” Langa confesses, soft and sure, and Reki feels his entire world shift.
He might be falling. But it’s okay. Langa has always had perfect balance.
Reki is reeling.
Like, he has faced some terrifying things in his seventeen years—high-speed downhill races, the wrath of Shadow’s wrestling moves, Cherry and Joe’s domestic disputes—but nothing has ever made his brain crash quite like Langa Snow telling him, with his whole stupidly pretty face, that he’s been in love with Reki since he learned how to push.
That’s not normal. That’s not how things are supposed to go.
“You—you can’t just confess like that!” Reki practically shrieks, face burning.
Langa blinks at him, tilting his head like a confused puppy. “Why not?”
Reki throws his hands up. “Because that’s not—you can’t just drop that bomb on me like it’s casual conversation, man!”
Langa frowns like he genuinely doesn’t get what the problem is. And of course he doesn’t. Reki buries his face in his hands and groans.
“Is this just how you guys do things in Canada?” he demands, voice muffled by his palms.
There’s a thoughtful pause. Then—
“…Maybe.”
Reki slowly lowers his hands. “What do you mean, maybe?”
Langa looks up, considering. “We don’t really have social barriers like here,” he says at last, casual as anything. “If I liked someone back home, we’d probably be making out by now.”
Reki dies.
“You what?”
Langa just nods, solemn. “Yeah.”
Reki makes a strangled noise, flailing backward like Langa is a wild animal. “Bro, what the hell—you can’t just say that kind of thing like it’s normal—”
Langa tilts his head again, this time with a tiny smirk. “It is normal.”
“It is not normal!” Reki yelps, but his brain is going into overdrive now, picturing it. If they were in Canada. If there weren’t any social barriers. If Langa was looking at him like that and actually kissing him—
He short-circuits.
Langa watches all of this unfold in real-time, fascinated. “You’re cute when you panic,” he says, and Reki explodes.
“I’M NOT PANICKING!”
Langa just hums, leaning in slightly, eyes never leaving Reki’s face. “So…” He pauses, thinking. “Are we going to follow Japan’s rules or Canada’s?”
Reki blacks out.
Reki’s vision is blurry when he comes to. His head feels light, his heart pounding in his ears. For a second, he wonders if he’s dead—if Langa’s confession was just too much for his poor, pathetic heart to handle.
Then, as his sight clears, he sees a face hovering over him. Soft blue eyes. Pale skin glowing in the dim light. Snow-dusted lashes blinking down at him like a vision.
An angel.
No. Scratch that. Even better.
It’s Langa.
Looking annoyingly pretty, completely unbothered, and entirely unphased by the fact that Reki just passed out from sheer emotional overload.
Langa stares at him, face unreadable. Then, in the flattest voice imaginable, he says:
“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty.”
Reki groans, slapping a hand over his face as heat immediately creeps up his cheeks again. “No way—no way that just happened—”
Langa nods, expression still neutral. “It happened.”
Reki groans louder. “I passed out?”
“Yep.”
“For how long?”
Langa shrugs. “Only a minute or two.” He tilts his head, as if considering something. “So. Are we gonna skip all the talking and go straight to making out now?”
Reki nearly dies again.
His body jerks upright, eyes wild. “LANGA!”
Langa blinks, still infuriatingly calm. “What?”
“YOU CAN’T JUST SAY STUFF LIKE THAT!”
Langa frowns, like he’s actually thinking about it. Then he says, “Why not?”
Reki makes a strangled noise, his blush burning now. “Because—because—” His brain is going so fast that it’s looping back into static noise. “B-because that’s not how it works!”
Langa raises an eyebrow. “We already went over this.”
Reki lets out a high-pitched whimper. “Langa. Please. Have mercy.”
Langa is unimpressed. “I am having mercy. If we were in Canada, we’d be making out already.”
Reki screams into his hands.
“I hate Canada.”
Langa hums. “No, you don’t.”
Reki does not, in fact, hate Canada. But right now, he desperately needs a moment to breathe before his brain fully melts out of his skull.
Langa watches him flounder for a second before sighing and leaning back on his hands. “Okay,” he says. “We can go at your pace.”
Reki peeks at him from between his fingers, suspicious. “Yeah?”
Langa nods. “Yeah.” Then, after a pause, he adds, “But I’d still like to kiss you soon.”
Reki combusts.
Reki can’t fathom how Langa can act so cool about all of this. Like, how is he not embarrassed? Not even a little? He says the most insane things with a straight face, like confessing love is just some casual, everyday thing—like it’s not sending Reki into full-body shutdown mode.
Reki swallows hard, watching Langa sit there, effortlessly perfect, looking like a model in some high-end ad for winter sportswear. It’s not fair. It’s actually not fair.
His mind drifts, and suddenly he’s thinking about how Langa must’ve been back in Canada.
He was probably a ladies’ man. Mackin’ on all the chicks. The silent, brooding type, all mysterious and hot, walking through the halls of his fancy Canadian school with a swarm of girls giggling and sighing in his wake. Snowboard prodigy, effortlessly cool, long-limbed and devastatingly pretty—of course, he had to be a heartbreaker.
Reki’s stomach twists.
He tries to shove the feeling down, but the thought of Langa kissing some random Canadian girl, all gentle and slow, makes something ugly bubble up inside him.
It’s not like it matters or anything. It’s not like Langa’s his or whatever. It’s just—unfair.
Reki clenches his hands, forcing himself to breathe. He’s not jealous. He’s not.
If Langa could read his thoughts, though—
“You’re cuter than the girls in Canada,” Langa says suddenly, tilting his head, voice thoughtful.
Reki nearly dies on the spot.
He jolts, wide-eyed. “What—”
Langa hums, like he’s still considering it. “Your lips look softer, too.” His gaze flickers down to Reki’s mouth, and something shifts in his expression—something quiet, focused. “I’ll have to test them out to find out if it’s true.”
Reki short-circuits.
“LANGA,” he screeches, his face instantly burning.
Langa smirks, and oh no, that’s a dangerous look on him.
Reki points a shaking finger. “I swear to God, if you don’t stop talking like that—”
“What?” Langa leans in just slightly, challenging. “You’ll kiss me first?”
Reki sputters. “That’s not—I hate you.”
Langa shrugs, unbothered. “No, you don’t.”
Reki groans, burying his face in his hands. “This is a nightmare.”
Langa taps his chin. “A nightmare would be if I never got to kiss you.”
Reki screams.
Reki makes a decision.
A stupid, reckless, possibly life-ruining decision.
But if Langa wants a kiss so badly? Fine.
He’ll give him a kiss.
Before he can overthink it, before his brain can scream at him that this is a bad idea, Reki moves.
He grabs the front of Langa’s hoodie, tugs him forward, and kisses him.
But the second their lips touch, Reki realizes he has made a grave mistake.
Because Langa doesn’t jolt in surprise. He doesn’t freeze up, doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t do anything remotely awkward or unsure.
No. Langa takes over.
One second, Reki thinks he’s in control of the situation, and the next, he’s flat on his back, his skateboard digging into his side, because Langa has just pushed him down like it’s nothing, like this is all going exactly how he wanted it to.
And then Langa kisses him harder.
Reki barely has time to process before he’s completely drowning in it—Langa’s weight pinning him down, one hand splayed over his chest, the other curled into the fabric of his hoodie. His lips move with slow, confident pressure, like he’s done this a thousand times before, like he knows exactly what he’s doing, and holy shit, Reki is so screwed.
Because Langa is into it.
Like, really into it.
Like, he’s kissing Reki like he owns him. Like he’s been waiting forever for this moment. Like Reki is something to be devoured.
Reki doesn’t even have time to be embarrassed before Langa finally—finally—pulls back, staring down at him with lidded blue eyes, his breath slow and steady while Reki is out here fighting for his life.
Langa studies him for a second, then smirks.
“Your lips are softer,” he says, voice smooth, smug, like he expected this outcome. He tilts his head, brushing his thumb lazily over Reki’s swollen bottom lip. “But I think I need to test them a little more.”
Reki makes a strangled noise, red as hell, and Langa just grins—because he’s already won, and they both know it.
Reki whimpers.
Not because of the kiss (though, holy shit, the kiss), but because Langa is still on top of him, looking down at him with that unreadable, cool-as-hell expression, like he’s just waiting for Reki to combust.
Which—news flash—Reki is actively combusting.
With a groan, he slaps both hands over his burning face, completely hiding from Langa’s gaze. “You—You planned this all along, didn’t you?” he mumbles, voice muffled against his palms.
Langa doesn’t answer right away. Which is bad, because it means he’s thinking.
Then—deadpan, utterly calm, no hesitation whatsoever—he says:
“Did you not enjoy it?”
Reki is about to snap, ready to yell something about how of course he enjoyed it, when—
Langa’s voice drops lower, smooth and sharp as a blade.
“Because the bulge in your pants says otherwise.”
Reki dies.
Like, fully, completely, soul-leaving-his-body dies.
His entire existence explodes into flames, his hands yank away from his face, and he slaps them down on Langa’s chest, trying to shove him off while his brain short-circuits beyond repair.
“LANGA, WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL—”
Langa doesn’t budge.
Doesn’t even flinch.
He just stares, still calm, still effortlessly in control, like he’s not the one who just ruined Reki’s entire life with a single sentence.
Reki is spiraling.
“Y-You—you can’t just say shit like that! You—” He’s sputtering, his voice getting higher, his legs kicking uselessly against the floor. “How do you even NOTICE that?!”
Langa shrugs. “I’m observant.”
Reki lets out the most pathetic whine of his life. “I hate you so much.”
Langa leans down, lips brushing the shell of Reki’s ear, and whispers, “No, you don’t.”
Reki is on the verge of a full system failure.
As if it weren’t bad enough that Langa completely dominated their kiss like some kind of romance anime protagonist, now he’s hovering over Reki like he owns the place, all cool and composed while Reki is struggling to breathe properly.
And then—oh god—Langa leans in even closer, his lips brushing against the shell of Reki’s ear, and whispers.
“I think it’s cute,” he murmurs, voice silky smooth, “that you got a hard-on from just a little bit of kissing.”
Reki blacks out.
Not literally—but almost.
His breath hitches, his whole body jerks, and a sound that can only be described as a whimper escapes his throat before he can crush it down.
He’s going to die. He is actually going to die.
Langa, completely unbothered by the absolute emergency happening inside Reki’s brain, tilts his head. “Have you ever kissed anyone before?”
Reki stares at him, wide-eyed, still too flustered to form actual words. He can barely function after what just happened, and now Langa wants to have a conversation?
Somehow, somehow, he manages to force words out. “Wh—what does that have to do with anything?”
Langa shrugs, gaze still locked onto Reki’s face, watching every tiny reaction. “Just curious.”
Reki wants to lie. He wants to say he has. He wants to act like he’s not a total loser whose first kiss just ruined him.
But it’s Langa. Langa, who already reads him like a book, who would definitely see through the lie in half a second.
So, instead, Reki groans and drops his head back against the floor, miserable. “No, I haven’t, okay? It’s not like people are beating down my door to date me, let alone kiss me.”
Langa hums, considering this. He doesn’t look surprised.
If anything, he looks pleased.
And that is dangerous.
Reki narrows his eyes. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Langa leans in again, voice lower, warmer.
“Because that means I get to be your first,” he murmurs.
Reki swears the earth tilts beneath him.
Reki’s brain fully short-circuits.
Because what the hell does Langa mean by that?
He doesn’t even give himself time to process it. His body just moves on instinct—shoving at Langa’s chest with all the strength he can muster, his face burning hotter than the sun.
“Get off me!” he yells, flailing as he pushes Langa off.
Langa, who has been nothing but cool and collected this entire time, barely stumbles when Reki shoves him. He lets himself be pushed back, sitting up on his knees with zero resistance, watching as Reki scrambles backward like he’s escaping a wild animal.
Reki’s breathing is all over the place, his heart hammering against his ribs. His hands are shaking, curled into fists at his sides, and his mind is racing so fast that he feels like he’s going to pass out again.
“What the hell do you mean, ‘you get to be my first’?!” Reki demands, voice cracking somewhere in the middle. He hates how flustered he sounds.
Langa just blinks at him, completely unaffected. Then, as casual as anything, he tilts his head and says, “I mean exactly that.”
Reki gapes.
Because what kind of answer is that?!
Langa doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t backtrack, doesn’t even pretend to be embarrassed. No—he just sits there, looking at Reki like this is a normal conversation, like he didn’t just ruin Reki’s entire existence with his words.
Reki groans, gripping his own hair in frustration. “You—you can’t just say shit like that!”
Langa raises an eyebrow. “Why not?”
Reki lets out a strangled noise. “Because it’s—it’s weird!”
Langa shrugs. “I don’t think it’s weird.”
Reki glares. “Of course you don’t.”
There’s a beat of silence, heavy and charged. Reki is still trying to calm his racing heart, still trying to understand how Langa is so effortlessly smooth while he himself is a complete disaster.
Then Langa shifts, settling back on his hands, watching Reki carefully. “Are you mad?” he asks, and the worst part is—he sounds genuinely curious.
Reki stares at him, completely at a loss.
Mad? Oh, he’s something, all right. But he wouldn’t call it mad.
He’s flustered, overwhelmed, confused as hell—but not mad.
And that’s the worst part.
Because if he were mad, it would be easier.
If he were mad, he could tell Langa to shut up, to stop messing with him, to go home and forget this ever happened.
But he’s not.
He’s just—
He looks at Langa, really looks at him. The way he’s watching Reki so closely, the way his lips are still slightly swollen from their kiss, the way he’s so damn confident about all of this—
And Reki doesn’t know what to do with that.
So instead, he groans, flops onto his back, and yells into his hands, “I hate you so much, dude.”
Langa, unfazed, leans over him again.
“No, you don’t.”
And goddamn it, he’s right.
Reki lets out another pathetic groan, lying there on the floor, arms flung over his face in the vain hope that if he can’t see Langa, then Langa can’t see how utterly destroyed he is right now.
His heart is racing, his face is burning, and worst of all—Langa is still right there. Close enough that Reki can feel the warmth of him, close enough that his stupid fresh snow scent is messing with Reki’s ability to think straight.
Langa shifts slightly, and Reki knows he’s leaning in before he even moves his arms away.
“Are you going to hide forever?” Langa asks, voice cool, smooth, completely unbothered while Reki is actively falling apart.
Reki huffs, peeking out from under his arms just enough to glare at him. “Yes.”
Langa blinks, tilts his head, then—without hesitation—reaches down and grabs Reki’s wrists, gently but firmly prying them away from his face.
Reki yells, instantly trying to yank himself free, but Langa’s grip is solid, his fingers cool against Reki’s burning skin.
“Dude—let me suffer in peace!” Reki protests, kicking his legs in the least effective struggle known to man.
Langa, still infuriatingly calm, simply leans in closer.
“I don’t want you to suffer,” he says, voice steady, soft. “I want you to kiss me again.”
Reki short-circuits for the hundredth time today.
He goes completely still, eyes wide, breath catching in his throat.
Langa doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, doesn’t waver. He just looks down at Reki with that stupid cool expression, like he knows exactly what he’s doing and isn’t even remotely embarrassed about it.
Reki’s brain is screaming.
“You—you can’t just say stuff like that,” he mumbles weakly, as if that argument has worked at all so far.
Langa blinks, tilts his head slightly. “Why not?”
Reki flails. “Because it’s not fair!”
Langa finally lets go of Reki’s wrists, but instead of moving away, he just braces himself on either side of Reki’s head, caging him in.
“What’s not fair?” he asks, still maddeningly calm.
Reki sputters. “You—you being all cool about this while I’m over here, dying!”
Langa’s lips twitch, just slightly, like he’s amused.
“I’m not cool,” he says simply.
Reki gawks. “Bro, are you serious right now?”
Langa nods, gaze flickering down to Reki’s lips, then back up to his eyes. “I just know what I want.”
Reki blanks.
Langa lifts a hand, tracing the edge of Reki’s jaw with his knuckles, slow, deliberate.
“And I want you,” he says, voice quieter now, lower.
Reki forgets how to breathe.
He swears the world tilts beneath him, because no way, no way in hell is this actually happening, no way is Langa looking at him like this, saying these things like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
His brain is still catching up when Langa speaks again.
“So?” Langa murmurs, thumb brushing the corner of Reki’s mouth. “Are you gonna kiss me, or am I gonna have to do all the work?”
And that—that’s what snaps Reki out of his daze, because hell no is he gonna let Langa have the upper hand here.
Reki grabs the front of Langa’s hoodie, yanks him down, and kisses.
And this time, he doesn’t hold back.
Langa barely gives Reki a second to process before he’s kissing him back, just as firm, just as sure as before.
But this time, Reki refuses to be overwhelmed.
This time, he grips Langa’s hoodie tight, pulling him even closer, tilting his head to match the pace, and okay—fine—maybe Langa’s still better at this, maybe he’s still way too good, but Reki is determined to at least keep up.
And judging by the way Langa lets out a quiet, pleased hum against his lips, he likes that Reki is fighting back this time.
The kiss slows, softens, but neither of them pull away completely. Reki’s brain is still scrambled, but now it’s in a better way, a way that makes him feel weightless, like he could do this forever if Langa let him.
Langa’s lips part just barely from Reki’s, but he stays close, blue eyes half-lidded and entirely focused on him.
And then, in the most casual, matter-of-fact voice imaginable, he says:
“You know in Canada, this means we’re boyfriends now.”
Reki chokes.
Immediately, he pushes Langa off him with a startled gasp, scrambling back so fast he nearly knocks his head against the floor.
“EXCUSE ME?!”
Langa, once again, completely unfazed, just sits up and blinks at him like this is a normal conversation. “That’s how it works.”
Reki stares at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish. “Bro—what—that’s not how it works!”
Langa shrugs. “In Canada, it is.”
“WE ARE NOT IN CANADA!”
Langa just tilts his head. “Does that mean you don’t want to be my boyfriend?”
Reki blanks.
His face is still hot, his lips still tingling, and his heart is hammering so loud he’s sure Langa can hear it.
And Langa—Langa is looking at him like he already knows the answer. Like he’s just waiting for Reki to catch up.
Reki flounders. “I—That’s—You—What the hell, man?!”
Langa just watches him struggle for a second before nodding, completely sure of himself.
“Yeah,” he says, voice smooth. “We’re definitely boyfriends.”
Reki dies all over again.