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Langa and Reki had sat on the school roof as they often did for lunch. They weren't talking much, but the silence was comfortable. Langa thought so, at least.
He glanced at Reki, not saying anything, not mentioning how he noticed the downcast expression or the way he grew quiet whenever Langa wasn't paying attention—and he definitely wouldn't say anything about the hoodie in eighty degree weather. But he noticed it all.
He always noticed everything about Reki. The moment he met the redhead, Langa noticed everything. He knew that Reki was loud and obnoxious and boisterous, but he didn't mind. He was quiet, soft spoken; the dichotomy was nice. Not expected, but nice, nonetheless.
They didn't speak that entire lunch break.
In class, Langa noticed things. He noticed how Reki seemed more distracted these days. He noticed how he was quieter during class, how he kept to himself. He swallowed. Was Reki getting bullied?
Langa opened his mouth to say something, maybe to ask Reki why he had been so subdued recently, but the ring of the bell cut him off, and the teacher began his roll call. Langa swallowed thickly.
After their remaining classes, Langa waited for Reki at the exit. They always did this, since they had become friends. When he saw the familiar head of red hair, he smiled softly.
“Reki,” he said all-too-warmly, too soft for someone who looked at their best friend as just a friend. “Are we going to the skate park today?”
No response. Weird.
“Reki?” Langa tried again, brows furrowing. He was about to say the name a third time when Reki finally answered.
“Huh? Oh, uh.” Reki’s words seemed to falter, Langa noticed. “Yeah, we can, dude,” he answered after a moment.
Langa didn't miss the imperceptible strain in Reki’s voice. He nodded, though it didn't ease the building worry and anxiety in his chest. Langa tried to push it down. He convinced himself that, if Reki wasn't okay, he would talk to Langa about it.
He was so wrong.
As the duo skated to the park, Langa admired. He admired the way Reki’s hair blew in the wind, admired the relaxed smile on Reki’s face, admired Reki. He bit his lower lip and swallowed hard. He needed to stop having thoughts like this; they were just friends. Langa’s chest ached a little at the thought.
Once they reached the skate park, Langa hastily tore his eyes away from Reki. He couldn’t be caught staring. He didn't want Reki to think of him as a creep or weird or gross.
“You've been quiet today,” Langa said suddenly, surprising himself. He was usually not so blunt nor so bold. “Is everything okay?” He added, his voice softer this time, like he was trying to soothe a wound his words might've created.
Reki was shocked, maybe. Caught off-guard was probably a better description. He watched the way Reki’s eyes widened a bit, and the way his mouth pressed into a thin, tight line. He watched and watched and watched and waited. He watched as an all-too-bright and an all-too-fake smile took over Reki’s face. Too pretty, Langa thought. It distracted him.
“Langa, man, my man, what do you mean?” He huffed a small laugh, clapping Langa on the shoulder. “Look at me! I'm fine.”
Langa nodded and ignored the way his face felt so warm at the touch of his best friend. He trusted Reki, so he would believe him. He nodded again, a small, fond smile forming.
They skated and skated and skated and Langa thought about what it would be like to skate into the sunset, like some movie. His thoughts were interrupted by his mother’s texts, worried about his whereabouts. She was always like that, always worried; Langa was the same. He supposed he got that from her. Nanako had asked where he was, if he was alone, if he needed to be picked up, etc, etc. That meant it was time for Langa to go home.
“We should probably…” Langa's voice trailed off as his eyes landed on Reki. The sun was still out—barely—casting a beautiful shade of orange across Reki’s form. He swallowed hard, and then once more. He tore his eyes away and scolded himself. “Get going.” He finished quieter, trying to seem indifferent.
Reki didn't seem to notice, and Langa was relieved. He knew that the redhead could be oblivious sometimes, and he was thankful for that. He thinks if Reki wasn't so oblivious, he would've found out. Langa thinks if Reki found out—if Reki knew—he’d lose his best friend.
Reki hummed softly and then nodded, turning towards Langa. Another forced grin on that face and it made Langa’s chest ache in a way he couldn't explain—didn't want to explain. “Yeah, alright,” he paused, looking away again, “you go on ahead. Your mom’s a worry-wart.”
Langa's eyes widened and he turned his head back to Reki, ready to protest. Reki was already looking away, skating away, and, oh.
Oh.
Oh, okay.
Langa didn't allow himself to protest, the words caught in his throat, his anxiety preventing him from saying anything. He turned the opposite direction and started his way home. He could've stopped Reki, could've started after him, could've done anything. He didn't. He was a coward. These self-deprecating thoughts continued as he walked home.
Reki seemed happier today, Langa noticed. It was the weekend, now, and they were working at Dope Sketch. Langa was at the register, Reki doing whatever he usually did. Langa watched as Reki moved throughout the store with ease, and he quickly forced his eyes away anytime Reki looked in his direction.
Langa didn’t want Reki to think he was weird. He didn't want Reki to know. Anxiety swirled in his chest at the notion of it. He shook his head to himself, as if the action would push the thoughts away. It didn't.
“Today's been so slow,” Reki suddenly complained, leaning against the counter. “We should just ditch and close.” At that, Langa quickly shook his head, which earned a dramatic groan from Reki. His chest hurt in a way that he didn't dare to try to comprehend.
“We can't just leave, Reki.” Langa said after a moment, his eyes fixed on the boy in question. He bit his lower lip, trying to gain the courage to maybe ask Reki to come over to his house, or maybe to go to Reki’s own, but the chime of the store’s bell cut him off.
Langa was beginning to think bells had some sort of hidden agenda against him.
He pushed that thought aside as he watched Reki chat with and help the customer. He talked with such ease, and it almost made Langa jealous. He wished he could be so extroverted. It was okay, though, because it was Reki.
After their Dope Sketch shift, Langa had finally worked up the courage to ask Reki to come over. Reki, of course, said yes. It wasn't the first time that he had invited Reki to his house, and it definitely wasn't going to be the last. Langa had even been so bold to ask Reki to spend the night, which earned an enthusiastic agreement. He smiled, and so did Reki.
They reached Langa's apartment, and Reki was practically bouncing up and down with excitement. “I can’t wait for your mom’s dinner, dude!” He had said eagerly, saying a few more similar statements about his excitement.
They entered Langa's bedroom, and, oh. Oh, no. Langa had been stupid enough to forget. He had forgotten about the little knickknacks that Reki had gotten him, he had forgotten about the little things he had bought, planning to give to Reki. He had forgotten about love-letter drafts, some crumpled around his desk, and some still lying on the wooden surface.
Langa wasn't one to swear, but a muttered, English curse slipped from his lips without permission, earning a look of confusion from Reki. He quickly crumpled all of the pages and threw them in the trash. He didn't want Reki to find them. Langa didn’t want Reki to know he was gross.
“What was that about?” Reki suddenly asked, far too close to Langa. He inhaled sharply, and took a step back. He was already weird enough. He didn't want it to spread to Reki, like some sort of disease.
“Nothing,” Langa said after a brief moment of silence. Anxiety clawed at his throat, building and building and building. “It was nothing,” he repeated, his voice quieter now.
“Oh,” Reki said quietly, maybe even awkwardly. Langa dismissed that. Reki wasn't an awkward person. He didn't just get awkward. He was proven correct when Reki threw himself onto Langa's bed and started talking about whatever without a care in the world.
Despite himself, Langa smiled. There was always this thing about Reki. Something that wore down his defenses, something that softened him and made him so easy to talk to. Langa could never really decipher that something, but he convinced himself that he didn't need to. Langa didn't need to be more weird than he already was.
Langa sat next to Reki, eyes fixed on him. He really needed to get out of that habit, but it was hard. It was so hard when Reki was so effortlessly beautiful.
Langa should've said something. He should've said something, but he never did. He never did and he regretted it.
That was their last day together.
Nanako’s voice trembled as she broke the news to Langa. How was she supposed to tell her son that his best friend committed suicide? How was she supposed to watch him go through another tragic loss?
Langa didn't take it well.
The world felt like it tilted on its axis. Everything was wrong. Langa inhaled, tried and tried and tried but he couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe and Reki was gone and Reki was dead and Reki left him alone in a world he could no longer understand. Langa was alone, and he was never able to tell Reki about how he loved him. He was too much of a coward, and now he would never be able to.
Langa's throat felt tight and scratchy and he couldn't breathe or scream or speak. He couldn't do anything. He couldn't help Reki. He should've noticed, he was supposed to notice everything about Reki.
Langa didn't just lose Reki that day. He lost himself, too. Reki showed him what it was like to live, to be happy; he showed Langa that he could still be happy, even after a loss like his father.
Reki wasn't here anymore. Reki couldn't teach him how to live and be happy anymore. Langa had to figure it out on his own this time—and he didn't think he could do it again, not without his Reki.
Langa hadn't been to school in days. Everything was so dull. He couldn't even skate anymore—didn’t want to. Cherry and Joe had sent him a few messages, Joe even tried calling a couple times. And Langa might've recalled getting a text from Miya, too. He ignored them all. He didn't know how to face them. Reki was their friend, too.
Langa had cried so much since he found out. To his knowledge, there had been a letter left behind. Reki's mom had found him in the bathtub, two long, deep slits down his forearms. The imagery was too much to handle. He couldn't imagine his best friend like that, taking his own life.
Langa had never felt so alone. Reki was his best friend—the person he loved. He loved Reki so deeply it hurt. Why did he have to lose him? First his father, now Reki, too. It wasn't fair. It was never fair.
Langa was crying again.
He wondered how long Reki had this planned. He wondered what was in the letter, if he was mentioned, if he explained why he did it. It had already been too late when Reki was found. Langa felt bad for his family; especially his three little sisters. They were so young. Reki had been so young, too.
Langa wished he got to tell him. He wished he had told Reki that he loved him at least once. He closed his eyes tight and buried his head further into his pillow. He bit his lower lip to stifle the sobs that tried to escape, but it didn't really do much. He wished he wasn't such a coward. He curled in on himself, quiet sobs escaping his throat.
Langa lost his best friend, his happiness, his home. He didn't know how to live anymore.