It's raining
Lightning flickers its forked tongue across the masses of grey as the wind howls. The storm consumes the sky like some feral, starving beast.
That's the only thing Langa can process.
It's raining
Water is falling like the tears that stream down his face are falling. In an overwhelmingly endless way.
Will they ever stop? Will this bottomless pit of pain and confusion ever fill?
Will the rain ever cease?
He's asking pointless questions. Pointless in the same way attempting to cradle the entire ocean in the palms of your hands is pointless. The answers will always evade him, only a god could accomplish such a feat. Only a god could take the swirling tides and crashing shores of his soul and hold them in a way that would stop him from slipping through the cracks.
Evidently, he's not being held right. His soul is slipping through the pesky spaces where fingers kiss, slowly draining back out into an infinite sea of nothing.
The only problem is Langa, who spent his entire life surrounded by ice and sky, who's barely felt the divine touch of the ocean, doesn't know how to swim.
It's his downfall, his Achilles heel. Now he's certain he's going to be consumed by the abyss. Its phantom jaws will swallow him up in the same manner Kronos swallowed his own children.
It's hopeless, he already feels as though he's drowning.
"Do you know how much I-"
It's raining
Wind whipped through the redhead's hair, the sun weakly caressed his face. Like the touch from a dying hand.
"Do you think it'll storm? " he'd asked Reki that morning.
So much had changed since then
How long ago had it truly been?
Hours? eons? lifetimes? He didn't know. He didn't care. It didn't matter.
Time had halted in its repetitive pace when the sky began to weep.
Perhaps it'd been trying to warn Langa of the anguish ahead. Perhaps this was a joke god was playing. Perhaps the skies paling, sickly, greying flesh was some form of wicked foreshadowing
Like something out of a book.
It's raining
Everything's wet. Rain snakes down his neck, his face, his back, seeping into his clothes, his skin, his soul. He feels the piercing caress of it's chilling touch in his very core. It's twisted its way around his heart, squeezing, squeezing, squeezing. Ensnaring him in the same manner a particularly vicious boa constrictor might capture its prey.
Maybe if he's lucky it'll squeeze hard enough that-
Maybe what he's feeling isn't just the rain.
"Do you know how much I-"
Where had Reki been going with that before he'd abandoned Langa to this timeless loop, filled with ice? And why? Why had he stopped? Why had he left Langa alone? He didn't understand.
"we're not-"
What had he done?
Surely it was not the simple promise, though it seemed Langa had made a grave miscalculation on those premises alone, that had pushed his friend so far out of his reach.
What was it?
He'd tried so hard to keep this friendship alive, to not screw this up. He'd tried so fucking hard. He was so tired of trying.
What was it?
Perhaps...
Perhaps Reki had somehow discovered the coil of fire that lived within Langa, burning into him in a way that he didn't yet understand, threatening to scorch through his very bones whenever Reki was too close.
Langa hated the fire, hated that he wanted it to burn warmer, longer, brighter. It terrified him as it sat simmered beneath his skin, consuming him in the same way the storm consumed him now.
Had Reki felt the fire? Understood it? Was that what had driven him away?
"-a good match anymore"
Those words echoed through him. Haunting him in the same way a siren haunts a sailor. The way Reki spoke the poison laced words was mesmerising. Marrying beauty and pain in a way only a masochist would revel in.
It didn't matter though. It didn't matter how captivating his lips looked as he formed them or how sickeningly beautiful they sounded on the soft melodies of his voice. The words still burrowed into him, coming to rest painfully close to his heart.
It was excruciating. They carved a space for themselves with brutal, unforgiving talons.They were not kind. The fire slowly scorching through him had been kind, it had slowly stirred like some slumbering nightmare. The words were different, sadistic, vicious.
He almost hated them as much as he hated the fire. Almost. He could never truly hate any words that dripped like ambrosia from the lips of Reki Kyan
It's raining
Langa's fingers feel like ice as they cling to his skateboard desperately, as if it's a life line. Maybe it is. It's the only thing he has to tether himself to Reki, to prove that this is real.
He feels sick, so horribly horribly unwell. His skin feels tight, too tight. As if he's some creature possessing the body of someone else, dwelling in a place he should not, hiding within the confines of a stranger. Everything feels so nauseatingly wrong. He feels nauseatingly wrong. He wants to tear through this skin, this suffocating, freezing, numbing skin. It's shaking, he's shaking, the world's shaking. Trembling like the ground during an earthquake. Like the hand of a frightened child. Like the petals of a flower during a storm. It's the cold that makes him tremble in this way, it's the cold. That's what he has to convince himself, it doesn't matter that he feels like he's been set ablaze. It doesn't matter that his insides are on fire. It doesn't matter that he's burning.
He's burning
He's burning
He's burning
It hurts so much he wants to scream until he's hoarse. Until his lungs bleed and flowers bloom where the scarlet droplets land, until there are meadows filled with his bloodied petals.
He wants to scream.
He hopes he turns into molten nothing. At least then he won't have to feel this thing that's tearing through him, screaming, begging, pleading to be released. Like a caged animal.
He's so confused. He hates it.
He doesn't understand why Reki's angry or why he's feeling these things. He doesn't understand why.
Why, why, why? He hates it.
It's raining
