#gd why do i want this so bad my chest feels hollow i want someone to put me in my place make it hurt teach me to not be like this | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jenanigans1207 · 3 years

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Castle of Cards [Renga]

I said I wasn’t gonna post this on here because formatting on Tumblr is so obnoxious now, but I figure I might as well. So here’s my fix-it fic to ep 9 (so, spoilers!) where Langa and Reki finally talk it out and Reki gets the gd hug he deserves!

-- x

Everyone is looking at him.

They’re looking and pointing, whispering words behind their hands. Some are even outright shouting congratulations to him, though he barely hears it. He may respond absently, he’s not honestly sure. His brain is too occupied with one thing and one thing only, leaving no space for any of this. Compared to what he’s dealing with currently, his win against Joe barely even exists in his mind right now— it’s certainly not something he would call important currently. The words Adam, Snow, and Eve follow him around, rippling in his wake as he makes his way through the crowd. The voices all blend together, background noise to him at most.

None of them are the voice he’s looking for, the voice he needs to hear.

None of them are Reki.

“Excuse me.” Langa’s at the gate now, and he’s not really sure why. But he’s looked everywhere else and he hasn’t been able to locate Reki, so he’s running out of options and feeling a little more desperate with each passing second, with each face he sees that still isn’t Reki’s.

“Oh, Snow.” The guard glances up at him, surprised. “That was an amazing race.”

“Thanks.” Langa says absentmindedly. He glances around one more time, but no faces jump out at him. “Have you seen a red headed guy? About my age?”

“Oh, yeah.” The guard nods, his gaze far away as if he’s remembering. “He left a little while ago.”

“Left?” Langa echoes, hollow inside. He can feel his heart pounding against his ribs like drums, can feel the way he’s only a few beats away from having his ribs crack open entirely, bleeding all of these emotions out for the world to see. “Is he coming back?”

“Well, considering the fact that he gave me this,” The guard digs around in his pocket for a moment before holding his hand out between them, an S pin catching the light in his palm. “I’m going to say no.”

For a moment, everything stops. It’s just Langa and the pin, staring at each other while Langa tries to make sense of what he’s seeing. Cold dread seeps into his veins, spreading to the tips of his fingers and toes. The pin glistens in the light, bright and beautiful, just like it had so many times when it had been attached to Reki’s collar. It had caught Langa’s eye so many times, been the thing he chose to stare at when he couldn’t stare directly at Reki any longer for fear of something stupid coming out of his mouth. He knew that pin almost as well as he knew Reki.

But no, it must’ve been some other red headed guy.

The pin must belong to someone else. There’s no way it’s Reki’s pin.

It was true that Reki and Langa weren’t on the best terms, but Reki would never give up his pass to S. Just the mere thought of it sits wrong in Langa’s chest, makes him feel a little sideways. He almost wants to laugh bitterly at himself for even considering it. He knows that Reki would never. If there was one fundamental thing about Reki that could never change, it was his love for all things skating— and that certainly included S. Langa remembers the first time Reki had told him about S, the way his whole face had lit up. He can still feel Reki’s hand on his shoulder as he’d shook Langa, insisting that Langa should be more excited for such an honor.

Reki would give up breathing before he would give up S. Langa was sure of it.

“Oh.” He finally says dumbly. “That must be someone else.”

“No,” The guard shakes his head, seemingly unaware of the turmoil slowly starting to stir in Langa’s stomach, unaware of the ice in his heart, chilling him to the bone. “It was definitely that guy you usually show up with. Took me a minute to recognize him without that headband, but it was definitely him.”

It feels like the entire world is ripped out from underneath Langa’s feet.

Suddenly he’s free falling, plummeting towards some dark future that he wants nothing to do with and there doesn’t seem to be a way to slow it down. Suddenly he’s a million miles from Reki, on the other side of a divide he had unknowingly dug. Everything he knew seemed to be flipped on its head, the chilling realization that he didn’t know Reki as well as he thought— that he had hurt Reki far deeper than he’d realized— was freezing him to his spot. Everything he believed in, everything he held close to his heart, every touch, glance, smile— all of it, stripped away from him.

Langa stares at the pin like it might tell him that this is some practical joke, that Reki is just trying to teach him a lesson. Dear God, he’ll learn the lesson. He’ll do anything if it gets Reki to come back.

Because Reki had been here. He’d been here, despite the fact that he’d been avoiding Langa and insisting that he didn’t want anything to do with this tournament. He’d been here and he’d cheered Langa on, because he was Reki and that meant he was incapable of not being there for the people that mattered to him. Even lost in thought as he’d been, Langa had recognized Reki’s voice instantly. He’d always recognize Reki’s voice— he’d recognize anything about Reki. His voice, his laugh, his footfalls, even the sound of his ragged breathing after an afternoon practicing a new trick— Langa was in tune with all things Reki.

Or, he had thought that he was. He’d thought that he knew Reki better than anyone else but suddenly he’s staring down at Reki’s most prized possession, Reki nowhere to be found, feeling his heart crack open in his chest. Somewhere things went wrong, they got off track and suddenly fell out of step with each other. All this time, Langa had been looking to Reki to lead him, to show him what was next, to step into another adventure at his side. All this time it had been them . But now it was just him . And even though he was in the center of a crowd that kept repeating his name, Langa had never felt more alone.

“Can I take that?” Langa asks after a silence that has stretched so long it has become awkward. “He’s just having a bad day. He’ll want it back when he’s feeling better.”

The words don’t sound quite right and they taste a little bitter on his tongue, as if the words themselves know that they’re a lie, but Langa ignores that. He wills it to be the truth, to give him some hope to cling to. He needs that right now. Because if he doesn’t at least have hope that he’ll be able to get Reki back, he has absolutely nothing . Not even the board Reki made him, not anymore.

The guard shrugs and deposits the pin in Langa’s hand. It’s cold to the touch but still something inside of him burns. “Technically I should say no, but I’ve seen him around here for years. I know he’s a good kid. So, go for it.”

Someone arrives at the gate then and the guard bids Langa farewell, unaware of just how much his words sting. He’s seen Reki around here for years— yeah, that sounds like Reki. The Reki that Langa knows, the Reki he had been thinking about at dinner with his mom a few days ago when he first mentioned that Reki was avoiding him. That sounded like the Reki that shined brighter than the sun and dragged Langa out of the dark hole that his life had become.

Because Langa had moved here with nothing but his mom. He’d lost his dad, he’d given up snowboarding and then lost the possibility of picking it back up. He’d moved here without knowing a single soul outside of his family and he’d assumed that his life would just remain bleak and boring for— well, indefinitely, really. And then Reki had come dashing down the street, arm bandaged, yelling for Langa to catch his board before it got away and everything had changed. Langa’s fingers had closed around the board, he’d turned to meet Reki’s gaze and the entire trajectory of his future had shifted in that exact moment. He was completely sure of it— that was the moment that everything in his life had changed. That was the moment he found a purpose again. And more than that, he’d found someone to share it with.

Langa shoves the pin deep in his pocket because he can’t bear to look at it any longer. It’s bad enough that he has to carry around the splintered halves of his skateboard, he didn’t need another reminder staring back at him.

Something was happening in the distance, Langa didn’t really know what, he wasn’t paying attention. All he knew was that the crowd seemed to have finally moved on from talking about him and he was grateful for the peace because right now he wanted to be with Reki. And if he couldn’t be with Reki, he wanted to be alone.

-- x

He’s careless as he rips the posters off of his wall, tearing them irreparably down the middle.

Not that it matters.

Not that anything matters.

Reki doesn’t turn his bedroom light on as he shreds the posters in his hands, throwing crumpled bits of them on the ground. What’s the point in having his room decorated in skating memorabilia if he wasn’t going to be skating anymore? Because that was really the only option that he could see, that’s what today had made clear to him.

He didn’t want to be standing in the crowd, watching Langa reach new heights. He didn’t want to see Langa’s back . He wanted to be by Langa’s side, in the center of his circle. He wanted to be in Langa’s heart . But Langa was out of reach now— too high in the sky, surrounded by too many adoring fans, up on a pedestal that Reki could never climb, no matter how hard he tried. He wanted to skate, but he wanted to skate with Langa. And since that goal was officially unreachable, well, he didn’t see the point in skating at all.

What fun was there left in it when he would always have an empty place by his side? Where was he supposed to find the joy when he didn’t have Langa there to cheer him on, to clap him on the shoulder or high five him in congratulation when Reki finally landed a trick he’d been practicing? What enjoyment was left for him if he was just going to be eating lunch alone in the middle of the day, a million thoughts on his mind and nobody to share them with?

Because the truth that he’d been trying to avoid for the last few weeks was that he absolutely couldn’t find someone else to share this with. Not the way he shared it with Langa, anyways. There was never going to be someone else that he had that connection with, someone else who walked into his life and just stayed like it was the only place they could possibly imagine being. He hadn’t known it when Langa had introduced himself to their class that first day, but Langa was a missing piece to Reki’s heart, something to complete him and make him feel whole again. Langa challenged him and took him to new heights and for the longest time, Reki had thought that Langa would wait for him, that he wouldn’t try to hit a new level until Reki met him on the one he was at.

Because for a while, it had been okay that Langa was naturally talented and unbelievably amazing because he stayed in stride with Reki. It had been okay that Langa could fly higher than Reki, because it gave Reki something to strive for, a goal to reach. And the whole time, Langa stayed there, encouraging him and cheering him on, laughing with him and offering a hand to hoist him up from the ground when he fell. It was okay that Langa was ahead because he was still there — bright and beautiful, always within Reki’s reach.

He wasn’t within Reki’s reach anymore.

But there was something about Langa, something about the way he fit perfectly into the cracks of Reki’s heart that made Reki absolutely certain that he couldn’t share his passion with anyone else the same way. He’d always have a hollow spot throbbing in his heart whenever he touched a skateboard. That was the real reason he hadn’t skated since their fight. Every time he touched his board, he just felt the ache of loneliness that came with Langa’s absence. Somewhere along the way skating had stopped being his thing and instead had become their thing. But since there was no longer a them , Reki didn’t feel like he could find a home inside skating again.

And that hurt more than Reki had thought anything could.

In the matter of a few weeks he had lost his best friend and his passion, and they weren’t even stolen from him. Langa had willingly walked away, had known that he was breaking his promise to Reki and had chosen to go along with it anyways. Langa had given up on Reki and now Reki was left with no choice but to give up on skating. Because the idea of giving up on Langa hurt even worse, somehow, and a small piece of his shattered heart harbored hope that Langa would come back.

Reki sinks down to the floor, curling in on himself and pressing his forehead against the wall, torn skating posters grasped loosely in his palms.

All this time he had felt like he and Langa were creating a castle together, a place to rule over their shared passion. But now that Reki was alone— well and truly alone, not even the presence of his S badge to keep him company— he realized that it was nothing more than a Castle of Cards and it was collapsing around him.

-- x

The problem with doing the right thing is that right now, Langa doesn’t know what the right thing is.

He had been trying to give Reki the space he seemed like he wanted the last few weeks, trying to stay within Reki’s orbit without forcing Reki to interact with him if he didn’t want. But that hadn’t worked because suddenly Reki seemed even further away than he had before. But if Reki really didn’t want to talk to him— and that certainly seemed to be the case— Langa didn’t want to corner him.

He looks down at the broken board in his hands and thinks that it’s the perfect representation of everything Reki in his life right now— shattered completely and something Langa has no idea how to handle.

Words have never been his forte. And it’s true that Reki is usually able to read between the lines or connect the dots to Langa’s point if he mixes some of his thoughts together, but this isn’t the kind of thing he wants Reki to have to parse. This is something he needs to say to Reki, clearly and succinctly because anything else risks him losing Reki forever.

And if he loses Reki forever— he loses skating forever, too. Because he can’t skate without Reki there, cheering him on. He doesn’t find joy in it unless he has Reki, that much has become abundantly clear in his last few trips to S.

That, he knows, is the whole problem. It took him too long to realize that the thing he was chasing had in fact been next to him the entire time. It took him too long to realize that the feeling he was addicted to wasn’t the feeling of going fast, but instead the feeling of Reki’s belief in him, the warmth of Reki’s friendship and unwavering support. The thing he had gotten so lost in was Reki, not skateboarding, and he didn’t make that connection until it was too late.

And Reki— Reki was really good at keeping a straight face, at pretending he was okay when he wasn’t. Because Langa had been blind sided by Reki walking out of his life. He’d had maybe one hint that Reki wasn’t feeling himself and then suddenly the bridge between them was on fire and Langa didn’t have any water with him. He’d been forced to stand there as it charred to bits and now— now he had to find some other way across that gap. Because now he knew that it was Reki he needed, Reki he wanted. He knew it was Reki that meant more to him than anything else in his life ever had and he wasn’t going to let Reki go.

Slowly, and with far more effort than it should actually take, Langa peels himself off the ground. S had ended hours ago and everyone had scattered, but Langa hadn’t felt like going home. The sun was starting to rise over the horizon, just the tiniest hints of pink and yellow starting to paint the inky black sky. Another day dawning— another day without Reki if Langa didn’t do something. Another day of the thing he wants most slipping through his fingers.

With equal amounts of determination and fear, Langa takes off towards Reki’s house. He has no idea what he’s going to say, no idea what he’s going to do , but he can’t just sit around and do nothing anymore. He grips Reki’s S pin in one hand, clutching his broken board to his side with the other as he treads the familiar path to Reki’s house. He could walk there with his eyes closed if he wanted to, he’d been here so many times. It was like his feet knew the path on their own, like even lacking courage couldn’t stop him from going there because every fiber of who he was longed to see Reki, to be near him again. Every single cell in his body was screaming at him to get to Reki before it was too late and Reki was gone completely.

He rounded the last corner and came to a complete stop as he stumbled into Reki’s front yard, surprised to see Reki sitting on the front porch so early in the morning.

“Reki?”

Reki’s head whips up and he squints at Langa, the sun from behind Langa no doubt blinding him. “Langa? What are you doing?”

A lot of different thoughts swirl in Langa’s mind, the weight of both the pin and the board heavy in his hands as he tries to figure out where to start. Reki stares at him, still in the same hoodie he’d worn at S, his headband gone. His hair was longer than Langa had realized as it fell down around his face, framing his eyes and the unbearably sad expression on his face. He looked the way Langa’s heart feels— empty and void of any passion. The first thing Langa considers is just dropping everything and pulling Reki into a hug, but he’s not sure Reki would receive that willingly and he really doesn’t think he’d be able to handle Reki pushing him away.

“I—“ Langa glances down at his feet, at the board in his hand, the scrapes along his arms from when the board had broken and he’d fallen. If only this was as easy as a simple cut, if only this would heal with just a little time and tending to.

“What happened?” Reki asks and when Langa glances up at him, he sees Reki’s gaze focused on his board. There’s a sharp downturn at the corner of his mouth and Langa can’t tell if Reki is mad that he broke the board or not.

“Oh, it—“ Langa glances at the board, too. The board that Reki had made for him, the one that Reki had poured time and effort into. The board that allowed him to reach the heights he can now reach. “It snapped right after I crossed the finish line with Joe. I’m sorry, Reki, I didn’t mean to—“

Reki sighs and it sounds like he’s pulling the weight of it from the very depths of his bones. Langa worries for a moment that he’s going to collapse in on himself when he exhales because it sounds like he’s letting go of everything he is. “You need me to fix it for you?”

That startles Langa. Sure, when his board had first broken and Joe had suggested that he go back to Reki to fix it, Langa had assumed that Reki would. But something about finding out Reki had turned in his S pin had changed everything. If Langa’d had to guess before he got here how he thought Reki would react, he would’ve said that Reki would’ve staunchly refused to fix his board for him and shown him the door. It didn’t sound anything like Reki but then again, neither did giving up S and Reki had apparently done that.

“You would?”

Reki raises one shoulder in what Langa assumes is meant to be a shrug. “You can’t beat Adam otherwise.”

Each word is a knife straight to Langa’s heart and somehow, completely despite himself, he drops the board to the ground at his feet, his arm going limp. “Reki…”

Finally, Reki stands up from the porch and closes the distance between them. And even though he’s technically getting closer with every step he takes, Langa feels like Reki is being pulled further and further away from him. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? To beat Adam? You’ll need a board to do that.”

Slowly, and with far more care than it deserves, Reki picks the shattered pieces of the board up off of the ground. He stands up, just a few feet away from Langa, close enough that Langa could reach out and touch him if he wanted to— and Langa wants to. God he’s not sure he’s ever wanted something more in his life. He wants to touch Reki, to feel that Reki is really there, that Reki is real and beside him again, right where he belongs.

Because all along, it’s been Reki reaching out to Langa. It’s been Reki throwing his arm around Langa’s shoulders, pulling Langa close in celebration. It’s been Reki holding onto Langa, holding Langa together, dragging Langa forward. And then— and then the one time he’d reached for Reki first, Reki had shaken off his touch and left him standing under a street lamp in the rain.

And Langa really wants to reach for Reki, but he’s paralyzed by fear that Reki will shake him off again.

Pain courses through his body with every beat of his heart and suddenly Langa feels like he’s losing control. The unbearable agony of being this close to Reki and not being able to have him, to hold him, breaks Langa apart completely. “Why did you turn in your badge?”

Reki hears him, Langa knows he does. Because Reki has always heard him, has always been listening for him in the midst of everything. There’s never been anything that Langa has said that Reki hasn’t heard. But Reki ignores him. “I’m probably going to have to start from scratch.” He says instead, his gaze studiously focused on the board. But Langa sees the tight line of his jaw. “I don’t think I can repair this.”

“Reki—“

“Don’t worry,” Reki reassures even though they both know that Reki’s doing nothing but dodging the issue at hand. “I can have it done by the time you have your beef with Adam. I’ve already made it once so I know what it needs. Just give me a day or two.”

And then Reki turns to walk towards his garage as if he’s going to get started right away. Reki turns to walk towards his garage, away from Langa.

“Reki!” Completely out of his control, Langa’s hand shoots out and grabs Reki around the wrist, holding him in place. He holds as tightly as he can without hurting Reki, determined to not let him get away this time. “Reki, talk to me .”

Reki’s head is bowed and his shoulders are shaking and every already. Broken piece of Langa’s heart somehow manages to break further. “What do you want me to say, Langa?”

With a gentle tug, Langa turns Reki around so they’re facing each other again. He pulls Reki’s hand forward until it’s open in front of him and then he presses Reki’s S pin into his palm, staring with so much intensity it’s almost unbearable because Reki still won’t look at him. His fingers curl under Langa’s, wrapping around the pin as he scoffs, turning his head to the side.

“Why?” Langa presses, his hand still firm around Reki’s wrist. “Reki, why?”

When Reki finally raises his head, his eyes watery at the edges, Langa thinks he might just crumble completely, become a pile of broken dreams at Reki’s feet, waiting for a gentle wind to blow him away. “What purpose do I have there, Langa? I can’t keep up with everyone. I’m not—“ The words seem to lodge in Reki’s throat but he refuses to turn his burning gaze away this time. “I’m not good enough. There’s nothing there for me.”

“I’m there for you.” Langa replies with as much ferocity as he can manage. It sounds feeble, broken, like it’s two seconds away from collapsing entirely. “I’m there for you, Reki.”

“You’re there for Adam.” Reki practically spits Adam’s name, like it tastes bad on his tongue, like he can’t wait to get it away from him. Langa had known that Reki hated Adam, that Adam scared him and seemed dangerous but this— these emotions swirling around Reki’s words, hiding in the depths of his eyes— this was something more than that.

And this is it— the breaking point. This is the moment where Langa can either make or break everything they have between them. Every late night, every early morning, every band aid Reki has carefully put over his wounds have led to this moment. All the knowledge he has of Reki culminates to right now when he has to figure out exactly the right thing to say, has to figure out how to tell Reki what it is that he really feels. His mom had told him to just be honest with his feelings, but that was easier said than done. At the time he’d thought it would be embarrassing but now he’d willingly take embarrassment if it meant Reki would smile again.

How long has it been since he’s seen Reki smile? He feels like he’s being suffocated without it, like the happiness is slowly being drained away from him.

“I thought I was,” Langa begins and he sees Reki flinch away from him, sees the moment Reki tries to build those final walls between them. Holding Reki’s wrist the tiniest bit tighter, Langa rushes on, “But I was wrong. Reki I— I thought it was skating against Adam that made my heart race. I thought it was the speed. But it wasn’t.” Langa shakes his head and a few strands of hair fall into his eyes. This isn’t going how he wants it to, the words are getting all muddled in his head, lost somewhere between his mind and his tongue. “That’s— it’s not—“ He sighs.

But Reki is looking up at him again, his eyes wide and his mouth open like there’s a question poised on the tip of his tongue. There’s the tiniest flicker of hope, a small flame that needs fanning in Reki’s expression. “What?”

“These last few weeks, when you haven’t been there it hasn’t— it hasn’t felt the same.” Langa takes a deep breath and finally lets go of Reki. If he’s going to leave, at least he will have heard Langa out. That’s the most he can ask for. “It hasn’t been fun or exciting. Nothing about it has felt like it did before. Even when I was racing Joe earlier it didn’t— it didn’t mean anything to me until you cheered for me.”

“But…” Reki ducks his head and Langa swallows around the lump forming in his throat. “But you’re so talented.”

“So are you.”

“Not— not like you.” Reki’s loose hair falls even closer around his face as he shakes his head and Langa’s hands long to reach out and brush it away from his eyes.

“Reki, I can only skate because of you.” Carefully, Langa reaches out to place a hand gently on Reki’s shoulder. When Reki doesn’t shy away from the contact, a small piece of his heart repairs. “You taught me how to skate, you made me a board that I could use. All of my skating is thanks to you.”

And that, if nothing else, is the absolute truth.

“But—“

“I want to skate with you, Reki.” Langa emphasizes, the last truths rising to the light. If he’s going to do this, he might as well do it all the way. “I want it to be with you, not Adam. I don’t care about facing Adam if you’re not there with me. And I’m sorry that I made you think otherwise, I’m sorry that it took me so long to figure that out but— it’s not good if it’s not you, Reki.”

The silence that follows lasts long enough to become painful. The sun is rising behind him and the edges of Reki’s hair catch like fire in the sun, glowing and warm. He looks beautiful as he glances back up at Langa, those eyes watery again but full of so much emotion that Langa can finally recognize again.

“I want to skate with you, too, Langa.” Reki says finally, each word a balm on Langa’s battered soul.

“You do?”

“I thought— You were leaving me behind and you’re so much more talented than I am— I was afraid—“

Without any hesitation, Langa tugs Reki forward, throwing his other arm around Reki and clutching him against his chest. Reki drops the broken board somewhere along the way, his own arms wrapping around Langa as he buries his face in Langa’s shoulder, the edges of his hair brushing Langa’s jaw. And just like that, in one swift moment, Langa feels like he can see the light again.

-- x

Reki can feel his S pin, warm against his palm as he fists his hands in the back of Langa’s shirt. He can feel his S pin and Langa both pressed against him, holding his jagged edges together and he can’t help but think that this is exactly how it’s supposed to be. Because Langa may have left him behind for a little while, but he’d come back for Reki. He’d come back and gathered Reki’s broken edges, piecing him back together. He hadn’t given up on Reki even when Reki had given up on himself.

“I should’ve told you sooner,” Langa mumbles into the top of his head, his hands tight around Reki’s back, “I’m sorry, Reki. Please don’t give up skating. Please don’t leave me there alone.”

And that plea is everything Reki wanted to hear. It was everything Reki needed to know— that Langa still wanted to share this with him, that Langa would give up on his idiotic idea to go up against Adam. It was everything Reki wanted, but he knew he couldn’t take it, not like that. Because there was more that Langa wanted and if Reki accepted the apology, if Reki promised to come back to skating and to go back to how things had been, he’d be taking some of those things away from Langa. And no matter how hurt he’d been, he never wanted to take anything away from Langa, that was why he’d left. Because he wanted Langa to have everything he could ever want without feeling like Reki was holding him back.

And now Langa was here, offering to give it all up for Reki and Reki knew that he couldn’t let him do that.

“I’ll make you a deal.” Reki replies instead. He doesn’t love it, but he knows it’s the right thing to do. He knows that Langa needs this, that he needs this if they’re really going to put this behind them. “I’ll come back to S, but only to watch you kick Adam’s ass.”

“Reki?” Langa pulls away enough to look at Reki’s face, his eyebrows drawn together in confusion.

Reki pulls away completely, stepping back and over the broken board so that it fills the space between them again. “Someone has to beat him.”

“So let someone else do it.” Langa takes a step closer, his toes nearly brushing the board. “Not me.”

Reki shakes his head, reaching up to brush some of the longer pieces of his hair back. “It has to be you, Langa.”

And they both know that’s true, Adam won’t rest until he skates against Langa again. Adam has made it abundantly clear that he doesn’t consider anyone other than Langa a proper opponent. If someone is going to take Adam off of his high horse, it has to be Langa, whether Reki likes it or not. He doesn’t like it, not even a little bit, but Langa came back to him, Langa offered to give racing Adam up entirely. Reki has to just trust him now, to stand by his side while he races Adam, holding his breath and cheering loudly, And when it’s all over, all he can do is hope that Langa finds his way back to his side again.

Because just keeping Langa away from Adam wouldn’t be enough. Reki would always be haunted with the question, would always wonder if Langa was satisfied, if he was happy to just skate with Reki at their own pace. He needed to know, to be absolutely certain that he was the one Langa chose.

“I won’t do it.” The amount of conviction in Langa’s voice tells Reki that it’s going to be alright.

“C’mon,” Reki bends down to pick up the broken board between them. “Let’s go get started on your new board. We can figure out the rest from there.”

“Reki, I won’t— I don’t want to—“

“Yes you do.” Reki cuts in but he’s surprised to find that he’s not mad anymore. He’s not even hurt, he’s mostly just afraid. But he’s choosing to put all of his faith in Langa because so far, Langa hasn’t actually let him down. The fact that Langa is standing here in front of him at the first signs of dawn, while the rest of the world is completely asleep tells Reki that Langa hasn’t let him down yet and isn’t going to start now. “And I’ll be there when you do, okay? You know I hate him, I’ll take pleasure in watching you defeat him.”

Langa hesitates, “And if I do this, what then?”

And that answer comes to Reki surprisingly easily. “Then you’ll be the king of S. And I’ll be the one to knock you off your throne.”

The smile that spreads over Langa’s face is slow to come, but no less warm than all the ones Reki has seen in the past. “Is that a promise?”

“Yeah.” Reki says, holding a hand up in front of him. “It is.”

When Langa responds in kind, giving Reki their signature high five and fist bump combo, Reki realizes that maybe their castle wasn’t made out of cards after all. Maybe Langa wasn’t the only one who had gotten lost along the way. Because suddenly, it feels like there’s some solid foundation under his feet again. He takes off towards the garage, Langa in tow and he knows with absolute certainty that neither Adam nor the fear Reki feels in the face of him is strong enough to actually break them apart.

And when Langa kicks Adam’s ass and comes back to Reki to celebrate, well Reki might have a few other things he needs to tell him then. But for now, he relishes the feeling of his heart patching itself back together as Langa settles onto his normal stool in the garage, propping his head in his hand as Reki selects a new piece of wood to begin working with.

Everything may not be okay quite yet, Reki might still have some lingering fears and doubts, but he has Langa by his side again and he knows with Langa there, he’ll be able to overcome any of those things. Everything may not be okay quite yet, but Reki knows that soon it’s going to be okay again.

#renga #sk8 #sk8 the infinity #sk8 spoilers #sk8 the infinity spoilers #sk8 fic #reki gets the hug he deserves #I just needed something last week #after the pain of that episode #so I wrote the reconciliation we needed

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castlehead · 7 years

Text

[CAPARISON'D]

There is no judgment slightly more than kind Now left that wld apply to this suggestive thing

Artlessly done as it is, but like the Earth is artless, Myself the experience of the Earth I have, or

Rather, am able to communicate; sometimes Nothing more than that, and in those cases feel

I am but shavings of selfhood, not so held fully in A Physical Body, yet not even able to accurately

Imitate reality outside of my a priori orb: I always Fail to bring it back: example is one time I was

Supposed to buy pot for this trip to this dude I used To know's house in Martha's Vineyard but thought

Cops / Were throwing shade where I was even tho Probably like one patrol car had driven past me

Or whatever, somewhere on Columbus on the stoop Of this brownstone out of many -it was an affluent

Neighborhood, a few blocks from my house- and Anyway paranoia got to me before the dealer, whose

Name -which was really probably more like a nickname- Was 'Talon' -yo, man.. it's been so long I'd thought of

That. I remember: I ghosted into the / Better, darker Shade of pregnant shade my room had, the one I used

To hate and love at the same time, and which my irritated Mother oft wld clean up for me, and which smelt of humiliation,

Like a group of people opening your door and immediately Stepping in dog vomit -I feel indifferent about it as I am older

Now, and it's been two years since I dropped The ball and fell out of a window- I mean / Chicken'd

Out of getting the Pot.- The monotony is I almost Do get it, every time, stuffing it furiously

Into a fannypack i always lose, bc I must lose, it / Then End up having to purchase more fannypacks: o ugly futility: it is

Like when my gf and I lost our wallets pretty Sequentially, like, within the space of a week, the way

We [both of us] lose our minds, certainly, every day: and the spirit of-- Reality? It goes and expires, the schmuck, from exposure in snowy

Caverns after my 9th goddamn Fannypack. / It hid so long Within the ear and don’t come out but

As such, by its knotty refusals, tells me how meaning sounds: Now what’s the story here: these heroes, makars, tune

Up me, leave me a lyric without an epyllion, an extended Sequence of spongy self-regard that grows in the heart of

These strange routes to find my wallet, yet much like Exposure to cold climates, mayest I find where

Nestles this goon what who stole my griefy solemness

Took my schedule for my weeping: I must meet My grief-quota, and pushing myself into my findings

I perform more experiments with beakers and shit But in vain seem to leave my sanity figuratively burnt

In the corner, ignore her either bc I find her precious Or bc I am neglectful, and usually ignorant

OF the long-time effect of loosening yr circadian Rhythm, which I guess would be apposite to The rhythm of when it was time to cry in public.

Finagling finesse, or robbing silence Of hours and hours / Of record.

Which one is worse? And are either Productive? And will Vaping give

Me early onset Dementia? I don't want to be A dull boy. I feel like buried beneath the concrete

Built of all great men Looms the rind of the thing,

The res' residue of Gd. That prays away inside all heroes

Like the precious goop inside a jelly Donut, a goop or honey / They seem

To acquire endlessly from caverns of perspective As sound the mechanical counting thuds of heart.

. . . . . . . . . .

Of all the spooky diameters these figures tell me To follow till the finish, / These podunk palings

Are the worst. Stretching up the road indeterminately To someplace / Out of sight and that

The poet is not even sure is actually there. The thing you have done, the court of bees in

My head tell me, While you do not mind a response To this yet you tiptoe / Over that, puts pressure on

The work of a gaggle / Of random bros that can clone Themselves / Sifting into creation like wild atomic dust.

I hear this propounding from the court of bees, Crones lift up the light to me like strange furniture,

Double over under its [wait] weight and drop that Massive coffin of light into the local undrained swamp.

In that fabulous mire will yr body sleep; you will always Harbor / In your chest that detailed yet subtle truth about you nobody

Knws about for certain, the thing you had no choice to Be, that blurs yr eyes, I speak of it you, saith the swarm.

. . . . . . . . . .

Honestly, write as speech of moment, yeh: Stuff about / The time passing, your thighmuscles

Clenching as you sit here realizing u clench Yr ass too, and then everything goes

Into this goofy rhythm of tearsdrops of moment And the same your toes, / Some anxiety hoping

To accelerate the past / From you and your palings. Surrounding you, as if to jump you for money-

-Flits the doom that could fit in like I didn't in Highschool; yes I became the cliché misfit as

The spirit’s lull in me, waiting for shitty misfit Carnage to end: I had to welcome it, it was

The life of me, it was either that or liberation From life-entire. Almost dozing off, the security

Guard in my brain hears a rustling in the bushes. / Try To deck out these pithy voices in something

Nice and acceptable, a'saith, said The Bees, and Said the Bees, End up shaking no crown, / Nor did free myself

Of anything for nothing at all but what I did, a crime that Is, of being th the hellish flower flowering out my Lungs, into your basic realm with every breath,

As the voice of the speaker Of the pome seems undecided on who

Is actually speaking, me or you, I'd say The only thing to do is duel it out, poet

And the carnage in my hands, coming In frank whorls of feeling that efface

My sense of balance with its own glee Of shaky grip, which I trust, and I boil

With the energy / Of fifteen Wellbutrin today. I am left here to my work that's called, "To be all

The way true with myself" Which comes From this very domepiece here, you all. That I-

-Can ever be an audience to myself, forever, Is enough of an accomplishment as a poet.

. . . . . . . . . .

The writing, tho, is another voice telling me about Myself, knocking on my skull for hollow spots

To take a sledgehammer to. It drifts, I think, / Thru many People, explaining whatever's holy around them: like ticks

Finding weeds by the broken gate That grow in an unnatural sort of way like

They got sprayed with chemicals Or something, though,

Perhaps the ground is bad, by the broken gate. Where I make my desolate way to work,

Have my desolate work done, or to say, this crime: I say my continuum: I despoil my ego, sure, but that is not the crime. I-

-Intend the risk, but have in me some coward Pushing back, repeatedly asking me if I'm

Crazy or something: suddenly I am fallen To the breaches of the World, so as to find

My Gd., the one that is the baroque one, And wriggle about as if I was a child on her

First plane ride: my ears hurting popping Cabin pressure and hellish something

Outing my innermost / What if's about The Baby; so it, like conjuring a thesis

Statement, shapes something of all That contradicting Clay into

Something my inner nobody can handle, frail as he is he Lays muted, finally attached to the beauty / Of the flower

. . . . . . . . . .

In my lungs. Go inside an Outside place, something says,

Permeating thru a fog of voices, Pieces, The bees they are long gone,

And I am not alone: so: notice Yr location, detail by detail,

The plain sense here is there: My symmetry is more than bothered air:

It is calls to me made by the telephone: I listen patiently to the dialtone as it weeps,

All things then taking on a character of Consciousness. I apply my consciousness

To others, like ravens do maybe. And then It is / Almost done, as is the inching doom:

I should b at this moment receiving Nourishment from feeding Tube, A coma patient suspended in Unbroken sleep, loved ones hoping He'll waken to his will again, Those I love / Doubly forsaken By me who thought he ws. forsaken

By the World.-- This perpetuity is a moody little fate I have in me, It is the location I notice, like you said, you, thru The fog. Happy? Now it won't leave. It is like A mouse i'the wainscot [Dickinson] / Telling me Myself, poet or perhaps the man, or the opening sun Once more to strange and futile dawns since since I do live, and live: so I am: and I have my own

Special clan of becketts picking Sundries from their asses

Soothing my jagged impressions of the World With familiar image, smoothing like a ironing Board; and, they keep policing the fictions on Which rest the reasoning behind my writing Behavior, why I did a song so very long.

. . . . . . . . . .

"Old father old artificer Stand me now and ever in good stead." Rough the linens on my deathbed are, and scratchy, It's wool I always hated the texture of when I was A kid: now of course, am a Loathing Regular of All On the internet, / Intent on memes to the last, he was, That's what it'll say on my epitaph. / In all my strength I say, then, or entreaty my messd up life disappear into

The dawn that I think has something wrong With it, it seems like it is kind of off, like People who are confined in boarding houses For the mentally ill. From my screaming Radio I hear someone selling Cadillacs. It Was not midnight. It was not raining. It was The fence that was my crime, outstretched Into stupid distances like a Wyoming of the Dirty cosmos, dirtier than silence cures the Exegete. I profit sentence by sentence, see,

And the Ars Poetica is a way to send a treatment Of the play to The Hollywood. Sentence is a line Robbing my habitat, until I am inside looking in, For the sky stops at the ground, and that is all. The mirror falls, and I must write out savage Things like this, that make up their mind About what they are, interest only

In keeping symmetrical. My soul needs exit From any light, even of lamp, it needs a Hypnotic Like Ambien to trip out on and slump over Dinner with my family later, still fucked up on It. Then something stops, not time, I do Not want it to be anything like time. Perhaps Verbosity: but I do comment

On epiphanies well enough to know the sound OF epiphany, without knowing what exactly The sudden clarity reveals. Did one look at What one saw, or did one see what

One looked at? -Thats me stealing from Hart Crane. Great artists steal because they see

How a style can be improved, so adopt it, make It better. Such sins amass; the Angels sing, O Theft!

Theft! And I go ahead plant a knife enough a knife for some Australian guy to say, "THATS A KNIFE." But not

Enough to charge anybody with anything, then somehow Twist it into a hate crime, duly distracting The Angels

From their liminal matters of blame upon me I am / Not thieving, I am making belated what Came before me, sort of like Mars in retrograde;

The stiff providence of fences and unlimited Bougie refernces atone for my ubiquitous use

OF all the best parts of everything, to make them Better than they were, written by those

Who wore a style like a 18th century noble Wears a musket: protectively. He honors most My steal, sorry, i mean style, who works under it-

-To destroy the teacher, saith Whitman, But that is love: all he didnt have was a hand On the button ol Kimmy J is foaming at the mouth

To push, destruction is abstraction, sure; Destruction here is used loosely for the sake of Serenity of speaking phrases gone away

Like they all went on a family vacation or something. Bleed, and you will summon presence enough To empty yourself for sleep [Faulkner] or make An infidel of abraham and Split the-

-Planets [Melville] and this cosmos is a trunk Of Blanche Dubois fine french furs, I bet you think this is

That, as on I go in a struggle to prove to everyone That I saw God & junk, on that day I got high On SSRIs and grasped for sense only to find it Under the control of something espionage And aloof, darting eyes not like a villain

But like a Paranoid Raven, then dies me as opposed To not: Reversal of some happy bumps in the day To make up for all the spooky ones in the night That hint at me like the first oncomings of ALS And I have not a feature film but hope the grass Is green as well on this margent of further sides Then abrupt belief, to dive in an' conquer or Repel sense back to Plato's Cave, which is a-

-Reference I shouldnt be using as I oh puritanical collector Of souls, well, I havent read Plato at all but i feel like if i did

Id be made another mans satellite, as Emerson, Somewhat in the vein of Blake, says in his introduction

To the essay Nature, I think that's the one. So: A hawk crosses the sky like there was some

A to B GPS followment but it is probably just migrating early. Take everyone back to the city. [Ashbery]

FURTHERANCE

#poem #poetry #pome #powtry #writing #latest dookie #new work

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