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Langa has never liked the feeling of jealousy.
Granted, he usually doesn’t get jealous easily and he is far from a jealous person. But, like with everything so far in his life, it’s different with Reki.
And not the good type of different, like many things were; the new steady thrum in his chest as his hair fights against the wind while skating alongside Reki, the lull of warmth that washes over him whenever fumbling fingers brush his, the way his chest flutters upon seeing Reki’s golden eyes so early at school, soft with sleep and flushed with the morning sun…
No, it was different from even the onslaught of unfamiliar, enormous emotions that had overwhelmed him these past months. It was more disparate. It was unwanted.
The way Reki’s warm smile and soft squint of his eyes clashed against his harsh winter winds, biting ice and twisting roots of spite and selfish desire— it was… embarrassing. Stupidly embarrassing, the way his stomach churned at the sight of his friend simply laughing with some new kids in their class? Langa felt a flush spread down his neck in shame at the memory alone.
He was so gentle with his words, timid and careful in what he chose to say and what he kept close to his chest. But with Reki, and with being left to only watch those moments of fleeting sunlight and shy touches as Reki held a pretty girl in his eyes so gently… Langa couldn’t stop the slip of bitter words and sharp jabs from cutting in.
“She’s hot!” Langa’s tone was sarcastic, toeing the line between playful and mocking.
Reki’s shoulders jumped in surprise and he watched as a familiar blush spread across his cheeks, sheepish from being caught staring.
Langa levelled him with one of his blank deadpans. “You’re so obvious.”
No, Langa. You’re the obvious one here. He glared flatly at his ceiling at the memory.
And then, today…
Warm, prodding hands. Curious and a little shy.
Langa let his head roll over to the side, fixing his stare on the knuckles of his hand intensely.
Suppressing the spike in his heartbeat as he felt warmth graze across the back of his hand, keeping his shoulders steady as a finger nudged his own curiously.
“Langa, dude, your hands are so soft,” Reki exclaimed, raising his eyebrows in… something.
Langa couldn’t help the way his chest tightened and the sharp inhale of breath at Reki’s steady gaze. He quickly jerked his head straight forward so that his eyes wouldn’t give away the way his face flushed at that, lips parting lightly in a shy breath.
“Oh, um,” Langa mumbled after too long a pause, “thank you.” His words were heavy with awkwardness and a timid nature that usually didn’t bother him when he was with Reki.
This was about the seventeenth time Langa had traced the back of his hand today, trying to chase the ghost of the boy’s hands brushing against his own and emulate that innocent, curious warmth but to no avail. His fingers were too small, too quiet, too cold.
I mean, Reki wasn’t wrong. His skin had always been softer since his mother made a habit of pushing a bottle of lotion into his hands after a particularly dry winter day at the ski hills, insisting that his skin would flake like his father’s without it.
But, well. It was different.
It felt different, with Reki. Again.
As everything did.
Langa sighed, growing tired of the cold in his hands.
And yet, once again even his hands were different to him that evening when he met Reki at the skatepark, as he always does. Because he just can’t figure out Reki for the life of him despite spending nearly all 24 hours by his side every day.
Blunt nails dig hard into soft skin at the sight of Reki’s distant smile, laughing with pink cheeks but Langa doesn’t know why. He pushes forward at a faster speed with an embarrassing sense of urgency.
A group of two boys—maybe a year or so above them—are on either side of him, talking animatedly with curious, searching eyes. They speak quickly, eyes wide. They look open and friendly.
That feeling prickles in the bottom of Langa’s stomach, freezing and unkind.
It churns uncomfortably and Langa squeezes his fist harder to push it away.
“Thank fuck you’re here, Langa,” Miya sighs from beside him as he struts up to Langa with his usual smirk, “Reki made some new friends I guess. Slime does a simple spin and suddenly these guys are all eager.”
“Oh,” Langa feels the knot in his chest pull tightly when the trio let out a loud laugh together, one of the other’s hands on Reki’s arm and pushing him away teasingly, “Alright.”
The ugly thing in his stomach grows and wraps around his chest with an unforgiving squeeze. Reki’s hands are fumbling and amicable— they sweep across the taller one’s shoulder lightly, the movement reminiscent of the warmth that had been following Langa all day. But this time, he watches, as a bitter, biting feeling wrings around his bones and presses into his skin.
Miya watches him intently, a flicker of concern crossing his expression but it’s gone before he says anything to Langa. He turns back to stare at the scene with an unamused look.
The guys were gone as soon as a minute or so later, and Reki had greeted Langa with wide eyes and an excited grin that warmed Langa from the soles of his feet to the tips of his ears— but the feeling was stubborn and annoying and stupidly persistent and came seeping into the back of his mind again the second he was alone with his thoughts in the dark of his room.
Langa wanted nothing more than to sleep it off and let his head finally quiet down for the night, but it chewed on his fingers and scratched at his chest and burned at the back of his mind until he couldn’t stand it anymore.
Reki was warm. He was safe. He was a constant, steady presence that kept Langa from drifting off into the cold winter winds once again.
But— Reki’s golden eyes on someone else, laughing, bashful, elated, warm… his body couldn’t handle the cold. Which is stupid, right? Langa spent his whole childhood snowboarding and frequented the mountaintops of Quebec and British Columbia basically every other weekend; cold should be familiar. He should be used to the cold.
But, Langa had let himself get used to Reki. He had selfishly basked in the rays of his sunny enthusiasm and kept warm in the heat of his gaze and let himself be vulnerable to Reki’s contagious affection, infectious in how it seemed to take over all of his thoughts.
Langa stiffens. He shakes his head firmly.
He can’t let himself be so caught up in his own head anymore.
To feel such an ugly bitterness grow in his chest at his best friend’s happiness… He knows how selfish it is. To feel so taken aback and upset at the thought of Reki sharing his affections with someone new, as if ever he had the right to. Reki does not owe him anything, no matter how it makes Langa feel. And he certainly does not owe him anything exclusively.
And if there’s one thing Langa owes Reki , it's his support. As his best friend.