I want to skate infinitely with you, Langa. The words looped feverishly in Langa's mind. There
was hope laced in the words that intoxicated his thoughts to the point that he worried his obsession
filled every facet of his life. His finger thumbed his music player, grooves finding purchase in his
grip as he opened his favorite playlist he crafted for Reki. It had been after the night of his failed
confession. Speech failed him but actions spoke louder, so he poured his heart into the device in his
hand scouring the internet for the perfect concoction to create a love potion for Reki. Earbuds
popped in, Langa lost himself in his room.
There were few times when the pair weren't together. They planned to meet for 'S' later, but Reki
had prior engagements. Langa hadn't pressed, but Reki caged off his intention. His chest clenched.
Maybe there was someone else.
Langa's benefits to others merited little outside of skating. Helping with school wasn't an option,
Langa's popularity at school was hard to capitalize on when he struggled to communicate, and his
damage cut deep enough to prevent him from trying anything away from Reki. A moon shining
without it's sun couldn't exist when the sun's rays reached across oceans, spanned miles, and latched
itself into the moon's craters, filling every part of him that shadowed with doubt.
He stared at his phone. Langa had sent the last two messages. Reki hadn't responded. He
searched for any reason to message again. He sifted through memes, refreshed skating news, and
tried to take pictures around himself to share his life. None of it measured up. No reason existed to
message Reki again other than he missed him. That wasn't adequate.
Scrolling through his recent photos, everything remained too flat to send to the boy he loved -
even the pictures of himself. Langa studied his features. His high cheek bones sharp as his jaw. The
slope of his nose tilted upward to send anything traveling it skyward. His pouted lips perpetually
stuck in a state that many confused with being upset.
Reki never thought that. He always understood how Langa was feeling without having to speak
his mind. But Langa's face was sharp, unapproachable, unlike the bundled joy bouncing off Reki's
cheeks.
Langa curled into himself, arms wrapping around his knees for support. His mother wasn't home.
She worked late - she had to in order to support them. Langa burdened her the same way he
burdened his other friends with his incessant need to be around them. His sobs caught, hooked on
his throat. Feelings unable to be spoken rattled through the room as he let out the torment that
plagued him, desecrating the sounds of the joyous playlist he delicately crafted out of pure love.
Breath heaving, he rammed the balls of his hands into his eyes, hair sticking to the salty tears that
stained his face. Sobs stuck to his throat. Even those were burdened by Langa.
He promised himself that he'd never ruin what he had with Reki. Despite any circumstance,
Langa planned to faithfully be at his side. He patched Reki up after a nasty bail. He followed Reki to
skate shop after skate shop looking for the perfect wheels. He woke up early just to wait for Reki to
meet him on the way to school. He ensured Reki was asleep before letting himself follow suit. He
knew he'd help Reki with girls. He knew he'd have to leave to give them alone time. He knew he
would help him with the proposal and with planning the bachelor party. He knew Reki wasn't his
forever.
Reki would have found someone that spoke as much as he did at length about his interests, not
someone who scalped his throat to force out words. But, even through the perpetual pain Langa
foresaw, there happened moments where the colors of the world saturated to an intensity that Langa
justified the thrashing of his heart.
And if Reki died, Langa died too.
Tears webbed themselves onto his face, multiplying with each wipe of his hand. His mother
scheduled therapy for him after his father passed, and Langa tried to get better, but he was
fundamentally broken. Six therapists lost on how to help until he was shipped off. A team forced
him to eat more than his mind wanted, and dissected the pressure that built in his head until he
harmed himself to relax the tension. None of it helped, not the doctors, not the medicine, not the
support. They moved. Color returned to his world.
Langa came home brighter each day he spent time with Reki until his mother witnessed the first
smile in years. Everything was as it should be.
The thoughts ramping in his head proved useless compared to the swelling feeling Langa felt
with Reki, like his life was his own, and it was worth living. He was manufactured incorrectly,
hopeless. Langa accepted that.
He caught a vibration traveling his leg, shaking his focus back to the drab room around him.
Picking his phone up, he scrolled through endless notifications that he never cared to change until
his eyes landed on a message from Miya. The door shaped light burned cool white on his pallid
complexion against the endlessly darkened room he suited.
"hey you and reki aren't together right now, right?"
"come onnnnnn don't be a slime"
"langa"
Miya texted in English. He was one of the few friends Langa had outside of Reki. Cherry and Joe
claimed they were too mature to be texting all day, and Shadow busied himself during the day with
something that Langa couldn't remember. Langa hardly texted Miya until recently when Miya
uncovered that Langa preferred to text in English due to his difficulties with reading Japanese
quickly enough to make it worth it. Most of their texts were Miya checking in on Langa, and
sometimes Langa was honest. Too honest.
"Yeah? Sorry, I was busy."
"stop thinking about sucking face"
"puke"
"meet up with me"
Miya dropped a location to a noodle shop nearby. Langa frowned. He had to be prepared in case
Reki finished his other errands. He sent a short text about not being hungry, and before he returned
to his perpetual self hatred, Miya called. Reluctantly, Langa answered.
"Miya," Langa started, but Miya spoke too quickly.
"Didn't ask. I'm not waiting outside all day." Miya's English was smooth off his tongue. Langa
found it considerate, but now he wasn't able to hide behind his bad Japanese when it came to
admitting feelings. "Come on. I'll just wait until Reki shows up and tell him that you're too sick for
'S'."
Langa apparated outside. Miya's lips were curling into a sadistic grin. Cursing Miya's extensive
knowledge on his lovesickness, Langa trotted down the steps, haphazardly throwing out a greeting,
and stuffed his hands into his pockets. The smaller boy playfully elbowed him, and started skating,
their voices in and out along the wind as they caught up at intervals. Miya had a way of catching on
too fast to what other's did around him. Langa learned that Cherry and Joe were dating through him,
and Miya texted him whenever he had a new finding. Reki grumbled when they texted in English,
but his voice was hopeful, almost embarrassed over the idea as if they had been talking about him.
A lot of the time, they were.
Langa confided in every detail that he held dear to Miya. Miya, for all his mischief, listened and
consoled him. Weird, in a way, that Langa found comfort in his lower classman, but Miya held
Langa together when he unraveled. It was never enough, not in the way it would be with Reki, but
the Miya sized band aid made it easier to cope.
The first time Langa confessed his feelings for Reki to Miya, he wanted to vomit. However, Miya
responded in a way that made Langa realize how he wore his emotions on his sleeve, impossibly
trying to keep every thought from painting themselves onto his face. Miya teased him that Langa
was out of Reki's league, but that conversation fell flat as Langa defended him. Naturally, Miya had
already known how deep Langa's love ran. Each day, he learned a little more about the hopeless
older boy.
Dull hues streaked past as they rode downhill. The faded colors of a vintage watercolor painted
the environment, lulling Langa into the recesses of his mind as he absent mindedly answered Miya.
The road shifted from backroads to main streets until they were speeding down back alleys, weaving
between the sparse crowds of people. They arrived at an unassuming shop, one that rang familiar to
Langa, but unable to be placed.
They ordered their food, and sat beneath a shaded patio. It was near the main roads, people
passing by periodically on their way home or farther into the city. 'S' was soon indicated by the sun
stretching over the horizon in the distance. Langa eyed the food, pushing it around. His stomach
knotted.
Langa deigned himself to wait for Miya to speak, content with silence between friends. There had
to be a reason Miya wanted to see him, but Miya was content with playing on his handheld device,
sneaking glances towards Langa. Sighing, he continued to push his food around until he was bored.
His eyes drifted off towards the scenery, searching for any dredges of color that caught his eye. The
sun backlit the tree branches, rays of white splaying grey shadows onto the floor shaped to pull and
recede as the shifting brine of the ocean. Back and forth, relentless in its game of cat and mouse.
Langa closed his eyes, imagining the ocean in its entirety, pinky curled around Reki's as they
sprinted into the expanse of glittering blue. Kicking water at each other, their laugh filled his mind.
That bright laugh that shattered the darkest moments. His core ached, chest burning with need to
check his phone. He reached towards his pocket when Miya broke their silence.
"We're friends, right?" Miya's lips tightened.
Langa's lips separated, fishing for what to say. "Yeah?"
"You don't seem okay." Miya's fingers bounced from side to side against his device. "Friends
look out for each other."
"I'm fine, Miya."
Miya rolled his eyes. "You don't seem fine. You really haven't told Reki?"
Langa rested his head in the palm of his hand, swirling the broth of his ramen. "No. I haven't
found the chance."
"Stupid."
Langa raised his head at the insult, unsure if he heard the other right. "Sorry."
"Listen," Miya pushed his body from the table, head rolling from shoulder to shoulder. "I know
you didn't ask for my advice, but it'd be stupid not to make a move. I know that Canada was shitty,
but Reki isn't like that. I see the way he looks at you. It's gross. You two were like, made for each
other in some disgusting way."
Langa's face heated, and his throat tightened. "If he rejects me-"
"He won't." Miya cut him off. "I think he'd die if he didn't have you with him."
"I would too. I love him." Langa grinned.
"Okay, yeah, gross." Miya feigned disgust before leaning forward to point at the other's bowl.
"You have to eat. You can't repeat Canada."
Langa's grin grew, the world's hue brightening. The ocean on the floor swept beneath him, urging
his chopsticks into his bowl. Langa, despite his inability to communicate, retained everything
everyone said to him. Miya chattered about a game he liked, while Langa unceremoniously
devoured his food. A party was planned for their group tomorrow night since Miya won another
competition. Pride swelled in Langa's chest as he congratulated the boy only to see him defiantly
claw at Langa over the table. Their laughs, carried by a sweet wind, broke with the clattering of
someone's hand slamming down on the table.
Bowls rolled, tinkling in warning as Langa brought his eyes up to the aggression. A boy glowered
down at Langa, dark hair cleanly tied back. He looked familiar. Langa tried to remember where he
knew the man, but his gruff voice cut into his thought.
"Aw, don't remember me?" The boy leered.
"What do you want?" Miya interjected, but the boy waved a hand to silence him.
"Hasegawa." The boy dragged out his name. "We're in the same class."
"Oh" Langa mumbled. "Sorry?"
"You should be. I almost lost my lunch hearing how you talk about Reki. I knew you two were
close but I didn't know you two were-"
Miya cut in again. "Go away, slime. Langa doesn't even know who trash like you are."
The boy was trying to get a rise out of him, but Langa struggled to remember what his name was.
Hikari? Hinata? It had an H, but everyone's names blurred together. There wasn't a lack of effort. He
just hadn't found the energy to care about the rest of his class outside of school since the guys mostly
ignored him anyways on account of his mysterious popularity with girls. If only they caught on like
Miya.
His focus adjusted. Miya was mouthing off, but the boy's face was scrunching. It looked like his
arm muscles were tightening, but Langa wasn't sure why. Between the pair, he hoped that there was
a resolution inbound so he could finally text Reki. His mind, like any other day, had been on him,
but he worried that Reki's hidden activity was a date of some kind. His jaw tightened, cranking the
thoughts farther into the back of his head. Now wasn't the time especially with something moving so
fast towards him. Something was moving towards him?
The boy's fist was inches from his face, suspended in animation. Langa's eyes widened. His mind
raced for the cause of the violence, for the cause of the suspension, and he barely tuned in to
remember the boy complaining about how sick Langa made him wasting his time on Reki. He
turned to Miya, but his eyes were wider than Langa's. Shifting his vision to his blind spot, the sun
threatened to blind him as his body bloomed back into life.
Reki.
He held onto the boy's arm firmly, grappling him away from Langa. The two shouted at each
other. The sound of skin on skin slapped across the patio. Already nervous patrons gasped at the boy
punching Reki before scattering. Blood scraped at his cheekbone, and Miya started to move. Langa
was quicker. He would always be quicker for Reki. He cooed over him, unsure of the words coming
out of his mouth. There had to be first aid nearby so he could patch Reki up. Poor, beautiful Reki
with this skin stained a crimson red from the contact breaking skin. Langa fought back tears at his
own inadequacy.
After the initial adrenaline subsided, Miya motioned for the pair to go get cleaned up, so they
could meet up at 'S'. Langa nodded, pleased that Miya gave him this chance to be alone. They
escaped to a nearby park, and fell down onto a bench. Langa fished through his bag and pulled out
napkins and a bandaid.
Gingerly, as if the boy in front of him was made out of glass, he brushed away the blood. His
fingers trailed along the patchy abrasion, admiring the way Reki leaned close for Langa. Sliding the
band aid along Reki's skin, Langa finally spoke.
"Sorry."
Reki's face contorted. "Man, what are you sorry for? That dude is a jackass. I'm just glad you
were okay."
Langed beamed. "There's a party tomorrow. We should go. It's to celebrate."
"Miya told me all about it." Reki stuck his tongue out at Langa. The texture of his taste buds
glinted with moisture.
Coughing, Langa covered the back of his mouth with his hand in an attempt to hide his rising
blush. "What- what were you doing there?"
"Nothin'" Reki lied. Langa witnessed it written over his face - guilt.
"Oh."
Silence draped the pair. It wasn't the comfortable silence Langa grew accustomed to. It stuck to
them how wet cloth pries off skin after weighing ones body down, suffocating any words he thought
were appropriate enough to ask. The air shifted, tense, and that colorful sun Langa found himself
drawn to was years away.
Reki lied.