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In the end, it wouldn't matter who won or lost Adam's tournament. It was all spectacle and light; fast and bright and explosive—like fireworks shattering across a blue-black sky.
It never mattered at all to Langa, really—what mattered was chasing that feeling of invulnerability, what mattered was the high of flying. What mattered was he felt alive and whole for the first time since his dad left him.
The thing is, he never thought he could feel like that again, had given up on it. People tell you after a loss, that it'll get better. That you'll never forget, but you'll heal, eventually. But it'd felt impossible; it'd felt like he'd rather just fade away than allow himself to get past it.
It had been like that up until he saw Reki smile.
Watching Reki, the way he could love something, beautiful and honest and giving of his whole heart, had woken Langa from his long sleep—like taking that first rush of cold mountain air into his lungs.
And things had been good. Those early clueless days and exhilarating nights had been good—teachers yelling at them in school, the noise and rush of S late at night, the brush of Reki's shoulder against his, both of them huddled over his phone, watching reel after reel of skate highlights. Langa isn't sure if it was watching the way they flew through the air that made him catch his breath, or if it was the way Reki would shift so close to show him something, warm and smiling and brown eyes shining so bright.
(That's a lie. He knows.)
He wanted to learn so much more about the thing that made Reki look like that; he wanted to skate, and even when he fell hard, Reki was there to pull him up. When he managed to accomplish even the simplest of tricks, he'd turn and find Reki's eyes shining at him.
That felt like flying, too.
Langa had never had many friends. He had always had a hard time communicating with other people. With Reki, it felt like he didn't have to try at all.
Which is why he doesn't understand what happened, how it all fell apart.
He doesn't know why Reki started to pull away. They'd been inseparable since they met, but after the announcement of the tournament, after their fight about Langa skating against Adam, he knew he'd missed something, somewhere. And if it's his fault that Reki has stopped smiling, then he has to do whatever he can to fix it.
Langa is no stranger to loss; and he knows he doesn't want to lose anything important to him, ever again.
He finds Reki exactly where he thought he would—the skate park where he popped his first ollie, what now feels like ages ago. It's overcast, not sunny like that day. The wind is chilly when it lifts Langa's hair off the back of his neck. It reminds him, too much, of that night in the rain. Of the things Reki had shouted.
We're not a good match anymore.
He rubs at his chest, the spot over his heart. It aches. Reki hasn't seen him yet—he's not skating. He's just sitting at the top of the half-pipe, staring off into the distance.
Langa lays his board down and steps onto it. Kicks off, feels the rolling klak-klak klak-klak rhythm of the pavement underneath his wheels, familiar now. He knows Reki must've noticed him by now—there's no one else in the skate park but them, not with the sky threatening a downpour like this.
He doesn't want to look at Reki yet. He's afraid to find out that Reki isn't watching him anymore.
He drops into the pipe with his eyes still averted, picks up speed on the ramp. He's always loved this feeling, first with snowboarding, and now skating, but right now he just can't focus on it. He hasn't been able to for a while. Instead, it's just been…
He nails a huge frontside air, and for a moment he's hanging, suspended, like the world around him's just stopped. And right below him is Reki, and in that stretched out span of time, with Langa looking down and Reki looking up, they're caught in each other's eyes—and even after everything that's happened, Reki's still blaze looking at him, still light up like fire in the hearth at home. And Langa can only think:
I wouldn't be flying all the way up here, if not for you.
It's that thought, probably, the immense weight of it, that sends him tumbling. He just barely manages not to knock the back of his head on the ramp, adjusting only at the last second to slam painfully on his butt and slide the rest of the way down. He lays there, winded. In the distance, he can hear thunder.
"Langa!"
He hears the slide of rubber soles on wood, the telltale trot of concerned steps approaching, and he blinks as Reki's face comes into view, hovering above him, positions now reversed. Somehow, they keep doing this. Langa soars and Reki looks toward the sky, and watches.
But Langa falls, sometimes he is so deep down he doesn't realize how low he's gotten; and that's when Reki is there, watching over him from above—to help him back up again.
"Did you hurt yourself?" Reki asks immediately.
Langa blinks at him again. "No."
Reki huffs in relief. "Come on." He holds out a hand.
Langa takes it. Then he pulls.
"Whah—!" Caught off guard, Reki topples over, sprawling next to him on the ramp. "What the hell was that for?!"
"Reki—" Langa says, clasping his hand tighter— "I'm sorry."
Reki stares at him for a long time. Then he pulls his hand away. "I told you not to apologize."
"Not for wanting to skate with Adam," Langa says. Reki's eyes darken at that, and he hurries to continue. "I'm sorry that I couldn't keep our promise. I shouldn't have promised you in the first place."
"Why are you telling me this?" Reki asks. "Why come and find me if you only wanted to make me feel worse?" He's getting angry again, and this isn't what Langa wanted at all, but he doesn't know what to do.
So he says as much. "I don't want to make you feel worse." He pulls himself upright, sitting cross-legged across from his friend. "I want to make up for whatever I did."
"But you can't!" Reki says.
"I can," Langa says.
"You—listen, you stubborn ass," Reki says, exasperation cutting through his anger just a little bit, making him feel a little more like Reki. "You can't back out of a promise and expect the other person not to get mad. That's not how it works." He sighs. "But you're right, too. I should've known not to make you promise that."
"I just want to skate," Langa says.
"I know." Reki rubs a hand over his face. When he looks at Langa again, it's with a smile—but it's so thin and pale that Langa is afraid it'll disappear, fade out of reach forever.
"But then…" Langa says, "but then what can I do?"
"I already told you, there's nothing," Reki says. "If you're going to act reckless no matter what I say, then that's that."
That is that, but Langa refuses to believe there isn't another solution. "You're reckless, too. Because you want to skate no matter what."
"This is different."
"It's not!" Langa shakes his head. "It's exactly the same. But you somehow think… you told me we're nothing alike. And I don't understand."
"That's exactly what I was talking about," Reki says. "If you can't understand that, then—"
"I'm trying!" Langa bursts out. "I want to understand, so at least let me try!"
He doesn't realize he's grabbed onto Reki's shirt in his frustration until Reki closes a hand over his own—not forceful, just… there. Warm, like always.
He bites his lip, and it draws Langa's gaze somehow, even as confused and upset as he feels. He wants to stop Reki from looking so conflicted, he wants to rub his thumb against that spot on Reki's mouth if it'll keep him from worrying at it like that.
"You don't…" Reki murmurs, trailing off. Finally, he says, "You don't get scared."
Langa frowns. "That's not true."
"It basically is," Reki insists. "You can do anything you want, no matter how difficult it is, or how scary—all of you can. And then there's me, and I'm…"
"You're what?" Langa asks.
Reki laughs, a short, sad sound. Langa doesn't like it.
"Come on, Langa," is all he says.
But this is the problem—Langa doesn't understand. He's missing something.
Whatever Reki thinks he is, it doesn't seem good. But when Langa thinks of Reki, he thinks of… skating. His favorite thing in the world.
He thinks of freedom, the wind in his hair. The swoop of his heart when he catches Reki grinning at him from the seat next to his in class, the same feeling as when he barely regains his balance on his board in time to avoid a painful fall.
He thinks of honey gold and bleeding heart crimson. The way the lights blaze at S, reflected in his best friend's eyes. Traffic lights blazing red in the middle of the night and the way Reki laughs when they ignore them at high speeds because there's no one in the streets but the two of them.
He thinks of hands reaching out to him. Encouraging him to pick himself up, but not without help; not without someone there to lean on when everything aches and he just wants to quit.
When he thinks of Reki, all he can think is: you, you, you, the only one for me.
"You're what?"
Reki holds his gaze for a second more before his face crumples. "I'm scared." His head drops, and he inhales a shaky breath. "I'm the only one being left behind."
That's when his shoulders start to shake, and it's roughly the same moment Langa feels his own heart rip in two, right down the middle.
"Reki…" he whispers. And then again, "Reki."
He tugs Reki forward and this time Reki doesn't resist; he falls against Langa solidly, and for all the times he has reached out for Langa, for all the times Reki cleaned his scrapes and bruises, for all the times he was just there—Langa catches him, arms tight around him, doesn't let go.
It's awkward at first, the angle; he shifts his weight as best he can and they slump over to the side, like one of those times they've been so beat and exhausted after one too many falls that they can't stay upright anymore. The wooden ramp is uncomfortable under his shoulder and hip, but he's used to it, has hit it much harder than this. He pulls Reki closer, tucking Reki's head under his chin.
"Reki," he says again; he thinks he's been saying it over and over, but Reki is crying and can't answer him. He'll keep saying it, then. "Reki, I won't. I won't ever do that." He wouldn't ever leave Reki.
"Th-then I'd—be holding—you back—" Reki manages to choke out.
"No," Langa says firmly, because that's one thing he knows for sure. "I wouldn't be anywhere if it weren't for you."
"But you're amazing," Reki says, "and I'm nobody. Everyone knows Snow. I'm barely a background character."
Langa wrinkles his nose. "Is this like Miya's slime thing?"
"No—I mean, maybe?" Reki sniffles. "Kinda."
"That's ridiculous," Langa tells him.
"It's not," Reki says. "You don't even realize it. But even you said that skating with me isn't exciting anymore."
"What?" Langa shakes his head violently. "I never said that!"
Reki's face pops up to glare at him. His nose is red, and his eyes are all wet. His eyelashes clump together with dampness, and Langa is so distracted by how pretty he is that he nearly misses what Reki says next.
"You said that you wanted to skate with Adam because it's exciting!"
Langa gapes at him. "Where in that did I say that I don't like skating with you?"
"You implied it!"
"No, I didn't!" Langa says, now exasperated himself. "I like skating with you just as much as before. More, because now I don't suck!"
Reki sniffs again. "Really?"
"Yes," Langa huffs. "Because you're my best friend. Is that why you were mad?"
"Ye—no!" Reki stammers. "Well, not the only reason! I still get worried about you doing something dangerous. But I also…"
"I still love skating with you," Langa tells him. "That's never going to change."
Reki flushes. "But I… I liked it when you loved skating with me best."
Langa feels his own face get hot. Oh.
The thing is that he does like skating with Reki best, but… that's also not entirely based on skill.
"I like… skating with everyone," Langa says. "Joe and Cherry… Shadow and Miya… even Adam." Reki flinches, and Langa ducks his head to stop him from getting away. He crowds close, so their foreheads are nearly touching, and Reki's eyes are wide as he looks into them. "But you get it, right?"
After a shaky breath, Reki replies. "Get what?"
"That you'll always be my favorite to skate with," Langa tells him.
Reki has mostly stopped crying now. But Langa still swipes a thumb under his eyes to wipe away the remainder of the nearly dried tear tracks. And then, because he wants to, because they're already this close, he does it—touches his thumb to Reki's mouth to brush lightly over the soft swell of his skin. Presses the little indent where Reki bit into his lower lip. He's not entirely sure Reki is breathing anymore; he thinks he'd feel it against the pad of his thumb if he was.
He might've made up for the things he said, or at least he thinks he's managed to explain himself well enough for Reki to understand. But there's one more thing that needs to be said.
"I always want to be with you most," Langa whispers.
After that, it's almost not a surprise when Reki kisses him. Almost, but not quite.
Langa does gasp a little, only because he can hardly believe it. After all, he's not good at this stuff; he used to get tons of confessions from girls in school, and each and every one caught him off guard. And he never knew what to say, so in the end, he always felt like he was letting everyone down, even if they didn't expect much from him.
With Reki, it's easy. It's a little bit like finding his center of balance for the first time; steadying, righting himself as he stops wobbling about uselessly and just manages to get it.
Reki's as warm as he looks, as warm as he's always seemed to someone who grew up with the cold. His lips are gently seeking, wanting to share the things he loves, the things he knows, with Langa. The way he always has.
And the way he lights up when Langa responds with interest—that's the Reki that Langa knows best, and the one that he's been falling for, all this time.
Langa has never really kissed anyone before, but the soft noise Reki makes when he tilts his head a little has him pressing forward, sliding an arm around Reki's waist to hold him somehow even tighter. Reki tastes a little salty—probably from the crying—and belatedly Langa realizes the fact that he's tasting Reki means tongue is now involved and his brain short circuits. He licks softly at Reki's mouth and Reki shifts against him even more insistently and—okay, skateboarding is great and all, but this, this is new levels of amazing.
"How're you good at this, too," Reki mumbles, and Langa's concentration breaks (or maybe reforms—he doesn't even know at this point).
"Huh?" Langa asks, stupidly.
"Nothing," Reki says, rubbing a thumb absently over Langa's cheek. "Langa, listen, I—"
Langa kisses him again, and this effectively halts the flow of conversation for another solid few minutes. Reki has always been a fairly physical person, something Langa is distinctly not, but he feels now it's adequately prepared him for this moment; he doesn't feel quite as baffled about what to do with the fact that he has hands. He can just put them places. It's a nice realization.
So he does—brushing his fingers through Reki's hair, over his cheek. Running a hand down his arm and over his side, putting a hand to the back of his neck. Reki makes another noise, a soft groan, and Langa feels a little bit like he's losing his mind.
A cold drop of water hits him in the forehead and he jerks, surprised. Then another against his cheek, and then on his hand—he looks up, startled and even a bit offended. He'd forgotten it was starting to look like rain.
The sudden interruption seems to help Reki recall that he had things to say before he was interrupted.
"I just w-wanted to say," Reki says, "I'm—I didn't mean it. What I said."
"What do you mean?" Langa asks. He wants to go back to kissing… but this is probably important.
"About us not being a good match," Reki says softly.
"Oh," Langa says. "I know."
Reki tilts his head. "You know?"
Langa nods. "You're the first person I've met who understands me." It's why he's tried, so hard, to understand Reki back.
This makes Reki blink, rapidly. He rubs a hand across his eyes, and nods. "Still. I just wanted to say, I'm sorry."
"If you didn't want me to apologize, then you can't, either," Langa tells him.
"You're being difficult again," Reki says. This time when he smiles, it's real.
It's starting to rain in earnest now—like during that time Reki left him standing there alone in the street. At the time, Langa didn't understand. But now he does, and he's glad, because he can tell Reki just how wrong he was. How he never needed to worry.
They have to get out of the downpour—the trees near the skate park provide at least a little cover, and when they reach them, Langa pushes Reki up against one, listens to him laughing again, until he covers Reki's mouth with his own so he can savor the sound as fully as he can.
"We're the same," he tells Reki. "We're not different at all."
Reki rolls his eyes fondly. "We're both idiots, if that's what you mean."
That may be true, but even so.
"I think I was scared for a long time before coming here," Langa says.
Reki threads their fingers together, and Langa holds on tight—because when someone needs a hand up, you offer it to them. Reki taught him that, too.
"How'd you stop?" Reki asks.
Langa tells him, "You found me." Then he kisses Reki again, and they don't see much sense in talking for a little while.
It goes without saying, but any time Reki needs him, any time he feels scared, Langa will be there to chase it away; to remind him that the fear of falling can never match the love of learning to fly.