Chapter Text
❝Touch, sweet touch
You've given me too much to feel
Sweet touch
You've almost convinced me I'm real❞
» Touch - Daft Punk
Langa remembers that day perfectly.
It was a cold afternoon, something very normal in his city, and he was at school. Everything happened so fast; from one moment to another, the principal called him during class, saying that his mother had come to pick him up. When he left the building, he found his mother waiting in front of the car. He could notice that her eyes were somewhat glassy and a little swollen. From there, he knew that something was wrong. It wasn't until they got home that his mother spoke to him.
"Langa, darling... I need to talk to you."
With a raspy voice, his mother told him everything. An accident, a terrible car crash; his father was one of the victims and died on the way to the hospital. The news washed over Langa, a chill seeping into his veins, and he felt his world stop...
The day of the funeral was exceptionally cold and rainy. He remembered perfectly the smell of wet grass, the soft sound of the rain falling, and the wails of his family and friends. Langa stood in front of the grave where his father lay. His mother was kneeling beside him, crying loudly and drowning in sorrow. Langa just stared at everything that was happening. He hated seeing his mother in such an ugly state; everything felt too unreal to be true. The blue-eyed knew perfectly well that his father had left their lives forever, that he would never see him again, that nothing would be the same. His soul broke at the fact, however, Langa's eyes could not shed a single tear... he only remained static, staring at that stone that said "Oliver Hasegawa: 1975 - 202X".
Langa had only one thing clear: death had not only taken his father from him, but it had also taken away a piece of himself as well…
Present
BC, Canada
"Hasegawa!"
The teacher's voice cut through his dreams, causing Langa to wake up flinching. It was a matter of seconds to recognize the environment where it was. He was in his seat in the classroom, his teacher was staring at him, and there was a small drool stain on his book. Shit, he had fallen asleep… again.
"I- uh... I'm here, present, teacher." Langa said, his voice drawling with sleep and confusion.
He felt so awkward. He could hear some giggles from some of his classmates around him.
"If you say so, Hasegawa." replied the teacher. "Please continue reading where we left off."
Confused, Langa took the book and tried to guess which part of the reading he had to read. Glancing, he tried to look at his classmates' notebooks to see if he could guide himself with that, but it wasn’t much help. With sweaty hands, he took a deep breath and picked a random paragraph.
He was about to start reading when the bell suddenly rang, ending class time.
"Saved by the bell, yet again, Hasegawa. You'll start the reading on Monday." said the teacher, exhausted. "You're all done for today. You can leave."
At his order, his classmates began to gather their things and leave quickly, rushing home for the weekend. Langa sighed in relief, he could leave now; all he wanted to do was go home and sleep. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Langa grabbed his backpack, placed his books in his bag, ready to head out of class.
"Hasegawa, I need to talk to you." his teacher called.
Ah shit, just what I needed. Thought Langa, walking towards Mr. Jhonsons's desk, who was eyeing him critically.
"Um... do you need anything?" Langa asked, trying to figure out how to start the conversation.
"I should be the one who should ask you that." the adult replied. “You fell asleep in my class again. Do you have something to say for yourself? Are you okay?"
No, I am not ok
Langa wanted to tell him, but he knew it wouldn't help with any of his problems. Since his father's death, his emotional stability had taken a nosedive off a cliff, getting to the point where he was unable to go to school for almost a month out of grief. It had been almost a year since the accident, but the wound still festered, still not healed.
"Sorry." His head hurt too much to think of a better excuse. "It won’t happen again."
His teacher only sighed in response. "Listen, I know things haven’t been well since the incident, I understand that perfectly. I went through similar grief when I was about your age." his voice softened, its edge fading to gentleness. "I'm just saying to please try not to neglect your studies. You’re in your final year of high school and close to graduating... Make an effort, for your mother at least, if not yourself. She’s a good woman, and you’re a good kid..."
Langa didn’t know how to respond, instead choosing to just look out the window.
"If anything has been getting difficult for you, you can always ask for a tutor or talk to the school psychologist ---"
"No." Langa interrupted, his voice leaving no room for argument. "It isn't necessary. I can handle it."
Hypocrites.
I don't need them, they don't care about me at all.
"If you say so, Hasegawa... you can go now. See you on Monday."
He just nodded and left quickly. Walking down the hall, several students were leaving things in the lockers, others talking or attending extracurricular activities. He felt exhausted. All he wanted to do was get home, eat, and take a break from reality.
Walking around unconscious, aimlessly, lost in thought, not knowing what was happening around him.
"Hey Langa, what did he tell you !?" He heard a loud feminine voice behind him and felt a punch on his shoulder. Langa flinched, directing his gaze to the other person: Zoey Anderson.
Zoey Anderson, 17 years old, 162cm (5’4). Deep complexion, green-eyed, curly-haired friend of his. They had met in 10th grade and became friends quickly. Always ready with a smile and a joke while showering him affectionately (Langa still wasn’t sure why she kept trying to hug him, but she kept insisting he was touch-starved). Her hair glimmered in the sun, half black, half light blue, which she had dyed in support of him once his father died.
"He said something to you for falling asleep, didn't he?" Zoey said, a mischievous smile on her face before proceeding to stand next to him. “Ugh, I don't blame you. Mr. Johnson's classes are too boring. "
"What’s up with you and sneaking up behind people?" A familiar soft masculine voice could be heard approaching from his side. Glancing sideways, he caught sight of Aoi Matsuoka, the last person to make up their trio.
Aoi Matsuoka, the shyest of their group, which was saying something, considering Langa was a part of it. His eyes were slit in annoyance while he shook his head in disapproval. He played with a strand of his golden hair as he joined the conversation, a nervous habit of his.
"Come on. If you already know how I am, why don't you prepare for it?" Zoey laughed, bopping Aoi on the nose.
He sighed in disappointment, turning his gaze to Langa. "Anyway... did the teacher say something to you? Are you okay?"
"Same as always, that I should worry more about my grades, you know..."
"Hmp! What gives him the right to tell us what to do?" Zoey complained, crossing her arms. "I don't understand why he’s so nosy about our lives and grades. We have a right to privacy!"
"Zoey, his job is to care about us..." Aoi replied.
"But only the grades part!"
"I don't blame him for being worried. He's right." Langa laughed softly. "I should think more about my mom and support her where I can..."
He proceeded to walk towards the exit of the building while Zoey and Aoi playfully fought behind him. He felt himself rushing more as he got closer to the door, racing across the entrance to the school. He breathed deeply, panting, calming himself, focusing on the scent of maple trees wafting around him.
Silently, Zoey and Aoi joined him once they noticed he had left.
"Hey Langa, my bro." Zoey said, breaking the silence. "Do you wanna hang out with us? You deserve to have a little fun."
Langa only gently shook his head. "Not today, I'm too sleepy... I'd rather tomorrow. I promise I'll be better then."
"Alright, as long as you feel comfortable." Aoi said. “Please just remember that you can call us anytime, okay? We're here for you."
He nodded, smiling slightly, his own little way of thanking them when the words wouldn’t come out.
The three of them got on the bus and looked for a place to sit. Langa noticed people busy with their own business around him, each one of them droning on endlessly. The trio chatted all the way home about anything and everything. The same cycle everyday: get up, go to school, take the bus home, do homework, sleep. It only changed on weekends or when he went to his psychologist. Days were a monotonous loop. He didn’t think about the reason why. Monotony was preferred over grief. At least he could function in repetition.
Half an hour passed before the bus slowed at their stop. Aoi and Langa got off together, saying goodbye to Zoey. Both boys walked with one another until they reached the apartment building they shared. Langa muttered his goodbye and headed to the third floor, apartment 302. Lazily, he took the keys and opened the door.
"I'm home," Langa called, taking off his shoes and waiting for his mom's response. Instead being met with silence. "Mom, you here?" Silence. Entering the living room, he noticed a paper on the table and walked over to read it.
Langa, darling, I'm sorry for not being at home. I had to go to the hospital to attend an emergency. I left you some food that you can heat in the microwave. I'll be back late tonight! Never forget I love you.
-Mom
“Oh.” he thought. It didn’t surprise him. Occasionally, his mother had to work double shifts at the hospital to pay the bills. Langa loved his mother and admired her effort to help them both move forward in life after everything. However, sometimes he couldn't help being depressed by an empty house. It made him more aware of the aching loneliness that dragged at his steps. Langa yawned, he was so tired that he didn't even want to eat.
He entered his room, throwing his backpack to the side, and collapsed on the bed, letting the softness of the sheets and pillows comfort him with their embrace. He didn’t care about laying in bed in his school uniform, he felt too physically and mentally exhausted to change. Insomnia haunted Langa after his father’s passing, so he would get any opportunity and take as much sleep as he could. Some nights were worse than others, but it was still horrible. Just the night before, he had slept badly, unable to fall asleep before 4am and woke up two hours later for school.
Lying down, Langa glanced at the photo on his desk, a picture of him as a child with his father and mother snowboarding. He didn’t remember much that day, but he treasured that photo of when he was happy. He closed his eyes, hugged one of the pillows, and sighed.
"I miss you," he whispered, his eyelids weighing heavy over his eyes, his body falling asleep gradually and sinking into the sheets. "Night, dad….”
That was the last thing he thought before falling into the sweet embrace of sleep.
"Langa"
A voice in the background called him.
"Langaaaa~!"
The voice called once more.
He could feel the sun's warmth soaking into his body, its light beckoning him to wake up with its light. He tried to change positions and settle away from the light, but it stuck him as strange. He thought he had left the curtains closed that morning. In a matter of seconds, he realized he wasn’t on his bed. Confused, Langa snapped his eyes open, only for the bright light to blind him. Instinctively, he covered his eyes with his hand and closed them again. It was a bad idea to wake up so abruptly.
"Man, are you okay?"
This time the voice was heard at his side.
He opened his eyes again, this time slowly, letting his vision adapt to the environment, rubbing the sleep out of his eye as things became clear. Langa was always slow when he woke up, but he was aware to know he was not in his room. He was outside, under a tree, the sun high above. Had he dreamed about that he left school and came home? The sun was setting when he got home. Where was he?
"Earth to Langa, you here?"
Langa saw around, his eyes widened in surprise. Next to him was a guy who looked more or less his age and was staring at him, waiting for him to answer something. He was thin, tanned, and wore a school uniform. Langa tried to analyze the stranger and find out who he was. However, his face was blurred for some reason, as if he was being censored. Everything was in perfect clarity except the face of the stranger. Still, putting that aside, Langa couldn't help but be fascinated by how the sunlight reflected against the stranger's skin, firey hair sticking up like crazy. He couldn’t help thinking that he looked so real, so alive, even he couldn’t see his face. He had never seen something so beautiful before.
"Pretty. " he blurted out, staring at him.
"Uh?" asked the sunny boy. "What are you talking about? Man, you’re speaking in English again. I don't know much of it, you know...”
Langa slapped his hand over his mouth. Shit. He really made a fool of himself in front of a pretty stranger and spoke to him in another language.
Wait, what was he doing alone with a foreigner? At what point did his social anxiety go away? The only thing he could process was that he was speaking in japanese. Langa was lucky that he remembered it thanks to his parents.
"I..." Langa slowly replied in japanese, the language a little rusty on his tongue. "Where am I?" He was too confused. All he wanted was answers and to know why he woke up with a cute guy beside him.
"You fell asleep again, dummy." The boy laughed. “We were taking a break from skateboarding; I was talking to you and you freaking fell asleep!. Am I that boring to you, Prince Langa? " he spoke jokingly. "But all jokes aside, are you ok? You don’t usually fall asleep when we’re together, so I brought you here."
"...Skate?"
Slowly he looked around again. He was in a skate park. He could hear the laughter of some children, people talking, and cicadas in the distance, the environment smelled somewhat salty, and it was hot as hell. A small breeze hit his face, gaining his attention to look ahead… he hadn't noticed the sea. Everything in front of him was the sea, the waves crashing on the shore, the sun above, causing the water to sparkle. It was a sight he’d never seen, so different from the one in Canada. It was stunning.
“You’ve been distracted today. Are you sick? Should I take you home?" the redhead asked, putting his hand on Langa's forehead. Langa looked at him again, he had no idea who he was and why he was with him, but the concern in his voice was thick with affection.
"I'm fine..." he managed.
"Well, if you say so, I believe you." the redhead replied. “Oh, right, I almost forgot! I bought you ice cream, thought it would help you feel better! Now eat it. I want you to be ok..."
Langa grabbed the chocolate ice cream and shoved it in his mouth. The taste seemed too real, too real to be a dream. Real or not, he just wanted to enjoy this little moment of peace and escape from reality. He lost track of time, existing eternity in a moment as the redhead excitedly told his stories, his hands waving all over as he spoke. Even without seeing his face, he was the most engaging person he ever met. He truly was… different, in a good way. He was unique. Thanks to him, for an eternal moment, he could forget the sadness that plagued him.
He tore his eyes away from the sea and looked at him again. His face was still blurred, Langa tried to focus as much as possible to see it, but it was useless; his face remained stubbornly blurred. The redhead was fascinating. He couldn't stop staring at him. His voice, his expressions, the way he moved his hands as he spoke... everything. Constant energy, constant motion. He couldn’t remember the last time he had this much fun with a friend, a stranger, no less.
"...Then I recommended that to Yua and--" Suddenly, he stopped talking. "Langa, you dropped your ice cream!"
Langa looked down and saw his shirt slightly stained with chocolate. "Oh, sorry, didn’t realize…."
"Don't worry, I got you covered!" he replied, searching in his backpack for something. "I carry wet wipes with me, you know, because of my little sisters." He approached Langa, bending down to clean the shirt as best he could, using the wipes to scrub off the ice cream. “Sorry if this is a bit cold,” he apologized, pressing the wipe to his chest. Usually, Langa would have backed off if someone else had touched him without his permission, but he didn't. He didn’t want to. He didn't understand why, but for some reason, safety emanated from the redhead, covering him in a blanket of comfort.
"Thank you..." Langa replied when the redhead finished cleaning.
"Wait, I'm not done yet."
Instantly, the redhead took another wet wipe and cleaned some chocolate from the edge of the Langa's lips. He was so delicate, his touch feather-light, he didn’t speak as he focused, so Langa couldn’t bring himself to interrupt.
"Done, problem solved!" he laughed.
Langa had no words to describe this.
Why did he feel so comfortable with his touch?
Why did he feel he could trust him?
Boy of my dreams, what did I do to deserve this caring presence?
Who are you? Hopefully, you're real...
Langa had a thousand and one questions in mind but only had one thing clear:
He didn't want this to end.
"Hey, you spaced out again. You’re more distracted than usual." The redhead commented, a slight laugh in his voice, likely paired with an unseen smile.
"I'm sorry, I don't know what's wrong with me..." Langa spoke sincerely, gazing at his blurred face.
Gently, the stranger put his right hand on his cheek.
"You’re adorable, you know?" he spoke sweetly, laughing, stroking Langa’s cheek with his thumb.
Langa felt his face get warmer. He was sure his face was now at least pink if not a crimson red. When was the last time he allowed himself to be caressed by someone? Has it always felt this good? He didn't remember, but that simple touch felt so warm, so good... That slight caress, that sweet gesture made his throat tighten.
If this is a dream, I don't want to wake up…
“Langa, you okay?
A little sob escaped his lips as he stared at the unknown boy.
"What... what’s your name?"
He barely choked out the sentence before everything froze and the dream world began to distort, fading away into a deep darkness.
Please don’t leave me.
His eyes opened.
Langa woke up gasping, sitting up on the bed. He was panting hard, but he tried to calm himself and get his breathing back to normal. After a few awful minutes of attempting to calm down, he looked around and saw that he was back in his room in Canada. He came back to reality. He was alone again.
What was going on in that dream?
Slowly, he put his hand on his cheek where he had been caressed. It was warm, just as if it had actually happened. Although it was not the only thing he felt, his cheek was wet; he felt the contours of his eyes soaked...
Langa had woken up crying.
