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Langa has absolutely no idea what is happening at this ice hockey game.
He grew up in Canada, yes. But does that mean he understands anything? Hell no.
To be fair, Langa's mom did try explaining how the game worked in the car, chattering about points and goals and penalties. And Langa did follow in the beginning, kind of. But then Reki’s hand brushed against his and Langa became much more preoccupied with trying to calm his racing heartbeat than listen to the rules, so by the time he calmed down enough to make sure his chances of cardiac arrest were near zero the conversation had already moved on.
Langa feels his face go red as he remembers.
“You good, man?” asks Reki, tilting his head at Langa. He hands him the bag of popcorn, and Langa shakily takes a handful.
“Uh, yeah, I'm fine,” mutters Langa, too low for Reki to hear over the din of the crowd.
The stadium is enormous, spanning hundreds of feet and filled with thousands of adoring fans who are cheering on their teams. One side is an enormous swathe of blue—blue body paint, blue merchandise, blue clothes—while the other has fans decked out in bright red. Then there's an awkward bit in the middle where the different types of fans overlap, a strange mix of red, blue, and people who don't even know how they got here.
Yeah, Langa and Reki are those people.
Langa comes back from his latest round of staring-at-the-audience-because-I-don’t-know-what-else-to-do at the perfect time, because one of the players dribbles around his opponents and dashes to the other side of the rink. The audience starts cheering and clapping louder than ever, and Langa's mom almost jumps out of her seat.
Langa and Reki stare at each other in twin expressions of confusion.
The cheers die down a bit as the player misses the goal—is that what they call it? The goal?—and the puck bounces off the rim instead. Cue the groans and curses.
Langa's mom sits down again. "Well, that was exciting!" She dabs her sweaty forehead with a tissue. "Feels like I'm getting too old for this."
"That's not true, Mrs. Hasegawa!" says Reki, grinning. "You look barely a day above thirty."
That's one of the things Langa loves about Reki. The way he can say just about anything and make it sound so right. When Langa opens his mouth, every word he painstakingly rehearsed comes out in a jumble, fast in places and slow in others, the words clunky and awkward in his throat. Like he's sorting through a cabinet, trying to find the exact right files, but the papers fly everywhere, and his progress becomes slower and slower until the whole file drawer flips over and the conversation dies out, just like that.
Those days feel like he’s half fluent in English or Japanese, only knowing the right word in the other language. When he told his mother that—well, at least, tried to tell—she told him it was one of the tragedies of being both, of not completely belonging in one place or the other. Not able to fit in either place, drifting around in a strange, in-between land.
Until he met Reki.
Reki was his rock, keeping him grounded despite his clunky speech and accent that marked him as a foreigner. Reki was his translator, the diplomat sent from Planet Langa to Planet Everyone Else, who understood him better than Langa himself. Langa hadn't realized how desperately he wanted to be felt, empathized with, until Reki appeared in his life and turned him inside out and upside down.
The halftime bell rings and people in the audience stand up to buy overpriced snacks and merchandise from the stands. Reki and Langa take the opportunity to stretch their legs outside, in the freezing cold that makes Langa long for the hot Okinawan sun.
"I had no idea what was happening for, like, the whole time, but it was amazing!" Reki waves his hands excitedly. "Did you see how number 11 broke his fall back there? I feel like we can try something similar for skateboarding, if we’re going too fast and need to stop.”
"I guess so," replies Langa. His eyes wander to a couple on the right, their fingers tangled together as they wait for a hot dog. Langa's hand twitches.
"Ice hockey and skateboarding are super different though, so I'm not sure how that would work, but they both involve gliding across a surface..."
Langa looks again at that couple, now sharing a sugar drink, barely registering Reki's excited rambles. He knows he shouldn’t be thinking about this. It’s not right, especially when your best friend (your only friend, his brain helpfully supplies him) doesn’t like you back—Reki’s touchy-feely with everyone, not just him, and that’s the first sign that tells Langa his feelings aren’t reciprocated.
"Hey, dude."
A pause.
"You good?" Reki snaps his fingers in Langa's face. "I've been saying your name for the past, like, five times, you sure you’re alright?"
"What? Uh, yeah, I'm okay. I guess." Langa mentally slaps himself. He was going on about how Reki was such an amazing friend earlier, but couldn't bring himself to listen for a few minutes? "Sorry about that. I really didn't mean to zone out."
"Nah, you're good," says Reki offhandedly, glancing at something besides them. Ah. The couple.
"They're cute," says Langa in a desperate attempt to cover up the awkwardness.
"Yeah, they are," agrees Reki. "Damn, wonder what it’s like to have a girlfriend.”
Langa’s heart twangs a little. Just a tiny bit—he definitely doesn’t feel like his chest splits into two as he says, “I’m sure you’ll find someone.”
Reki lets out a small laugh. “I guess that’s nice to think about. Sometime.”
It takes Langa an embarrassingly long time to realize what Reki means, because he can't imagine anyone not wanting Reki. Reki's so pretty, all bright colors and hastily applied band aids and handshakes in the sunset. And Langa wants to tell him that, he really does, but the words constrict and jumble together in his mouth, turning into a raspy, "I think the game is starting again." Shit.
"Yeah, let's get going," says Reki with a halfhearted laugh. "Don't want your mom to freak out or anything."
They return to the stadium, back to their seats, readying themselves for the giant push fest that is ice hockey. Until they realize that the giant TVs are definitely not broadcasting the match, instead showing a couple kissing their faces out on the big screen.
God, Langa had forgotten about this kind of crap. He averts his eyes and sets himself the difficult task of counting how much hair the guy sitting in front of him has. Which, as he finds out a few seconds later, is not a lot.
"You two missed the beginning of the Kiss Cam!" says his mom, not bothering to hide her excitement as she swoons at the couple.
Did he count all the hair strands right? Fifty-seven feels like too little. Yeah, he should recount them.
After Reki asking way too many questions, and then his mother's unnecessarily long explanation, Reki and Langa settle down and Langa continues his journey of counting hair follicles. Reki scooches close to Langa, so close until their knees and shoulders are touching, and Langa’s body goes hot, then cold, then hot again.
Ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine…
The man he’s focusing on a few rows down is peculiarly covered in both bright red and blue body paint, but the guy seems to have a lot of hair, so. Yeah.
Then the bag of popcorn explodes in Reki’s hands and Langa glances at him to take a break from his slightly stalker-ish tendencies. He’s about to ask Reki what happened until he looks up and oh no.
It takes what feels like an hour for Langa to realize that his face is on there, with Reki, sitting on the creaky plastic bench, popcorn scattered all over themselves, and Langa wants to die. He. Wants. To. Die.
The audience continues cheering, and Langa's mom jumps up and down excitedly, grabbing their shoulders and shaking them, pushing them so close he can count the individual freckles on Reki’s face.
“I don’t… think we can nope out of it, right?” says Reki, low enough only Langa can hear, breath forming goosebumps on Langa’s neck.
“Yeah,” says Langa, except it comes out more like a surprised “huah”. His heartbeat is a mess, now, erratic and jittery, and he feels like he’s going to throw up. Great going, Langa. Your first kiss and you’re gonna barf all over him. Where does he place his hands? There’s no more space on the stands. Shit. But then on Reki? On his waist? No, too intimate. Lap? Neck? Hell no. So Langa just settles on holding Reki gently by the wrist, trying his best to ignore the rising blush on his neck.
Right. Does he just lean in now? He meets Reki’s eyes, bright and playful. Why is this so damn hard?
But then Reki’s lips brush against his, warm and chapped and tentative, and oh. Warmth floods Langa’s body despite the frigid air around them, his senses on overdrive. Reki’s lips are warmer than he’d imagined them to be, and Langa closes his eyes to embrace the sensation. Their noses don’t bump, thankfully, but just as suddenly, Reki pulls away, awkwardly fiddling with his hoodie string.
Then Langa remembers. Right. He bites his cheek to distract himself. Just a kiss for the audience—nothing more.
He shouldn't have gotten his hopes up.
During the kiss, Langa only dimly registered the roar of the crowd, but now, as he looks at the camera and sees their bright red faces staring back at them, the cheers are deafening. He untangles his hand from Reki’s wrist and covers his ears.
The shouts die down, and the referee blows the whistle again to signify the game start. But Langa’s gaze keeps returning to Reki’s face, examining the soft contours of his face, the blush dusting his cheeks, the small quirk of his lips when a player passes to his teammate, and he thinks maybe, maybe he can have that someday, if he's lucky enough.
The game ends without much fanfare, if Langa’s being honest. His mother’s favorite team wins, and she hums the entire way back, fingers drumming on the steering wheel. Reki and Langa remain silent, the tension loud and suffocating in the backseat. Langa settles on staring outside the window at the frost accumulated on the side of the road. Snowy season has begun, and tiny snowflakes dot the sky, clumping together as they fall in soft pitter-patters.
“Temperatures are starting to go below freezing,” says his mother off-handedly. “I’ll need to do some extra shopping before the roads get blocked.”
Only Langa can tell that it’s a half-hearted attempt at making conversation, to try stitching up the awkwardness. Reki replies to her, and they begin another set of back and forths, the conversation topic somehow shifting from weather to the best museums in the area. Langa leans his head against the window, watching the leafless trees and snow-covered roofs amble by until he feels his eyes slowly close and his breathing even out.
Langa wakes up about half an hour later, a slightly oily smudge imprint on the car window where he rested his forehead.
If it was yesterday, Reki would call Langa the skateboarding version of Sleeping Beauty. But he doesn’t now. Instead, he scrolls through his phone, frowning a little once he sees Langa awake.
All too soon, they arrive at the cabin, and Langa’s mom quickly turns off the engine and rushes to the door.
“I’ll leave you two here, I’ll be upstairs for a nap!” she says, removing her shoes at the entrance then clambering up the staircase with her heavy winter gear still on.
Langa and Reki remain next to the car, the cold biting at their exposed faces as they stare at each other. Langa swears he can feel icicles forming on his eyelashes. He should really… say something. Yeah. See something, say something? Okay, it wasn’t in the proper context, but. It had to count for something.
He’s about to ask if they want to head to the cabin, maybe make a cup of hot chocolate while they’re at it, but his mouth betrays him and he blurts out, “Was it that bad?”
“What?” asks Reki. For once, his face is unreadable.
“The… you know,” says Langa, the words sluggish and slow in his mouth, “the kiss.”
Reki startles. “Uh, right! I’ve never kissed anyone before, so I know it was probably really bad and stuff, and I just kind of went with what I thought would maybe be okay—”
“Reki,” says Langa.
“And I like you a lot, too, just so you know that I wasn’t trying to, like, take advantage of anything, my body just acted on its own—”
“Reki!” shouts Langa, loud enough to make nearby crows squawk and flee from the electric wires they were leaning on.
“Huh?” asks Reki.
“I was asking if you thought it was bad, not if I thought it was bad,” clarifies Langa, pulling his jacket tighter across his body.
Reki smiles tentatively. “Guess we’re on the same boat, then.”
“We should try again.”
“Huh?!” Langa would have laughed if the situation wasn’t so serious. “You can’t just say that, Langa!”
“Why not?” he asks, shrugging. He’s going to roll with it—his mouth is already one hell of a traitor, anyway.
Reki falters. “Um, are you okay with this?”
“Why wouldn’t I be, if I’m the one asking?” asks Langa, genuinely confused. Knowing Reki, if he wanted to avoid something, he’d run as fast as he could in the opposite direction. This had to be a good sign, right?
“I… yeah. But you’re sure you want it to be with me?” Tiny snowflakes fall to the ground beside them, bits of snow catching in their hair and clothes. Reki’s nose is red, face huddled in his hoodie while the few exposed strands of hair flutter in the wind.
Langa takes a few steps towards him, and Reki shuffles backwards tentatively, until his back is pressed against the car window.
“I wouldn’t want it with anyone else,” replies Langa, “I’m sure of that.” He cups Reki’s cheek. “Is this good?”
“Um. Yeah. Great. Really good. Like, push-me-against-the-car-and-kiss-me-senseless good. That kinda good.”
Well, Langa isn’t going to say no to that.
So he leans in, one hand on the window frame and the other on Reki’s cheek, close enough to feel Reki’s warmth against the freezing metal. His heart is steady and calm, nothing like the jittery mess he was when they first kissed. Langa’s hand trails from his cheek to his jaw, then his chin, tilting his head up slightly. Reki’s eyes meet his, brown on blue, warm on cold, and Langa finally slots their mouths together.
Oh.
If their previous kiss could be described as a rainfall, then this is a downpour. A flood of feeling, leaving Langa breathless and alive, a storm that sweeps him off his feet and makes him want more.
Reki places a hand on the small of Langa’s neck, eyes closed as their lips meet again, and again, and again. Langa can feel the smile on his lips, the honey-sweet taste of victory and warmth and love.
God, the things you do to me.
They break away, Reki’s eyes lit with a fire shining even brighter than before, smiling as Langa becomes undone in his hands.
“Wanna go inside?” asks Langa, breathless. The snow falls more heavily now, the delicate snowflakes turned to soft hail. Despite their winter jackets and shared body heat, Langa’s teeth chatter. Reki shivers under him.
“Yeah, let’s go,” whispers Reki.
And if either of them notice Langa’s mom’s grin on their way up, well, they don’t mention it.