Chapter Text
Langa was in love.
Not the kind of love people wrote poetry about — or maybe it was, and he was just too far gone to notice the clichés. Every time Reki laughed too loud, skated too fast, leaned too close, Langa’s brain short-circuited like a cheap motherboard in the rain.
They weren’t dating. Not yet. Langa reminded himself of that like a mantra. He could handle the not-dating part. What he couldn’t handle was Miya’s smug little face as he slid up next to Reki, eyes gleaming like a cat about to knock something very precious off a shelf.
“You lost,” Miya said. “So don’t whine when I make your life a living hell.”
Langa, who had in fact lost a bet about whether Joe could beat Cherry in a backward-only downhill race (he cheated, Langa swore he did), blinked in confusion. “What does that even mean?”
“It means,” Miya grinned wickedly, “I get to mess with your tiny, pining heart in the most efficient way possible.”
That was the first warning.
The second came a day later, when Reki — sunshine personified, with a Band-Aid on his cheek and hair still damp from skating in the rain — walked up to Langa after practice and said, “Hey, so Miya asked if I wanted to hang out this weekend. Just us. He said he had a ‘mature offer.’ Do you think he hit his head or something?”
Langa froze. “Uh,” he said. “No. Maybe?”
He wasn’t ready. He didn’t have a plan. He didn’t have backup. And when Saturday rolled around, he watched from the edge of S as Miya threw an arm over Reki’s shoulders, leaned in, and said something with a smirk so evil it could’ve turned milk sour.
Reki blinked. Then laughed. Loud and sudden, like the sound of someone wiping out and deciding it was still the best day ever.
“You’re what now?” Reki wheezed, holding his sides. “Are you flirting with me, Miya? Did you lose a bet or hit puberty early?”
“No,” Miya said flatly. “I’m dead serious.”
“Liar.”
Miya’s grin stretched wider. “Okay, maybe it’s a little prank. But it’s working, isn’t it?”
He threw a glance over his shoulder, right at Langa, who was trying very hard not to look like he was listening (he was) or panicking (also yes).
Reki caught it, too. His expression faltered for half a second — just long enough for Langa to catch the flicker of confusion, the almost-question in his eyes.
And then it was gone.
⸻
Later, Reki flopped on the curb beside Langa and offered him a sports drink, half-empty and suspiciously warm. “I think Miya’s going through something. Midlife crisis, maybe.”
Langa took the drink anyway. “He’s thirteen.”
“Exactly. Kid’s spiraling.”
They both laughed. It was easy, like skating together. Natural. Familiar.
The sun was setting behind the S-curves, painting Reki’s face in soft gold. His hair looked more orange than red. He had a scrape on his palm. His socks didn’t match.
Langa wanted to kiss him so bad it felt like a crime.
Instead, he said, “You’re really important to me, Reki.”
Reki blinked. “Where’d that come from?”
Langa shrugged. “I just… I mean it.”
Reki looked down at his hands. Picked at a spot on his wrist that Langa tried not to think about too much. It wasn’t talked about. Not because it was ignored, but because Reki didn’t want it to be a thing, and Langa respected that — even if it made something ache quietly in his chest.
“I know,” Reki said. “You don’t have to say stuff like that, though. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Yeah, but I want to.”
Reki tilted his head. “Go somewhere?”
Langa shook his head, cheeks turning red. “No, I mean—I want to say it. I want you to know it.”
Reki smiled, soft and tilted, like he couldn’t quite believe it.
“Okay,” he said. “Then… thanks. You’re really important to me too, Langa.”
⸻
The next time Miya tried to “flirt,” Reki turned it around on him.
“Oh Miya~” Reki said in a terrible fake voice, fluttering his lashes. “You’re just too cute! I can’t believe I didn’t notice sooner.”
Miya gagged. “Okay, ew. Never mind. I’m out.”
He skated away mid-eye-roll, yelling over his shoulder, “Just kiss already, you idiots!”
Reki snorted. Langa blushed.
But neither of them disagreed.