Langa's shirt was soaked through. The rain poured down in dark, heavy sheets around him, and still he sat, staring at the puddles in the asphalt, the cold water running down his face. He was numb. Above him, the sky rumbled, and another powerful wind rocked Langa's body, and he shuddered. His hands were numb, and his face was numb, and his heart was numb in his stone-frozen chest.
He was so very, very cold.
Langa squeezed his eyes shut. In the darkness he saw Reki, sitting bathed in sunlight on his bed, asking Langa to teach him how to kiss for the first time, a nervous smile on his face. In the darkness he saw Reki in his garage, sleeves rolled up, talking about his type in girls. In the darkness he saw those reminders on Reki's phone, ideas for my girlfriend, in the darkness he saw Reki silhouetted against the sun on the top of a halfpipe, swinging his legs, telling Langa about his dad.
He said no girls would ever love me, he heard Reki say, with a strained laugh, and, ah, I guess he was right, in the end.
Langa's fingers were cold and wet on the asphalt. He could feel every bump and ridge of the stone, he could feel the water running down between his fingers, he could feel them beginning to tremble.
Reki wanted so badly to be loved that sometimes he seemed raw, vulnerable.
And Langa was cold and stony and horrible for him.
He tried to open his eyes. But he couldn't, and his body paused, shuddering again in the wind, because oh, all he could see was darkness, he had been reduced to darkness, and oh god, oh god oh god. Langa tried to open his eyes, but he couldn't, and then he couldn't breathe, because oh god he was afraid. He tried and tried, his breath stuck in his throat, and god the darkness was closing in, and
oh god
Langa couldn't breathe, Langa was suffocating, Langa was going to die and he was going to die all alone in the cold, in the dark and and and
and another gust of wind rocked his body, toppling him over, and then Langa's eyes were open, staring up into the dark gray sky, the rain pelting down onto his face.
He sucked in a breath. God. Then he raised his shaking hands and pressed them to his face, trying to scrub away the cold water. He knew he was being ridiculous, lying on the ground in the rain, but his legs were so heavy and they refused to move and Langa could barely suck in enough air to keep his heart beating, his cold cold cold heart. He stared up at the moving clouds, the building storm, and he thought of himself and Reki scrambling behind the DopeSketch counter when it rained, sitting on the floor with their knees crowded close together, laughing. His chest ached. Reki always smelled like DopeSketch and summer and sweat, and his throat was always raspy and warm when he laughed, and Langa's days were going to feel so, so empty without him.
He rubbed his eyes. He tried not to think about his blankets losing the smell of Reki, he tried not to think about curling desperately around a pillow after too many nights without him, he tried not to think about aching to hold Reki's hand for just a moment, he tried not to think about asking to hold it, in a scratchy unused voice, and having Reki say gently, Langa, we can't. He tried not to think about Reki holding Yua's perfect tiny hand, rubbing his thumb over her smooth, unscabbed knuckles, he tried not to think about the two of them cuddled together on a crowded train, racing off toward a secret adventure while Reki texted Langa brief thumbs-up emojis, he tried not to think about them laughing at each other's silly inside jokes, dropping ice cream into each other's laps. He swallowed, imagining Yua murmuring Reki, baby, the words that felt so good to say, the words that Langa ached to be allowed to say again, and oh, oh he should have said them more, and he swallowed because he had never thought everything would end so soon.
