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Reki has completely fucked this up.
To a degree that would be hilarious if it wasn’t so freaking humiliating – less daunting if he hadn’t just heard a door close down the hall. He had really, really wanted to get this right. He was usually pretty good with his hands, meaning he was a decent cook, but he had also kind of screwed himself from the start. Beginning a foreign dish before the sun had even come up through a google translated Canadian blog post.
There were probably many different ways Reki could’ve gone about this. For starters, not making poutine at 8am. Is poutine even a breakfast meal? It can’t possibly be edible reheated. Fries are rarely good once they’ve existed long enough, and gravy is similar. At this point, the fries being soggy really doesn’t matter much. He had thought that maybe they would expand in the peanut oil, but they did not.
Because of this, they were practically glorified hashbrowns. Tiny, shriveled up little fried pieces of potato. This was, as could be expected, quite a threat to the objective at hand. The fries in the photo looked just crispy enough to still grind under teeth into a paste-like substance, the way that potato things should. Reki's attempt looked more like pieces of death grass. Maybe slightly larger.
This is easily the most mortifying experience of Reki's life, and he’s lost to a 13 year old. Regularly. More times than he can count. Hell, not to mention all the times he’s lost to his little sisters.
It may seem arrogant, but Reki knows he’s not dumb. Honestly, he’s not even close. He’s painfully aware of everything around him. That awareness came with the realization that everyone around him overlooks those things because being cheerful and being aware are, apparently, contradictions of one another. This is part of why he is so surprised at such a catastrophe of it’s own creation.
But it’s also the reason he wanted to do this so badly.
Langa Hasegawa was special. He was strange, and earnest. He was the clumsiest, most balanced person Reki had ever met. He was the exact opposite of every impersonation he’d ever left, in every form, and he was also one of the few to see through the concepts others had created about Reki.
This, Reki had decided, was a feat deserving of an award. A celebration, of sorts. He’d directed his priorities in this direction the way he prioritizes things that are important – Langa’s board, his growth. Watching him become the talented and unrivaled person Reki has always known him to be.
This is why this decision had to be made. Langa was good at hiding many things, but Reki knew he missed home. He wanted to bring home to Langa, the way Langa brought home to him. It was a hard decision to make – not because of the nature of it, or the unfamiliarity. Reki likes new things, challenges, but pulling himself from Langa's side to face rejection in his name was not exactly a thrilling idea.
Langa had still been asleep, when duty called. His hair an unruly mess against the pillow, still cradling his beautifully, agonizingly gentle features. Reki watched the rise and fall of his chest, the way his brow would furrow occasionally as he dreamt. His eyelashes twitched against his face, a dark contrast to his otherwise pale color palette.
This was Reki's favorite version of Langa. He wishes he could look like this all the time – peacefully tucked into bed, snug against Reki’s body. He was so cold, yet so warm at the same time. He felt like every good thought Reki had ever conjured up unraveling itself in the sheets beside him. His face was unguarded, a contrast to the pensive expression that clung to his features so much. The thoughts and desires Reki wishes he could translate until they know each other like a reflection facing its source. He wishes he never had to look any other way again.
Reki wishes so many things for Langa, things he can’t give him. Safety, namely, the thing he wants for him above all else. Happiness, too, and a long life filled with everything he wanted before he could even think about wanting it. The world, if he asked for it.
The heat from the stove felt less warm the longer he thought about bed, and Langa. Quiet, naive, beautiful Langa. About how the world dedicated itself to filling them full of lies about what it means to be a fighter. The voice in the back of his head telling him they’d have to part ways someday, that they can’t continue on like this forever.
Every night away from Langa was a night dreaming about the desire to hold him, to protect him. Reki wanted to protect him so badly, but he couldn’t reach him. He couldn’t hold his hand or run his fingers through his feathers from the ground. He wanted to get this right, to show Langa he was worth having around. He could give Langa everything, if he’d let him. He could build and create until they existed in the atmosphere together.
Langa is still half asleep when he drapes himself across Reki's back, melting into him. His mouth presses into Reki's shoulder, so intentional in his affection – even in sleep. His voice cracks with misuse when he hums, like relief. He’s so relieved to have found Reki, in Reki’s mothers kitchen. Everyone else has left town, and it’s just them, and he’s so relieved to find the one person he knew that he would.
“G’morning,” Reki whispers, so gently. He couldn’t keep the fondness out of his voice if he tried. Langa seems to press closer at his voice, and Reki feels him smile against his shoulder. He begins to say something in English, before seemingly thinking better of it.
“Reki.” He whispers, a declaration. The way he says Reki’s name is so precious to him. No honorifics, or formalities. He speaks Reki’s name as someone with every right to speak to him so familiarly. Rights he has earned.
Reki nuzzles his head against Langas, and discreetly tries to shift them away from the pitiful dish. He’s turning into Langa's arms before he can stop himself, snuggling into his shoulder. The taller boy holds him closer immediately, wrapping him in his arms.
This was a bad idea.
Well, not really. It was a great idea – which is why it’s such a bad one. He knows Langa won’t be mean to him for messing up, has long since passed the days of thinking the worst of Langa's intentions, but that doesn’t mean he won’t be able to feel the heat radiating off of him.
Langa is running his fingers through his hair, and up his back. Reki is so comfortable, so safe here. He can almost forget about the conversation waiting for him.
“Where did you go?”
Ah, he thinks. There it is.
Langa is pouting, by the sound of his voice. Reki can’t bring himself to drag himself out of Langa's arms, so he leans into him more. He breathes in his scent, and can’t stop himself from cuddling so close.
“‘S not important.” he whispers. Langa makes a sound of protest, but doesn’t pull away. His mouth is pressed against Reki’s neck, softly. Instead of tearing him open, leaving him to bleed out in his arms, he kisses him. He presses his mouth to his skin and speaks love into his veins, because he loves him.
He’s so awkwardly tender, like someone who has been loved so little and has been forced to improvise. Maybe he has. Thinking about that, the idea of it, makes Reki feel sick. The idea that maybe it was always just Langa, his mother, his father, their home. The cold was the only other thing that ever knew him, and yet Reki still gets to try. No one else has seen what Reki does, and selfishly, he hopes no one else gets to try.
“You left me,” Langa whines, stepping impossibly closer. They don’t hug like this often. They should, but they don’t. They don’t get to. They spend so much of their lives on boards that prohibit any relationship outside of the one between a person and their own balance. Reki didn’t know he’d ever love something as much as he loves skating, but he was wrong. He’d give it all up for Langa. He doesn’t know when he began to feel that way, but the thought startles him now.
“I’m right here.” he’s chuckling, even through a realization so unsettling. Langa makes some sort of unsatisfied hum in the back of his throat, before trying to peek over Reki’s shoulder.
This is where Reki has to focus.
Before he can think better of it, he’s pushing himself up on his tip toes, dragging Langa back down. Langa stumbles slightly, a quiet yelp vibrating against Reki's skin.
“Show me,” Langa mutters, tone serious.
“No,” Reki is sputtering, unable to stop himself from chuckling quietly. He isn’t entirely sure whether it’s from embarrassment or fondness. Probably a mixture of both.
Langa shifts, trying to regain his footing. Reki steps on his foot in an attempt to push him backwards.
“Ow.” he breathes out, trying to escape Reki’s arms. “Let me see.”
Reki brings his hands up to cover his mouth, fingers fumbling against his face. He leans back, now, to meet Langa's gaze.
When he does, his eyes are wide. Whatever he tries to say is muffled against Reki's hand.
“...promise not to laugh?” Reki asks, still giggling. His hands move to cradle Langa's face.
Instead of promising, Langa cocks an eyebrow. His lips are tilted slightly, in the way they do when he’s confused. He’s blinking bewildered eyes at him under the lights of the kitchen.“What is it?”
“Langa!” Reki exclaims, covering his eyes.
“Fine, fine. I promise.” Langa mutters, leaning into Reki's touch. His features suddenly soften, mouth tilting upwards at the corners to form a small smile.
Great. So Langa is already teasing him, which is, admittedly, the fault of Reki's ridiculous display of desperation.
“Stop teasing,” Reki says, turning him towards the plate. Langa sniffs in his arms, and seems to tense a bit, like he’s just found something he didn’t realize he’d been looking for.
“Close your eyes.” Reki instructs. He feels Langa's eyelashes flutter shut against his fingertips. Langa's arm has sneakily snaked itself around Reki's waist. He presses into the touch.
Before he can think better of it, he’s counting down, letting his hands fall from where they were pressed to Langa's face. Langa doesn’t open his eyes until he’s allowed, and Reki grins at that. Langa doesn’t have to listen to him, or keep him around, but he does.
When the time comes, Langa’s eyes open slowly, and he’s looking down.The dish is certainly not pretty – not that there’s any way to make poutine look pretty, in Reki’s defense – but his expression shifts into territory that Reki hadn’t expected.
His mouth falls open slightly, almost in awe, and his eyes are wide. He looks like he wants to smile, but can’t shake himself out of the initial shock enough to do so. He blinks, and when his eyelids rise again, his eyes are glazed over.
Jesus. Was it really that bad?
“Sorry,” Reki hears himself muttering, hands falling from where they had rested on Langa's shoulders. Langa's brow furrows slightly, before his face is turning in Reki's direction. It takes his eyes a second to follow, but when they do, they meet Reki's gaze immediately.
“What?” Langa asks, voice quiet. He looks like he’s just been informed of something devastating. Reki feels himself try to step back, instinctively, but Langa drags him back.
“I didn’t really get the recipe right.” he mutters. “‘M sorry.”
Langa leans his forehead against Reki’s, closing his eyes. His entire body has shifted in Reki’s direction, and his hands are cupping Reki’s face. Reki was, admittedly, not expecting this. He can’t tell what kind of reaction this is supposed to be, but Langa doesn’t look angry. He’s nuzzling his nose against Reki’s, and his thumbs are brushing against his cheeks.
“You’re so incredible, Reki.” he whispers, pressing impossibly closer. Then, in English: “I love you.”
This is one of the terms Reki has come to understand well. I love you. 愛してます. He feels his face warm, as Langa’s lips brush against his. “Thank you.”
The words are so earnest, pressed into the skin right next to Reki's lips. He sounds as if he’s thanking Reki for saving his life instead of making him a butchered version of a meal he likes. Reki’s chest hurts with the love and affection he feels. Langa is so soft when he gets like this. When the cold, aloof walls drop, and he’s devoting all of himself to proving to Reki that he’s grateful. He whispers something else in English, that evil thing he does because he knows Reki can’t understand, and presses a kiss to the crease where Reki's nose attaches to his face.
Reki chuckles halfheartedly. He loves this. Being with Langa, no time constraints. They can just exist in each other's arms for a little while.
After what feels like an eternity, but not long enough, Langa pulls back, and Reki sighs dramatically as he accepts his fate as the chef.
He hands Langa a fork, effectively handing him both his deepest affections and his most reverent faith. Langa grabs at his hand, pressing a kiss right below his thumb before grabbing the fork from him. God, how can Langa show him so much care so effortlessly? Like he doesn’t have to think about it – like he never considered a world where he wouldn’t do just that?
He watches Langa gather some of the goop onto his fork, and take a bite. He smiles where his lips press around the fork, and a cough-like sound leaves his throat. Is he – laughing?
“Asshole! You promised you wouldn’t laugh!” Reki lectures, gasping. The betrayal cuts deep.
“I’m not,” Langa mutters, words muffled against the fork. The audacity to lie to his face right now. Reki is truly at a loss for words.
“‘S not even the first time you’ve broken a promise. “ Reki pouts, teasing. He knows the reaction he’s going to get before it comes. Langa likes to brag about how easy it is to piss Reki off, but he isn’t much different. He shoots Reki a glare, but there’s something sad behind his eyes. It seems to disappear when his eyes flicker down to the smile on Rekis lips.
Then, he’s putting the fork down on the counter. Reki can see him chewing out of peripheral vision, swallowing. For a moment, he’s frozen. Just as Reki is about to turn to ask if it tastes okay, Langa pounces.
Reki yelps as Langa's hands grab at his sides – right where he’s most ticklish. Before he can contain himself, he’s letting out a loud laugh. Instead of giving up, because he’s evil, Langa keeps going.
Reki can feel the tears forming at the edges of his eyes as he laughs hysterically, desperately trying to push him off. Langa is smirking, now, because he’s smug and rude. Reki flails around, kicking and pushing, until he’s backed up against the pantry door. He’s completely cornered, now, with nowhere to go.
Hesitantly, he accepts defeat.
“STOP, Stop. I surrender, okay?” he gasps through fits of laughter. Langa slowly moves his hands to his waist, leaning close. There’s a smug grin on his face, and Reki can feel himself getting irritated just looking at him.
“You’re so annoying.” He mutters, catching his breath, stepping closer to the door to get away from Langa. The taller boy chuckles slowly, leaning even closer.
“Yeah,” he teases, “but you still made me poutine.”
Reki supposes he can’t argue with that. He’s kind of backed himself into a corner, here. Literally.
After a few moments, Langa is pressing his forehead to Reki’s again. Reki’s head thumps against the door with a soft thud. Before he gets a moment to think, Langa has ducked his head down, pulling Reki's hips closer to him as he presses their lips together.
Reki can’t help the hum that leaves his throat. Langa’s lips are so warm and real against his. His kisses always feel so good, so right – this perfect thing that Reki is certainly not deserving of, but has discovered anyways.
.
Langa kisses the way he does everything he’s passionate about – entirely, flawlessly. He pushes himself into Reki’s space, like Reki’s space is his to own. Reki supposes it is, in a way. He hears his breaths, long and hard, where they fan against Langa's cheeks, through his nose. Reki can taste the gravy in his mouth as Langa gently licks his lips apart.
Reki wraps his arms around his neck, pulling him closer. The door makes a noise behind him as he presses against it. Langa’s fingers are twirling in strands of his hair, and he hears him make a needy sound in the back of his throat as Reki touches his tongue with his own.
“Reki,” he mumbles, breathless. Reki could listen to him say his name like that every day for the rest of his life and never yearn to hear anything else.
“Langa,”
Langa mewls at his reply, running his fingers down, down until they brush against Reki's arms. Reki’s hands trail up his back and pull him closer.
He's whispering "I love you" before he even recognizes his mouth moving, and Langa smiles against his lips.
They kiss for a long time, there in the kitchen, before they have to part for air. Reki has never felt so full of anything the way he feels full of love for Langa. The feeling is so persistent and strong that calling it a feeling feels like the most offensive understatement.
“What recipe did you use?” Langa asks, breathless.
“Huh?”
“For the poutine,”
Reki had nearly forgotten about that. Someone had made it his mission to consistently interrupt and distract Reki in every single thing he tried to do. He blinks uselessly before answering:
“I used google translate,”
Langa laughs at that, nuzzling his face to Reki’s again.
“Why didn’t you just ask me for help?”
Reki pauses for a second. This is so embarrassing – letting Langa see how much he loves him. How much it destroys him. How he can’t even think straight because of it.
“...I wanted it to be a surprise.” He admits, sheepishly. Langa hums.
“It was a great surprise. You’re my favorite,”
“Stop,” Reki says, covering his face with his arm as his cheeks heat up. He feels helpless. It’s like Langa wakes up every day with the intention to fluster Reki to no end.
“You’re only saying that to get out of trouble.”
Langa chuckles, backing out of Reki’s space. He feels empty at the loss, but Langa is walking back over to the dish before he can stop him. To Reki’s surprise, he picks up the fork and continues eating as if nothing is wrong.
“I completely butchered that. Why’re you eating it?” Reki asks, socks padding against the floor as he steps over to stand at Langa’s side.
“It tastes good. Everything you make is good. And you made it just for me, when you didn’t have to.”
“Alright, okay. I get it. Stop.” Reki is trying to suppress a giggle, flustered yet again. This is getting old. He’s usually more confident around Langa, but it’s exceptionally hard today.
Langa makes a sound. After a moment, he asks: “Why?”
“What?”
“Why would you do this for me?”
Reki swallows, hands hanging uselessly at his sides.
“I know you probably miss home, and I wanted to bring it to you… the way you brought home to me.” He says that last part much quieter, but Langa still hears him.
“I am home.”
“What?”
Langa gives him a look, before smiling softly, face turning back to the counter.
“Canada is just a place. It was home because I had my family." He's not meeting Reki’s eyes, gaze trained on the dish in front of him. “Canada hasn’t been home for me in a long time. There’s nothing waiting for me there.”
“I’m sorry.”
“My home is wherever you are.” he whispers. Reki’s breath catches in his throat. After a moment, Langa begins again.
“For a long time, I felt like I didn’t really belong anywhere, but then I met you. I didn’t… know anyone, in Canada.” he pauses, a breath, and then: “I miss what was there, but it’s never coming back. I have you, and my mom, and our friends. I don’t… want you to think I need to be somewhere else.”
It’s quiet for a few moments. Not tense, just quiet. Like both of them have too much to say and no words to express it. Like no words are enough, in either of their languages.
“You’re home for me, too.” Reki says, softly. He’s trying to do this right, to not get embarrassed. He wants Langa to know he means it.
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
Langa looks at him again, and smiles. It’s a big smile, one that reaches his eyes.
Reki has never meant so much to anyone before. He’s never had someone look at him like he was all that mattered – not like Langa does. He’s never had anyone ask what he wanted before. He’s never wanted so much in his life.
He doesn’t know what he wants, doesn’t really care. He’s beginning to think that all there really is is Langa. His heart reaches for him, and whatever comes with that.
Reki steps beside him, wrapping his arms around him. He presses his mouth onto his shoulder, melting against him. His hand tugs at the collar of his old T shirt – an old, oversized one of Reki’s – and places a kiss against his bare shoulder. Slow. Unhurried.
Reki’s hand finds his waist. The fabric of his shirt is wrinkled from sleeping. He can feel the warmth of him through it. Langa leans back into his touch.
After a few more kisses, Langa has turned to him again. Reki presses their lips together. Gently, so sweet, like he’s trying desperately to keep him from slipping out from underneath him.
Langa makes a sound into his mouth, very quiet. Almost nothing, everything all at once. Reki chases it – because he can’t help it. He leans in, closer, Langa's hand coming up to cradle his face again. He touches him so gently, it almost makes him feel sad. It’s a strange, aching feeling.
Langa is stroking his cheek, almost like he has no knowledge of doing so – right in the space below intention. There’s still golden light streaming in through the windows, light that Reki notices as he pulls away.
They’re likely no more than a few centimeters apart, but Langa’s eyes are still closed. There’s a small furrow in his expression, the one he gets when he’s focusing on something he really cares about. Reki squirms at that.
Langa’s lashes are holding onto the golden light from the window, fluttering very slightly against his cheeks. Reki notices the way the light illuminates each one, individually, how it brings out the length of them. They get lighter towards the ends, so they look much shorter than they really are. He has no use for this information, holding onto it uselessly. Another fact about Langa that he knows now – how his eyelashes look when the morning light catches them just right.
Every time he thinks he’s officially memorized everything about Langa, there is a new piece of information for him to sink his teeth into. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get bored of the new things, or the topic he revisits.
Langa is like a manga you read a hundred times, just to make sure you got everything right. He’s like that particular strange habit that’s picked up and carried, seemingly out of nowhere. He’s a song you listen to over and over, because it makes you feel good. Langa makes Reki feel good. He makes him feel a lot of things.
When Langa’s eyes open again, he yawns. Reki’s beginning to realize that it's still quite early, and they really have no reason to be up right now. The nerves that had kept him awake earlier have slowly disappeared. Right now, he’d like to go lay in bed with his boyfriend.
“W’na go back to sleep,” his syllables are slurred, but Langa understands him regardless. He hums an affirmative.
Before long, they’re laying beside each other, again. The food is still out on the counter downstairs, because they’re lazy and will be up in an hour, anyways.
Langa shifts beside him, wrapping himself around his body. He doesn’t seem to be awake, anymore. If he is, it’s just barely. The space just above total unconsciousness.
He whispers something. Something that sounds an awful lot like I love you. Reki thinks that being hit directly with Shadows fireworks would leave him less obliterated than he feels at that sound.
He lets himself be sought, as Langa pulls him closer. He wouldn’t say that Langa is necessarily physically affectionate – not in the way he is, at least – but any level of resistance is gone completely when it’s just the two of them. When he’s asleep, it’s like it never existed at all.
Langa moves towards him like he was never going to do anything else, like his body is seeking him out naturally – imperceptibly, at first, and then completely. Langa, who spends his waking hours trying to appear cold, confident, measured – and then spends his sleeping hours moving toward Reki like that’s the one direction that requires no intention. Like his body already knows where it’s going.
Most people at S already believe them to be unbearably annoying in their displays of affection, and it’s all multiplied tenfold when it’s only them.
Reki feels him breathing beside him. His chest rises, falls. His breath is warm where it puffs into his neck, where Langa has nosed his face. His arms are wrapped around him, face snuggled under his jaw, legs intertwined. It’s strange – watching someone you love go. It feels tragic, but it’s so unbearably intimate. Knowing he’s not leaving from underneath Reki’s fingertips – not even considering it – but escaping to a world that protects him from danger in a way that Reki cannot. In a way that Langa won’t allow him to.
It’s almost bitter, but not quite. It’s similar to tenderness, certainly, but it’s slightly different. It runs alongside grief, but doesn’t coincide entirely. Really, it doesn’t coincide at all. It feels like whatever the opposite of grief is – sitting across the table, on a side where everything is still here. Langa is still okay, and safe, and he’s not falling through the air where Reki can’t get to him.
He drags Langa closer at the memory. The hopelessness is there, but it doesn’t define the feeling. It’s strange to know that even at a time where most other people are alone in this world – sleep, their own thoughts – Reki still has Langa. He’s there, always, like there’s not a reality where one of them can be gone and the other can still exist.
It’s strange, Reki realizes, to think these things. Most teenagers in love haven’t thought about what it would mean to lose the other – to be helpless in the process. Maybe that’s why Langa feels as though he doesn’t really belong anywhere.
They’re different, one in the same. They understand each other in a way that others don’t. Even their friends don’t understand. It would be a lonely feeling if it wasn’t another thing Reki gets to do with Langa.
Him. It’s always been about him.
Which also means it’s always been about everything, and only him all at once.
Him. He is skating, life, purpose. He’s warmth, home, comfort.
Him, meaning he could stumble across any person in the world, and would still place his flag here. He would say I was here, because it’s the truest thing he’s ever known.
He loves me. He’s still here. He chose me even when it’s hard, and he hasn’t gone anywhere.
He’s asleep before he realizes the process of falling had ever begun, like it had gone with love. Maybe this is the only way things were ever meant to be.