Chapter Text
Darkness.
Langa feels like he can't breathe. His lungs won't move. Everything feels so heavy. His eyes are open, but everything around him looks the same. Dark, a soft glow of light. Am I outside?
Memories flood back into Langa’s head at once. The loud WHUMPF of snow becoming unstable behind them. His dad yelling for him to move faster, to “swim, Langa, SWIM!” Langa had tried so hard to remember the avalanche safety training he had gone through yearly while learning to snowboard. His vision was now darkening further, and the snow was getting deeper and heavier, his legs wouldn’t move the way he wanted them to. He had tried to scream out, but he couldn’t see his dad anymore and his throat just wouldn’t make any noise. He opens his mouth and snow starts to pour in, suffocating him. His body feels twisted and limp and he's crying. The sobs just barely shaking his body under the pressure of the snow. Please... Please, someone... The tears make him feel colder and the dizziness is overwhelming. Plea....
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Langa’s eyes fly open and he's gasping for air while clutching at his chest desperately. There was sweat pouring down his forehead and into his eyes. He tries his best to blink it away before sitting up, heaving sharp breaths into the open room.
Where was he? Whose body was this? He felt heavy underneath his blanket. Langa tugs at the blanket, but it snags. He runs a hand down his bed to release the snag when his sweaty hand grazes something cold and metal. He winces and jerks his hand back into his chest.
Oh. He was in Okinawa. He had been for almost a year at this point. He's woken up from the same nightmare every morning since moving here, each time feeling more confused and scared than the last. Langa's chest rises and falls rapidly and he feels likes his lungs are going to collapse. He moves his hands down to the grasp at anything to steady his self. Cherry and his mom say that he’ll get used to it eventually, but when? His head hurts more than ever and the numbness at his core felt all consuming. Canada, the snow... his dad... they were his whole life. Now he's stuck with these things stuck to his body. It's unnatural, not human. His body at some point had began to shake. His hands balled into fists, pressing hard into the mattress. He squeezes his eyes shut, the room feels like it's closing in on him. "This fucking suc-"
“Langa? Are you alright?” Langa snaps his head to the door of his bedroom, tearing himself away from his spiraling thoughts. His mom was peering through the small crack in his door. She didn’t like him to close it fully at night, just in case something were to happen. He had pretended to be annoyed when she had brought it up, but truthfully, Langa was comforted by the fact that she would always be a noise away.
“Were you having a nightmare about…?” She trailed off, but he knew exactly what she was asking so he just nods, body trembling. She already had a small cloth in hand as she glides quickly across his room. Langa moves over to make room for her to sit, and she reaches up to gently wipe the sweat from his face. He leans into the touch, trying to feel some sort of relief or comfort from the warmth of her hand, but the touch elicits no feeling. Just the rough texture of the cloth, the graze of her nails against his cheek. Her hands were somewhat soft, manicured to an extent, but not overly taken care of. She had peeling skin around her fingernails, dry patches on the sides of her palms. Langa knew she worked hard to take care of him. Tried her best to love him completely.
Langa sighs, knowing he shouldn’t have expected any real comfort. The last thing Langa had felt underneath snow that day was just cold and broken. Numb. After many months, the feeling still hasn't returned. It was his very core now. Maybe he was letting it be.
“You have to stop being in your own head so much. You couldn’t have done anything different. It wasn’t your fault, you have to know that.” She finally says, barely above a whisper. She presses her mouth to his temple.
“I-” Anything he could have said dies before the thought could be formed. Of course it wasn’t his fault. He's not stupid. Yet, Langa is here and his dad isn't.
“It's not wrong to think about it. Cry, scream, whatever you need to do. I just need you to know that no one blames you.” Langa hasn't cried at all. He thinks maybe he should have at this point. She cards her fingers through his hair for a moment before continuing. “Hey, by the way, Cherry called this morning. He wants you to swing by the shop today for a check-up. He said he’s impressed with how quickly you’re recovering, but wants to make sure the automail is fully functioning, and that you're feeling comfortable."
Comfortable isn't a word I'd use. “Okay.” Langa says flatly.
Langa had gone to Cherry’s shop a couple times a week since he was fitted with his automail and sometimes Cherry would ask him to stop by an extra day during the week. Cherry was one of the reasons they moved back to Okinawa. Not only is his mom from here, but Cherry was a renowned Automail Engineer who got his start in Okinawa. His mom had done so much research in the month after the accident, and it led them right back to her home, coincidentally.
“He also mentioned something about his assistant shadowing him today. 'Reki' was his name, I think? Cherry doesn’t usually let him work with clients, but said he needed to learn eventually. We just didn’t want to surprise you, or overwhelm-”
“Okay, thanks mom. I’ll leave soon.” He interrupts, wanting the conversation to be over. Langa’s mom looked at him, always a little too long, like she was searching for something in his face. She gave him a soft smile, then left his room, fulling shutting the door.
Langa drags himself out of bed. It was still awkward to step onto the floor and only feel skin on one side touching the carpet, but he's trying to get used to it. He had one automail arm, and one automail leg - left arm and right leg. He curled his five remaining human toes into the carpet, stretching his remaining human arm upward. Cherry and his mom hated him calling his real limbs 'human', “Having automail limbs doesn’t make you less human, Langa.”, they both would say. Whatever.
Langa starts to pull on some sweatpants when he remembers what his mom said. Reki was going to be there. He had met Reki before, but only in passing. Reki was usually working on something Cherry had assigned him, or not even at the shop all, but Reki would be helping with Langa’s automail today. Reki always looked energetic and warm when Langa did see him. He'd absentmindedly wondered once if Reki would be as warm as he looked. Would Langa even feel it? He now thought maybe he should wear something less casual.
God shut up. Langa tries to bury the thoughts deep into his brain. Why would that even matter? Reki was just like any other person. Langa has never cared about what he wears before. He should just wear the sweatpants. Who cares?
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On the way over, Langa decides to stop by a convenience store. His mom had told him to eat something. He catches a glimpse of his reflection in the glass window and starts to feel a little silly. He's wearing army green cargo pants and a white loose-fit plain t-shirt, his sweatpants abandoned somewhere in his closet. What the hell am I doing? He averts his eyes and stiffly walks into the store.
He buys a burger wrapped in foil and decides to eat it on the curb by his moped, even though it’s a bit warm outside. Japanese food is good, but sometimes Langa just misses home. It doesn’t quite taste like any burgers he’s had in Canada, but it’s close enough. He finishes his food quickly, and puts the wrapper in his backpack to throw away at home. He starts to get up, but decides to sit a little longer, leaning back awkwardly on to the automail elbow. Langa wants to use these strange, foreign limbs more often, but they just end up feeling like harsh reminders of what happened and it sends him spiraling again. Maybe Reki would have some advice. Reki had an automail arm of his own from what Langa had briefly seen, and he used it so naturally. Maybe Reki could teach m-
Stop. Why would Reki want to do that? He doesn’t even know Langa. There’s no reason for them to be friends, and Langa doesn’t need friends. He’s perfectly fine with dealing with this alone, or with just his mom. Langa groans. Why did you leave me here, dad? It would’ve been so much easier if we both had just…
Langa leans up and hits his face with the automail hand hard, crushing any remnants of those thoughts, thinking of his mom. How could he ever leave her alone? All they had was each other and it was selfish of him to ever think something like that.
Langa stands up abruptly, using his human hand to rub at the part of his face he just hit. He groans again quietly, a little embarrassed, but still not noticing the stares from the people around him. "Time to go." He whispers to himself.
Langa reaches Cherry’s after roughly five minutes of driving and parks his moped haphazardly in the front of the shop. He leans down to dust the dirt off his pants from sitting on the curb earlier and places his helmet on the handlebar.
“Hey, kid! You’re looking dressed up today! What’s the occasion?” Langa straightens up and turns around to see Joe waving from behind his food stall across from Cherry’s shop. Joe's shop was small, but popular. The street was narrow and trees lined the entire route, the foliage bright green in the height of summer. The area was well trafficked from what Langa had noticed, more than likely due to Cherry's status.
“Oh, I- Uh, no reason. They're just normal clothes. My mom told me I should stop wearing sleep clothes out of the house, that’s all.” He lied.
“Hah, alright, then. You look like you’re recovering well. Make sure to stop by after and I’ll have something ready for you and your mom.” Joe always fed him after he left Cherry’s. He would go even if he had just eaten. Joe never made him pay for anything. Langa thought it was a very bad business practice, but never rejected the offer. It was a kind gesture. Langa waves to Joe before heading into Cherry’s. He takes a deep breath and opens the door and is immediately bombarded with erratic movements and loud noises.
The flashes of red led Langa to believe that it was Reki. The figure was running around, almost quite literally bouncing off the walls. He could barely make out anything Reki was saying, but caught onto broken sentences. “I can’t believe I’m gonna get to-” and “--with--” and “--he’s my age, too!” That last one caught Langa by surprise. Why would it matter if Langa was the same age as Reki?
“CALM DOWN, IDIOT! He could be here any minute now and you don’t want to freak him-” Cherry stops abruptly.
Reki and Cherry go completely still. Instantly, Reki perks back up and is bounding towards Langa excitedly, nearly crashing into him. Langa stumbles backwards instinctively. Reki screams something unintelligible, and Langa winces at the sound, drawing his human hand to his ear. At the moment his hand connects with his ear, Langa feels two hands grasping at his shoulders, catching him from fully falling.
“Ah, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m just- I’m just so freakin' excited to finally get to work with real clients and, and-” Reki cuts off. Langa’s eyes were growing wider at the weight on shoulders and he's gaping at Reki.
He felt the temperature, the tightness of Reki's fingers, the excited vibrations from Reki's body. One human hand, and one automail. Both clasping his shoulders. Reki’s hands.
“No, it’s- it’s okay.” Langa whispers, his heart skipping one quiet beat.