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Langa stands in front of the mirror, fiddling with the collar of his sleeveless button-down shirt. He pops it, lays it flat, then pops it again. He’s not sure if it’s appropriate to wear, but it’s one of his best shirts, and he likes the way that he looks in it. He tucks the hem into his jeans, then reaches for his belt. Should he wear it? Or no? Would Reki…
Langa sighs. Reki.
Just over a year ago, Langa had arrived on Okinawa: grieving, with only his mother by his side. The first day of school, he met Kyan Reki. He hadn’t noticed him in school, but he sure had noticed him after.
The second Reki had done an ollie over his head, had offered to help him pick out a board, to help him learn how to skate…the way he’d blushed when he’d said it…
Yeah, Langa had been a goner ever since.
But while his mother told him that he needed to confess his feelings, Langa’d never quite felt like the time was right.
Tonight, though…
Langa can feel, deep in his bones, that this is the moment to tell Reki. They’re going to the local Tanabata festival, and when Langa looked up the legend behind the festival, he felt a shiver run through his body.
The meeting of two deities, who’ve been kept apart save for one day out of the year?
He’s not saying that he and Reki are gods kept apart—if anything, they’re the opposite, given how much time they spend together! But he can’t help but think of them as star-crossed: close, but kept apart by circumstance.
There are the moments where their eyes meet, and Langa’s heart pounds. Where Reki’s lips part, and Langa stares at them, completely and hopelessly lost and sure that Reki is going to say something…that Langa is going to say something…
And then, the moment passes, and they’re right back to where they were, in that liminal space between friends and something more.
Tonight, though…
Tonight is different.
Tonight, Langa can feel the magic of the festival, already thrumming through his veins and giving him the courage he needs to finally make a move, to finally tell Reki how he feels.
To say the words, “I love you.”
And, to hopefully, hear those words back.
"Langa?” His mother stands in the doorway to his room. “You look very handsome.” She winks. “Got a big date?”
Langa gulps. “Kind—kind of?”
"Oh?” She sidles in and smiles. “First date?” she asks, adjusting his collar so it’s appropriately popped.
“Uhhh...” He can feel the heat coming over his cheeks. “Sort of?” He thinks about all the times that he and Reki have gone to the skate park, the burger place, to Reki’s workshop…
Could those be considered dates? Langa’s not sure.
His mother just smiles more broadly. “Then all the more reason to look your best. Who’s the lucky person?”
Shit, how does he tell her that…
"Oh.” Her entire face lights up. “It’s Reki, isn’t it?”
Langa can’t look at her, but he shakes his head ‘yes’ anyway.
His mother cups his cheek with her hand and gently guides him so that they are face-to-face. “Oh, sweetheart,” she says softly, “then this should be the easiest first date you’ve ever been on.”
"I—I don’t know.” Langa hesitates. Could it really be…
"After all,” his mother declares, “he’s been in love with you practically since you met!”
Langa startles. “You—you think so?” he wonders. He’s definitely been in love with Reki, but Reki, with him?...
“I know so.” She sounds so confident. Langa wishes he could feel the same. “Now,” she adds, smoothing down the front of his shirt, “you look very handsome, and if Reki’s not completely in love with you already, he will be by the end of the evening. Where are you going?”
”I’m meeting him at the Tanabata festival,” Langa replies.
His mother giggles. “Is that so?” she asks. Langa nods. “Then,” she says, patting his shoulder, “I think you’ll have a very good time. Enjoy, okay? And…try not to worry.” She squeezes his arm. “Love always finds a way when it’s Tanabata.” She goes back to the doorway, then turns around one last time. “I’d say ‘don’t stay out too late,’ but I know that’s impossible for you. So just have a good time, okay?”
Langa can’t help but smile back. “Okay,” he replies.
Reki’s late.
He’s late.
Langa hears the noise from the games, the shouts of vendors selling food, and the sound of music from the stage. He’s been occupying himself watching the people come and go: so many colorful kimonos, mixed with simpler yukata and patterned jinbei. Langa wonders if he should have worn a yukata; he owns one, but his mother has said it’s for formal occasions only, and this doesn’t count as a “formal occasion,” does it?
Probably not.
He sighs, and checks the time on his phone again. Thirty minutes since Reki texted that he was on his way; it should only have taken him fifteen minutes to get here if he’s walking…at least, Langa thinks that’s the case.
Maybe he doesn’t want to meet Langa, but can’t tell him? Maybe he doesn’t want to go on a date? Maybe he never wants to see Langa again!!
Oh, oh gods. Langa’s chest constricts.
He can’t think about that. He can’t.
Can he? Could Reki really…
"Langa!” The sound of Reki’s familiar shout makes Langa sigh with relief. He turns to look for his best friend, his crush, his one and only, his…
Reki’s running towards him, waving madly. Langa lifts his hand to wave back, but immediately he drops it back to his side.
A yukata.
Reki’s wearing a yukata.
It’s a stunning shade of purple: nearly a dusty violet, with an intricate pattern that, upon closer inspection, Langa can see is butterflies and what looks like spiderwebs. From what he knows about men’s fashion, obis are typically not flashy, but Reki’s is a brilliant orange, with a geometric pattern of hexagons that’s making Langa’s head a little dizzy.
But, it’s stunning.
Reki is stunning.
“Langa!” Reki calls again, dashing the last few meters to Langa’s side. “Dude, I’m so sorry for making you wait! I was all set to go, and my mom insisted I wear…this…” He looks down at the yukata and tugs at the fabric. “And then she couldn’t get the obi tied just right, so she had to take it apart and do it again, and that’s why I’m late! And then…”
Reki keeps talking, but Langa’s not listening.
All he can see is the outline of Reki’s handsome form, shaped by the soft folds of fabric; the way that the obi perfectly reflects the color of Reki’s hair; the faint blush on Reki’s cheeks as he adjusts his headband and stands awkwardly before Langa. “It’s stupid, right?” Reki says next. Langa blinks and shakes his head, all in order to understand just what is…
“I mean, I’m too old to wear this!” Reki frowns, pulling at the yukata’s sleeves. “I would have much rather just worn street clothes, but my mom insisted and…”
“I think…I think that you…look beautiful,” Langa says, loudly and boldly and whoa where is all this courage coming from?
Reki turns nearly the same shade as his obi. “Really, Langa?” he squawks. “Beautiful?”
Now it’s Langa’s turn to blush. “I—I mean—” Oh, heck, he may as well go for it, yeah? “You do,” he says, standing up straight. “The color…it looks really nice on you.”
Reki ducks his head, but Langa can see the little pleased smile that dances across his lips. “You think so?” he murmurs.
Langa reaches out and grabs Reki’s hand. “I know so,” he assures Reki, who’s still bright red, but seems a little bit more relaxed. “Come on,” he adds, hoping to change the subject, “let’s go in, and you can show me around the festival? My mom said love finds a way during it.”
Reki nearly chokes on his own spit. “Reki?” Langa exclaims, patting Reki on his back. “Are you okay?”
Reki coughs, pounds his own chest, then swallows and sighs. “Y—yeah, dude,” he replies. “I just—your mom really said that?”
“She did.” Langa frowns. “Was she wrong?”
“What?! No!” Reki nearly shouts; he’s drawing attention from people around them. “Just that…Tanabata celebrates the meeting of the gods Orihime and Hikoboshi, who have been prevented from seeing each other more than once a year.”
“I read that,” Langa answers. He can feel tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. Imagine if he wasn’t able to meet Reki every day! He doesn’t think he could survive that. “But why would my mom say that love…”
“Because the first year that Orihime and Hikoboshi were separated,” Reki tells him, serious and adorable in his yukata, “when they tried to meet, they couldn’t because there was no bridge. Poor Orihime cried so much that the magpies came and made a bridge with their wings so she could cross the river. It’s said that on Tanabata, if it rains, the magpies can’t come to make the bridge, so Orihime and Hikoboshi have to wait another year to meet. The rain that falls on Tanabata is called the Tears of Orihime and Hikoboshi.”
“I guess we’re lucky it’s not raining,” Langa comments vaguely.
“Yeah,” Reki says, standing close to Langa again. “I guess we are.”
Langa looks at Reki; they’re nearly the same height, but Langa feels as though he has to look down slightly to see into Reki’s eyes. The thought unnerves him, as does the way that Reki’s looking back at him: that slight blush on his cheeks, the bashful sparkle in his eyes…
The way that his yukata falls over his shoulders.
Langa swallows hard.
“Y—yeah,” he stammers. “Y—you—you look—”
“Langa?” Reki cocks his head to the side. “You okay?”
“You—you look like you want to go in!” Langa bursts out, grabbing Reki by the hand and pulling him into the festival. Behind him, Reki protests, but Langa doesn’t care, because he can’t look at Reki right now, he can’t , not when he’s so soft and bashful and beautiful.
Inside, the festival teems with life, but Langa can’t notice, he can’t, because when he stops, he has to look at Reki again, and that means looking at Reki in that yukata.
And Langa is not that strong of a man.
“L—Langa!” Reki says, pulling back on Langa’s hand. “Langa, hold on, dude! What’s the rush?”
Langa skids to a halt and breathes heavily. He still can’t turn around. “I—I just wanted to hurry in so that we could do as much as possible before the festival closes,” he says, a bit lamely.
“Oh!” Reki laughs and claps Langa on the shoulder. “The fireworks won’t be for at least another two hours or so—not until sunset! So we’ve got plenty of time. He tugs a little harder, and Langa finally has to look back at Reki, and oh.
Oh, that’s a mistake.
Because they were rushing, Reki’s now naturally flushed, his chest rising and falling as he tries to catch his breath. His torso looks magnificent in the yukata, too, all the way down to his narrow waist, which the obi captures perfectly.
Dammit! Langa really, really needs to focus.
“What—what do you want to do first, Langa?” Reki asks, voice high and a little breathy.
Langa’s eyes drop to Reki’s lips, then to the open collar of his yukata. He’d love to…
But then, Langa’s stomach growls, and he shakes his head. Now isn’t the time to ogle his best friend/one true love.
Now is the time to eat.
“Can we—get some food?” Langa asks, and Reki lets out a little cheer that Langa finds hopelessly endearing.
“Sure!” Reki says. “We can do all the best festival foods, like takoyaki, okonomiyaki, maybe some yakisoba…” He pats the kinchaku tied to his obi. “Not sure if I’ll have enough money to cover it all, though…” he says, more to himself than to Langa.
“No!” Langa exclaims, and Reki stares at him, startled. “I—I mean—” Date, you’re on a date, you should pay. But should you pay? YES. Yes, you should…
“I—I mean—” he adds, “it’s my—my treat—Reki. I—I brought—” He pats his wallet, tucked away in his jeans. “Enough,” he says at last. “I brought enough.”
Reki’s that adorable shade of red again. “You sure?” he asks, ducking his head a little. “I mean—I can pay, too—”
“No!” Langa says, more forcefully. “It’s my treat! I insist! What…what kind of…da…”
Langa trails off, unsure of where to go next. Should he say it? Date? They’re on one, right? So it should be fine?
But before Langa can finish his sentence, Reki laughs. “Okay, okay, Langa,” he says, holding up his hands. “I know when not to argue with you. If you want to pay, I will be your happy and willing date.” He moves closer to Langa and slips his hand into the crook of Langa’s elbow. His touch is warm and grounding. “Now, my handsome date,” Reki teases, “how would you like to have some of the best food you’ll ever eat?”
Langa wants to be embarrassed, but his stomach gives a terrible growl in response, and Reki laughs and laughs.
“I take that as a yes,” he says. “Come on, Langa. Let’s start with the takoyaki!”
Periodically throughout his life, Langa has been to festivals. In Canada, they were usually harvest or winter festivals, but Tanabata is the first summertime festival Langa has ever been to, and he can readily admit that it’s also his favorite.
He’s not sure if it’s the food (the okonomiyaki in particular is his favorite), or the atmosphere, or the story of Orihime and Hikoboshi reuniting…
Oh, heck, Langa knows exactly what it is.
It’s Reki.
Reki in his lovely yukata.
Reki, tugging at Langa’s hand to show him the kakigori booth.
Reki, pulling Langa over to the masks, and insisting that they both buy matching kitsune masks, and then asking the vendor to take their picture, which the vendor does with a big smile on their face.
Reki, Reki, Reki…
Langa would be content to follow Reki to the ends of the earth if Reki asked.
But every time he tries to tell him, the sight of Reki in that beautiful yukata, that stunning obi , makes all thoughts of anything related to love or confessions or words fly out of his head.
Langa sighs. He might just have to resign himself to loving Reki from afar forever.
“Langa!” Reki exclaims, pulling him along by the hand and bringing him back to reality. “Let’s do the yo-yo-tsuri!”
“The—what?” Langa asks, but Reki already has them in front of a kid’s wading pool, which has been set up on a table. In the pool are a large number of water balloons, floating on the surface. A group of children stands around the table, cheering each other on as they try to…
“Yo-yo-tsuri!” Reki exclaims, pulling a little money from his kinchaku and paying the vendor. The vendor gives him two fishing hooks; when Reki turns and hands one to Langa, Langa stares at the hook in disbelief.
“Reki?” Langa says hesitantly. “Is this made out of…”
“Tissue paper?” Reki answers, laughing. “Yeah! So you better catch that balloon fast! Or your hook will disintegrate!”
He brushes past Langa, that beautiful yukata catching Langa’s eyes yet again. Langa stumbles a bit as he shuffles after Reki; thankfully, Reki doesn’t notice Langa’s clumsiness.
“So we…what?” He says instead, looking down at the pool of water. “Stick our hooks in, and…”
“And try to catch a balloon, you got it!” Reki grins at him. His smile is so bright that Langa almost feels as though he has to squint to see clearly. Reki’s already got his hook in the water and is trying to snag a balloon; Langa stands at his side, leans over, and tries to follow Reki’s lead.
He’s attempting to catch a balloon, but each time he’s close, a flash of Reki’s wrist as his yukata falls to the side catches his attention, and he finds that he just cannot focus long enough, not when that tanned skin nearly blinds him.
“I got one!” Reki shouts and triumphantly holds up his balloon. The vendor congratulates him and allows him to choose from a tray of small prizes, but Reki turns to Langa and grins.
“What would you like?” he asks, and Langa’s eyes widen.
“What—what would I—” He can’t get the words out, but Reki grabs his hand and tugs him over to the tray of prizes.
“Anything you want!” Reki says proudly. “Well,” he adds sheepishly, “within this tray, since we only won one.”
Langa looks over the collection: it’s a variety of trinkets, ranging from keychains to chintzy jewelry to pens and pencils to…
“That one,” Langa says, pointing to a tiny plushie keychain. It’s light blue and round, with large eyes and teeth.
“That one?” Reki repeats, scrunching his eyebrows (adorably, Langa thinks).
“Yes,” Langa says, accepting it when the vendor hands it to him. “Thank you,” he says, then hooks the keyring around his finger. “It looks like a yeti!” he says happily, holding up his finger to admire it from all angles. “What?” he adds when he hears Reki cackle.
“No—nothing,” Reki says. “You—you’re just cute, that’s all.”
Langa stops. Did Reki just say—
“Come on.” Reki takes Langa’s free hand. “Let’s go find a good spot for the fireworks. They’re starting soon.”
Still unable to speak or walk, Langa allows himself to be pulled by Reki through the festival. Reki trots along, past different vendors, and then, to Langa’s surprise, he hangs a right and heads up a flight of stairs, behind the last row of stands.
“Where are we—” Langa begins, but Reki just tugs him harder, and before he knows it, they reach the top of the stairs, and then Reki turns left, then right, and then up another flight of stairs. They come out on top of a hill where a torii gate sits, all on its own. Reki pulls Langa to the gate, then looks up at it.
“I thought—maybe you’d want a good place to watch the fireworks,” Reki says, blushing a little. He’s still holding Langa’s hand, Langa realizes, and when they both look down, Reki goes to pull away, but Langa just holds him tighter.
“No,” he says fiercely; Reki gasps, and Langa quickly changes his tone to something softer. “That—that is,” he adds, more quietly, more like himself, “if you think this is a good place, then I’m okay with it. I—I want to watch them with you, Reki,” he concludes, “and I don’t really care where we are. But…” He looks around.
The hill overlooks the festival itself; Langa can see the bright lights, can hear the chatter of the festival-goers, the shouts of the vendors.
It’s beautiful: a city of stars, laid out below them, all for Reki and Langa to enjoy.
But yet, as lovely as the view below them is: it’s the view right beside him that’s captured Langa.
Reki, in his gorgeous yukata.
Reki, with his sunburned hair and his electric eyes.
Reki, who’s still holding his hand, warm and safe and grounded.
“Beautiful,” Langa murmurs.
“Yeah,” Reki answers, and Langa realizes that Reki’s staring at him, too. “Beautiful.”
Above them, the fireworks explode in the sky, a myriad of shifting colors and shapes, but it’s here, in this moment, where Langa understands:
He doesn’t need words, or grand gestures, or yeti plushies.
Langa just needs Reki.
He leans forward, just a little bit. Reki sucks in a breath, and for a split second, Langa wonders if…
Then, Reki leans forward, a little bit, too.
The sky erupts in streaks of silver, gold, green, red, blue. Sparkles shimmer down from the heavens.
But it’s Reki’s lips, meeting his, that have all of Langa’s attention.
They’re warm, just like Reki, and slightly chapped, also just like him. Langa uses the hand that Reki’s holding to pull Reki to him; he uses his free hand to wrap around Reki’s shoulders, to gently tug him closer.
The sound of fireworks exploding all around them is nearly deafening, but Langa can only hear Reki’s breath, his soft sighs, his little grunt when Langa tries to pull away.
“No.” The word is soft, but a demand, nonetheless. “Have—wanted this—for a long time.”
What? Reki has—
“You’ve wanted this for a long time?” Langa says, disbelieving. “But Reki—you—I—I mean—”
Reki blushes. “Why—why do you think I wore a yukata tonight, Langa? I—I wanted to look good for you. I wanted to show you I could be…that we could be…”
“You always were, Reki,” Langa says, pulling him close again. “You’ve always been.”
“Langa,” Reki whispers, but Langa’s too busy kissing him again to listen.
Langa’s mind spins as he’s full of only Reki, Reki, Reki. Reki on his lips. Reki in his arms. Reki here, and real, and kissing him, too.
Above them, the fireworks reach their zenith, and Langa thinks that the world has never been more perfect, the heavens literally bursting with his love for Reki.
“Langa,” Reki murmurs against his lips, but Langa refuses to move: not yet, not when everything is so good and wonderful, just as it is.
”Langa,” Reki repeats, a little louder this time, but Langa just grunts and rubs their mouths together.
That makes Reki laugh even harder, and now he does pull away, the dying embers of fireworks dancing in his amber eyes.
“Langa,” he says, grinning, “I think we missed the fireworks.”
“No,” Langa answers stubbornly. He pulls Reki back against him. His hands run over the soft fabric of Reki’s yukata. “You in a yukata is the only fireworks I’ll ever need.”
“Langa!” Reki laughs, but Langa just shakes his head. Reki shines brighter than any firework, than any star in the sky, and as far as Langa’s concerned, he always will.
“It’s true,” he says, and lets his hands trail over Reki’s shoulders, down to the obi he wears at his waist. “You’re my firework, Reki.” He feels hot, powerful. “Mine and only mine.”
Reki shakes his head, but he’s still smiling. “Okay, Langa,” he says.
“Wear the yukata more,” Langa insists, his hands now tugging at the obi. “I like it.”
“So I see,” Reki muses, his eyes still dancing. “Then I guess…”
He kisses Langa, slow and soft and sure. Langa’s knees go weak.
“I’ll make sure to wear this for our second date, then, too,” he promises. “And the one after that, and the one after that…”
“And the next one,” Langa tells him. “And the one after that.”
Reki’s laughing now, and before he knows what’s happening, so is Langa, and they’re laughing and hugging and kissing and it’s everything Langa could have ever wanted and more.
And it’s not lost on Langa that tonight, the night of the Tanabata, he and Reki have found their way to each other, that they have come together, despite their different lives, their different personalities—
Despite everything that could have gotten in their way, they’re here now, and they’re together.
Langa’s grateful, he’s so grateful to have Reki in his arms, in his life..
And it doesn’t take Reki in a yukata for Langa to see that.