Archive of Our Own

Neither Reki nor Langa ever imagined that their first real race against one another would be quite so exhilarating.

Their memories of the first unofficial race they had – the one they had a great deal of fun with not long after the wedding beef mess – now pale in comparison to the pure rush of adrenaline that courses through their veins as they wait alongside one another at the starting line.

The crowd around them stands dead silent in eager anticipation of a race between not only Crazy Rock's current reigning champion, but also the underdog who very nearly felled Adam in the semi-finals that came beforehand.

It's a once in a lifetime sort of race, that's for sure.

With Langa's close-call victory over Adam and Reki's close-call loss, it's anyone's guess as to who might win tonight's race. It has everyone feeling a little on-edge, including the two skaters who already stand poised and ready to go, their grips on their boards tight despite the subtle quake in their fingers.

“What do you think, Langa?” Reki murmurs. “You, or me?”

“I'll do everything I can to make sure it's me,” Langa fires back, his eyes alight with pure competitive passion – the kind that Reki's come to love stoking as often as he can.

It wasn’t easy for him to come to terms with the fact that Langa’s an adrenaline seeker, but now that he’s long past the point of apprehension, he’s come to really enjoy watching that fire burn hotter every time that Langa races. Especially now, when he’s the very thing that’s causing it to spread not only within Langa’s heart, but within his own, too.

With a wicked grin, he says “I'll make you eat those words, Langa.”

The countdown begins only moments later, and they take off from the start in a flash of blue and red at the sound of the horn, leaving nothing behind but a crowd that erupts into a chorus of raucous cheers.

They round each corner with expert precision, and they use every maneuver known to them to try and get ahead of one another, the pair of them scraping the sides and the noses of their boards along rough curves and even sharper turns as they continue to pick up speed.

It’s clear that neither one of them is willing to give any more ground than they need to.

For the better half of the race they remain neck-and-neck, with one of them occasionally pulling in behind the other just to execute a perfect trick that brings them back up into the lead. The two of them take turns dancing around that same routine, swapping first and second place as the minutes fly by to keep their fans and viewers right on the edge.

They don't play dirty, as it’s not in either of their natures. For the two of them, this race is as much a fun one as their first race against one another was, just with the added pressure of a proper audience this time and perhaps a reward at the end – if either one of them can come up with what they want, that is, as they never really agreed upon the stakes before the race started.

They both know well enough that the winners of every race undoubtedly get something from the losers, and while they never made up their minds on what that would be, they know they have all the time in the world to figure it out later on as well as the knowledge that neither one of them would ever back out of it, too.

As it stands, Langa has a bit of an advantage when it comes to having another close-call finish, given the sheer length of his board that dominates the standard size of Reki's own. But when it comes to speed, the redhead's shorter stature definitely tips the scales in his favour, even if it is the most minimal difference between them.

Reki uses it to his every advantage, though, tucking low on his board to squeak past Langa around the tightest of corners, while Langa relies on his snowboard-style turns to get him through most of the time with a much wider arc than what Reki's capable of.

It never takes Langa very long to catch up again, as that fearlessness running deep within his veins gives him the edge he needs to take each and every turn at the very last possible second – something that Reki's still unwilling to do no matter how much his own adrenaline begs him to.

As the factory comes into view, they both grow more bold, and while they're not on a level where they're willing to play dirty, they do take as many opportunities as they can to ride in close at one another's side, forcing the other to back off in order to focus on trying not to crash out.

They ride with wolfish grins on their faces, both of them taking great pleasure in giving this race their absolute all, with not a care in the world given to winning or losing. All that matters right now is that they have the time of their lives together, staying true to the meaning that they’ve found within skating for themselves.

At least that’s what one of them thought, anyway.

The final ride down the flight of metal stairs has their hearts racing beyond their limits and their lungs burning hot as they pant hard, both toe-to-toe with one another right up until the very end. The roar of the crowd down at the finish line fades away to nothing as they both focus solely on their opponent, with Reki on the left and Langa on the right; a perfect match for their footwork, allowing them to face each other as they dominate the last stretch of the race.

They're so close that one could easily grasp at the other to make one last-ditch attempt to throw his opponent off his board in true anything-goes style. Yet they hold firm to their own unspoken promises to do this race for real as a proper test of their strengths and weaknesses, to really pit themselves against one another in an effort to see just how close in skill they really are.

It wouldn't feel right to either one of them if they took cheap shots, as every race they've undertaken thus far in their careers here at Crazy Rock have been nothing but the unfolding of their pure potential, giving the crowd back what they themselves love to see most in a race.

The graffiti on the floor is boldly within their sights now, the final few metres closing in faster than their eyes can even keep up with. It's only when their wheels make that tell-tale smack against the floor that the noise of the world around them comes back to them both, with shouts of Reki's name and Langa's alias alike both vying for control of the crowd.

As they take those final deep breaths, their knees buckling under them one last time in an effort to steal away as much speed as they possibly can, everything almost seems to disappear for a moment. Time slows and suspends around them, leaving them in a world of their own for only a split-second as the noses of their boards streak across the finish line.

But despite what everyone was anticipating, it isn't Langa's board that crosses it first.

The name Snow fades fast from the spectators' lips as the two of them try to remember how to breathe again, with Langa skidding to a halt that barely keeps him upright while Reki gives in entirely, letting himself fall limply to the ground in a comfortable roll.

The redhead lies there on his back, dazed and hot, staring up at the bright lights and the faces of strangers that all grin back at him, chanting his name almost endlessly while he tries to figure out what’s just happened to him.

Once his eyes learn to focus once more, Reki notices there's one face in particular that should be here above him, but it’s missing. As he slowly begins to put his thoughts in order, though, he realizes that it’s only because Langa was competing against him this time, rather than waiting for him at the finish line, that he’s not standing here above him.

He hauls himself upright, still panting hard as he leans forward, his chest nearly heavy enough to send him right back down to the ground. But he summons the strength to raise his head, and he looks around for that one person who he knows is out there somewhere in that mass of people gathering around him – and probably standing proud, too, as the winner of tonight's race.

Before he can find Langa, however, he's met with the sight of countless more people who soon swarm him in an effort to help him back to his feet, all of them smiling, cheering, or laughing, the odd few knocking their elbows into his ribs as they congratulate him for taking the crown.

It takes him a second, but eventually his lips slowly spread into a grin as he realizes that it's not Langa who's won tonight's race, but him – a feat he long thought impossible, given his friend's impeccable win streak.

He actually did it. He beat Langa of all people.

While Reki rides the high of his newfound fame, crowded by skaters and spectators alike who want a chance to speak to him themselves or snap a picture if he'll let them, Langa stands right where he landed, wiping his forehead down with the back of his wrist as he watches curiously at how his friend soaks up the spotlight for the first time since his near-win against the matador.

His ears still thump with the sound of his pounding heartbeat as it has yet to settle down, and the rush of blood makes him feel uncomfortably hot all over. His chest feels tight and it begins to ache, and the sound of Reki’s name being chanted over and over only seems to make it worse.

This isn’t right, he thinks. It’s never this… strong.

It’s not at all like what he feels when he usually skates with Reki.

His pulse is relentless. It rages, rattling his ribs more than ever before, and when his friends come over to greet him and offer congratulations for a commendable race regardless, he can barely hear them. They’re all muffled when compared to the damning sound between his ears.

He grips the nose of his board a little tighter as Reki continues to find glory, his other hand now pressing firm against his chest as he tries to slow his heart before it beats right out of his chest.

But instead of relief, he only finds more frustration. A temper stirs within him the likes of which he’s never felt before, and it begins to spread throughout his body like a slow-burning poison.

His fingers curl tighter and tighter into his shirt to the point where it might very well tear under the pressure, until a firm clap on his shoulder from Joe knocks a bit of sense back into him. He startles easily, looking wide-eyed up at the man who smiles kindly back at him, leaving his shoulder with one last squeeze to really keep him grounded before finally letting him go.

“Good for him, huh?” Joe murmurs, looking back over at Reki. “Bet he's proud of himself. He should be!”

“Yeah...” Langa mumbles, his tone low and miserable as he barely manages to speak at all.

As his friends wander over to solidify their places at Reki's side, Langa finds his feet carrying him elsewhere, out through the factory doors and into the open air where it's a little easier to breathe again. The tail of his board drags carelessly through the dirt as he goes, and he begins to aimlessly lead himself as far away from the noise of the crowd as possible.

His body still burns hot with adrenaline, the tips of his fingers twitching like live-wires, yet his mind is blank and devoid of any familiar joy or excitement that he might've once felt in the past whenever Reki rode alongside him.

He should be happy that Reki beat him – beyond happy, even – but he's not.

He's not happy at all.

When Reki finds him later that night, Langa has no excuse for why he disappeared, or why he's decided to hail a cab to head home early, either.

It's not because he doesn't want to tell Reki why he left, but rather that he doesn't even have a reasonable explanation to give himself. Truth be told, Langa's not sure why he wandered off, or why his stomach suddenly turns every time he thinks about Reki, or why his heart still won't settle even after he's already wandered all the way back to the front gates to wait for his ride.

He's quiet when he asks Reki to head back to the track without him, too, offering very few words to him and not a single one in apology. He doesn’t look at Reki when he speaks. He can barely look in Reki’s general direction when he speaks, and that leaves him feeling even more uneasy.

As a result, the two of them now stand further apart to speak than they've ever stood before.

“Right… well, feel better, okay? Text me if you want. I’ll keep my phone on me.”

Langa forgets to listen to what Reki's saying, but based on what little he does hear, it sounds as though his friend's decided that his sudden absence must be due to him not feeling well.

It's close enough to the truth, or at least closer than Langa's sure that either one of them will ever get, as he seems to drift further and further away from understanding what's really going on in his own head the longer that Reki stands anywhere remotely near him.

He's not sure what he wants anymore, but he knows that getting away from here – and getting away from Reki, specifically – is about the only shot he has at figuring that out for himself. His friend stays close by until the cab arrives, and when it does he can barely bring himself to bid Reki so much as 'goodnight' before he steps in, his board heavy in his hands as he looks down at his lap rather than out the window.

Before he's even aware of just how cold he's been to one of the few people who mean the world to him, he's already gone, riding down an empty road with nothing more than the streetlights to look at, the last expression worn on Reki's face nothing but a mystery to him now.

But he's not sure that he would've wanted to see it anyway.

He gets home late enough that his mother's already asleep, as per usual whenever he goes out to Crazy Rock. So when he tries to be as silent as he can along the walk back to his room, his board ends up knocking against the wall with every other step, the whole thing limp in his grip as he almost forgets that it’s even there.

He pauses on the third harsh rap as it hits the door frame beside him, and he raises it up by the nose in both hands to give it a good look. But all that he can see before his eyes is darkness; a fine representation of the resentment he feels toward the hunk of wood in his hands.

He shouldn't think like that. Reki made this board.

The sound of slippered footsteps padding along the floor nearby tells him that he’s woken up his mother, which comes as no surprise given the amount of noise he’s made. He turns his head, watching as the door to her room opens with a quiet creak, and he can just barely make out her face as she peers curiously into the dark hallway.

He stands completely still and silent, hoping she’ll see that it’s just him and not something worth worrying about. She already knows that he sneaks out often, but he’s never bothered her on his way out before nor has she ever bothered him on his way back in.

Tonight, though, as he’s well aware, is different. If she asks him what’s going on, he’ll have no answer to give her. He still doesn’t have an answer to give himself.

“Langa?” she whispers, startling him into slipping his gloved fingers across the griptape of his board; the first sound he's made since she opened her door. “You okay?”

“I'm fine,” he lies, his tone no different than the way he usually speaks. “Sorry to wake you.”

The last few steps that he takes to get to his room are careful, but still quick and calculated enough that he can brush right past his mother’s door within seconds, effectively barring her from any further interrogation.

He shuts the door to his own room softly and without even wishing his mother a good night. He neglects to brush his teeth or even change his clothes, and after discarding his skateboard rather carelessly onto the floor he falls into his sheets face-down, sighing long and slow into the pillow beneath his face.

It doesn't take long before he turns his head. Not to get some air in his lungs, but instead to look at the board that he's abandoned there in the middle of his floor, sitting on its back with the wheels in the air, two of them still slowly spinning around all on their own.

He finds that he can't take his eyes off of it. He's mesmerized by the slow turn of those wheels, the ones there at the nose of the board where the trucks were so creatively rigged to let him ride the way that only he can – a priceless modification thought of and given to him by Reki out of nothing more than the kindness of his best friend's heart.

Why he's abandoned it there is anyone's guess, but it makes his heart ache now as he wonders what he's supposed to do with it. Because looking at it hurts almost as much as ignoring it does.

The last hour or so isn’t much more than a blur now; a mess of mixed emotions and memories that he'd really rather forget about. But like a knife to his back his board reminds him of how he lost that race, and how Reki’s mile-wide smile had only stemmed from an outcome that he really never anticipated, his win streak coming to such a sudden end without so much as a warning.

Maybe it was just arrogant of him to expect that he would always win, though.

He knows better than anyone else that he stormed out of there like a sore loser, sulking as he slipped away with his tail between his legs. But what he still doesn't understand is why.

He's lost plenty of snowboarding competitions in the past, and not one of them had him feeling as miserable as he does right now. Not when he could always hold his head high and be proud of what he did accomplish. He always left those competitions with the knowledge that he still had room to improve, so why is it that skateboarding is suddenly so very different from that?

Why, when the similarities between the two sports had been one of the main reasons why he was drawn to skating in the first place? What makes this loss so difficult for him to bear?

Why was Reki even able to beat him, too, when nobody else could? Did he let his guard down because Reki’s a close friend, or is he really just not as good as he thought he was?

And why does that matter to him, anyway? Skating isn’t about winning or losing. It never was.

So why does losing to Reki, specifically, hurt so much?

The trip to school on Monday morning brings with it a whole new set of challenges, as Langa neglected to respond to any of Reki's texts throughout the course of the entire day yesterday.

And at this point, he can only assume that his friend is bound to be a little sour about it.

He still waits for Reki in their usual spot, though, and while he’s not exactly looking forward to seeing his friend today he still doesn’t want to cause the same kind of unnecessary friction that built up the last time they fought with one another. He remembers very clearly how easily they could have reconciled back then if they had only just met up and talked to each other.

Which is part of the reason why he feels so awful about what he’s doing now. Ignoring Reki all day yesterday and planning to lie to him today is hardly better than what happened the last time they had a falling out, but he tells himself that he’s at least willing to speak up enough today to make up for how quiet he was yesterday.

That’s the plan, anyway. Whether or not he can commit to a conversation is a different story.

He knows that he owes Reki some kind of apology for brushing him off as coldly as he did after their race, but when he thinks about standing here and uttering those words, he finds himself almost getting angry, and whether that's directed at himself, or Reki, or what, he really can't say.

It’s not as if it matters all that much anyway, as he still hasn’t come up with something to say that’s even remotely acceptable in the first place. He had all day yesterday to do so, as well as some time this morning while he prepared for school, but he chose to waste it all away instead.

And by the time Reki's silhouette comes into view further down the road, with one arm waving to him as usual, he's forced to accept the fact that it's too late now to even bother trying anymore.

He has no choice but to stick with the excuse that Reki had created for him on Saturday night after their race – that he simply wasn’t feeling well. It’s a good excuse, no matter how much or how little truth there is to it, and if all goes well it should keep Reki from trying to pry too much more conversation out of him for the remainder of the day. Or the morning, at the very least.

It feels wrong to see Reki approach and not be excited to see him. His heart should flutter at the sight of his friend; a feeling that he’s hardly been able to explain before. But today, it doesn’t, and instead all he feels is unrest and a growing desire to go straight back home.

Reki soon comes skidding to a halt in front of him, and he wears a smile on his face that says nothing had ever happened between them. It’s not the face of a gloating winner, or the face of someone who feels snubbed and set aside by their best friend. It’s just Reki’s usual expression.

Yet somehow, it’s still as if Reki stands before him a better man; someone utterly untouchable. Someone who he’s no longer worthy of. And that only makes his anger grow stronger.

“Hey!” Reki chirps, raising one hand up high to knock knuckles. “How you feelin'?”

As of a few days ago, Langa would’ve never thought it possible, but right now the sound of his friend’s voice actually grates on his nerves, sending quiet fury up the length of his spine until it settles as an ache in his tightly clenched jaw.

He stares blankly at his friend, his eyes distant as he decides to fixate on Reki's collar rather than on his face. But right there on one of the folds of his friend’s hoodie is the pin marked with an arrow-struck ‘S’, catching the sunlight just enough to make it shine rather brilliantly.

The sight of it almost makes him sick, as though Reki wore it today with the intent to send him into a spiral. He quickly turns his head to look down the road somewhere at nothing in particular.

“I'm fine,” he says stiffly, and he forgets to raise his own hand to meet Reki's before dropping his board back down to the ground.

I'm not fine.

He can hear a little sound come from the back of Reki's throat; one that's garbled, like a near-silent question that asks him to maybe elaborate a little.

But he says nothing more as he plants his feet upon his board, the heel of his lead foot scraping the griptape harshly as he adjusts his stance, and he has to remind himself to wait for Reki to do the same before he takes off on his way to school again.

He doesn't want to wait. He wants to get to school, do his work in this half-awake state he's in, and then return home to pretend that his problems don't exist for just one more day.

But he manages to make one reasonably good choice today by waiting for Reki anyway.

He breathes deeply to try and calm himself, taking in the scent of the wind, and the breeze reminds him that he hasn't eaten anything yet. He can smell fresh bread as its scent carries through the air, leading his nose to point in the direction of the local bakery, and for one brief moment it manages to get his mind off of what's been weighing him down so much.

At least until Reki gives him a reason to hate that bakery today, too.

“Wanna stop and pick something extra up for lunch?” Reki asks. “You can smell it too, huh?”

Normally, the fact that Reki's read his mind would make him smile, especially when it comes to food. But it doesn't this time, and instead his friend's words only remind him that he's about to be trapped right next to him for the better part of the day, and with nowhere else to go unless he wants to be reprimanded by a teacher – or worse, his mother – for skipping school.

It's bad enough that he's already dreading the thought of sitting next to Reki before they’ve even got there, but at least while they're there he'll have his lessons to focus on. When lunchtime comes, however, he'll have nothing to see or hear but Reki, because the redhead is his one and only friend and they almost never spend their lunches in the classroom with everyone else.

So at this point, all that he can do is scramble to rack his brain for an excuse that he can give to skip out on that, too, and maybe head home early for the day if he's lucky.

He can't skip the first few classes of the day, as that would be a bit too suspicious. But if he's 'sick' by the time lunch comes around, he might just find himself a way out that won't leave anyone but his mother second guessing—

What am I even doing? Reki doesn't deserve this.

But whether Reki deserves it or not, he still strongly considers it.

“Ah... no, not today,” he finally says. “Let's go,” he adds quietly.

Going without breakfast is never a good idea, and a quick trip to the bakery could've easily solved that problem. But he decides that skipping out on it is far preferable to spending more time with Reki than what's absolutely necessary.

And as painful of a thought as that is, it's all that he's got to work with, seeing as how he still hasn't found the truth about why he's so bent out of shape about his friend in the first place.

Maybe he really is just a sore loser. Maybe it's because he actually has a friend now that losing to said friend hurts so much.

It makes him wonder what Reki might think of him if he knew that he was this broken up about losing. How shameful would that be, if the one who taught him how fun skating was ended up being the very same reason that he's lost his love for it?

Well, who's to say that he's even lost his love for it, anyway? He’s just confused. Probably.

He decides that he’s getting ahead of himself. It’s too early on a Monday morning to start spiralling, and for all he knows, this might just blow over by tomorrow anyway. Sure, he’s been miserable for more than a full day by now, but he’s bound to get over it at some point. Right?

Only one thing’s certain right now, and that’s that he can’t tell Reki anything. Not now, anyway. Not until he grows a spine and figures out how to laugh off his losses like he used to.

Throughout the course of their morning classes, Langa doesn’t say a single word to Reki.

Yet somehow, come lunchtime, the redhead hasn't really given him any indication that he's worried or even suspecting that there's something wrong with him at all. Reki's face is just as bright as it always is, with his mouth hung wide open as he spills stories about all sorts of things in between bites of his lunch. Stories that Langa can’t seem to pay any real attention to.

So much for going home early.

He sits with his back against the wall while Reki lounges close beside him, taking up far too much of his personal space given their special circumstances. He’s spent the entire period so far staring out into the sky with an empty look on his face, and he’s not sure how Reki hasn’t picked up on the fact that he’s really not interested in small talk today.

His own lunch looks great, compliments to his mother for always piling his sandwiches high with his favourite toppings. But he can't bring himself to take the first bite; a sure sign that something isn’t right. An obvious sign that Reki’s somehow managed to miss completely.

As he fiddles with the plastic wrap around the lower half of his sandwich, aimlessly wasting time, he starts to wonder why he even cares so much about what Reki thinks right now anyway.

Because here he sits, stewing over the fact that his friend hasn't poked and prodded him for a reason as to why he's moping, as if he actually wants Reki to pry. As if he wants to pour his heart out to the one person who he'd rather avoid the most.

He doesn't want to talk to Reki. He hasn't wanted to talk to Reki for a good day and a half now. So why does it matter that Reki isn't fawning over him, or asking him what's wrong, or lending him an ear to vent?

How much worse can things get if he's both desperate for Reki's attention and loathing it?

“—Oh yeah, hey! Remember back on Saturday when I landed that flip right in front of you? The one that almost made me eat dirt and lose the race? I did it again yesterday, and I—”

What?

For a moment, Reki's ramblings become clear, but they quickly fade out again as Langa's head begins to ache. Cruelly, the only words that he picks up on are those that seem to mock his failure in the race on Saturday, while Reki proudly parades his own victory around with nothing but more success to follow.

It sends sharp pangs through the back of Langa's head, and his heart kicks up into a restless rhythm, beating erratically against his ribs. His blood boils as it runs through his veins, making his fingers twitch and his jaw clench, and his stomach churns uncomfortably despite having eaten nothing since sometime last night.

“—Ah, man. That was such a good race! Wonder how the next one'll turn out? Maybe you'll win—”

Stop.

“—Maybe this weekend we can have another one—”

Stop talking about the race. I don't want to hear it—

“Hey... you okay?”

Reki's voice suddenly cuts through his thoughts like a hot knife, and despite being asked the very same question he'd tried so hard to convince himself he didn't want to hear, he’s almost glad that Reki’s finally asked it. He’s not going to answer, at least not truthfully, but some part of him still manages to be grateful that Reki’s finally paying him some attention.

Then he realizes that Reki’s probably only grown attentive because at some point his thumbs have sunken into the bread of his sandwich, digging in deep as his frustration continues to build.

He pulls them back out with a grimace on his face. He figures he must look like an idiot now.

“What?”

He mumbles that word almost rudely, although he really didn't mean to. But Reki doesn't seem to mind, at least not as much as he probably should, and in return the redhead only offers a soft frown and a quirked brow instead.

“Well it's just... you're really quiet, is all,” Reki murmurs, scratching the back of his neck. “I know you aren't feelin' good, but... it's like you're not even here. Have you heard anything I've said?”

He has, but he's not about to admit it. The idea of opening his heart to Reki when the source of all his despair is about as petty as it gets leaves a bitter taste in his mouth; a taste that he decides is better kept to himself.

It's hard, but he reminds himself once more that Reki's truly done nothing wrong. The problem here is himself, and trying to bring Reki down to his level of misery just to wallow in it with him is neither the right thing to do nor something that his friend deserves to have happen to him.

Reki's been through enough in his life. Perhaps, Langa decides, he deserves to feel that same loneliness and sense of abandonment that his friend once felt.

He clenches his jaw hard enough to make the ache in the back of his head subside, and with faintly trembling hands he re-wraps his sandwich, setting it aside on top of his school bag.

“No,” he says quietly. “I don't think so.”

Reki makes a face, one scrunched a bit in a mix of confusion and worry, and he sets his bento box down at his side. It frees up his attention, all of it now devoted to Langa, and under that unwanted spotlight Langa tries to make himself small, pulling his arms in closer at his sides.

“Why don't you head home?” Reki suggests. “Get some sleep, or something.”

Sleep sounds nice – but home, not so much. He'd thought about it earlier, and it seemed like a great idea at the time, but the more he thinks about going there with nothing but Reki on his mind, the less convinced he is that it's still a good idea.

He won't admit it aloud, but in many ways his home reminds him more of Reki than himself.

At home, he has a few posters, yet to be hung up but tucked away safely in a drawer with the promise of one day tacking them to his walls. He has his shisa lions, thoughtfully given to him for protection, and he has the clock that Reki had handmade for him out of the snapped piece of his very first skateboard.

And of course he has his current board itself, a constant reminder of the one who made it for him – the very same person who he'd recently lost to, and thus causing the start of this whole descent into hell in the first place.

Needless to say, he really doesn't want to be at home right now after all.

He'd actually rather stay out tonight, if possible. Maybe work as late as he can at Dope Sketch, provided that being around all those reminders of skating and racing don't end up bothering him. Maybe he could go for a walk, too, and eat out somewhere if his stomach allows him to have an appetite at some point today. Just not at any of the joints that he and Reki frequent, of course.

He's starting to realize that there's not a lot going on in his life that doesn't remind him of skating. Or Reki. And that’s starting to look like less and less of a good thing as time goes on.

“I'm fine,” he says briskly. “I don't need to go home.”

Turning want into need helps him keep suspicion off himself, as admitting to Reki that he doesn't have any desire to go home would only open up a whole new realm of questions that he doesn't want to answer.

Thankfully, it's enough, and with nothing more than a wordless shrug Reki drops the issue and returns to his lunch without a second thought. While he eats, though, Langa's keenly aware of how those warm eyes watch him, staring unsettlingly as he sits there with a blank face and an uneaten meal at his side, with the minutes slowly ticking down until their next period begins.

But Reki never urges him to hurry up and eat. Reki doesn't ramble about the race anymore, either, or what they might do next weekend, or how their shift at work tonight might go. Among all the little things that Reki does talk about, there's no mention of doing anything together going forward, as though he's already decided to exclude Langa from whatever future plans he has.

What was once a cheerful redhead racked with gentle concern for Langa's well-being is now a much quieter shell of himself as he talks about boring things. It's as if Reki's somehow realized that he's the source of all this awkward unrest between the two of them, when so far Langa's done all that he can to try and keep that miserable truth from finding its way to the surface.

And it all makes Langa's blood boil almost as much as it had when Reki wouldn't shut up.

It's kind of funny, though, in a cynical way; stabbing him right in a heart that's already weak. Having Reki give him space was what he thought he wanted, and yet somehow that still isn't good enough. It's as if Reki can do no right by him today no matter what he does or doesn't do.

Whatever happened to Reki being his best friend, he wonders?

How did his feelings shift into this gross amalgamation of envy and pride so easily?

Is this really how he'll lose the first shot at happiness he's had since he lost his father? Because he can't bring himself to just open his mouth and talk about what's bothering him to one of the only people in this world who ever wants to listen to him?

Does his ego really matter that much to him?

When Thursday rolls around, Langa finds himself in the exact same place as where he started.

He’s been here for nearly a week, still mentally stuck in that moment when his race against Reki had ended with his loss. It’s a dark place, one that he’d like to have crawled his way out of by now, but considering how long he’s been here his outlook is looking more bleak by the minute.

This past week has been a blur, the days dragging on and melding together, each one no different than the last. He gets up in the mornings with an empty feeling in his chest, as if his heart has sunken down to his feet, and by the time he staggers into bed at night he's forgotten everything that happened in between, like he's the star in some sort of miserable puppet show.

At least he's the only one suffering. If there's a silver lining to be had, it's that Reki's doing fine.

Reki had bounced back pretty quickly by the end of the day on Monday, talking up a storm while they worked their shift at Dope Sketch that evening. While Langa never really offered much in the way of return conversation, he’d admitted to himself that it was nice to see Reki get a little more lively again, making their time together much easier for him to bear.

That evening had been a wake-up call, too; a sign to Langa that he’d been wrongfully assuming things about the way Reki was perceiving him. Through his demeanour alone, Reki had made it clear that their awkward lunch together that day was nothing more than that – just an awkward moment worth forgetting about.

Reki wasn't mad. He wasn't even upset. And even up until now, Reki’s just been operating under his own assumption that Langa’s under the weather, which is as close to a reasonable guess as it gets. It’s the assumption that Langa wanted him to have, or at least it was until he’d lost his mind that day when Reki also didn’t give him the attention that he didn’t think he wanted.

No, it doesn’t make sense. He stopped trying to make it make sense several days ago.

He’ll admit to himself that he’s been feeling a bit better overall, though. While they haven’t been laughing or playing around at the skate park all this time, or spending any free time outside of school and work with one another, Langa’s still managed to participate in the smallest of small-talk and answer any non-invasive questions that Reki’s had for him.

It isn't much, but it's still much better than no improvement at all.

It's a sign that he's not getting worse, and while he'd much rather go back to being the way he used to be around Reki, it's relieving to know that he's not making things more awkward and painful than they need to be for the both of them, and especially for Reki.

The last thing he wants is for his selfishness to drag Reki through the mud along with him.

Speaking of mud, he finds himself fixating on a patch of it that’s dried and caked into the white strip along the base of one of his shoes. He decided quite a while ago that picking away at it is preferable to watching his friends skate, the five of them racing around like bees only a few feet away as they all hone their newest skills.

Somehow, he’s managed to get roped into spending time with everyone tonight, when he hasn’t even touched his board for nearly a week now. And he’s not really having the greatest of times.

He sits alone on the bleachers, watching everyone just like Reki had back when he learned how to slide and counter Adam’s own trick. And much like how Reki was feeling back then, Langa’s now the one feeling left out, watching helplessly from behind metaphorical glass, so to speak.

He hadn't known that Reki was beginning to find himself in a very similar dark place at that time, of course. But then again, how could he? He never stopped to pay attention or even ask Reki what was wrong.

This must be karma, he thinks. Retribution for being a bad friend and an even worse sore loser.

He’s been asked a few times this evening by Joe and Miya to come join them, and he’s barely been able to focus long enough to give them a simple ‘no thanks’. But Reki, bless his innocent heart, had at one point jumped in to explain his absence for him, which he supposes he’s grateful for, although he’s not sure how much he enjoys being ‘sick’ for the sixth day in a row.

Especially when his board is sitting right there beside him. He's perfectly capable of using it, and he's sure that his friends all know it, too, otherwise he’d have left it at home. But none of them have questioned it, and he’s not about to volunteer an explanation for it, either.

He's not sure why he brought it, if he’s being honest. To save face, maybe, so that he can convince his friends that he hasn’t abandoned it altogether? He’s not even sure why he’s here at the park to begin with, either, but he supposes he can chalk that one up to his inability to refuse anything that Reki asks him to do.

Most days, anyway. Lately it seems he's been getting better at it, but for some odd reason he still found himself gravitating towards the skate park tonight anyway.

He wonders if it’s just a subconscious desire to get back out there and do what he used to love doing most. Or that maybe some part of him still recognizes that being surrounded by friends or even family tends to work as a good substitute for therapy sometimes.

He’d run away from snowboarding after he’d lost his father, and ever since then he’s been unable to get back on the slopes. He’s put off trying for so long that he’s not sure he’ll ever find the strength to see it through, too, and that hurts. Snowboarding was what he bonded with his father over, and letting his passion for it slip away is something that he still deeply regrets.

Which is why he wonders if immersing himself in the world of skating, however painful it might be, could just be the right way to heal himself. He hasn’t put a foot down on his board since his loss last weekend, and he’s still shutting Reki out from most aspects of his life, but simply being here in the park has him feeling like he might finally make some real progress after all.

Because he’s genuinely happy to see all of his friends.

He’s happy to see them thrive, and he’s happy to know that they’re concerned for him and that they want to keep including him whether he can join them out there or not. Just being here with them in spirit feels like he’s doing enough work towards having a normal life again.

It all sounds so nice in theory, anyway. Not so much in practise, though.

Not when all of his friends have conveniently decided to shower Reki with praise.

It seems he’s chosen the wrong time to snap himself out of his thoughts and start listening to what’s going on around him. He hears the sharp smack of wheels hitting concrete, and soon to follow are the endless strings of praise and commendation for a new trick well-landed – one that he knows for a fact Reki has never successfully landed before.

He wonders when Reki found the time to perfect his execution of it. Was it during this past week, when all eyes have been on Reki at all times except for his own? Is he really seeing proof that Reki excels much more when he’s not spending time with his best friend?

Has he really been dragging Reki down for this long? His own victories, all that spotlight on himself, all the attention that made Reki feel inadequate – were they keeping Reki from finally unlocking his true potential?

The redhead’s grin could reflect the sun it’s so wide, and the way that Shadow and Miya shout and holler, bumping their fists into Reki’s shoulders has Langa feeling oddly claustrophobic despite the wide range of empty bleachers on either side of him.

And then it suddenly feels like they’re all plotting against him. As if his friends are only here to remind him that he’s in the presence of someone who’s just so much better than him.

His teeth ache as he grinds his jaw, and a subtle wave of nausea washes over him as he bounces one leg up and down on the ball of his foot. He's itching to get out of here now and go someplace else; someplace far away from skating and from Reki in particular.

But that little voice in his head that probably told him to come here in the first place tells him to stay, and while he's more anxious than he's sure he's ever been before in his life, he finds himself feeling compelled to listen against his better judgement.

He studies his friends, Reki included, all huddled around each other in that cramped little park. They all wear smiles on their faces, and they lift Reki up with words of encouragement, telling him all the things he deserves to hear; things that Langa wishes he could also freely say to him.

I should be out there congratulating him too, he thinks.

But that’s so much easier said than done.

He's not sure why he's only capable of being happy for Reki when Reki's still hovering somewhere beneath his own skill level. That’s one of the few things he’s managed to notice during all this time that he’s spent off in his own little world.

But when Reki’s happiness seems to have been born out of the scraps of his own failures, it’s hard to keep his chin up and a smile on his face. It’s hard to tell Reki that he’s proud of him when he’s been steadily losing reasons to feel proud of himself.

In the span of a week, he's gotten so bitter and jealous, and over what – one loss?

Was one lost race really all it would take for his friendship to completely dissolve?

Had he known that earlier, he would've never agreed to challenge Reki. Because Reki means the world to him, even if he’s hardly been able to see it lately. If he were to lose him, it would mean the end of everything he's worked for, as there's no sense in trying to skate again if Reki's not right there with him, cheering him on, and pushing him to climb even higher and higher—

What am I saying? I’m nothing but a hypocrite.

One minute he can't stand to look at his best friend, and the next he's pining for him, begging and pleading with whatever powers may be to make sure that he remains a part of his life.

Unbelievable.

He supposes that what hurts the most is that Reki doesn’t even know that their friendship hangs in the balance, poorly supported by nothing more than the redhead’s own desire to keep them tethered to one another. And Langa desperately wants to support his half of their friendship, too, despite his envy and the recent discovery that he’s unhealthily competitive.

But until he can admit his faults and apologize to the one person who needs to hear it the most, he fears that those few threads that bind them might just fray and snap apart after all.

Maybe that’s for the best. Maybe he’s better off alone, just like he was before he met Reki. At least when he’s alone he’s unable to spread his misery to those who don’t deserve to suffer it.

Am I really trying to convince myself that this is what Reki wants?

Not once has he asked Reki what he wants. He hasn’t said anything of value to Reki over the last six days, yet he’s jumping the gun on such a delicate issue as the state of their friendship.

What he needs to do right now is figure himself out, whatever that means. He's not sure what that looks like or what it entails, but he knows that if he wants a shot at redeeming himself and mending the best – and only – friendship he's ever had in his life, then he'd better find that out sooner rather than later.

Time will eventually run out, and Reki will leave him behind in favour of spending that precious time with people who actually want to be around him.

Not that Langa doesn't want to be around him. He's just not sure how to do it anymore, is all.

Soft murmurs of his name catch his attention, and he realizes that he's sat there spaced out for long enough to start worrying his friends. It wasn’t his intention to put them on high alert, and so before he ends up ruining everyone’s fun he decides to call it a night, citing Reki’s favourite excuse as to why he’s been such a stick in the mud before quietly heading out of the park.

He briefly wonders if they talk about him after he leaves. He also wonders what kind of look might have been on Reki’s face as he walked away all on his own, leaving without the one person who he always travels everywhere with, especially with skateboards in hand.

But when he looks down at that board in his hands, he decides that he doesn’t want to know. He decides that he doesn’t want anything to do with skating right now, or Reki, either. Just like it’s been for the last six days in a row.

Up and down, he rides this rollercoaster in and out of hell, grasping at glimpses of a way out only to be dragged right back down again moments later. And tonight, he decides that it’s not worth his time to try and reach up again.

Maybe tomorrow he’ll try. Maybe tomorrow will be the day he stops disappointing Reki. Maybe.

Come Friday, there's talk of a rematch.

When Langa catches wind of it, it’s during a habitual check of his group chat, consisting of both himself and Reki as well as the four others with whom they usually skate with.

He never meant to check it, as he’s hardly in the right state of mind for it, but his thumb snagged the app when he went to lock his phone, and he couldn’t bring himself to shut it down without at least taking a cursory peek.

Right away, he’s inundated with messages that he’s been ignoring all week. Cherry has hardly said anything, Shadow and Joe have chimed in a few times, and the bulk of the texts are from Miya and Reki, the two of them stirring up conversation regarding a so-called ‘redemption’ race.

That word makes his head hurt when he reads it.

It comes across as a little bit condescending, as if his performance last weekend was so pitiful that he can only claw his way back up the podium, rather than reclaim a spot with relative ease. It proves to him that his loss that night was disappointing; a let-down for everyone involved.

He was never informed that anyone wanted to see a race like that, either. It seems like the sort of thing that he should have been one of the first to know about, considering that he’s one entire half of what’s necessary for a race like that to even happen. But nobody mentioned it to him. Not even Reki of all people, who never shies away from a chance to run his mouth about skating.

It almost makes him seethe. Everywhere he goes, it seems people are plotting and planning behind his back, making all of his decisions for him as if he’s not capable of doing so himself.

Which, honestly, isn’t too far from the truth when it comes to skating lately.

But he still doesn’t appreciate it. The last thing he wants is a rematch, knowing that the most likely outcome would just be another loss. He hasn’t been on his board for a week. He’s been out-practised by all of his friends, especially Reki, and at this point he’s not feeling too confident in his ability to even stay on his board for something as simple as riding in a straight line.

No, he thinks, shaking his head. I managed to skate like I’d been doing it all my life after I stopped snowboarding. I can get back on it whenever I want. I can still ride it, I’m sure of it.

Nobody can take that away from me. I decide when I skate.

He’s not sure where this sudden burst of self-assurance comes from, but he knows he’s hardly in a position to complain. His heart feels like it’s under his control for the first time in a while.

In a split-second impulsive decision, he decides he’ll test the waters a little today, if only to spite himself and everyone around him. It’ll be a small step, but the flame inside of him slowly begins to burn again, igniting his desire to feel the wind brush his cheeks and whip through his hair.

He shoves his phone back in his pocket, and just before he heads out the door to go to school he jogs back to his bedroom. He takes his board in hand, and he hurries out the door, leaving behind his mother who, unbeknownst to him, watches him go with a smile on her face.

Today, he’ll ride it. Just until he gets to the spot where he meets Reki every morning. If nothing else, it’ll serve as proof that he hasn’t lost his touch; that he can get back into it at his own pace.

When he drops the nose of it down on the pavement, the sound it makes nearly startles him. It reminds him of all the jumps and rough landings he’s done throughout his previous rides, and for a moment he’s brought back to the winding roads and blinding lights of the track. He stares at the place where he used to have a toe clip, too, and he briefly wonders if he’ll be able to get back on and ride again without it.

Ultimately, he decides that it isn’t worth worrying about. Nothing about this is worth his concern. He’s not going very far, and he has no plans to commit to a redemption race anyway. This is just practise; something to keep him sharp in preparation for whenever he does feel like taking this sport seriously again.

Because he’s simply not racing tomorrow. End of story.

He puts the whole thing out of mind once he slings his bag over his shoulder and kicks off. At first, his ride is slow-going and unsteady, and he feels a little nauseous once he picks up speed. But he quickly attributes it to just being nervous after going for so long without skating at all.

Overall, he has to admit that it feels nice. It’s still uncomfortable, and a little voice in the back of his mind keeps telling him to stop, but he doesn’t listen. He shuts his eyes as he coasts along a gentle downhill slope in the road, heading straight toward his meet-up spot, and he tries to remind himself that he loves this – that he loves everything about skating.

At first, it doesn’t feel like he’s forcing himself to feel that way. But once he hears Reki’s voice in the distance he opens his eyes, and all of the reasons why he was feeling miserable to begin with come rushing back to him, washing over him like a tsunami and slowing him right down.

And not a single ounce of optimism remains in the wake of that flood.

It’s all that talk of a redemption race that’s doing him in. It doesn’t seem to matter what he does. He can’t get the thought of it out of his head, and seeing Reki standing there waving at him with so much enthusiasm reminds him of who it was that instigated the whole idea in the first place.

Right. I lost a race against him last weekend. How could I possibly be allowed to forget?

And if I race tomorrow, I’ll just lose again.

How could he win, when Reki was nailing new tricks left and right at the park last night?

Come to think of it, why is he considering tomorrow’s race as if he’s actually planning to join?

He resists the powerful urge to scowl as he skids to a halt a few feet away from Reki. He only catches a glimpse of his friend’s face before he looks down at the ground, pretending to busy himself with his skateboard, but in that brief moment he knows he saw so much light in Reki’s eyes, and that mile-wide distracting grin that always used to make him smile, too.

“Hey! Look at you!” Reki shouts, laughing softly. “You’re skating again!”

The redhead’s hands land on Langa’s shoulders, giving him a squeeze and a bit of a shake.

“Yeah,” Langa says quietly. “Just a little.”

There isn’t much in the way of expression on his face, but Reki doesn’t seem to care. His friend seems much more preoccupied with the fact that he’s been spotted on his board again for the first time in a week, as if it’s supposed to be some kind of sign of good things to come.

The redhead’s excitement doesn’t end there, either. Reki quickly crouches down to examine his greatest handiwork, his fingers gliding along the edge of Langa’s board as he looks for nicks and scratches, and Langa awkwardly continues to stand as still as he can on it, trying not to let it roll in one direction or the other.

He almost feels bad now. Reki’s so excited to see him again – or just his skateboard, maybe, it’s hard to tell – but he knows that he’s about to greatly disappoint him in a matter of seconds.

Because he also knows that one of the next few things to come out of Reki’s mouth, if not the very first thing, will absolutely have something to do with the race that he’s been planning.

“I thought that when you left the park last night you were maybe feeling worse, or something,” Reki mumbles, standing up straight. “So it’s nice to see ya like this again.”

He’s still smiling, and Langa only knows as much because he can’t get away with avoiding Reki’s face for any longer than he already has. He doesn’t smile in return, but his eyes do get shy and flicker off to one side for just a moment as his mouth turns up into a nervous pout.

It really is nice to know that Reki’s still looking out for him.

“Thanks,” he says softly.

He says nothing more, as he knows that if he commits to skating more frequently again, he’ll walk right into having to admit that he’s feeling better, when that’s hardly true. And if he tells Reki that what he’s done today won’t last, he’ll end up facing a barrage of questions as to why he’s still not feeling well after a week, when he’s very clearly not physically injured.

And a trip to the hospital only to find out that nothing’s wrong with him internally, as he already knows, isn’t something that he’s looking forward to doing either. He would absolutely be caught in his lie right then and there, meaning he’d probably have to face a therapist sooner or later.

Not happening, he thinks. I had enough of that after dad passed.

“Hey, listen…”

A sinking feeling quickly settles in his stomach when Reki speaks. Here it is, he thinks.

“I know you're not... you right now. I mean, you're still not feeling all that great, I guess, and I get it, but... I wanted to ask if you'd come to Crazy Rock tomorrow?”

Deep breaths, Langa tells himself. Don’t let him overwhelm you.

“A couple of guys have been trying to spread word of a rematch for us, y'know? A chance for you to win, and—”

A chance?

Is that what this is? Just a chance for him to win again, because for some reason his skating is only worth anything when he’s winning? That’s what everyone wants to see, isn’t it? They want to see Snow take centre stage, they want to see if Snow has what it takes to reclaim his place as number one. They want to see the same Snow who they saw on his very first night there.

Not a single one of them cares about what Langa wants.

He’s nothing more than a spectacle; someone to be admired only when he’s performing the way they want him to. So what happens when he loses a second time in a row? Will they continue to badger him until he scores himself another win, or will they all finally stop caring about him?

Does he want that, though? Does he really want to fade into obscurity?

Maybe. He’s never thought about it before. He’s never had to.

“You can just watch if you don't wanna skate, too,” Reki says quickly, backpedalling a bit. “I’d… w-well, I’d like to see you there. It’s been a while since you’ve skated, a-and you don’t have to, but you could still come and watch if you—”

“I'll come.”

“Huh?”

What? Don’t do that. Don’t tell him something like that.

Stop it. You’ll make a liar of yourself. You don’t want to go there. You don’t want to skate.

“I'll do the race.”

Are you serious?

The words are out of his mouth long before the realization of what he’s done really sets in. Reki stares at him with impossibly wide eyes for the longest time, as if he can’t believe what he’s just heard – and truth be told, Langa can’t quite believe it for himself, either.

He just agreed to a rematch tomorrow night. After not skating for a week because he’s suddenly decided he hates it and everything about it, he’s agreed to go ahead and do it all over again.

Is this it? Is this really how you’ll get through this? By punishing yourself?

“Are you… a-are you sure?” Reki asks cautiously.

He’s not, and he probably never will be. But he’s already agreed, and going back on his word so quickly would seem entirely too suspicious. He’s been caught skating again, which means he can still do it, and if Reki was watching him as he rode all the way down the road then he would know that he isn’t struggling to manipulate his board in the slightest.

Realistically, he’s got nothing to lose by running the track. He’s terrified, and more than a little bit upset with himself for blurting out such a definitive answer, but deep down he knows that it really is just one more race. Just one. Four minutes tops, and that’s it. It’ll be over before he knows it.

And once he’s done, he’ll be free. He’ll either rekindle his love and leave all of this needless pain behind himself, or he’ll lose and finally have a real reason to give it all up for good.

It’s tempting. He can’t deny it. He’d give anything at this point to feel like himself again.

“I’m sure,” he says stiffly. “I’ll be there. Wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

Surely Reki can hear the venom in his voice; the bitter apprehension. But if he does, he doesn’t make it obvious, and instead he grins widely enough to force his eyes closed tightly.

“Great!! Ah, man. They’re all gonna be so stoked to see you again! People miss you, y’know?”

They don’t miss me, Reki. They miss Snow. They miss their free entertainment.

“Oh, really?” he says in a bored tone. “I thought they’d care more about you, now that you’re a bigshot.”

Before he gets an answer, he kicks off, taking the lead along their way to school.

He’s stepping into unfamiliar territory now by making subtle digs at his best friend. He knows he shouldn’t, he knows that Reki still hasn’t done anything wrong, but his envy has built up to the point where he can’t seem to hold himself back. He almost doesn’t want to hold himself back.

He wants to see what kind of reaction he can get out of Reki. What might happen if he digs a little more, he wonders? Will Reki notice? Will Reki even care?

“Me? Nah. I mean, it’s kinda cool, I gotta admit,” Reki says bashfully after quickly catching up to him. “People are starting to really see me, y’know? I’m not just ‘ Snow’s redheaded friend ’ anymore, I’m Reki.”

“Riiight. Being ‘ Snow’s friend ’ must have been hard,” he says dryly.

What was that for? Do you really want to get a rise out of him that badly?

Are you even listening to yourself? You know how much he was hurting last time he felt ignored.

He chances a glance at Reki out of the corner of his eye, and his heart stutters at the look on his friend’s face. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think Reki was feeling nauseous, with his mouth pressed in a firm line and his brows drawn in close, the whole look plastered over unusually pale skin.

It’s a look of pure pain, and he knows without a doubt that he’s the one who caused it.

“Yeah, it… wasn’t easy,” Reki mumbles, keeping his eyes on the road ahead. “S’okay, though. I’m over it. I keep skating because it’s fun, anyway,” he finishes, laughing nervously.

I used to feel that way too. I wish I could still say the same.

Would he really say it, though, if it were true? Because right now it seems he’s only keen to say scathing things to one of the most innocent and kind-natured people he’s ever known.

And for what, to get back at him? To make Reki feel bad for daring to be happy?

He bites the inside corner of his lip to try and keep himself quiet. He’s reminded of that old saying that his parents and countless teachers used to tell him, along with everyone else he knew growing up – ‘ If you don’t have anything nice to say, then don’t say anything at all. ’

Now he knows firsthand how it feels to not heed those words. Admittedly, the moment he went after Reki, he felt good. It felt like he was regaining some control over the way he’s been feeling by finally taking out some of his frustration on one of the biggest sources of his pain.

But now? Now he realizes the magnitude of what he’s done and just how much he’s hurt Reki – his Reki, his dearest friend, the person who knows him better than anyone else – and all it’s gained him is a tenfold increase in his own pain.

How selfish. He’s hurt Reki and yet all he can think about is how much his own pain affects him.

“I’ll, uh… get more details about the race today at lunch, ‘kay?” Reki mumbles.

“Oh… sure,” Langa says distractedly.

The rest of their ride to school goes by in silence, and Langa decides he prefers it that way.

He can taste blood in his mouth where he’s been gnawing on his inner lip, and he finds that it keeps him distracted enough from saying any more unsavoury things to Reki. His stomach churns with each second that passes by without a word from Reki, though, as his friend isn’t well known for being able to stay quiet for very long at a time.

He knows he’s screwed up this time. He’s genuinely made Reki feel bad today, and that’s hardly the right way to start off a brand new day. Especially for someone with such a sunny disposition.

But when it comes to fixing it, he can’t figure out how. He still can’t bring himself to spill the truth about everything that’s been going on this past week, so an apology given now seems like it would just feel so hollow. He’s not even sure that Reki would believe he’s being sincere, either. Not after the rude remarks he made a few minutes ago.

It hurts to think that his own best friend probably can’t trust him anymore. And given what he’s done, can Reki even continue to call him his best friend, anyway? Does Reki want to?

He doesn’t know, and it scares him so much. But what he does know is that he’s the only one to blame for the way he feels. He really could fix it so easily, too, if he could just apologize. But telling people he’s sorry isn’t something that’s ever come naturally to him, and every time he thinks about doing so, his jaw clamps tight and his mind shuts down.

This is Reki, though. And Reki’s worth stepping out of his comfort zone for.

When they reach the front gate of the school, he decides to give it a try before it’s too late.

“Reki?”

In the midst of tucking his board under his arm, Reki glances up with a hum, and Langa freezes when those sad eyes look right into his own.

“I’m, ah… I’m…”

I’m sorry. Just say it. It’s not hard, and you know it.

“Never mind,” he mumbles, casting his gaze down on the pavement. “Don’t worry about it.”

Don’t worry? This isn’t about you, this is about him. You need to apologize to him.

“Oh, well… okay,” Reki says awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. “I’m gonna hang around here for a bit and text Miya... okay? So… see you in class?”

That stings a little. It seems Reki wants to avoid him. He’s definitely earned it, though.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay. See you later.”

True to his word, Reki remains at the front gate, settling down on a bench and taking his phone out to keep himself occupied. He makes it clear that he has nothing else to say, and so Langa quickly tucks his board into the flap on his bag before he begins the agonizing walk into school.

He rarely heads inside all on his own. Ninety-five percent of the time he’s with Reki, and if Reki’s not there for some reason, he’s usually flanked by underclassmen or the odd curious girl or two.

Not that he ever pays a single one of them any real attention.

Today feels so much more different, though, and that’s because Reki’s choosing not to walk inside with him. And it hurts so much more than he ever thought it could.

He’s torn between being jealous of Reki and missing him terribly.

It’s the wedding beef disaster all over again, just with their roles reversed. Except he’s actively making things worse for the both of them instead of trying to find a comfortable middle ground where he belongs. He doesn’t want to hurt Reki, even if some sinister little part of him enjoyed it, and he doesn’t want to wallow in self-pity even if he’s taking no action to get himself out of it.

He doesn’t know what to do with himself. And he decides that if he were in Reki’s shoes right now, he wouldn’t want anything to do with it. Reki’s right to put some distance between them.

I couldn’t even manage to apologize to him. What kind of sorry excuse for a best friend am I?

Who is he kidding, though, anyway? Even if he did manage to say he was sorry, would it really be genuine? He still feels like shit, he isn’t looking forward to skating tomorrow, and he doesn’t want to talk to Reki any more than he already has in the last six days.

He supposes the least he can do is give Reki another opportunity to beat him tomorrow. That’ll be his apology, and if it comes down to it, it can also be his farewell.

After all, who would want to be friends with someone as indecisive and insensitive as this?

The moment Langa’s feet touch down on the soft earth of the track, he nearly loses his dinner.

The spotlights above are blinding, and the stifling late summer heat makes it harder to breathe. His eyes dart back and forth, flitting between spectators who point and call his name, the small crowd barely containing their excitement at the prospect of finally seeing him in action again.

His throat feels thick, as if he’s swallowed something he’s allergic to. He hopes that none of them come over to try and talk to him, because he’s not sure he’ll be able to speak at all.

Usually in situations where he’s not sure what to say or where to go, Reki will jump right in and help him navigate his social life with ease. But Reki’s not around tonight. Technically speaking, he is, but they arrived separately for once, and upon spotting him in the crowd Langa noticed that his friend seemed much more interested in showing off his board to some of his new fans.

And he knows that Reki’s already well aware of his presence. They locked eyes for a brief second the moment the crowds started murmuring his track name.

But if Reki doesn’t want to come greet him, then that’s fine. He wouldn’t know what to say to him anyway. At some point, they’ll have to talk, and then of course they’ll have to face one another on the track, but until that time comes Langa’s content to sit and be alone with his thoughts.

Except he doesn’t sit. He keeps standing there like a scarecrow, stiff and expressionless.

“I wasn’t sure you would show up tonight.”

A smooth, familiar voice approaches behind him, and he turns to look over his shoulder. He greets Cherry with nothing more than a blank stare, and in return Cherry loosely crosses his arms over his chest as though he’s not all that impressed.

“Langa,” he says firmly, and just quiet enough that their conversation remains private. “It’s not my place to tell you what to do, but I’m going to anyway. You shouldn’t be here tonight.”

Langa frowns, giving Cherry a similar look of dissatisfaction. “Did Reki say something to you?”

“No,” the man says quickly. “Which is exactly why I’m telling you this.”

I see. They’ve all noticed the distance between Reki and I.

How could they not? From the moment he and Reki met they’ve been glued at the hip, and the last time one of them showed up to race without the other, it hardly went unnoticed. They were miserable when they were alone, and the difference after they made up was night and day. He imagines that their current situation must look similar to have made their friends worry like this.

The only difference between now and then is that he’s still miserable while Reki’s clearly not.

“I don’t know what happened between you two last weekend, and I don’t need to know,” Cherry says, softening his sharp gaze. “But I think you already have enough proof that skating while you’re not in the right frame of mind can be dangerous.”

That much is evident, based on the bizarre behaviour that Adam had once displayed. Thanks to Cherry and Joe, Langa had learned all about how Adam used to be, and how much danger the man had truly put all of his opponents through each time they raced.

He’s not like that, though. He’s nowhere near that level of instability.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Langa mutters.

Before he can walk away, Cherry lays a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I can’t stop you from racing, and I’m not about to try. Just… be careful,” he warns. “There’s no shame in quitting.”

With a nod, Langa shrugs him off, and he heads toward a bench to sit and think for a while.

The first thing he realizes is that there’s no good reason for why he’s chosen to ignore Cherry’s advice. He still doesn’t want to be here, and he still doesn’t want to race. He doesn’t want to have an awkward confrontation with Reki when the two of them barely spoke the day before.

So why is he here? Why is he still waiting for the race to begin?

Is he really so afraid of telling them all the truth about why he’s lost interest? They’re his friends, and logically his pathetic reason should never be enough to make them want to walk away from him. He wouldn’t be the first sore loser in existence, and he certainly won’t be the last, either.

But he supposes it isn’t so much about them as it is about Reki.

It’s all about what Reki thinks of him. And he wonders if it’s always been that way. Reki was his first friend, the first person outside of his family with whom he trusted his personal life to. Reki was – and still is – one of the few people he admires most, and he’s terrified to imagine a life without him being right there by his side.

He adores Reki, through and through. And that’s why he’s so afraid, isn’t it?

He adores Reki to the point where his fears have nearly driven him away, which is completely counteractive to what he really wants. He’s decided that he’s not worthy of Reki’s time, even when he’s subconsciously trying to continue inserting himself into his friend’s life, and all while this little voice in his head works to convince him that Reki doesn’t want anything to do with him.

This race will probably be his last chance to fix himself as well as his relationship with Reki.

That’s why he’s still here.

He hauls his board up into his lap, the artwork on the underside facing up at him in the same vibrant colours it had when it was first painted. Scratches mark the surface, of course, but that goofy yeti that Reki had once decided suited him long ago remains bright and distinguished, along with the word fun that really doesn’t represent him well at all anymore.

He sighs. His precious gift from Reki still hurts to look at just as much as it had a week ago.

He wonders if his board will even hold up for another race. He never had it maintained after the last one, so there could be any number of things wrong with it that he hasn’t found out about yet. It seems a bit too late to have Reki check it out for him, too, and he’s not sure how well that conversation would go over anyway.

He’s still convinced that Reki probably doesn’t want to talk to him much right now.

For all he knows, Reki could loosen up a screw on him. Maybe Reki wants to win this race so badly that he’d be willing to take measures toward ensuring that he crosses the finish line first. There have been similar incidents in the past, as he’s been told by some of the veteran racers here, so it hardly seems far-fetched for something like that to happen again—

Oh, but… what if Reki has already sabotaged him?

Could that be why he lost last weekend’s race? Reki was the one who maintained their boards, same as always, tuning them both up right before they left for Crazy Rock. Their match was a hot topic among their social circles for the entire week leading up to that night, which would’ve fuelled Reki’s desire to win even more so than usual.

What if he’d actually had a screw loose that night, or if the nose-end truck of his board was tightened up so that it was too stiff to let him swing it around? What if one of his wheels were crooked, or some of the bearings in his rear end were much heavier than they should’ve been?

Would Reki really do something like that to him?

The thought of it makes him so angry. Not just because he hasn’t the skills to examine his board himself to prove otherwise, but also because he hates that he’s even come up with the idea in the first place. Reki would never stoop so low as to screw him over like that. Never.

Reki poured his heart into making this board for him – both this one and the prototype that came before it. Reki taught him everything there is to know about skating. He was always his biggest cheerleader along the way. He was there to pick him back up whenever he fell. Always.

If anyone here is low, it’s him. Reki’s his best friend, for crying out loud. Or, at least he was.

“Hey.”

Another familiar voice startles him. It’s not Reki’s, though. It’s deeper, and somewhat soothing.

“Ready for your race, kid?”

“Joe…”

The man gives him a soft smile before patting him on the shoulder, his hand landing a lot harder than Cherry’s had. He offers Langa a hand to help him up off the bench, but Langa refuses, getting up on his own with a confused look on his face.

He doesn’t really look that helpless tonight, does he?

“They’re all gathering around the starting line,” Joe says, glancing over his shoulder. “You should probably think about heading over there.”

Langa didn’t realize it was already time. It feels like it’s only been two minutes since he got here.

He looks down at his board, gripped meekly in both hands, and he feels his palms start to sweat. He’s never been nervous ahead of a race before, although he knows he has a good reason to be worried about this one.

Still, he doesn’t like the feeling. It’s unnatural. He doesn’t like the way his spine tingles or the way his jaw quivers.

“Want me to walk with you?”

His eyes dart to Joe’s face, the man’s expression relaxed as ever.

“I guess I can’t stop you…”

Joe snickers, and he casually waves his arm as if to say ‘follow me’.

Langa walks behind him by about a step, and together they head toward the starting line where a sizeable crowd has already formed. And in the centre of it all stands Reki, bashfully taking fist bumps and nudges to the shoulder as he’s wished good luck, and Langa’s knees nearly lock up before he can make it to his place up there beside him.

His pace stutters considerably, and Joe knows it, too.

“Listen—”

“I’ve already heard it,” Langa says stiffly. “I’m racing. I’ll be fine.”

“Alright, take it easy,” Joe says softly. “I just don’t want you going out there for anyone but yourself, okay? It’s easy to get swept up in all the chaos ‘cause someone else tells you to.”

For himself, huh?

He wanted to do this for Reki. It was Reki who had asked for a rematch, probably because he pitied him, but the point is that he’s realizing it wasn’t his own idea. He had to talk himself into doing it for Reki’s sake, even though what his friend probably wanted most was for them both to be willing participants, and all with no guarantee that this race will even help himself out at all.

Joe’s right. He should be doing this for himself, whether he gets the closure he needs or not.

He should be racing to win. He should give this race everything he’s got, because if he doesn’t, can he really say that he ever tried at all?

He soon realizes that his silent brooding must be pretty off-putting, as Joe’s begun to look at him with more than just worry in his eyes. The man nervously runs a hand through his hair, and he hums with a soft frown on his face until Langa’s cold eyes snap back up to meet his gaze.

“I’m done preaching, I promise,” Joe quickly defends, raising his hands as he backs off. “Good luck out there, alright, Langa?”

He’s not even sure Joe hears him when he finally remembers how to speak, as the man’s already got his back to him as he makes his way over to the waiting crowd.

“Thanks…” he mumbles, to no one in particular.

When the crowd parts to let him pass, he finally meets Reki face-to-face for the first time tonight.

They haven’t spoken to one another yet today. Reki sent him a brief text in the morning to ask if he was still on for the race, and his response was lukewarm at best, but besides that they’ve been in their own worlds up until now as they stand a few feet apart with their boards in hand.

“Hey,” Reki says with a soft smile. “You, ah… ready for this?”

How can he look at me like that? Like there’s nothing wrong with us?

“Yeah,” he responds, his voice faintly cracking. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

His friend is absolutely glowing, enshrined as tonight’s favourite by the spotlights overhead as well as the voices of eager betters, all flashing their cash at one another in hopes of another underdog victory. Reki’s radiant, basking in all the glory and anticipation, while Langa withers away at the edge of the light across from him.

It hurts to look at him. It hurts to think that he can’t stand there and share in the excitement.

And the sad truth is that if Reki had bested someone other than him – like Adam, for example – then he would be singing praises for him. He’d be right there at Reki’s side with a grin on his face and his arms thrown tightly around his best friend, and maybe ruffling that red hair a bit to make Reki’s face warm and shy under all his attention.

He deeply misses those days, and he regrets allowing his condition to get as bad as it has. It might be foolish of him, but he’s surprisingly hopeful that this race will spark something in him again, something that might inspire him to be a better person and admit where he’s gone wrong.

It’s all wishful thinking, though. He’s proven many times over that he can definitely get worse.

The horns suddenly blare, signalling the two of them to take their places, and a cold sweat breaks out along the back of his neck. He finds his spot beside Reki almost mechanically, his legs working stiffly beneath him to bring him forward, and he grips the nose of his board hard enough to make even his bones hurt.

Blood rushes through his ears like a flood through a broken dam, and he doesn’t hear the crowd anymore. He doesn’t hear the countdown horns, either, and it’s only when he chances a look up at the lights that he realizes it’s time to go.

One by one they all turn red, and the moment they light up green, he’s off, charging away from the starting line alongside Reki in a flurry of noise and colour.

For the first several seconds, he doesn’t think. He can’t think. His body moves on its own, guiding him through maneuvers that he’s performed countless times before, keeping him neatly in line with Reki’s own movements while his mind fails to keep up.

He can barely breathe. But he can feel the wind on his skin again, and it makes him feel alive.

At the first sharp corner, he and Reki both tear around it as tightly as they can, their boards only inches away from one another as they begin their reckless dance. He fights for each breath, his heart slamming against his ribs as he narrowly takes the lead for a few seconds, and his knees tremble beneath him as he crouches down low to try and maintain as much speed as he can.

He can do this. He is doing it. He just has to last for a few more minutes.

As they fly down a straightaway, Reki nearly overtakes him again, and he finally turns his head to glance at his friend. He can see fire in Reki’s eyes, and the glint of the spotlights reflected in the redhead’s wolfish grin. It’s clear to him that at least one of them is having the time of his life.

He looks ahead again, and he sees a gentle slope in the path that sparks some much-needed inspiration. It’s angled in such a way that if he can successfully get enough air and land it, he’ll be able to cut the next corner and steal a greater lead in this race for himself.

He doesn’t stop to think about whether or not he’s in the right shape to pull it off. He surges ahead, riding straight toward that slope as his competitive flame begins to burn hot inside him.

Reki disappears behind him as he takes to the sky, and the moment he’s weightless he starts to remember just a little bit about why he’s really here. And it’s not just because he wants to make amends, although that’s still a high priority for him.

He’s here because it feels so good.

With the ground beneath him gone, he feels free of his burdens, and the world around him spins slowly as he takes in the sight of the stars above and the lights below. It’s liberating, and only now does he realize that he’s somehow completely forgotten how incredible it feels.

He lands a little harder than intended, scraping the side of his board along the dirt as he swings his tail end around to align himself with the track once more. His legs quiver as he tries to stand up straight, and his ears ring when all that rushing blood in his head finally recedes.

It almost feels as though he’s himself again, or that he’s at least making strides toward it.

“That’s what I wanna see!” Reki suddenly roars over the noise of their wheels. “C’mon, Langa!”

Oh, he’s… encouraging me.

In an instant, Reki’s there beside him again, and he’s not sure how his friend caught up with him so quickly. Perhaps he didn’t gain as much of a lead as he thought, now that he thinks about it.

He stares at Reki as they ride along the next straightaway, and his heart grows restless again. It’s different this time, though. It feels hopeful. It feels less like a heavy stone in his chest and more like a gentle butterfly.

It almost makes him want to smile.

He’s not there yet, though. Reki still has enough of the upper hand to stay just ahead of him, and every nerve in his body is alight with the desire to reverse their roles. He’s keener than ever before to claw his way back to the top of the podium now that Reki’s actively spurring him on and smiling back at him in a way that soothes so many of his doubts and fears.

He just can’t see himself smiling until he crosses the finish line first.

But it seems the further they go, the more Reki gradually pulls away from him, the gap between their boards steadily increasing with each passing second. He’s quick to employ every strategy he knows, from ducking lower on his board to taking his turns tight enough that he nearly throws himself right off of it. But nothing seems to work.

He’s losing ground, and along with it soon goes all of his faith that things might turn out alright.

His peripheral vision darkens, and all he can see is that bright red hair whipping around ahead of him. Every time he exhales it gets harder to breathe back in again, as if his lungs are filled with thousands of tiny needles, and his legs threaten to go numb on him the longer he stands.

What happened? One minute he was flying free, his heart unburdened and his mind crystal clear, and the next his entire world has collapsed around him.

He sourly blames his failure to keep up on his decision not to practise at all during this past week. Reki clearly spent plenty of time honing his skills, evidenced by the sheer difference in their speed, and in the meantime Langa could only ever nudge his board off to the corner of his bedroom and forget it was even there.

Reki got better, and he only got worse. Reki has maintained the lead for the majority of their race so far because he has earned his place there. And he has every right to keep the lead, too.

The only one Langa can blame is himself. He’s going to lose this race, too, and only because the difference in their abilities is simply too great.

There’s no shame in quitting.

Cherry’s words echo in his empty head, but he disagrees. There is shame in quitting. If he quits now, then those who have cheered him on will be sorely disappointed. He’d be rightly ridiculed, and everyone who supported him on his first climb up to the top would likely leave him behind.

Worst of all, he’d be letting Reki down yet again.

“Langa!”

Reki shouts sharply back at him, forcing his lifeless eyes to look ahead instead of down at the earth below. The fire in his friend’s gaze burns much hotter now, goading him into following along behind Reki’s blaze of glory despite how much he despises the thought of doing so.

Mainly because he knows he can no longer keep up.

What do you want from me, Reki?

“That’s it?” he hears Reki say quietly, before he raises his voice. “Is that all you’ve got?!”

All I’ve got?

Are you… kidding me?

After spending nearly a week apart from one another, that’s what Reki has to say to him? After leaving him behind in the dust yet again during a race that he felt more or less manipulated into agreeing to – that’s what Reki has to say? Really?

The darkened corners of his vision bleed from black to red, and all he can think about is victory.

I want to win.

So Reki wants more, does he? Langa can give him more. Because it’s not just what Reki wants, it’s what they all want. He’s a spectacle, he remembers, and he should perform as such. He ought to ride until his joints ache and his feet blister, he ought to rough his board up until it leaves splinters in his tattered gloves. Because that’s what it means to be the best, doesn’t it?

And being the best is what matters most in a place like this.

I need to win!

He glances left and right, his wild eyes darting between the wall to his left and the next stretch of track down below to his right. He considers some options that would leave him open to winning, such as cutting down the sloped edge beside him to skip another corner. But Reki has already proven that he can catch up after a stunt like that, so it’ll take much more to pull into the lead.

He could push Reki into the wall on the left, though. That would stop him in his tracks.

They’ve never played dirty before. Neither one of them has against any of their opponents. Numbly, he wonders what would happen if he decided to give it a try.

He wouldn’t do it too hard. Just enough to throw Reki off his balance a little, and maybe force him to make time to recover his stance. It would grant him plenty of time to create a stronger lead for himself, and from there he could continue to pull his usual stunts to cut more time.

It’s a great idea. The more he thinks about it, the more he loves it.

The track curves up ahead, the straightaway looking less straight the further they go, and Langa decides that at its narrowest point, just before it ends in another sharp downhill turn, will be where he’ll strike. He’s confident that he can maneuver these curves better than Reki can, given the unique design of his board, and it should allow him to catch up enough to execute his plan.

He exhales slowly, his shaky breath finally evening out, and he closes his eyes for the last few seconds of the straightaway. He clears his mind of everything but the race and this very moment in particular, and his next deep breath in doesn’t hurt at all compared to how it felt earlier on.

When his eyes open again, he sees Reki as his prey.

The winding path begins, and he’s quick to close the distance between them. Reki isn’t as nimble when it comes to moving in such tight spaces, and it only takes a few seconds for them to be within arm’s reach of each other.

For a brief moment, Reki glances back at him, and he seems surprised to have lost those precious few feet of a lead. They’re neck-and-neck again as the curves in the path gradually straighten out, and when the road opens up once more they can finally see the turn that leads down to the next stretch of the track.

Boldly, Langa decides to experiment by knocking the heel of his board into the side of Reki’s as he prepares to take the corner. His opponent doesn’t waver much, but he can tell by the look on the redhead’s face that he’s definitely caught him off guard.

From the corner of his eye he gazes fiercely at Reki, and Reki’s expression seems to mirror his own quite well. It’s passionate in almost an angry way, with their eyes similarly narrowed and their jaws clenched tight. It tells him that Reki’s as intent on winning this race as he thought he’d be, making the impact of his impending foul play taste that much sweeter.

He’s running out of time before the turn, though. If he has any hope of gaining a real lead, he needs to make a serious move now.

Reki inches closer to Langa’s side as he tends to prefer taking the inside of a corner as often as possible. But with Langa riding on his right side, he won’t be able to take this upcoming right turn on his own terms, which leaves him wide open to a swift bout of sabotage.

It happens a lot faster than Langa expected it to. His board knocks stiffly into the side of Reki’s, keeping them locked against one another, and with a snarl he quickly raises his arm up to give his opponent a good shove toward the rock wall on their left.

His arm throbs and tingles as if he’s been shocked, but he’s also never felt more alive in his life.

Reki’s quick to right himself, correcting his balance before he can crash out, but in the midst of their tangle he does scrape the wall with his left arm, leaving fresh red marks along the skin.

“Oi, Langa!” Reki hisses.

There’s venom in his voice, and something dark behind his eyes. That’s good, Langa thinks.

They come out of the turn somewhat unscathed, with Langa taking the lead while Reki falls in behind him. The way they’re headed now has a rock wall on Langa’s right side this time, while Reki’s place on the left has him riding alongside a steep fall to another stretch of track below.

He rides the high of securing the lead for a little while longer, breathing the warm night air deeply with his head held high. He’s created something exhilarating for himself, carving out his rightful place up front using any means necessary, and with such a wide expanse of track left open for the finale, he soon discovers just how good it really feels to leave everything behind.

He’s prepared to do whatever it takes to ensure that Reki stays back there. He won’t so much as let a single strand of red hair catch his eye.

They barrel down the straightaway as fast as they can, with Langa’s passion reignited in the worst of ways while Reki fights to earn himself another shot at the top of the podium. Risking the inability to slow down in time for the next turn, Reki crouches down even lower on his board, earning himself just enough speed to catch up alongside Langa once more.

“What the hell’s gotten into you?” Reki shouts, reaching out to give Langa what he views as a harmless nudge. But it’s as if his friend doesn’t even see him. “Langa! Are you listening to me?!”

You’re too close.

The factory at the end of the race isn’t far; two more sharp curves remain before the track turns by ninety degrees and heads inside. The finish line is within Langa’s reach now, and all he has to do is make it down the rest of this winding slope with Reki far enough behind that he can’t possibly catch back up again.

Nausea grips him. His teeth ache and his heart thumps in his ears as adrenaline rushes through him, and he finds himself sucking in as much air as he can again with each breath.

He’s desperate now. He can only see the path ahead and nothing more. Nothing else matters.

I will win this!

A warm hand brushes against his upper arm, and in that moment he feels as though he’s been burned. His thoughts are sent reeling, his illusion of a well-deserved victory shattering before his eyes, and he whips his head around to send the sharpest wide-eyed glare in the direction of someone who he really should have been more than happy to concede the win to.

In an ideal world, maybe.

The moment Reki’s fingers curl around Langa’s bicep, Langa shoves him off, aggressively tipping the redhead’s balance off-centre until his board leans dangerously to the left. Reki wobbles, his feet terribly unsteady, and he reaches out to try and grasp at any part of his friend that he can reach to try and regain composure.

But Langa doesn’t reach back.

“L-Langa, what’re you—!”

Reki’s heels scrape the ground, bringing his board to a rough and abrupt halt, but momentum carries him forward as he lands hard on his arm. He tumbles a bit, hitting the grass and small rocks that line the edge of the road, and then suddenly he feels rather… weightless.

The ground beneath him disappears for a moment until he lands hard on his back, and then all at once everything whirls and distorts around him. He can’t distinguish between earth and sky as he’s hit from all angles, his body kicking up dust as he’s assaulted by hard-packed dirt, stones, and the odd barren tree branch.

It feels like hours before he collapses in a heap on the ground, and every part of his body sears in agonizing pain. He doesn’t know where he is. He doesn’t even know what just happened.

The only thing he can remember before he blacks out is the frightening expression that he saw on Langa’s face.

Reki…?

The shrill, panicked cry of his best friend’s voice is what finally brings Langa back to his senses.

He twists his board around and he rakes it across the dirt to bring himself skidding to a halt. He struggles to stand on weak and trembling legs as his board slowly drifts down the track without him, the low thrum of its wheels uncomfortably quiet without the rush of Reki’s wheels beside it.

Where did you go, Reki?

Within seconds his blood begins to run cold, and his legs suddenly give out on him. He clutches at the earth with white knuckles, and he stares wide-eyed into the empty space between his hands at where there should be a pair of slim tracks left behind from when Reki passed him by.

But there’s nothing there. Reki didn’t pass him. And Reki isn’t still behind him, either. The entire stretch of track is deafeningly silent, save for the memory of Reki’s cry that echoes in his head.

His breath quickens to the point where his vision fills with spots, and his heart pounds so hard in his ears that it feels as if his skull might shatter. He clambers to the edge of the track on his hands and knees, forcing numb and sluggish limbs to just move, and when he finally manages to haul himself over to where the steep downward slope begins, his arms give out on him too.

A tuft of red hair blows lifelessly in the breeze on the track way down below, but aside from that, Reki lies completely motionless. Langa’s heart leaps into his throat, and he struggles to choke back a desperate sob as he begs as loud as he can, screaming into the open air for Reki to please wake up.

Reki!

Several hours pass by before Langa finally begins to forget the sounds of blaring sirens.

He hides from the harsh light of the hospital wing where Reki rests, huddled in a stiff chair around the corner where it’s dim and darkened for the night. He can’t remember how or when he got here, but he decided long ago that this quiet, lonely corner is exactly where he belongs.

His head feels so heavy as it rests in his hands. His dirty hands, still marred by dust and blood.

He can’t recall how many people have come by to talk to him. Strange voices, familiar voices, they all began to blend together at some point, and he drowned out every single one of them. Eventually, the questions stopped, and the reassurances came. But he never answered anyone.

He hasn’t moved from his chair since he arrived, and based on how few visitors he’s had in the last hour or so, he figures that people have started to take a hint. Mentally, he’s not sure where he is right now, but physically there’s absolutely nothing wrong with him. He doesn’t want any attention, not when Reki needs all the love and devoted care that he can get right now.

He’s not hurt. He’s not suffering from who knows how many broken bones, cuts, and bruises. He’s not at risk of a concussion, or a collapsed lung, or a debilitating spinal injury. Or even—

The softest sob catches in his throat, and his fingers curl tighter into the roots of his hair.

He has no idea what the extent of Reki’s injuries are yet.

Do I even deserve to know?

He could’ve known, had he paid any attention to the people who came around the corner to try and console him. But they’re gone now, and he prefers it that way anyway. He doesn’t want to listen to the endless stream of ‘it’s not your fault ’s and ‘it was just an accident’ s scattered in between gory descriptions of what Reki now has to deal with.

I let him fall.

I made him fall.

It’s hard for Langa to see any light at the end of this tunnel when all of the guilt lies solely with him. They can try to pin the blame on the fact that the course itself is dangerous, what with there being no guard rails or the fact that it’s built upon an old mine to begin with. But at the end of the day, the one who caused Reki to fall was just Langa – pure and simple.

He pushed Reki, and he never made any effort to pull him back up.

I did this to him.

In his blind desperation to win back the crown, Langa somehow managed to find himself falling as low as the previous king of the mountain. He latched onto victory and all the glory that comes with it, and in the process he forgot why skating ever mattered so much to him in the first place.

Just like Reki did once upon a time. Only Reki had regained his love in a much healthier way.

Now, Langa’s not sure he’ll ever regain his love for a sport that he’s tainted with blood and cold betrayal. He tore his filthy gloves from his shaking hands a while ago, and they still sit discarded on the floor across from him. His board remains lost along the track, probably stuck off in a bush somewhere, but truth be told he’s not sure he ever wants to lay eyes on it again.

Just the thought of skating and even the thought of all the people he’s met along the way makes him sick to his stomach. How can he face any one of them again after what he’s done tonight?

Especially Reki. Come to think of it, why is he even still here waiting for Reki to accept visitors? He doesn’t want to visit Reki, because there’s no way in hell that Reki wants to visit him.

It’s only been a few hours, but Langa’s managed to lose his mind, his hobby, and his best friend.

He takes a deep breath as that realization hits, and it shudders on the way out. He weeps softly into the palms of his hands, his tears spilling over onto his knees below.

“Langa?”

No. I can’t. Not you.

Of all the others that have come and gone over the last few hours, one voice stands out well enough from the rest that Langa finally begins to listen. He knows that voice anywhere, and because of that as well as his current circumstances, he knows better than to ignore it.

He quickly lifts his head out of his hands, and his frightened eyes lock on to the last person he wanted to come in contact with tonight. She stands just a few feet away, her hands meekly clasped in front of her waist, and the light from the hallway that intersects behind her illuminates her frame in such a way that Langa can’t make out her expression.

But it’s undoubtedly Reki’s mother. He has a duty to answer to her, if no one else.

His mouth opens, but no words come out, and he snaps it back shut as nausea creeps up on him again. She begins to approach him slowly despite his silence, taking cautious steps that leave him wondering if she’s here to deliver him bad news, or if she’s just plain afraid of him.

“Are you okay, dear?”

He winces, because she sounds so sweet and just as soft-spoken as ever.

“I… I’m not,” he croaks, his voice hoarse and cracked.

She takes a seat in the chair right next to him without even asking, boldly proving that she’s not afraid of him at all. Her warm hand lands on his upper back as he remains hunched over, and she starts giving him gentle pats in between rubbing in slow circles.

It’s so soothing. He doesn’t believe he deserves to be soothed, but he’s not about to stop her.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, Langa,” she murmurs. “What are you sorry for? That boy’s reckless sometimes. He’s been in the hospital plenty of times. You know that,” she reassures.

His heart breaks as she speaks, because he knows now that nobody told her how the accident happened. Having to tell her himself seems like a fair punishment for what he’s done, though.

His hands tremble as he sets them down in his lap, and he finally sits up straight enough to have a proper conversation. He sniffles, and he dries the corners of his puffy eyelids with the inside of his wrist before sighing heavily and leaning back in his chair.

“It wasn’t just an accident,” he mumbles, looking ahead at the opposite wall with a blank and dull look in his eyes. “It was my fault. I pushed him, and I… I made him fall. It was all my fault…”

He can’t look her in the eye again. He’s terrified of what he’ll see.

She doesn’t say anything for a while, but her hand continues to move along his upper back. He takes it as a sign that she doesn’t hate him, at least, and that eases a few of his biggest fears.

But he wonders how much she’ll want to know, and what sorts of questions she’ll ask now that she knows he’s the one responsible for the state her son is in. Depending on what she wants and how much he admits, she might very well begin to hate him for what he’s done after all.

“You regret what you did, though, right?” she asks softly.

It takes a moment for him to wrap his head around her words, and then he surprises himself by turning his head to look at her.

“What?” he asks dumbly.

“You didn’t mean to hurt him, did you?” she clarifies. “You’re upset. Everyone can see that.”

“It’s not… it’s not that simple.”

She frowns softly in confusion, and Langa moves to look at the floor between his feet. It’s a long while before he finally begins to explain himself properly for the first time in far too long.

“I wasn’t thinking clearly. And I haven’t been for a while now,” he admits. “So when I pushed him, I… I felt relieved,” he says, his voice softening and breaking on the last word. “I just wanted to get away from him, and when he fell, I didn’t… I didn’t even try to help him—”

He stops himself when the pain in his chest overwhelms him, and he brings his hands back up to his face. He rubs away the fatigue and the lingering tears that threaten to fall, and when he drops his hands back down in his lap he sighs.

“I don’t even remember what happened after that,” he mutters, growing angry with himself. “I don’t know where I went, or what I did. I don’t know who helped him. I just… disappeared.”

Figuratively, he means. Physically, he knows he was there, as he remembers the lights and sirens and all those strange hands that kept touching his arms and shoulders, trying to guide him this way and that. But emotionally, he’d completely checked out after their race ‘ended’.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats in a sorrowful whisper. “I don’t… know what to do now.”

Reki’s mother maintains her silence for quite a while as she mulls it all over.

Internally, Langa’s thoughts are scrambled, and his only relief is that his panic doesn’t show on his face. He’s torn between wondering if he should take off before she chews him out, or if he should stay and face the fact that she might very well want to press charges against him.

For all he knows, Reki’s life could become drastically different from here on out because of him. Reki could be paralyzed, missing a limb, suffering brain damage – he has no idea. It’s only fair that he be punished, no matter the outcome, and he resolves to stay and face his fate.

But when Masae speaks up again, it doesn’t hit nearly as hard as he expected it to.

“Well,” she sighs quietly. “We all do things we regret when we’re young. Especially when we’re hurting. You boys are no different.”

He turns his head only a bit, just enough to see her from the corner of his eye.

“I think what matters is that you know you made a mistake,” she says wisely. “And that you regret your choices. Maybe you wanted to hurt him then, but you can recognize now that you don’t want that at all.”

It stings when he hears her implication that he’d wanted to hurt Reki, but that’s only because it’s the truth. He’s had a hard time accepting the truth as of late, but as much as he hates it he’s actually glad to have it drilled into him by someone else for a change.

It’s hard for him to accept that what he’s done is nothing more than a mistake, too. At the time, it certainly wasn’t. He got rough with Reki with no regard for his friend’s safety, and selfishly kept antagonizing him until it ended up going way too far.

That fall that Reki took wasn’t just a tumble. It could have killed him. And that seems far too severe to have been considered a simple ‘mistake’.

But he wonders…

If Reki’s mother is willing to talk about this incident in such a way, then that must mean that Reki’s out of danger. She wouldn’t be so willing to speak to him if her son was in grave danger.

“There’s no sense in letting this hang over you,” Masae says, interjecting his thoughts. “You can’t take back what you did, but you can try to make up for it.”

He nods solemnly. Sage advice, but he’s not sure how he’s supposed to follow it.

In his eyes, what he’s done is irredeemable. If he were in Reki’s shoes, he wouldn’t want to reconcile with someone who’s caused so much unnecessary pain and suffering. He would love nothing more than to make things right and go back to the way things were before he lost that damned race, but at this point it really doesn’t seem at all possible.

He can’t see any way that Reki won’t hate him after this.

“How is he doing?” he asks in a small voice. “Is he… okay?”

“He’s stable,” she assures with a smile. “There’s a lot to remember, though, and I haven’t quite wrapped my head around it all yet. But he’s had a shoulder dislocation, a few broken ribs, a concussion… plenty of cuts and bruises, of course, and— oh! His wrist is broken. Again.”

Every word she speaks compounds Langa’s distress even further, even though she speaks with a playful lilt and the occasional soft laugh. But she notices how quickly the blood drains from his face, and she soothes him by giving his hand a squeeze.

“He’s expected to make a full recovery, don’t you worry. He’s a tough boy.”

Langa’s relief in hearing those words is palpable, and his shoulders drop significantly as the tension fades. He can feel Masae’s thumb pass over the back of his hand in slow circles, and in return he curls his fingers around hers, finally feeling comfortable enough to connect with her.

He’ll be okay. He’s actually going to be okay.

“Where are the girls?” he asks. “Do they know…?”

“They're with him now, with their father,” she explains. “They’ll be heading home soon to sleep.”

“I see…”

He leans back a little further in his chair, and he glances up at the dim lights on the ceiling.

He’s glad that Reki’s family can be here to see him and give him the love that he needs. He’s sure that none of them appreciate being woken up in the middle of the night just to be told that their loved one was injured, but still, he’s grateful that Reki has such a strong support system.

Surely none of them are strangers to Reki’s tendency to get banged up, of course, but Langa wonders what the smallest ones think about all of this. The twins are too young to really grasp why their big brother ends up in the hospital so often, and with this time being so much worse than any other, he can only assume that they’re probably not taking it very well.

Forget facing Reki. How could he ever face them again? How could he look those innocent little girls in the eye and pretend that he wasn’t the one who put their brother in casts and bandages?

“Why don’t you go in and see him before he gets some sleep?”

The sudden suggestion has the hairs on the back of his neck standing up straight.

“I can’t,” he says fearfully. “He doesn’t want to see me.”

“Oh? What makes you say that?”

He slowly pulls his hand from her grasp, and he fidgets with his fingers, trying to distract from his discomfort by pressing his fingernails into his skin. He gnaws on the inside of his lip again while he tries to find something to say, partly hoping that all of his indecision might persuade Reki’s mom to let it go, but she continues to wait with such a pleasant, patient smile on her face.

“Well… why would he want to see me after what I did?”

“Because you’re his best friend, dear,” she gently explains. “I’ve never seen him light up more than he does when he’s with you.”

Her words cut him deep, plunging right into his worn-out heart.

She’s right. Langa can’t recall very many times when he hasn’t seen a show-stopping grin on Reki’s face, except for when Reki was in a very similar position to how he is now. But even during this past week when his own demeanour was sour and off-putting, Reki had done his best to keep smiling and enjoying his company, and only rightly stopping after being provoked.

Reki genuinely loves spending time together, even when one of them isn’t at their best. Day or night, rain or shine, he’s the one who Reki chooses to spend most of his time with. And if that isn’t enough for this friendship to be worth fighting for, then Langa doesn’t know what is.

I’m his best friend. He’s not just mine, but I’m also his.

And I think I somehow forgot that I’m just as important to him as he is to me.

He suddenly bursts into tears, dropping his face back into the palms of his hands.

Masae’s arms wrap around his shoulders to pull him into a sideways hug, and he selfishly leans into her for as long as she’ll allow it. He cries very quietly into the crook of her neck as the weight of everything he’s put Reki through finally comes crashing down on him, and in return she sweetly pets his hair and tells him several times over that it’ll all be alright.

He’s not sure how much time passes before he relaxes again and his breath evens out. He sits up slowly, feeling the cold seep into his skin as he returns to his own personal space, and he sniffles a few times to clear his runny nose.

It’s unusual for him to be so vulnerable like that. But he feels so, so much better for it.

“Here,” Masae says softly. She pulls her hand back out from inside her purse and she hands him a small packet of tissues. “It’s good to cry, isn’t it?”

She’s still smiling at him. He’s not sure what he’s done to deserve her unending kindness.

“Mhm,” he mumbles, wiping his eyes. “Thank you…”

It really is good to cry. He hasn’t let out any of the feelings he’s bottled up all week in any way that’s healthy. The only frustration he’s vented so far was in the form of aggression targeted toward Reki, and now that he’s cried he wonders how much good it would’ve done him if he’d just let it happen long ago. He might not have been so vicious in tonight’s race, had he done it.

But the past is the past, and Reki’s mother has already reminded him of that. It’s time to move ahead and see if he can make things right, or at the very least give Reki a proper apology.

He looks past her, directing his gaze at the hallway that intersects with this one. To the right, just around the corner, is the room where Reki rests, and if he listens carefully enough he can faintly hear the redhead’s younger siblings chattering away.

It makes him nervous. It means Reki’s awake, and probably struggling to endure all of that pain.

“You don’t have to go in and see him if you don’t want to,” she gently assures. “He’s not going anywhere for a while, so you’ll have plenty of time if you’d rather go home and sleep for now.”

He thinks about it for just a second, and not a moment longer.

“No,” he says calmly. “I… I need to see him. I want to.”

I owe it to him.

Masae beams at him, her smile bright and full of pride in what he’s chosen to do. “He’ll be happy to see you, dear. I promise. You’re more than welcome to head in whenever you like.”

“I think I’ll stay here for a little while,” he says softly. “It’s just… maybe it’s better to wait…?”

He can’t quite figure out how to explain that he’d rather not go in while he’s got an audience. If Reki is angry with him, he really doesn’t want to face that wrath in front of the redhead’s family.

But Masae gives him a knowing smile, and she stands up to go and collect her family.

“I understand.”

He looks up at her with hopeful eyes, eyes that look so much less dead than when she first came around that corner. She offers him both her hands to help him stand, finally earning the smallest of smiles from him, and while it’s completely unnecessary he graciously takes the offer anyway, allowing her to pull him up to his feet.

She gives him a proper hug, surprising him enough to force the air from his lungs, and she pats him on the back when he meekly returns the embrace.

“Take care, okay? Oh— and if you don’t make it home until morning, don’t worry. I’ll let your mom know where you are,” she assures.

“Thanks,” he says lightly, still faintly smiling. “I really appreciate this. All of this. I mean it.”

“I know you do,” she says, giving his arm a squeeze. “You’re a good boy, Langa.”

I don’t know about that anymore, but it’s nice of her to say so.

She leaves him with a smile and a wave, rounding the corner to see her son one more time before he can get some much-needed rest, and Langa carefully sits back down in his chair.

He debates whether to let Reki nap before he goes in, or if he should go in as soon as Reki’s family leaves so that they can have a conversation while he’s still awake. It doesn’t take much for him to convince himself that the latter idea is a bad one, seeing as how Reki’s probably exhausted and likely wants nothing more than to finally close his eyes for a while.

Besides, it’ll give him some much-needed time to think, too. There’s a lot on his mind, and not a whole lot of organization going on. He won’t plan out everything he has to say word-for-word, but he decides that it couldn’t hurt to prepare himself for all kinds of different questions.

Most of all, though, he decides that he needs to prepare himself to listen. Because he hasn’t done a lot of that over the course of the last week, either, and listening to what Reki has to say about how he feels concerning all of this is paramount when it comes to making things right.

Two hours, minimum. Hell, he’ll even wait until sunrise if that’s what it takes. He’ll give Reki all the time in the world to rest and relax before dropping in on him, because Reki deserves to rest.

And showing Reki some real consideration at a time like this is the least he can do.

Langa doesn’t know how long he spent dozing in his chair, but by the time he wakes he’s plenty sore and the lights above are just a little bit brighter.

He sits up, groaning as his joints snap, and he wipes the sleep from his eyes. His first thought is to find a vending machine somewhere to grab a coffee, but quickly remembers where he is and why he’s here, and his plans change entirely.

It’s time for him to go and see Reki.

He’s put it off for long enough, albeit for good reason, but he knows that if he waits for too much longer Reki’s liable to think that he’ll never show up at all. And that would be bad, because he doesn’t want Reki thinking that he doesn’t plan to check in on him – or apologize, especially.

He stands up quickly, and his legs nearly give out. He hadn’t realized they’d gone a bit numb.

Pacing for a few minutes helps work the blood through his stiff legs, and once he’s done he reluctantly picks up his discarded gloves off the floor, stuffing them into one of his back pockets.

He looks down at his bare hands, and he realizes that they’re chalky and dry, and more than just a little dirty. He tries brushing them off on his pants, but it only fills the air with a faint cloud of dust, and he decides he’s better off heading into the washroom to clean himself up.

Might not be the worst idea, considering he’ll be going into a clean hospital room right after.

The nearest washroom is quiet and unoccupied, and a single-room rather than one full of stalls. He’s relieved to not have to face anyone in his current state, as his first peek in the mirror shows him just how much of a mess he is.

His eyes show clear signs that he’s cried, and along his cheekbones are subtle smears of track dirt. His hair is limp and unclean, and overall he looks as though he hasn’t slept in the better part of a week. Which is partially true, given how restless his nights have been as of late.

He’s quick to wash up in the sink in an attempt to make himself more presentable, and once his reflection begins to show who he really is, he heads out, making his way to Reki’s room.

The walk to that room feels long and arduous, when in reality it only takes about thirty seconds. But each step makes his heart beat a little faster, and by the time he gets there he’s slightly out of breath, stopping to lean back against the wall outside Reki’s doorway.

He presses a hand to his chest, and he shuts his eyes. Second thoughts about going in there come rushing to the surface, but he does everything in his power to ignore them.

I can do this.

With a deep breath he pivots on the ball of his foot, and he carefully steps into Reki’s room.

It’s quiet and calm, with the lights all dark save for a few near the bed that have only been dimmed. But it’s enough for him to see Reki where he lies in those white sheets, all bundled up in hospital clothes and swathed in clean bandages, sleeping away the early hours peacefully.

It almost makes him want to step back and leave. He’s intruding on precious recovery time, and Reki looks far too comfortable to warrant such an early and disappointing wake-up call.

But his feet carry him forward, slowly walking him over to Reki’s bedside even when every hair on his arms and the back of his neck begins to stand up straight in nervous fear. His breath quickens as he approaches Reki, the redhead still blissfully unaware of his presence, and once he stops he gently curls his fingers around the cold metal bars on the guard rails of the bed.

And then he watches. For a long time, all he does is watch Reki sleep, taking comfort in the calm rise and fall of his friend’s chest, the relaxed look on his face, and the warmth in his skin.

One by one he moves his gaze between injuries, glancing at everything that Reki’s mother had listed off earlier. Several of those injuries are internal, of course, but that doesn’t stop him from looking attentively, as though he can see through all those layers at the damage he’s caused.

He wonders how much pain Reki’s in. There’s an I.V. line running into the crook of his elbow, the sight of it making Langa’s face pale, but he figures there must be some kind of pain relief in it.

He wonders if Reki’s dreaming, too. Can he dream, while he’s so heavily medicated? And if he can, what could he be dreaming about? Winning that race, maybe, or a nice lazy day at home?

I hope he’s not thinking about the race. I want him to forget it ever happened.

As unlikely as it is, it wouldn’t be right if that happened anyway. If Reki forgot about the race, then Langa wouldn’t have much to apologize for, and that defeats the purpose of why he’s here.

By the time he’s finished searing Reki’s injuries into the back of his mind, his eyes have landed on the redhead’s face, his soft gaze gently studying his friend’s unmarred features. Somehow in that long fall, Reki managed to spare his face from anything worse than a little cut along his left cheekbone, neatly patched up in that same pristine white as the rest of his bandages.

Without thinking, Langa raises a hand, brushing the back of one finger along that patch. He moves from left to right, caressing the wound as if to mimic the motion of wiping away tears.

And then Reki’s eyes open.

Langa’s hand returns to his personal space as fast as if he’d just touched fire. His frightened, wide-eyed gaze remains locked on Reki’s sleepy eyes, and for the longest time all they can do is stare back at one another as they slowly come to terms with what they’re seeing.

If there were ever a time that Langa wished he could read emotions, it would be now, he thinks.

He’s completely petrified, afraid to move or speak or do anything that’ll really make Reki realize who’s standing beside him. He waits in agony for his friend’s face to twist in bitter anger, or hurt, or maybe even fear once Reki remembers what happened tonight and who did this to him.

But Reki’s expression never changes. It remains calm and friendly, and unnervingly welcoming.

“Mm… Langa?” he mumbles, his voice thick and tired.

Pins and needles shoot through Langa’s spine as he’s addressed directly, and he remains frozen in the wake of Reki’s piercing gaze. Those warm eyes flit between every feature on his face, studying him carefully, and it feeds the fear that finally grips every muscle in his body.

But then Reki turns his head, glancing away at the heavy curtains that cover the windows.

“What time… is it?”

Stunned by the irrelevant question, Langa remains stiff and silent. He soon remembers that he has to breathe, though, and when he does he snaps out of it, glancing around the dark room.

“I… I don’t know,” he stutters quietly. “Early morning. Five or so, maybe?”

“Hm…”

Reki’s non-committal hum seems to imply that he’s not all that bothered by anything right now, although Langa can’t understand why. He watches as his friend turns his head back, staring up at the ceiling now with a bored expression on his face, and when Reki sighs it makes him jump.

Those eyes are on him again in seconds, this time soft and filled with concern. They’re so warm, just as they always are, and yet they make him feel so cold.

“You okay?”

A long silence stretches between them before Langa finally speaks.

“Me?” he whispers. “Why are you… why are you worried about me?”

His fingers grip the rails harder than before, turning his knuckles white. It’s not that he’s angry at Reki for asking him such a thing, but actually quite the opposite.

He’s angry at himself for eliciting that kind of question.

“What about you?” he stresses. “Reki, I…”

His eyes dart from one bandage to the next, retracing all the steps he took earlier when memorizing the impact of his choices. Here Reki lies, battered and sore, with his arm in a sling and probably the worst concussion of his life – and yet his first concern is how Langa is doing?

I don’t deserve someone like him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “Reki, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

The words rush out like a mantra, and he hangs his head in shame, his hair falling around his face like curtains. He can feel tears well up in the corners of his eyes, but sheer stubbornness keeps them from falling down onto the clean white sheets of Reki’s bed.

He sinks down into the chair behind himself, and he rests his forehead on his hands after his grip on the rails relaxes. He feels utterly defeated, but it’s almost in a good way, as though he’s finally conquered his feelings and taken back even a shred of control over himself.

But then he asks himself – what comes next? Will Reki accept his apology, or will he discard it?

He decides that he’ll apologize a thousand times over if that’s what it takes for Reki to believe that he’s sincere. He knows that he’s not owed forgiveness, nor is he about to try and force any out of Reki, either, but at the very least he needs Reki to know just how sorry he really is.

He’s resolved to tell him everything now. He’s no longer concerned about preserving himself or even his fear of pushing Reki away. Reki is more than welcome to cast him aside for his actions, and he’ll gladly accept that as retribution, so long as he has just a few minutes to say his piece.

He’s not sure how he could ever live with himself if he never gave Reki any closure of his own.

Before he can begin to explain himself, however, a warm hand lands on the top of his head, and it stays there with only the slightest pressure. He recognizes it as Reki’s hand just by the way it feels, as well as the comfortable weight of it – a sensation that he’s felt many times before.

It pats the crown of his hair a few times as if to console him. Puzzled, he curiously lifts his chin enough to peer over his hands at Reki’s face, and his friend’s expression is still as soft as it was.

“C’mere,” Reki says softly. “You can sit.”

Langa doesn’t understand until Reki’s hand moves from his hair to pat an empty space on the bed. He sits up slowly and he regards Reki’s suggestion with uncertainty, his wary eyes studying the space as if he’s somehow being tested.

Reki doesn’t really want him there, does he? It feels too close. Too personal.

“C’mon,” the redhead gently urges, giving Langa’s wrist a tug. “Stop lookin’ at me like that. All sad, and stuff. I’m gonna live, y’know,” he says casually.

Langa opens his mouth to protest Reki’s unbelievable indifference, but he quickly decides to keep his thoughts where they belong. He reminds himself that how Reki chooses to handle all of this is entirely up to him and no one else, and least of all himself.

He stands up slowly, wiping the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand, and he perches on the very edge of the bed, maintaining as much distance between himself and Reki as he can.

“Why aren’t you mad at me?” he blurts out.

“Who says I’m not?”

At that, Langa stiffens, and Reki works quickly to try and ease the guilt that’s written on his face.

“You really screwed me up,” he further explains. “But it’s not like I haven’t screwed myself up before. And that’s when I’m against people who always try to hurt me,” he laughs, though only briefly before the pain in his ribs makes him cough.

“R-Reki—”

“Agh, damn it. Broken ribs hurt. Can’t do anything,” Reki sighs exasperatedly.

“Please be careful,” Langa quietly insists.

His hands hover nervously in the space between them as he prepares to help Reki with whatever he needs, be it pain management or even a rearranging of pillows. But Reki doesn’t ask for anything at all, and he ends up fidgeting with the edge of the redhead’s blanket instead.

“My point is,” Reki resumes, keeping his voice calm this time, “that yeah, I’m mad at you. If you’d told me at the start of the race that you were gonna play like that, I’d have been ready for it. I didn’t expect all that from you, of all people.”

Langa remains silent, giving Reki all the time he needs to vent his frustration.

“But I don’t hate you,” Reki says softly. “That’s what you’re thinking, right? That I hate you?”

“Mhm,” Langa nods solemnly. “Kind of.”

“Well, I don’t,” Reki asserts, raising his good hand to give the back of Langa’s hand a good flick. “So stop it. You’re gonna have to try harder than that to make me hate you.”

The snapping sound it makes and the sting that lasts afterward leaves Langa with a shocked look on his face, but it puts a small smile on Reki’s. He wrings his hand, trying to make the pain subside, and the pout that soon follows makes his bed-ridden friend snicker.

“There, we’re even,” Reki says proudly, and Langa frowns.

“Hardly.”

“But you’re feeling better, right?”

Langa cocks his head in confusion.

“You’re talking to me. Makin’ faces at me. I’d say you’re doing a lot better than you were a week ago,” Reki elaborates. His expression and his tone both soften before he continues, asking “You wanna… tell me what’s up? How come you’ve been so… not -you?”

Reki’s questions make Langa’s throat tighten up, but instead of deflecting and pretending that there’s nothing wrong, he gives Reki a nod, proving that he’s willing to talk this time around.

It takes a minute before he can relax enough to put the words in his head into his mouth, but once he does, they all flow freely, making him wonder why he ever had any trouble with it at all.

“I think I’m just a sore loser,” he murmurs. “I didn’t like losing to you last weekend.”

Reki hums, calmly acknowledging him. “So you were… mad at me? Or… jealous?”

“Jealous, yeah,” Langa admits. “And probably mad, too. I didn’t really understand it. I still don’t.”

He wishes he did, because he’d love to tell Reki absolutely everything. But at the root of it all, he truly believes that his problems have simply stemmed from the fact that he is just a sore loser.

“I felt like I wasn’t good enough anymore. You were getting better, and I was falling behind. I think… I probably felt the way you did, back when we first had a fight,” he says softly.

“And you took it out on me in last night’s race, right?”

“Yeah,” he whispers, his voice thickly laced with guilt. “I didn’t even mean to. I really didn’t, Reki, I promise,” he insists. “I just wanted to get the race over with. I was fine with losing, I… I thought that if I lost, I could quit skating, and I could stop feeling the way I was feeling. But all I could think about was winning. I wanted to win so badly, Reki,” he admits, dropping his gaze down.

The redhead nudges his shoulder with his fist, urging him to raise his head. And he does.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you didn’t wanna race in the first place?” Reki asks. “I would’ve been okay with it, y’know. We all would. Nobody races unless they want to.”

“I thought you’d be disappointed in me. I thought… maybe you’d be mad that I wasn’t skating anymore,” Langa explains. “You were having so much fun without me, too, and I… didn’t like it.”

Whether a victory would’ve helped him or not, he finally realizes what the most important reason behind his decision to race last night was. His jealousy had hidden it from him before, but now that he’s opened his heart to Reki it seems that even he can still learn new things about himself.

I joined the race last night because I wanted to be with him. That’s all I ever wanted, isn’t it?

He would’ve given anything to have been able to accept his loss last weekend with a smile on his face if it meant he could stay by Reki’s side. But instead, he let the ugliest part of his heart fester until he couldn’t keep it contained any longer, and it led to nearly dire consequences.

I could’ve been honest with him from the start. I knew that I could trust him, but I…

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “I made everything between us so much worse again.”

He can hear Reki draw in a deep breath, and he can hear when it comes back out slowly, too.

“It wasn’t really all that fun…”

“Huh?”

“Skating without you,” Reki clarifies. “It might’ve looked like I was having fun, and I guess I was, but… it’s different without you. It always is.”

Langa’s heart flutters. It’s back to moving gently within him again, and it stirs up feelings of warmth and belonging rather than brittle cold and rejection.

It’s different without you too, Reki. I hated being away from you back then. I always do.

“I missed you,” Reki says, nudging him again. “The real you, not… whatever you’ve been.”

“I missed you too,” Langa murmurs. “I’m sorry.”

“I know you are. It’s okay.”

It’s okay.

They gaze softly at one another while Langa takes a break to collect his thoughts. Reki doesn’t rush him, and in turn, Langa doesn’t force himself to speak before he’s ready.

For once, it’s a comfortable silence, and the two of them seem to genuinely enjoy the other’s company. To Reki, it feels like it’s been ages since Langa’s really been ‘present’, what with his friend’s mind always being elsewhere during this past week and closed off to him at all times.

It’s relieving for him to see light behind Langa’s eyes again. It seemed that for the longest time they would only continue to drift apart from one another, with no real limit in sight.

And to Langa, it feels like his walls have come down, and he’s allowed himself to finally be present. He’s spent so much time locked within himself and surrounded by his worst thoughts and fears that being here now with Reki gives him the greatest sense of peace he’s ever known.

I just wish it didn’t come with a price like this.

“I’m sorry too, Langa.”

His eyes widen a bit. He wasn’t expecting that, and it almost makes him a little uncomfortable.

“For… what?” he asks incredulously.

Reki doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he shifts his weight, and he casts his eyes aside as if he’s ashamed of himself. When he eventually speaks, he murmurs “Not trying hard enough.”

Langa’s brow furrows a bit as he watches Reki withdraw, and he makes a bold decision to rest more of his weight on the bed instead of perching right on the very edge of it.

He ponders what Reki could mean by that for a moment. Is he talking about their failure of a race, he wonders? Reki tried his best to win, and the only reason he even lost was through no fault of his own. But that wouldn’t make sense. Why would Reki feel the need to apologize for it?

In the end, he can’t figure it out on his own, so he decides to ask.

“What do you mean by that?”

Reki shyly glances up at him. “I didn’t really try to figure out what was going on with you,” he admits. “I knew you weren’t okay, I mean… you never act the way that you were. Never. But I… I don’t know, I just didn’t bother to try and dig deep enough, I guess. I didn’t try to help you…”

His words soften and fall off near the end, and it brings a heavy weight back into Langa’s heart.

“Reki… none of this was your fault. Or your responsibility.”

Impulsively, Langa reaches out to gently grasp Reki’s wrist. His actions surprise himself, but what surprises him further is that Reki pulls his elbow back so that their hands are linked with one another instead of Langa’s one-sided hold over him.

“I feel like a shitty friend, though,” Reki mumbles. “I treated you like nothing was wrong.”

The pink in Reki’s cheeks as he speaks from the heart is nothing new, but it still makes Langa feel funny, and not necessarily in a bad way.

He finds himself looking away much like Reki had a moment ago, his gaze shy and bashful.

“I didn’t want you to think there was anything wrong with me anyway,” he explains. “I mean, at one point I did. I was actually hoping you’d grill me a little. But then I hated that idea. I wanted you to care, but I also wanted you to leave me alone. Stupid, right?” he says sheepishly.

“Kinda, yeah,” Reki snickers. “But I get it. It’s hard to figure this kind of stuff out when you’re hurting,” he says softly. “Hell, I’ve been there a thousand times. Feelings are… well, hard.”

“Mhm.” Langa nods.

He’s learned an awful lot about that in a very short time. Especially when it comes to making assumptions about how Reki feels regarding him and his interesting choices.

“Before the race I was actually afraid that you’d done something to my board, too,” he admits with a tiny, awkward smile. “I really thought that you’d compromise it on me, or something.”

“Come on,” Reki groans. “Would I do that to my own work of art? Or my best friend? Never.”

“I know, I know,” Langa sighs. “It’s ridiculous. Everything that went through my head this past week has been ridiculous.”

“I believe ya,” Reki says. “But… you seem like you’re yourself again. And I’m good with that.”

Reki gives Langa a grin, and in that moment he decides that maybe his outlook on his future – and mainly his friendship with Reki – isn’t quite so bleak after all.

Am I really myself again? Maybe. I’ll trust him to be the judge of that.

He starts toying with Reki’s hand a little, those rough fingers still curled around his own in a gentle grasp, and he wonders what compelled his friend to hold him like this in the first place.

It’s not like Reki to make a bold move like that, and he’s certainly never done anything of the sort toward Langa before. He knows that Reki appreciates a good hug and a few other casual touches, but a hand-hold like this one feels so much more… intimate, in Langa’s eyes.

Especially after the rollercoaster that the two of them have just been through.

I could just ask him. Maybe he’ll tell me? I wonder if it makes him feel safe, or…

Before he can open his mouth, a knock at the door interrupts him.

A nurse quietly comes in to draw the curtains and switch out some of Reki’s fluids, and she briefly tells him that he should be able to have his fractured wrist casted at some point later today. After that, she leaves, and the two of them have the room to themselves once more, although the atmosphere this time feels a lot brighter and warmer than it did before.

“How is all of that, anyway?” Langa murmurs. “What hurts the most?”

Reki looks down at the sorry state of his body, and with his one good shoulder he shrugs.

“Uh… probably my ribs, honestly. As long as I hold still, I don’t really feel the pain anywhere else. But talking, laughing… god, even breathing makes my ribs hurt,” he explains, with his expression quickly souring.

“Well… tell me to shut up, then, and you won’t have to talk anymore either,” Langa mumbles.

“No,” Reki says swiftly. “C’mon, this is the most you’ve said all week. Not gonna stop you now.”

A hefty sigh fills Reki’s ears, and he laughs as gently as he can.

But Langa knows that Reki would never force him to speak, and so he laughs breathily as well.

“If there’s anything I can do to help, just… let me know,” he says softly. “I promise I’ll be here.”

“Mhm.”

Reki’s quiet for a bit after that, but given how much he’s said over the last several minutes, Langa begins to wonder what’s going on in his best friend’s head.

He keeps himself busy by tapping a fingertip on Reki’s hand in an effort to do something while he tries to figure out what to say next. It’s not that he’s worried about Reki clamming up for a bad reason, but when things get too quiet between the two of them he always tends to worry that it’s because it’s his turn to talk.

He’s never been very good at conversation, and this kind of situation is even less his expertise.

“You’ve got another promise that you still owe me for.”

“What?”

The first thing out of Reki’s mouth after that long silence has Langa utterly confused.

“Winners always get something from the losers,” Reki says with a cheeky smile. “From the race last weekend. I won, but we never made a deal on what I get from you.”

His eyes widen. Reki’s right – winners are always owed something by the losers. Always.

I forgot all about that.

And how could he not, when all that was on his priority list was staying away from Reki?

“You don’t actually have to give me anything,” Reki says sheepishly. “I know that race was, uhm… hard on you…”

With a gentle sigh through his nose, Langa finally smiles properly.

“You don’t have to tiptoe around it, Reki. It’s okay.”

“Good,” Reki says quickly, visibly relaxing. “I-I mean, I don’t have a problem with doing that, but it’s just… man, I wanted so badly to just celebrate with you,” he admits with a soft whine. “I actually won a race. Me! I still don’t even believe it—”

His excitement is, to put it simply, one of the cutest things Langa’s ever seen. And so he laughs.

“You did,” he praises. And the words come to him so easily, too. “You beat me, Reki. You did it.”

I’m proud of him. I really, really am.

And he admits to himself that it feels so incredibly good to say that.

It took far too long and way too many wrong turns, but Langa genuinely feels a pleasant swell in his chest when he thinks about Reki’s victory. Part of him still feels heavy with self-loathing over the fact that it took such extreme measures to get to this point, but he decides that he’ll take whatever small improvements he can get over the alternative.

And if Reki’s ready and willing to move past it, then so is he. He won’t let anything hang over his head like that ever again, and certainly not when Reki’s willing to stay and help him through it.

He smiles brightly while Reki conducts his own mini-celebration, finally earning a chance to revel in his victory with his favourite person by his side. Sure, they can’t tackle one another to the ground or go out somewhere to stuff their faces with desserts, but getting to smile and laugh along with Reki like this is more than enough for Langa.

“What do I owe you, then?”

“Huh?”

“The promise,” Langa gently reminds him. “For your win last week. What do I owe you?”

Reki’s eyes light up after briefly forgetting what this conversation was all about. He hums for a bit, his brows furrowed in deep thought, and Langa has to look away before his friend’s dramatic expression makes him laugh and ruin the moment.

I don’t remember ever feeling this… weird, around him. I guess it’s a good thing, though?

A tug on his hand brings his attention back around, and Reki looks up at him with a gentle gaze.

“Just… promise me that you’ll talk to me,” Reki says softly. “Okay? You can talk to me about anything. Whenever you want. We’ll find a way to make things work no matter what. Got it?”

Short and sweet. A simple request, and one that Langa has a hard time disagreeing with.

“You’re loading a lot of promises onto me,” he groans.

“Well, suck it up,” Reki says, giving his hand a squeeze. “This one’s important, alright?”

“I know,” he murmurs. “I promise, Reki.”

I’ll keep this promise no matter what it takes.

He looks down at their joined hands with a sweet smile on his face, the tops of his cheeks warm as he admires Reki’s dedication to their link. He’s never really seen this side of Reki before, now that he thinks of it. It’s almost clingy in a way that Reki doesn’t exhibit with the rest of his family.

It’s something that Reki seems to have reserved just for him, and it makes his heart ache in all the strangest of ways. He meant to figure out what it was all about earlier, but the nurse who came in had interrupted him, and he’d forgotten all about it.

He begins to run his thumb in slow circles around the back of Reki’s hand, dancing it over scars and the softest freckles.

“Did you mean to keep holding my hand like this, or…?”

Reki makes a weird noise in the back of his throat.

“Wha— w-well, what’s wrong with that? You’re the one who’s… playing with it,” he mutters.

“I didn’t say I hated it,” Langa clarifies. “It’s just… not like you, is all.”

“Well, fine. Let go of me then,” Reki grumbles.

“No,” Langa says smoothly. “I don’t want to.”

Reki rolls his eyes, and he directs his feigned annoyance toward the windows instead.

He might not have gotten an answer, but truth be told, Langa really didn’t try that hard to get one anyway. And it doesn’t matter much in the end, either, because it seems to make both of them quite happy, and Langa decides he’ll take that any day.

It’s nice to be like this around him again. I really missed this.

I missed him so much.

Overwhelmed by pure relief, Langa nearly finds himself crying again. He doesn’t quite get there, but his eyes do get a bit misty, and he reaches up to clear them before Reki gets suspicious.

A few days ago, he never would have seen himself in this position; thriving and smiling, with a place at Reki’s side and the title of best friend still secure within his grasp. He thought for sure that his friendship would end by the time this rematch race had come and gone, and even as recently as a few hours ago he still thought as much.

But regardless of his poor choices, he’s been surrounded by so much kindness and love, and from so many different people, too. Best of all, he’s been given so much more of it from Reki – the one person who he thought would end up despising him the most.

Not even his wildest dreams could’ve shown him a future that looked as good as this.

A few tears finally do manage to escape and he’s quick to get rid of them, but not before Reki sees him raise a hand to his face.

“You get any sleep?” Reki murmurs, finally looking back up at him – or, more specifically, the slightly dark and swollen circles under his eyes.

“A little,” he says. “Maybe a couple hours. The chairs out there aren’t very comfy, though.”

“You slept in one of the hallway chairs?” Reki asks. “You’re insane.”

“Well I wasn’t gonna come in here and sleep near you,” Langa argues, childishly frowning. “For all I knew, you hated me. Can you imagine if you woke up and your worst enemy was sleeping right there?”

“It’s a good thing you’re not my worst enemy, then,” Reki points out. “C’mon, quit it. I’m trying to ask you if you wanna get some more sleep. Some real sleep.”

“What do you mean, in that chair?” he asks, looking at the plush one beside Reki’s bed.

It certainly looks much more inviting than the ones in the hall, but it’s well past the time that any normal person would try to get some sleep. He figures he’s just better off pushing through the day and going to bed a bit early when night comes back around.

Reki seems to have other plans for him, though, if he had to guess. His friend has grown oddly quiet and there’s a striking look of stubborn embarrassment written across his face.

“Well… no, not exactly,” Reki mumbles. “I meant… here.”

Langa’s not sure he’s ever seen such a miserable pout on Reki’s face before.

“In the bed? With you?”

“It’s better than a damn chair!”

“Alright, calm down,” Langa soothes. “You’ll hurt yourself again.”

“I didn’t hurt myself the first time,” Reki argues.

They both freeze the moment he says that, and their teasing comes to an abrupt halt. Reki looks up like a deer in headlights, frightened that he’s said just enough of the wrong thing in order to set Langa off again.

“Sorry,” he murmurs. “That wasn’t a stab at you. I promise.”

“It’s okay,” Langa says softly. “I didn’t take it that way.”

It doesn’t quite feel right, but Reki decides to trust that Langa’s telling him the truth. He feels he owes Langa that much, at least, after failing to read his emotions at all during this past week.

“You wanna… sleep, then?” he asks awkwardly. “If you don’t, it’s okay, I just thought—”

“Yeah,” Langa whispers. “Yeah, I’ll sleep.”

It takes some effort, and a lot of angry grumbling from Reki, but they manage to make enough space in the bed for Langa to lie on his side, stuffed up as close to Reki’s body as he can get.

It probably won’t be comfortable for either one of them for any real length of time, but Reki’s insistence paired with Langa’s stubborn desire to make things work sees them both committing to it anyway. It’s too hot to wear the blanket, so Langa tosses it down by their feet, and he does his best to make his arm as unintrusive as possible where it rests on Reki’s chest.

Thankfully, all of Reki’s major injuries seem to be on his left side, opposite to where Langa is.

“I’m not sure why you suggested this,” Langa mumbles, sighing and blowing hot air all across Reki’s ticklish neck. “We’re really, really close.”

“Thanks, I hadn’t noticed,” Reki deadpans.

Langa can’t help but breathe a laugh through his nose, and in return Reki gets even more annoyed with the feathery sensation on his neck.

But it doesn’t take long for both of them to settle, with Langa’s fatigue quickly catching up to him and Reki’s new batch of pain relief kicking in. They exchange yawns a few times, both making the other do so in quick succession, and it isn’t long before Langa has to fight to stay awake.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

“Mm? For what?” Reki says through another yawn.

“For caring about me. Being worried about me. Not hating me,” Langa rambles, listing just a few. “Everything, really. I don’t really know how to thank you enough.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” Reki mumbles. “I won’t give up on you, Langa. Don’t worry. I care about you too much, okay? There, I said it.”

Langa laughs softly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I said don’t worry,” Reki whines. “Just… go to sleep. We can talk all you want later, okay?”

“Mm. Will you promise me?”

Promises are quickly becoming a theme between them. But neither one would have it any other way.

“Yeah. I promise.”