Chapter Text
There are church bells ringing when Reki wakes up.
He yawns and burrows down into the cushions, rubbing at his eyes with the blankets. Church bells…and the overwhelming smell of pine and cinnamon...and he feels so cozy and warm and the couch is so soft underneath him that he wiggles deeper into the blankets, muffling a sigh in the pillows.
They never made it back to the bed last night. They fell onto the couch among all the pillows and each other’s arms, laughing into each other’s mouths as they kissed, smushed together from chest to hip to toe, lost in one another. Now, in the bleary morning, Reki’s alone but still warm, remembering Langa snuggling on top of him, his mouth fumbling to push away Reki’s turtleneck so he could kiss Reki’s throat and jaw and mumble into the skin, I love you, Reki, I love you, I love you, I love you.
Reki muffles another yawn in the pillows, squirming contently, and then….oh.
It’s Christmas.
It’s Christmas, and suddenly he feels himself waking up again, his toes stretching out toward the arm of the couch, his skin beginning to tingle. It’s Christmas, and the church bells are part of a song, something instrumental on their crackling radio and a bit of childlike wonder begins to kindle in Reki’s heart. It’s Christmas, the day they’ve been waiting for, buried underneath all this snow with stockings hanging over the fireplace and eggnog in the fridge, all the songs playing in the ski lodge and the wreaths hanging all over town.
He feels his legs beginning to jiggle with excitement, and he tries to worm his way out of the thick cocoon of blankets, struggling to kick the quilts off his legs. Langa’s no longer snuggled up with him, so maybe he’s making breakfast again, cozy in those adorable Christmas pajamas and Reki squirms again, smothering a grin as he sits up. Maybe he’ll kiss Langa again. After all, it’s too late to be cautious now, if Langa’s gonna catch his cold he definitely already has, and Reki likes the idea of them sharing their first-ever Christmas kiss, mouths warm and sticky from pancakes and hot cocoa, bundled up in this cute little cabin.
There’s something comfortable and happy settled in Reki’s stomach, ‘cause this might be their first Christmas together but he knows it won’t be their last, and he swings his legs a little before scrambling off the couch.
The Christmas tree is soft and twinkling, the sun shining through the snowdrifts against the windows, and the chiming bells keep playing out of the radio sitting on the floor. Reki rubs his hands on his sweatpants, nudging at his wrapped presents underneath the tree with his toe. He can’t wait to watch Langa open them, the way his eyes will go all shiny with awe over the socks, the way his fingers will tremble as he tries to fit the earrings into his ears, the soft, strained way he’ll say, Thank you, Reki, and Reki can already feel himself flushing with happiness as he turns, hastily, and there—
There’s Langa.
Langa, standing in the doorway, a Santa hat lopsided on his head, the red hoodie rumpled around his neck and mistletoe clutched in his hands.
Reki’s heart trips over a beat. That’s—that’s definitely mistletoe, the leaves small and delicate and wrapped up in a red bow, the berries peeking out underneath, the same mistletoe he saw hung up around the Christmas town, where couples embraced and kissed to the sound of chiming church bells. They definitely didn’t have mistletoe in the house before, not that Reki knew of anyway, and he can feel his heart pounding as he glances up at Langa’s face.
Langa looks shamefaced, shuffling his feet. “Oh,” he says, and then swallows. “Reki. I thought you would still be sleeping.”
“Is that—” Reki stumbles over the word, strange in English. “Mistletoe?”
He doesn’t miss the way Langa flushes, ducking his head a little to look down at the plants clutched in his pale, sweaty hands. “I meant to hang it up,” he admits, shuffling his feet again. “In...in the doorway? And I...I put on the music, and everything, for…” He pinches up his mouth like he can’t remember the word, and a warm bloom of affection begins to spread through Reki’s body. “For atmosphere,” Langa finally finishes. “I really...I was trying, Reki.”
He glances up again, his cheeks pink, and Reki can feel himself smiling, his whole body soft with love for him, sweet Langa, precious Langa trying to orchestrate the perfect romantic Christmas morning. Earlier this week, Reki might have been sweating and babbling at a time like this, so nervous that somehow he would mess up, but he knows now that it doesn’t matter if he messes up, because they will have another kiss after this one, and another after that.
They will always have each other.
“You got me mistletoe,” Reki says, beginning to grin, ‘cause it’s what he wanted all along, isn’t it? Since the first night they arrived, he wanted to kiss Langa under the mistletoe. “You’re so cute, man.”
Langa clears his throat, flushed up to the tops of his ears. “Reki.”
“You wanted to trick me into kissing you,” Reki teases, padding quickly across the rug in his socks, his chest all warm and stuffed full of affection. “You wanted me that badly, huh?”
Langa looks a bit embarrassed, but he nods. “I—yes.”
He’s so cute, he’s so cute that Reki can barely contain himself—he wants to jump into Langa’s arms, the way he used to before they were together, and hug him tightly until their bodies are molded into one another. But instead he just shuffles close, so close their toes bump together, and grins as he watches the flush spread across Langa’s cheekbones. He’s so pretty, and he’s even prettier when he gives Reki a small smile of his own.
“I wanted to kiss you,” Langa admits, softly, “so I bought it, when we were shopping.”
The church bells die away as the song slows into silence, and Reki feels the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth again, their feet bumping together in their thick knitted socks. He remembers the gift bag clutched in Langa’s trembly hands that night at the Christmas market, the waver in Langa’s voice when he said he couldn’t find anything good enough for Reki, while all along Reki had been fretting that he wasn’t good enough for Langa, and everything inside Reki aches with happiness as he whispers,
“Langa, you got me a present.”
Langa blinks. Something softens in the creases of his eyes, and he whispers, “What?”
Reki reaches up, wrapping his hands around Langa’s wrists, rubbing his thumbs over the sides of Langa’s hands, his cold, precious hands. They’re so close now that he can see the bald spot in Langa’s eyebrow, the stray white eyelash in the dip of his undereye bag, and he aches with how much he loves him, the warmest, sweetest ache in the world. “Look,” he says. “You got me a present! And you didn’t even realize it.”
“The—the mistletoe?” A soft furrow appears between Langa’s eyebrows. “It’s not...it’s just...it’s silly.”
“Yeah,” agrees Reki, squeezing his hands, “yeah, man. It’s kinda silly, but you know, you know I dreamed about this, right? Like, kissing you under the mistletoe? Man, I wanted it so bad,” and he laughs, breathless, a bit flustered as he reaches up, thumbing at Langa’s cheek, brushing the eyelash away. “I wanted it, dude, and you gave it to me.”
Langa blinks again, and then his voice cracks a little, when he says, “ Reki.” His forehead bumps against Reki’s, his hair falling into Reki’s face, his pretty, soft hair, and Reki’s throat is all itchy and flustered when he laughs again, reaching up to tuck the loose strands behind his ears, underneath the fuzzy edges of the Santa hat. Langa’s hands are still clutched around the mistletoe, holding it between their sweaty bodies instead of hanging it overhead, delicate and untouchable, and then he squeezes his eyes shut and presses a cold kiss to Reki’s nose.
It’s clumsy and soft and perfect, and the radio crackles with the beginning of another song, the bells chiming once again, and Reki laughs again, wiggling his toes in his socks ‘cause it’s Christmas and they’re together. He tilts his head up, bumping his nose against Langa’s chin and finding his mouth, wrapping his arms around Langa and the mistletoe and kissing him.
Langa’s lips are chapped. It’s so familiar, so easy that it makes Reki’s whole body tingle, his nerves alight, and he laughs against Langa’s lips again, just to feel the warm puff of Langa’s breath as he laughs, too, knocking his forehead against Reki’s. His eyes are closed when Reki peeks at him, his white eyelashes so soft and delicate against the flushed skin, and Reki pecks his mouth, watching him. When their lips touch, Langa’s eyebrows crease just a bit, the flush rising as if he’s concentrating and flustered all at once and Reki’s stomach swoops, pleasant, so pleasant.
He closes his eyes and presses their mouths together again, tilting his face so the kiss deepens, and Langa sighs against him, his arms going soft where they’re wrapped around Reki’s body. The mistletoe is still caught between their sweaters, and Reki feels the tickle of the leaves against his chin and tries not to laugh again, but a warm, fuzzy feeling spreads all throughout his body anyway. Of course it’s not very romantic, not in the traditional sense, ‘cause they’re in their pajamas and the radio’s crackling, but Langa’s kiss feels like home, and maybe that’s the most romantic thing of all.
Langa sucks clumsily on his bottom lip and Reki can feel his heart swelling, warm against his ribcage. He nudges his tongue against Langa’s, the tiniest touch, and then pulls away, his heart thumping at the way Langa leans forward automatically, chasing Reki’s mouth. “C’mere,” Reki says, tugging him closer, stumbling over the rug as he backs up toward the couch, and Langa opens his eyes, still so flushed, and together they topple backward onto the couch, landing in a pile of pillows and blankets and the smell of sleep.
Reki laughs, again, when Langa’s head thumps onto his shoulder, the white fuzzy ball of the Santa hat bumping against Reki’s face. He squeezes him, and then Langa lifts himself up, making that pouty, creased-up flustered expression, pulling the mistletoe out from between them and dropping it on the floor.
“S’the perfect gift,” Reki says, and he means it, but Langa still makes a face up at him, his mouth pinched up adorably.
“Are you being serious?” he asks, and Reki nods, kissing that crease between his eyebrows, the confused worry that never seems to quite fade. He loves the worry, simply for being a part of Langa.
“It’s perfect ‘cause it’s from you,” says Reki, wiggling so that he can squeeze Langa’s hips with his knees, a full-body hug. Then he kisses Langa’s eyebrows and the bridge of his nose, until Langa’s whole face is flushed pink, his eyes squinted up, kicking a little at Reki’s feet. Reki feels warm all over when he thinks about pulling new socks onto Langa’s cold feet, and he teases, “Maybe you can be my gift, too.”
Langa makes a face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I get to love you,” says Reki, squeezing him, and then adds, “That’s all I wanna do, y’know. For the rest of my life, if I can.”
Langa buries his face in Reki’s chest and mumbles something, in English, and Reki grins, tugging at his shoulders.
“What’d you say?”
Langa lifts his face again, his cheeks pink, and mumbles, “Nothing.”
“C’mon, man,” Reki says, and presses a quick kiss to Langa’s forehead to coax him along, feeling flushed at the way Langa’s face goes even pinker. “You promised to translate for me, remember?”
Langa tilts his chin up, something determined hovering around his mouth. “Only if you kiss me.”
Reki laughs, curling his toes in his thick, cozy socks. “Of course, dude. You’re so cute.”
Langa opens his mouth, maybe to argue, but Reki tilts Langa’s chin up and kisses him full on the lips, his nose pressing into Langa’s cheek. Langa makes a muffled sound against him, his eyes fluttering closed immediately, allowing Reki to tilt his face so that his cheek settles into Reki’s palm. His skin is warm, and Reki feels that squirmy thrill go down his body as he squeezes his own eyes shut, focusing all his attention on kissing Langa.
Langa, who is warm, because of him.
Reki rubs his thumb over Langa’s cheek, mouthing softly at him, his pale chapped lips, feeling the grooves and ridges of Langa’s face underneath his fingertips. Langa makes that quiet sound again, almost a humming, and he nips gently at Reki’s bottom lip until Reki groans softly against him. Their hands fumble with each other’s waists, holding onto arms and shoulders, and it’s all so achingly familiar, so intricate and wonderful like a puzzle Reki will never stop figuring out how to put together.
Finally they pull apart, and Langa rubs at his mouth, catching his breath. “That thing I said…”
Reki blinks hastily, his whole body still warm with the flush of kissing. His heart thumps a little. “Yeah? What was it?”
Langa’s cheeks are pink. “I said, for infinity. I want you for...for infinity.”
And, oh.
Reki’s never heard the word in English before.
“ Infinity,” he tries, his tongue tripping over the foreign sounds, and Langa nods, his eyes darting down to Reki’s mouth again as Reki tries to wrap his tongue around the word. “ In—finity? ”
“Yes,” says Langa, his cheeks still stubbornly pink as he glances back up into Reki’s eyes, his thumbs rubbing over the soft part of Reki’s upper arms. It’s the same word he’s said countless times before, in the skate park and in the backseat of cars and in Reki’s bedroom, when they’re changing before S, but he’s never said it in English, his voice so low and soft and intense in a way that makes Reki’s stomach flip-flop. “Not only the kissing, but...but everything. I want to be here to see every one of your bruises and scrapes and, and I want to see you in every shirt you own, and I want to spend every Christmas with you.”
The radio crackles, and Reki’s body is so warm, his cheeks so flushed, and Langa is so beautiful, his face a myriad of blues and purples and stray hairs, an imperfect human who fits into all the gaps of Reki’s life so perfectly. “For infinity,” Reki tries again, squeezing his arms around Langa’s soft body, and Langa nods, his face pink.
“ Eternity,” he says, in English, and Reki tries,
“ Eter—nity, ”
and Langa doesn’t laugh at his pronunciation, he only nods and translates the word, and Reki curls his toes in his socks again, a bit breathless with the beauty of the foreign language, the strangeness of the syllables, the endlessness of its meaning. He hugs Langa so tightly, burying his mouth briefly in Langa’s shoulder, holding him close as the pale flurries of snow drift against the windows. It’s Christmas morning, and everything feels new and trembling and thrilling, the way it feels to stand at the top of a mountain and look out at the whole world.
Reki knows what that feels like, now, because of Langa. He hugs him tighter.
“Wanna spend every Christmas with you, too,” he mumbles into Langa’s hoodie, and Langa squeezes him, pulling away a little so that he can look into Reki’s eyes, smoothing his hair out of his face with his perfect, cold hands.
“Maybe we can have our own holiday traditions,” Langa suggests, and Reki squeezes him more tightly at the sheer thought of it, growing old together with their own recipes scribbled on fading parchment paper, baking cookies by the refrigerator light on the eve of their fiftieth Christmas together. He wants that. He wants to dance to Langa’s favorite Christmas songs, and he wants to drink eggnog together until their bodies are blurry and warm and he wants to tumble onto the couch and kiss until they fall asleep by the light of the tree.
Carefully Reki kisses Langa’s nose, the very tip where it always gets the coldest. “This’s a good one,” he says. “Y’know, the mistletoe.”
Langa flushes, and in response he leans forward and smushes their mouths together again, and Reki feels himself laughing into the kiss, this warm bubbling feeling in his throat, ‘cause maybe this will always be something he can tease Langa about, the mistletoe. The perfect present he had given Reki, maybe the best gift Reki’s ever received, and he squeezes his eyes shut and wraps his arms around Langa and kisses him back and—
There’s a thump at the door.
Langa jolts upright immediately, his hair wild under his Santa hat, and for a moment they both stare at the door, the Christmas tree lights continuing to twinkle unassumingly. Then Langa scrambles off Reki and Reki scrambles off the couch and they’re both running for the door, slipping in their socks, their hands fumbling at the doorknob so they can throw all their weight into dragging the door open and there—
There, among all the snow, is Langa’s mother.
Langa doesn’t waver, he leaps out into the snowbank in his socks and sleep shorts and tumbles into his mother’s arms, and she laughs, bright and happy in the crisp winter air, squeezing him tightly. Langa’s body trembles, his shoulders shaking as if maybe he’s crying, and then Mrs. Hasegawa opens her other arm and beckons Reki in, and, well.
This time Reki doesn’t bother with his boots.
The snow soaks straight through his socks as he jumps down onto the porch, wrapping his arms around Langa and his mom, burying his face in Langa’s hair. It’s freezing, and he’s shivering before Mrs. Hasegawa even hugs him, but between their bodies there’s a warm pocket of air and Reki puffs breath into it, his heart thumping, because the day is cold but one of Langa’s parents managed to come back home and maybe that’s the greatest gift they could ask for.
“You made it,” Langa says, muffled, into his mom’s coat, and she laughs again, squeezing them.
“I thought the car was going to give up on me,” she says, “but I guess it’s a Christmas miracle!”
Langa makes a discontented sound at her cheesiness, but one of his arms wiggles out to wrap around Reki’s waist, pulling him closer, and Reki’s face flushes pleasantly even in the stinging cold, and for another moment they all just hold each other and breathe.
Finally their little huddle breaks apart, and Reki yelps as he jumps back over the threshold and into the house, tearing his wet socks off. “Cold,” he blurts out, as Langa stumbles into the house after him, and his mom shepherds them further into the foyer, unwrapping her scarf.
“Oh, baby, do you even have any clean socks left?” she asks, watching Langa peel off his socks, wincing. “You never pack enough…”
“I’ll find some,” Langa begins, but Reki grabs his arm, and Langa pauses, glancing at him. Reki feels a grin tugging at his mouth, even though he’s still shivering uncontrollably from the cold, and he reaches up and straightens Langa’s Santa hat, his palm brushing against Langa’s cheek, chilly and bitten red from the wind.
“Hang on,” Reki says. “Lemme give you your present first.”
They all end up curled in the living room, snug on the couch with the blankets thrown over their knees, presents piled up around them and their stockings lying in their laps. Reki’s cradling a mug of hot cocoa, complete with mini marshmallows, and every few minutes Langa taps on his arm and Reki hands him the mug, bumping their hands together on purpose.
“You have whipped cream on your nose,” Reki tells him, and before Langa can move, he rubs it off with his thumb.
Langa wrinkles his nose, and Reki laughs, remembering that first day in the cafe when Langa licked his fingertip by accident. It feels like a lifetime ago, the both of them too nervous to kiss, too nervous to even hold hands, and now here they are, snuggled up so close on the couch, surrounded by wrapping paper as Langa opens yet another gift from his mother.
“Hair ties?” he asks, confused.
“Honey, I know you’ve been stealing mine.”
Langa frowns down at the gift, but Reki can see the blush creeping up his ears, and he grins, snuggling closer and wiggling his toes underneath Langa’s thigh. “She’s right, man,” he says, and Langa elbows him, but Reki just laughs, feeling warm all over. “C’mon, it looks good.”
He’s kinda embarrassed to say something like that in front of Langa’s mom, but everything is so cozy and comfortable in their little cabin that it almost doesn’t matter, like Mrs. Hasegawa is part of his family now, too. That pouty frown is still settled around Langa’s forehead, but he tears open the hair tie packet anyway and pulls one out.
“Your hair is getting so long,” says his mom, affectionately. “Here, let me help you.”
Langa looks for a moment like he might resist, but then his shoulders relax and he hands the hair tie to his mother. He tilts his head, and Reki watches with a growing sense of wonder in his throat as Langa’s mom carefully pulls off his Santa hat, gathering the baby hairs off his pale, lovely neck. For the first time he notices the way her hands tremble, just slightly, the same way Langa’s always do, but there’s something almost natural about the way she ties the hair tie, as if she’s made peace with her body.
Reki wants to reach forward and smooth a loose strand off Langa’s forehead, so he does, rubbing his thumb over Langa’s funny eyebrow. “Looks good, man,” he says, again, and his stomach flushes warm at the way Langa’s eyes crease up. He kicks at Reki, a little, but the motion is so soft that it feels more like a caress, and Langa’s foot stays pressed to his leg, both of them tangled up among the blankets.
“Your turn, Reki!” says Mrs. Hasegawa, and Reki jumps a little, flustered when he tears his eyes away from Langa and his pretty, pretty hair.
He tears open another present, babbling thank yous—Langa’s mom brought them both presents from town, and it’s kinda embarrassing how many things she got Reki, mostly tourist stuff like a maple leaf hoodie and a water bottle, but also this really nice sketchbook with a photo of him and Langa tucked inside. Reki will probably be too embarrassed to ever use the sketchbook, but it’s kinda nice, like, the photo of him and Langa, this one time they were napping together on the sofa and she snuck the picture unawares. It makes his stomach feel hot. Langa’s all snuggled into him, drooling on his sweatshirt.
Hastily he hides the sketchbook before Langa can see.
“Sorry I forgot to get you something,” Reki tells Mrs. Hasegawa, shamefaced. “I meant to but then—”
“I thought you got her something at the Christmas market,” Langa interrupts, frowning at him.
Reki stumbles over his words, face warm when he remembers the tiny snowflake earrings he pretended were for Langa’s mom. “I, uh—”
“It’s okay, sweetie,” says Mrs. Hasegawa, reaching across Langa to squeeze him on the arm. “You boys got me that eggnog! I don’t need anything else.”
Reki nearly chokes. “Ah—oh, yeah, yeah.”
The eggnog bottle is half-empty, probably still on the kitchen counter. Later today they’re gonna have some explaining to do.
Reki squirms closer to Langa, nudging him, and Langa’s cheeks are pink when he glances over, his eyes guilty. Reki feels guilty, too, but then the corners of his mouth quirk up, and Langa makes a face at him, looking like he’s trying to fight down a smile of his own. Controlling his expressions is maybe not Reki’s best trait, so hastily he grabs the socks he wrapped up for Langa and stuffs them into his hands, saying,
“Here! From me.”
Langa blinks down at his lap, face still pink. “Oh,” he says, and quickly he fumbles to unwrap the gift, his fingers clumsy on the tape holding the wrapping paper together. The paper falls open, and there in Langa’s lap are three and a half pairs of hand-knitted socks, one of them with several dropped loops ‘cause it was Reki’s first try.
His cheeks itch, and he has to clear his throat before pointing to it. The sock has pink hearts and no match, because Reki got too embarrassed halfway through knitting it. “I, uh. Forgot to finish that one. But I’ll make you the other one when we get back home, if, like—if you want it, I mean.”
Langa glances up at Reki, and Reki’s heart thumps when he meets Langa’s eyes. Langa’s face is soft and glowy with the same awe as before, the same way he’s looked each time Reki gave him a pair of the socks. “Reki,” he says, and then he’s nodding, tucking the stray piece of hair behind his ear again. “Can you—can you finish them?”
“You really wanna—you don’t think it’s girly?”
Langa shakes his head. “Not if it’s from you.”
Reki makes an aborted noise, rubbing the flush on his neck ‘cause god, Langa’s just saying things like that with his mom around, and Mrs. Hasegawa smiles, ruffling Langa’s little ponytail. “You made these, Reki?” she asks. “My, you’re very talented.”
The flush rises, and Langa nods. “You are, Reki.”
“Okay, okay,” Reki mutters, shoving weakly at Langa’s hands, pushing the socks up against his stomach. “Try them on, okay? Your feet are prob’ly freezing.”
Langa doesn’t argue. He tugs his feet up onto the cushions, choosing the socks with fun written across the toes, and carefully pulls them on. He folds them over his bony ankles, where the hair has begun to grow again, and pokes his toes against Reki’s leg. “They’re warm.”
“Yeah,” says Reki, his face red. “They’re s’posed to be.”
“I love them,” says Langa sincerely, and he glances up at Reki’s face, and Reki’s heart thumps, ‘cause the way Langa’s lips part—it looks like he’s lingering on the verge of whispering, I love you. And Reki loves him, too, but he’s too shy to mumble those words in front of Langa’s mom, so instead he nudges his hand against Langa’s arm until Langa reaches for him, tangling their fingers together.
“I have something else for you, too,” Reki admits.
Langa’s eyes go wider. He seems to glow, his lips parting, his cheeks rosy, all this awe and devotion shining through his body as he tightens his grip on Reki’s fingers, saying, “Really?”
Reki nods, warm in the face of all that affection, and man, he thinks he would give Langa the whole world if only to have Langa look at him that way. He doesn’t have the world to give, but he does have a tiny wrapped box that he wiggles out from between the couch cushions, where it had gotten lost in all the shuffling.
“It was sort of an impulse buy,” he admits. “I thought they’d look—pretty on you.”
Everything looks pretty on you, he thinks, and he licks at the dry skin on his bottom lip, ‘cause Langa looks so warm and soft cuddled up in Reki’s hoodie, and he wants to see him look this way every day. He can’t say that in front of Langa’s mom, but he hopes Langa understands anyway, and he thinks he does, because the look in Langa’s eyes when he takes the box from Reki’s hands—
It’s awestruck and heavy with love.
“Thank you,” Langa mumbles, as polite as ever, and Reki shoves his hands in his lap, kinda jittery and nervous as Langa carefully unwraps the present. He knows Langa will love it. He knows Langa will look so pretty with the earrings on, sparkling in his ears with his hair all tied up, but what if he’s too pretty for Reki’s heart to handle, what if—
The box falls open and Langa makes a soft sound.
He glances up at Reki again. His hands are trembling a bit, and Langa’s mom is looking down at the earrings, too, and Reki’s heart swells in his throat, ‘cause Langa looks—overwhelmed, a bit broken maybe, and he gropes for Reki’s hand again, squeezing his fingers tightly.
“D’you like,” Reki begins, and Langa says,
“ Yes,” and then, “Oh,” and then he creases up his face, rubbing at his nose. “Reki, where did you—”
“In town,” Reki blurts. “There was this—a jewelry store. I wasn’t gonna buy anything ‘cause I didn’t know what you liked or, or if it was too early to buy jewelry or—but I saw these and I—I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
Langa’s eyes are a little wet. “You thought about me?”
Reki nods. He feels like he’s holding his breath, and Langa’s mom shifts quietly against the cushions, tugging her knees up as a single tear falls onto Langa’s cheek. Hastily he rubs it away, and Reki’s throat swells up, and then Langa’s leaning forward and smushing his face into Reki’s shoulder and wrapping his arms around Reki’s body, hugging him tightly, and Reki squeezes his eyes shut and hugs him, too.
I love you, he thinks, and he feels the words in Langa’s trembling arms, too, in Langa’s uneven heartbeat, in Langa’s hair tickling his face when Reki presses his mouth to his head. He knows Langa’s mom is watching them, or maybe watching the snowfall or the twinkling lights or the way the marshmallows bob to the top of the hot cocoa, forgotten, but all of Reki’s attention is full of Langa.
Finally Langa pulls away, rubbing his sweaty hands on his shorts, making a face as he tries to tuck loose hair back into his ponytail. “I like them,” he says, quietly, and presses the box into Reki’s hands. “Help me put them on?”
Reki nods. Langa’s mom stirs again, picking up the mug from the coffee table and kissing Langa’s head. “I’ll go start the tea,” she says, and Reki glances up and sees the sparkle in her eyes, and his chest itches, kinda embarrassed and warm. He manages a clumsy smile in return, and then she’s padding across the room, and Reki tries to focus again on the tiny, sparkly snowflake earrings.
“You never wear any in your ears,” Langa mumbles, bumping his knuckles against Reki’s earlobe, and Reki laughs a little, rubbing his mouth.
“Yeah,” he says. “I like Koyomi pierce them just for fun. They might be closed up by now, I dunno.”
“Can we try?”
“Huh?” Reki glances up.
“Can we try?” repeats Langa, shifting a little. “I...I want to see how they look on you, too.”
Reki’s face goes warm. “Langa,” he says. “I bought these for—for you, dude.”
It’s kinda flustering, Langa noticing that his ears are pierced even though he rarely wears earrings anymore. Langa’s cheeks are pink when he shrugs, glancing down at the box again. “I want to see.”
Reki clears his throat, ‘cause—well, how can he deny that? “Okay,” he concedes. “One for you and one for me?”
Langa hesitates for a moment, and then nods. Reki feels very warm as he fumbles to pull one of the earrings out of the box, where it’s nestled in the white cushion, and then tucks Langa’s hair out of the way. His fingers brush against the soft skin around Langa’s ear, where the hair is white and fuzzy and Langa shivers, a little, leaning into the touch. Reki swallows, ‘cause Langa’s face is cold, but his skin is thrumming with life, so pretty and delicate underneath Reki’s fingertips. He fumbles again trying to fit the earring through the tiny hole, and Langa tilts his face slightly, so that Reki can see the bony line of his jaw and he has to swallow, again.
He wants to kiss Langa’s jawbone. Clumsily he manages to slide the earring on, pressing the cap onto the back, and then he leans down and bumps his mouth against Langa’s jaw and Langa makes this startled, embarrassed sort of noise.
“You’re so pretty,” Reki mumbles, “fuck.”
Langa makes the muffled noise again, shifting on the couch so that his body is turned toward Reki’s, and then his hand comes up to cup Reki’s face, lifting his chin so that their mouths fit together, and Reki sighs into the kiss, his whole body sagging. It feels so good, the way Langa pressed their lips together and then pulls away and then kisses him again. The touches are careful, soft, their mouths brushing together on every exhale, and Reki lets all his attention drain into the way Langa’s bottom lip is slightly chapped, a bit of dry skin catching on Reki’s lips each time they kiss.
“So pretty,” Reki mumbles again, into his mouth, “it shouldn’t be allowed, man, you’re unbelievable.”
Langa’s skin is so warm as he pulls away, then leans in and kisses Reki again, lingering as if he never wants to stop. Then he mumbles, “You’re the pretty one.”
Reki’s stomach squirms pleasantly, ‘cause maybe, maybe it’s true. “Well…”
“Can I put the earring on?” Langa asks, pulling away again, and his voice is so soft, his accent perfect, his whole body gentle and precious against Reki’s as he tugs his socked foot up onto the cushions, resting his chin on his knee. “I want to see what it looks like.”
The snowflake sparkles in his ear, silver against his flushed skin, his hair swept up and out of the way and he’s almost too beautiful to bear, but then Reki remembers that Langa is his, he’s allowed to kiss Langa’s earring and take pictures of him smiling and see him fumbling, sleep-clumsy, to take the earrings off before bed. He still feels that ache of yearning, but it’s a good ache, one full of love, and he manages a grin, nodding.
“Yeah,” he says. “C’mere.”
So they share the earrings, sparkling together when they angle the camera just right and catch the light of the Christmas tree, and then they share a giggly afternoon of swiping through all their photos together, bundled up at the kitchen counter while Langa’s mom bakes more cookies. She sees the eggnog bottle but doesn’t say anything, just gives Langa raised eyebrows, as if to say they’ll talk about it later, but not today, because today is Christmas.
“You think we’ll be able to snowboard again before we leave?” Reki asks, leaning against Langa’s side, hooking his chin over his shoulder and pressing his cheek to the loose tendrils of Langa’s hair. Langa hums a little, turning the phone off.
“Yes,” he says, determined, and his mom laughs and chides,
“Maybe, Langa. If the snow settles down.”
“It will,” Langa says, as if he’s never been surer of anything in his life, and one of his hands comes up to tangle in Reki’s hair, smoothing his thumb over the back of his neck.
Reki leans into the touch, allowing his eyes to drift closed, a smile soft on his face. It feels so nice, Langa’s fingers running through his hair, gentle as if they have all the time in the world for these simple touches, and then some. Langa presses his mouth briefly to Reki’s temple, and Reki laughs a little, opening his eyes ‘cause he’s still flustered about the idea of affection in front of Langa’s mom, but she has her back turned now, pouring eggnog into a mug for herself.
“Maybe we can go outside anyway,” Reki suggests. “Snowball fight?”
Langa wrinkles his nose, but then he brightens, sitting up straighter. “Oh,” he says. “Mom, do we still have that sled in the hall closet?”
And so they find themselves digging through the closet, tossing aside old coats too small to be worn, scarves that have seen better days, until they find an old wooden sled propped up against the wall. Reki’s fever is gone—mostly—and he knows going outside is probably not the best idea, but hey, he’s never been one to put health before adventuring, anyway. They bundle up and trample out back into the snow, each of them holding one handle of the sled, together.
“You’ve done this before?” Reki asks, pulling his scarf away from his mouth, a question it feels like he’s asked a hundred times since they arrived. He half-expects Langa to nod and tell him that he went sledding with his dad every Christmas, but Langa shakes his head.
“No,” he says, and the wind feels crisp and cold around them, like breathing in new air for the first time. “I think my grandma gave me the sled, but I’ve never ridden it before.”
Reki feels this thrill go through his body, and he shivers, but not from the cold. When Langa glances at him, Reki grins, adrenaline already thumping through his veins, ‘cause Langa has done almost everything in Canada already, reliving old memories, the Christmas market, the cafe, the ski lodge, but he hasn’t done this. This is new, something precious and wonderful just for them, a reminder of how much life they still have left to live.
“M’excited,” Reki says, squeezing the handle of the sled, reaching around with his other arm to punch clumsily at Langa’s shoulder. They’re struggling in the deep snow, and it’s slow going, but Reki’s in no rush. “Probably not safe, though, huh?”
Langa furrows his eyebrows, glancing out across the snow-laden pine trees. “I didn’t think of that.”
Reki laughs, bright in the cold air, ‘cause of course Langa didn’t think of that. “S’cool, man,” he says. “I’m sure it’ll be fine! We’ve survived worse.”
The snow is so thick he’s sure they’ll barely be able to get moving on the sled, anyway, much less pick up enough speed to crash into anything. They find a small clearing among the trees, at the top of a small hill, and after checking around to make sure there are no obstacles in the way, they set the sled down carefully on the ground.
“We’ll have to sit on it first,” Reki says, “and then push ourselves off, I guess?”
“I don’t know,” says Langa. “Yes?”
Reki laughs again, hooking his foot through the rails of the sled so it won’t slide away, and then he puts his hand on Langa’s arm in his thick coat and tugs him closer. Langa glances at him with wide eyes, so blue out here in the white glowing world, and then hurriedly tugs his scarf down away from his mouth. Reki laughs, his heart so warm at how eagerly Langa always wants kisses, and he leans in, stretching up to brush their mouths together.
The touch is light, gentle, and Reki pulls away to pull a breath against Langa’s lips, whispering, “Good?”
“Mm,” Langa mumbles, “more.” He tugs on Reki’s scarf, his eyelashes fluttering and white atop his cheekbones, and Reki feels the laugh bubbling in his chest as he obliges, pressing close so that their mouths fit together, just right. Somewhere nearby he hears the soft thump of snow falling from the trees, and the air around them is so alive, the world humming with sounds so quiet he never could have imagined them.
Langa tilts his head, his perfect lips gentle against Reki’s, and Reki licks carefully at the dip of his Cupid’s bow before pulling away. “Love you,” he whispers, and Langa puffs out a breath, a sigh really, and lets his eyes flutter open.
“I love you, too,” he whispers back, and for a while they just gaze at each other, as if they’re the only two people in this wide, beautiful world.
And then, with their hands clasped in their thick, clumsy gloves, they clamber onto the sled, ready to take on the new slopes together.