Chapter Text
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Reki Kyan
The night air was thick with the lingering warmth of Okinawa’s approaching summer, the salty breeze clinging to Reki and Langa’s skin as they carved through the pavement, their wheels humming a steady rhythm against the asphalt.
Reki pushed off harder and twisted the board beneath him, the wind blowing at his eyes as he shot ahead. He glanced over his shoulder with a grin. “C’mon, man, you’re slow as hell tonight!”
Langa didn’t say anything, instead, he bent his knees, shifting his weight forward before launching himself ahead. Reki watched him in awe as Langa flew through the air like gravity didn’t exist. He hung there– weightlessly, before catching himself and landing clean. The impact rolled through his body as he started slowing down his speed.
“Pfft! Show–off.” Reki scoffed. He tried to keep a laugh but it just seemed to fade away. Skating was still the one thing that made sense when everything else felt like it was slipping through his fingers. Reki brushed his thoughts away and pushed off harder, the rush of speed sending a thrill through his chest, chasing after Langa like he was trying to outrun something nameless. His legs burned and his lungs were working overtime as he passed Langa.
“You good back there, Snowball?” he called over his shoulder, a smirk tugging at his lips.
A second later, Langa shot past him without a word, crouching low before launching himself into a perfect, stupidly clean ollie, his silhouette cutting against the neon–lit streets like he belonged in the air more than on the ground. Reki’s stomach did something weird, but he shoved it down, pretending it was just irritation. Of course Langa had to go and be cool about it. “Dumbass.” he muttered, but there wasn’t any heat to it. Instead, he simply started catching up.
When he caught up, Langa glanced sideways at him, breathless, eyes sqinted from the wind in his face. He looked like he wanted to say something, but he didn’t. Instead, he just kept skating, the street lights flickering over his face like a broken film reel. Reki didn’t say anything either. The sound of wheels rolling on the pavement seemed to fill the space between them with motion, rather than words.
“Hey Reki, it’s getting pretty late, we should start heading home.” Langa interrupted the silence.
“Yea. Let’s head out.” Both Reki and Langa skated home with more silence. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but it surely wasn’t comfortable either.
Langa seemed ecstatic to be back home. He forgot to tell Reki, but today was his Dad’s birthday. And his mom had a surprise for him. Reki watched him leave with droopy eyes and a half–hearted smile as he said bye to Langa. Ughh, why am I still not getting better? I thought I overcame this already. Why is he just so– perfect? Eyes were still fixated on the blue–haired boy wrap his arm around his mom like he hadn’t seen her for years.
Reki’s fingers curled tighter around his board.
“Reki!” Langa called out suddenly, breaking away from his mom, bright–eyed and still bouncing on his heels. “My mom said you can come over for dinner! We're celebrating–”
“Ah–nah, I’m good.” The words were out of his mouth too fast, too sharp. He tried to play it off with a forced grin. “G–got some stuff to do. Y’know, busy man and all that.” Fuck, too late now.
Reki didn’t bother to look at Langa’s way, but he could feel the disappointment concentrate around Langa. Reki slightly cocked his head just enough to meet Langa’s frown. That confused, slightly hurt look that Reki hated seeing. Like he couldn’t understand why Reki wouldn’t just say yes.
“Are you sure? It's–”
“Yeah, man. Have fun, though.” He gave a two–finger salute, turning on his heel and skating away before Langa could say anything else.
Why did he feel jealous for such a stupid reason?
He didn’t stop to look back.
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Langa Hasegawa
Langa tried not to dwell on how weird Reki had been when he got home.
He sat at the table, the warm glow of the dining room lights creating a soft ambience, like nothing bad could happen here. His mom was smiling, setting down plates of food– his dad’s favorite dishes.
“I thought it’d be nice,” she said gently as she started pouring jasmine tea into two cups. “To celebrate, I mean. Even though he’s not here.”
Langa nodded, even though his throat tightened. His dad’s birthday. Another year without him. His mom pulled out something from behind her chair– a small, black, rectangular box. “I found this while cleaning. I thought you might want to see it. ”
Langa blinked as she gently set it in front of him. His fingers trembled slightly as he picked it up. How had he never seen this before? It was old– definitely his dad’s. He reached out, running his fingers over the edges of an audio cassette tape. A lump formed in his throat. There was frayed masking tape taped over it, and it had his dad’s handwriting on it. “To my dearest Little Langa.”
“Do you want to hear it?” his mom asked softly. “I–I haven’t heard it but, we don’t have to do this today.”
Langa could only nod. “No, it’s okay mom. Dad wanted me to hear this.” Gently, he pressed play. A soft click and a brief crackle of static. Then– his father’s warm voice rang out.
“Hey, my little Langa. You’re probably listening to this all grown up now. There are so many things I never got to tell you, and I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault I’m not there with you, snowboarding in Whistler like we used to.”
Langa’s breath hitched. His dad’s voice sounded so familiar, but there was something beneath it– something heavy, something forced.
“How’s Mom doing? How are you holding up? I know you’re doing great, my boy. Haha." A pause. A faint, shuddering inhale– like he was trying to steady himself. "Just– know I love you. And I’m so sorry for everything. I should have taken better care of myself so I didn’t end up like this. You couldn't have done anything different to stop this. Do all that you can to make sure–”
A sharp, grating screech cut through the words as the tape warbled. And then– silence.
Langa’s fingers tensed against the player. His stomach churned. The tape hadn't ended, he could still see the spool turning inside, but there was… nothing. No more words. No final goodbye. Just the tape hissing.
What the hell? Why was it cut off? Langa swallowed hard. He pressed rewind, waited, and hit play again.
“…You couldn't have done anything different to stop this. Do all that you can to make sure– ”
The same warbled distortion with the weird screech. The same click. Like it had been cut off on purpose. His blood ran cold as his grip tightened.
Slowly, he turned to face his mom. She was staring down at her lap, hands clasped tightly together, her expression unreadable.
"Mom?" Langa said, his voice barely above a whisper.
She didn’t look up.
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Reki Kyan
Reki paced his breaths, trying to calm himself as he picked up speed on his skateboard.
What. The. Hell. Is. Wrong. With. Me?
His legs ached, his palms were calloused and raw from doing pull-ups every night, but none of it was enough to quiet his mind. By the time he reached his house, his body felt like it was moving on autopilot. He barely even registered himself climbing up to his bedroom window, maneuvering his way over the window-sill like always. At this point, it didn’t matter if he was quiet or not– no one noticed him anymore.
The second he landed on the floor of his room, the baby’s cries pierced through the walls. Reki was used to it by now, but the way his stomach roared in hunger nearly drowned it out. He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face before inching toward his bedroom door.
Ever since the baby came into the family, everything had changed.
Reki wasn’t dumb– he knew things would be different with a newborn in the house. It was just another sister. They gave her the name Himari, and it meant “sunlight’s warmth.” He had three other siblings, and his parents had managed just fine before. When Nanaka and Chihiro were born, they were still busy, sure, but they had never treated him like this. Back then, his parents still made time for him. They still asked about his day. They still made sure he ate. They still saw him.
But this time? It was like he didn’t exist.
Maybe it was because things weren’t as stable anymore. Maybe it was the fact he was going off to college in another year, if he was even planning to. His dad came home later, his mom had stopped working entirely to take care of the baby, and hushed conversations about money had started filling the house. About things getting tight and bout sacrifices. The worst part? Those sacrifices never seemed to include his younger siblings.
Koyomi, Chihiro, and Nanaka still had their babysitters, still had their after–school activities, still had their parents’ undivided attention whenever they needed it. But Reki? He got a pat on the back and a "You’ll be fine on your own, right? You’re old enough now."
He wasn’t sure what hurt more– the fact that they said it so easily, or that they actually believed it. And he knew there were truth to their words. Being the oldest meant being the most independently sufficient. He was only one year from turning into an adult and he gave himself the blame for being so reliant on his family.
Reki hesitated at the top of the staircase, listening to the conversation below. His mom was on the phone, her voice bright but almost forced, no doubt talking to some relative about the baby. His dad murmured something back, low and tired. The kitchen lights were on, but stepping into it felt like setting foot in a booby-trapped, dark space.
He was starving. His stomach twisted in protest, a mere cry from barely eating all day. A cup of rice at school– if he could even call that a meal. More often he’d been forgetting to eat and not feel hungry. At school, Langa had shoved a kiwi into his hands earlier, muttering, “Just eat it, dumbass.” Reki had rolled his eyes, but now, he wished he had savored it more. It was the nicest thing anyone had done for him all day.
Langa. Fuck. Why was he thinking about him again? Reki clenched his jaw and dragged a hand through his knotted hair. He still couldn’t shake what happened earlier– how he’d snapped, how stupid jealousy had seeped in again. It wasn’t like it was Langa’s fault that everything seemed so easy for him. It wasn’t like it was Langa’s fault that–
A sharp laugh from his mom snapped him out of it. He exhaled hard through his nose and forced himself to move.
The second he stepped into the kitchen, neither of his parents even looked at him. His mom cradled her stomach, nodding along to whoever was on the other end of the call. His dad stirred something in a pot on the stove, like a npc in a video game
Reki hovered in the doorway, waiting. No: Hey, how was school? No: Did you eat? No: Why are you standing there like an idiot? – nothing. He could’ve been a ghost.
His fingers curled into his hoodie sleeve. They weren’t mad at him. They weren’t ignoring him on purpose. They were just too busy. He’d heard it all before. “Reki, we trust you to handle yourself.” “Reki, we need to focus on the baby right now.” “Reki, you’re old enough to understand.”
Yeah. He understood.
His movements were stiff as he reached into the cabinet, fingers landing on a half–crushed bag of stale potato chips. His mom finally glanced at him, mid–conversation, and for a second, his chest stupidly, stupidly hoped for a "Sit down hun, eat something real." But all she did was furrow her brows slightly and wave him off.
"Don’t eat too much junk. We need you to be responsible."
That was it. No real acknowledgment. No warmth.
Reki swallowed something bitter and nodded, gripping the chips tighter. He turned on his heel and left, the weight in his stomach only growing heavier.
Seventeen. Almost an adult. So why does it still feel like I’m some kid waiting for permission to exist?