Chapter Text
Reki’s kitchen is a mess.
Might as well get the whole apartment cleaned while he’s at it.
The sun was just starting to dip below the trees at the skatepark when the rumbling in Reki’s stomach became a little too intense to ignore. Finally kicking his board up into his hands, he waved goodbye to Miya and Shadow before trudging off toward the train station, picking up some instant noodles and pork buns at the convenience store on the corner along the way. It wasn’t the greatest dinner, not to mention it was a meal he'd already eaten a few other times that week, but it would have to do.
Slumping into an empty seat on the train, he balanced his board and bag between his legs and stuffed one of the buns into his mouth, listening to the slight whir of the train along the tracks while he ate. He loved the sounds of the city at night, still very much alive even as his day was coming to a close. He hadn't always noticed it—the sound of the train on the tracks, the mumbled chatter of other passengers, the heightened voices and footsteps and cars when he stepped off onto the platform ten minutes later—but it had slowly become one of his favorite parts of the day, listening to Naha living and breathing right alongside him as he made his way home.
The noise was a nice reminder of his life before moving out of his family home, as he often found himself missing the trampling of feet down the hallway, the screams of his sisters as they tugged on each other's hair, the sound of running water in the bathroom at random hours of the night. It had certainly taken some getting used to—living away from all that—and now, after a brief five-minute walk from the station, another pork bun, and a few quick strides up the single flight of stairs, he arrived back at the place he’d been calling home for a little less than a year, hesitating slightly before retrieving his keys from his pocket.
Fumbling with the lock, he nudged the door open with his foot and stepped inside, exhaling slowly as the now familiar but uncomfortable silence settled in around him. The silence that was so unlike the house he grew up in.
Moments like these were when he always felt the most alone. Coming home to his tiny apartment that was so, so quiet after spending the majority of the day surrounded by friends, skating and laughing and competing to determine who would end up buying the next round of drinks at their “guild meeting,” as Miya called it. Which was stupid, by the way. It was just dinner on Saturday nights, with the same three people, the same restaurant, the same stupid banter and arguing about whose turn it was to pay for what, and the same skateboard races in the streets afterward. Miya had even named it “S,” and god it really was like a guild meeting, wasn’t it? He could practically hear Miya calling him a slime already.
But even after all of that, everything would fade away the second he arrived at home; the laughter and voices and noises from the city disappearing as soon as he closed the door behind him, replaced by the eerie silence of living alone.
He wasn’t really alone. He had a job—working at the skate shop on the other side of town—where his manager, Oka, gave him advice about life more than he cared to admit. He had friends—Miya and Shadow—who he spent most of his time with outside of work, and were usually the reason he needed life advice to begin with. And he had family—his mom and three younger sisters—who he still visited every weekend. But sometimes, especially in moments like these, standing in the entryway, facing the silent apartment in front of him, he just felt lonely, even if he wasn’t really sure why.
Sighing, he kicked his shoes off into a random corner, carefully leaned his board up against the wall, then padded into the living room and fell face-first into the couch, muffling a groan into the cushions.
He stayed there for a few minutes, or it might have been thirty, moping in silence and allowing the couch to absorb his frustrations until the ache in his stomach finally returned, reminding him of the poor excuse for a meal in his bag. Forcing himself to his feet, he made his way into the kitchen, met by the various tools and skateboard parts strewn about the countertops. It was messy—grease and paint and wood shavings covering almost every inch of counter space—but soothing, and the only room that truly felt like home.
Despite the small size of the apartment, the kitchen was fairly large and the main reason why he wanted to rent the place to begin with. It had enough space that he’d been using the counters as a makeshift workshop for building skateboards for the past year—a hobby that had gotten a little out of hand more recently with the influx of commissions he’d been picking up at work. Needless to say it was no longer a suitable space for cooking, and a problem that needed to be addressed. In fact, it had needed to be addressed for the last few months, and not only because he was starting to tire of takeout and convenience store food. But procrastination was a hearty rival, building skateboards was much more enjoyable than cleaning, and now, unfortunately, he was in a bit of a time crunch.
Glancing at the large calendar pinned to the wall, four chibi drawings of his mom and sisters stared back at him, sketched into a square a few days out. His mom had practically insisted on bringing the family over for dinner after his most recent visit home, at which he let slip that he’d attempted to use the oven to speed up drying a coat of paint over a long string of rainy days. It hadn't been a good idea and he knew it—he’d nearly set the kitchen on fire—but now Masae wanted to see for herself that he hadn’t. And really, the rest of the apartment was just fine, clean and tidy and perfectly acceptable for visitors. But Masae was anything but unobservant, and she would probably give him hell if she saw the grease that he had to hope wasn't permanently adhered to the counters he'd be using to cook their dinner.
He really had no idea where to even start, though, not anymore; it was long past the point where any cleaning he did would make a difference. Maybe one of those cleaning companies could do it? ...Maybe? It was in pretty bad shape, but they’d probably have better luck than he would anyway.
Worth a shot, he thought, slurping down his noodles in record time before pulling out his phone to search for cleaning services in the area.
There were a few good options, mostly large companies that were far too expensive for him to afford, so he wound up settling on one called Joe’s Cleaners. It was small—run by two guys with a funny ‘how we met and started our own cleaning business’ story on the homepage—but had good reviews and a quick turnaround time.
He called to schedule an appointment before heading off to work the following morning, speaking to Joe himself about the deep cleaning his kitchen so desperately needed. The man sounded… buff, if it was even possible to sound buff over the phone, but the deep voice on the other end of the line assured him they’d put their best employee on the job, speaking highly of their company’s ability to handle anything and that his kitchen would be sparkling clean in no time.
While Joe listed off some of the additional services they offered for just a slightly higher price, Reki's eyes drifted over some other areas of the apartment that were maybe not as clean as he previously thought. Deciding it wouldn't hurt to impress his mom a little, he ended up booking a full service cleaning for the entire place—every room, every surface, the whole works—before thanking Joe for his help and joking about how his mom would probably want to thank him, too, because she would absolutely know he hadn’t done it himself. Not that he was messy when he still lived at home but he certainly had a sort of chaotic neatness to the way he kept his belongings. Everything had a place, even if sometimes that place was on the floor.
After hanging up, appointment scheduled, he quickly sketched a small broom onto the calendar for the following day. As long as he worked on one of his commissions at home, Oka wouldn’t mind; the shop was rarely busy during the week anyway, always coming to life on the weekends when students were off from school. Then again, was it bad manners to be actively dirtying up a kitchen someone else was trying to clean? Probably, but Joe did say they could handle anything.
Glancing at the mess of a kitchen around him, Reki hoped Joe was right. Hopefully their best employee could handle it.
The morning of the appointment, Reki found himself anxiously checking the clock every ten seconds when their “best employee” was late. Were companies often late for this sort of thing? What if they weren’t good enough to clean the place after all? What if they’d somehow found out he was an absolute nut—building skateboards in his sink and using the oven to dry paint—and just decided to just not show up at all?
No, no… that was silly. Of course they wouldn’t know that.
Unless they did.
God.
He glanced at the clock again.
25 minutes late.
Finally, finally, a few quick knocks on the door sent Reki scrambling to his feet. Stumbling through the entryway, he gracelessly shoved his shoes out of the way as a voice called out “Joe’s Cleaners!” and a few more knocks echoed through the hall.
“Ah, hi–” Reki said, voice catching in his throat the second he pulled the door open and came face to face with the hottest man he’d ever seen in his life. Honestly, the guy was straight out of a magazine. He was tall, muscular… not that Reki was looking at the way his shirt sleeves were rolled up above his biceps. No, he was definitely not looking at the man’s very well-defined biceps. But if he had been, he would have thought they were, ahem, very nice indeed.
Forcing his gaze upward, Reki’s eyes landed briefly on his hair; blue as the sky, strands rustling slightly in the breeze outside the apartment, and god it looked so soft. Was it weird to think about running his hands through a stranger’s hair? Probably. Would it be weirder if he asked to touch it? Definitely. He definitely shouldn't do that.
Thankfully, he couldn’t seem to speak anyway, losing himself almost entirely when his eyes drifted back down, meeting what he might have mistaken as the ocean staring back at him. Waves of blue and aqua splashed around his pupils, his lashes breaking Reki’s gaze for only a moment before he was swept away once more. He would have happily stayed lost in the man’s eyes forever had he not spotted movement slightly lower, faintly chapped lips mouthing words he was probably meant to hear.
“Sorry, what?” He asked, blinking the world back into focus.
“Oh, I just apologized for being late,” the dreamy cleaning guy replied with a gentle smile, and god Reki was staring again. He really had to stop doing that. But honestly, that smile should be illegal with the way it made his heart pound so dangerously fast. And where was he supposed to look anyway, when every part of this guy was ridiculously beautiful?
“T-That’s okay,” he managed, finally settling on a patch of skin just below those gorgeous, gorgeous eyes. “You must be Joe’s best employee.”
“He told you that?” The man huffed nervously, then held out his hand. “I don’t know about that... but it’s nice to meet you. I’m Langa.”
“Oh, uh… I’m Reki,” He clasped Langa’s hand in a firm handshake, attempting to ignore the heat creeping up the back of his neck. “Come on in.”
Be cool, Reki. Be cool…
Stepping aside so Langa could enter the apartment, he quickly pulled his hand back when he realized he still hadn’t let go. It was the exact opposite of being cool, but hopefully Langa hadn’t noticed.
“Sorry for the mess,” he added, nodding around the room. Had he spared a few more brain cells before the appointment, he might have picked up the small pile of dirty hoodies near the door, stripped off in haste after a long day of skateboarding, and the various skating equipment and art supplies scattered around the living room.
“You don’t have to apologize,” Langa laughed, waving it off while Reki shoved the hoodies out of sight. “That’s why I’m here, right?”
“Yeah, unfortunately you’re not just here to see me,” he replied, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop them. “Wait, that’s not… I didn’t–”
Langa cocked his head, smile still lingering on his lips, and fuck, if Reki had known he’d be getting looked at like that during his cleaning appointment he would have just cleaned the entire place up himself beforehand.
“–I just mean it’s too bad you have to clean,” he clarified, backpedaling as quickly as he could, already feeling ten times warmer than he had five seconds ago. “Hopefully it’s not too much, you know? It’s pretty messy. And you haven’t even seen the kitchen!” He shooed Langa through the living room in front of him in an attempt to hide the obvious flush on his cheeks. “You’ll probably have a hell of a time getting it clean, it’s a total wreck.”
“It’s really not that bad,” Langa said, glancing around the living room as Reki pushed him along, “you should see some of the other places I’ve cleaned, they’re way worse than thi–”
He trailed off the second they stepped into the kitchen.
“Aha,” Reki peeked around where Langa had frozen in place, “you sure about that?”
“Y-Yes,” Langa stuttered after a long pause, eyes wide as he looked over the grease and wood shavings covering the counters, lingering for just a moment on the skateboard beside the sink. “It’s… really not that bad.”
“Uh-huh,” Reki snorted, “your face totally says ‘it’s not that bad.’”
“It’s just–” Langa's brows furrowed as he seemingly weighed his words, “–different. Is that a skateboard?” His eyes flicked back to the counter where Reki had been in the middle of sanding down his latest commission. “Are you… making it?”
“Oh, yeah!” Taking the remaining few steps toward the counter, Reki held up the board for Langa to see. “It’s kind of my hobby… and job, I guess. I needed a place to work on them and, well…” He gestured vaguely to the rest of the kitchen. “Unfortunately, it makes a big mess. Do you skate?”
Langa shook his head, “I used to snowboard, though.” Setting down the cleaning supplies, he moved over to the stove, peering at the paint specks across the handle. “How’d you manage to get paint on the stove anyway?”
“O-Oh, that?” Reki rubbed at the back of his head, laughing as normally as he could manage. “Paint just ends up everywhere, you know?”
A harmless lie, he figured, because no way was he going to tell the hot cleaning guy about putting a skateboard in the oven. As Koyomi had said: that just screamed dumbass. And he didn't particularly want Langa to think he was a dumbass; actually, he didn't really want to be one at all. Well, at least not more than he probably already was. He was willing to bet making skateboards in the kitchen and ogling Langa's ass whenever he was facing the other direction had already earned him that title.
“Hey, do you mind if I keep working while you clean?” He quickly changed the subject, motioning to the board and hoping Langa wouldn’t notice the paint on the inside of the oven, too. “I can move my stuff if you need me to.”
“No, that’s okay,” Langa backed away from the stove to retrieve a pair of bright yellow rubber gloves from his bag. “I can clean around you. Are you sure you don’t mind being in here with me?”
“Why would I mind?” Reki raised an eyebrow, earning a vague shrug in return.
“Some people mind,” Langa replied, tugging on the gloves and starting to scrub at the paint-stained sink.
Blinking a few times, Reki turned back to the board in front of him. There were people in the world who minded being in the same room as Langa while he cleaned? It seemed impossible that anyone would mind at all. What– was he too pretty for them? Too friendly? He’d been nothing but both since he arrived.
“Doesn’t that bother you?” Reki murmured, glancing over then quickly averting his eyes again when he noticed Langa’s eyes already on him.
“Not really,” Langa shrugged, then added with a small smile, “but it’s nice that you don’t mind.”
And there was that heat again, creeping up Reki's neck and shoulders and into his cheeks without his permission. He was beginning to think he might actually mind being in the same room if Langa said anything else remotely resembling a compliment.
But thankfully, Langa brought the conversation back to skateboarding after that, eyes lighting up at every detail and trick that Reki mentioned. He seemed actually interested, which was an unexpected surprise. Most people outside of Reki’s few family members and friends just tuned him out when he talked about skating, nodding along like they were listening when they weren’t. But not Langa; Langa was intent on hearing every word, the occasional “that’s amazing” whispering out under his breath as they worked side by side.
They talked for hours, the ice quickly breaking as Langa cleaned his way around the kitchen, their conversation jumping to every little thing they could think of. How Reki loved to cook, but hadn’t in months because of the state of things in the kitchen; how his manager, who appreciated the spare bento he used to bring with him to work in exchange for advice, practically insisted he stay home for as long as it took to get things taken care of; how Langa’s own manager was every bit as buff as Reki thought he sounded on the phone; how there was just as much paint on the inside of the oven as there was on the outside.
“Shit, I didn’t mean to tell you that,” Reki laughed, pounding his palm into his forehead a few times because it was just so easy to talk to Langa that the dreaded oven secret had slipped out before he’d even realized he said it.
“You… put a skateboard... in the oven?” Langa asked, stripping off his gloves to stifle a laugh with his hand when Reki nodded shamefully. “Really? In the oven? That oven, right there? On purpose?”
“Yes! Okay, yes!” Reki groaned, taking a moment to flip his middle finger in Langa’s direction, incapable of containing his smile when Langa stuck out his tongue in return. “I admit it was really stupid–”
“And dangerous,” Langa cut in, “you put a skateboard in the oven.”
“Yeah, well I’d been cooped up inside for a week because of the rain! What was I supposed to do?”
“Not put it in the oven?” Langa offered.
“Dude, I swear–” Reki huffed out a laugh as Langa crumpled onto the floor in a fit of giggles.
And god, if Langa’s laugh wasn’t one of the best sounds he’d ever heard, he might have wanted to shrink down into his hoodie and simply pass away from embarrassment. But of course it was one of the best sounds he’d ever heard, because why wouldn't it be, so instead he found himself breaking out into laughter right alongside Langa, doubling over onto the counter as he recounted how the smell of burning paint lingered for at least two weeks after that.
“You can’t ever tell anyone about this. Like, ever.” He crouched down to where Langa had collapsed onto the floor beside the sink, head leaning back against the cupboards, chest still heaving with laughter. “Promise?” Holding out his pinky, he waited for Langa’s laughter to subside before prodding him a few times. “Langa, promise? I know we just met but this is serious, man, I gotta know my embarrassing secrets are safe.”
“I’ll tell all my other customers about it,” Langa deadpanned before a smile tugged at his lips again.
“You will not.”
“Will so.”
“Langaaaaa,” Reki whined, “you gotta promise!”
“I’m kidding, I’m kidding! I promise,” and with a small grin, Langa linked their pinkies together.
“Good.” Holding out his other hand, Reki pulled Langa to his feet. “Now tell me an embarrassing story about you, so we’re even.”
“No way,” Langa laughed, resting his weight on the counter beside Reki.
“Come on, how about one from when you went snowboarding? You’ve gotta have some embarrassing stories about bailing into a snowbank or something.”
Langa hummed thoughtfully, “you’re right, I did bail into a snowbank once.”
“...Is that… that’s it?” Reki leaned back against the counter with a groan when Langa nodded. “Jeez, you’re impossible. At least tell me where you used to snowboard then, Hokkaido?”
Shaking his head, Langa tapped his fingers along the inside edge of the sink. “Canada,” he replied as if the answer could have only been—obviously—halfway across the world, leaving Reki to gape at him in shock.
“Canada, for real? Like… Canada Canada?”
“Yeah,” Langa said, “my mom and I moved to Okinawa when I was in high school.”
“High school, huh…” Reki trailed off. It would have been nice to meet Langa in high school, to know him for longer than a few hours. Would they have talked like this then, too? Would they have been friends? Maybe not, if Langa looked that pretty all the time; he might have been too busy getting confessed to. Or maybe, maybe he would have turned them all down, choosing to eat lunch with Reki on the roof instead.
Hugging his arms to his chest, Reki finally tore his eyes away from Langa's, absolutely certain his face was as red as his hair.
“Wow, Canada, though…” He laughed nervously, attempting to brush past the fact that he’d been caught staring for at least the fifth time that day. “That’s so cool, man, I’ve never been anywhere outside of Japan. I bet your English is amazing.”
Seeming to not notice, or maybe not care (though subconsciously Reki hoped he might care, just a little), Langa nodded back. “Better than my Japanese. Do you speak English, too?”
“Ah– no, just a few basic phrases,” Reki admitted, thinking back to the few phrases he did know and coming up short.
Nice to meet you.
Thank you very much.
I don’t speak English.
Where is the bathroom?
Honestly, though, basic as they were, he bet any one of them would sound heavenly in Langa’s voice. In fact…
“Hey, would you say something to me in English?” He asked, his mouth moving faster than his brain yet again, and god, he hoped Langa wouldn’t think that was weird. It sure sounded weird now that he’d said it.
But Langa nodded without hesitation, humming as he glanced around the room, eyes finally landing back on Reki.
“Okay, I’ve got it,” he said, leaning a little closer like he was about to tell Reki a secret, which was great, just great, since Reki wouldn’t understand a single damn word of it. But he leaned in anyway, anticipating the secret all the more.
“Your eyes are a really unique color up close,” Langa murmured between them, and wow, whatever he’d said, suddenly Reki’s knees felt like they were about to give out, buckling dangerously under his weight as he swayed back against the counter.
“Cool, cool...” he choked out, because it was cool. Super cool. So cool he thought he might die if he ever heard Langa say anything in English ever again. “W-What did you say?”
“Uh…” Langa paused, cheeks a little bit pink like he really had told a secret just then, eyes lingering on Reki’s before flicking back down to the counter. “That I can’t believe how messy this kitchen is.”
“Dude!”
“Messiest I’ve ever seen.”
“Come on,” he laughed, reaching over to whack at Langa’s arm.
“Well, you’re the only person making skateboards in their kitchen.”
“...Okay, fair enough,” Reki admitted, turning back to the skateboard behind him when a thought crossed his mind. Probably one that, on any other day, with any other stranger, he would have kept to himself. But, after the last few hours, and no strangers in sight, the question was out before he even had a chance to second guess it.
“Hey, would you ever consider trying out skateboarding?”
And had he been facing Langa, he might have seen the smile that chased the words “only if you teach me,” which Langa spoke so softly, so gently, that Reki could hardly hear them over the sound of his heart hammering away in his chest.
Not that he could understand it anyway, because the bastard was spilling secrets in English again and seemed intent on not telling Reki what they were. Finally, after a few minutes of pestering, Reki resigned to not knowing, turning back to the board that had gone untouched for a better part of the morning as Langa wandered down the hall to continue cleaning. And for the first time since Langa had knocked on his door, time slowed back down to a crawl.
Langa spent another hour cleaning, tackling the rest of the apartment in a quarter of the time it took to clean the kitchen, though Reki wasn’t sure if that was because the kitchen was just that messy or because they’d spent a majority of the morning talking instead of working.
Either way, the entire apartment was practically sparkling by the time he finished. Hell, it was nicer than when Reki had moved in. Even with the fresh wood shavings already dusting the counter around the skateboard, the kitchen looked almost brand new.
“Dude, how did you even make it look this good?” Reki asked in awe, eyes dancing to every corner of the room, amazed that there was not a single speck of paint or smudge of grease in sight.
“Cleaning magic,” Langa replied all too seriously, which Reki couldn’t help but laugh at as they said their goodbyes, lingering just a bit longer than he usually would have in the entryway, talking for just a few minutes more at the door.
And when the apartment was empty again, save for Reki and his poor heart that had yet to stop pounding, he collapsed onto the couch, breathing out as steadily as he could. But the jittery feeling in his chest didn’t dissipate, and even when he tried to not think of Langa, his thoughts drifted back to the unexpectedly vibrant sound of Langa’s laugh, the tiniest flush on his cheeks when he caught Reki staring, the slight tug of his pinky when he promised to keep all of Reki’s stupid secrets, the sideways tilt of his head that allowed his hair to fall into his face and eyes in a way that made Reki want to smooth it all back and–
Fuck.
Smooth it all back and kiss him. That's what he'd been thinking.
He wanted to kiss every inch of Langa’s stupid, beautiful face.
He was so completely fucked.