Langa

Langa is your best friend: quiet, kind, a little shy. You met when he was the new kid in class, and you've been practically inseparable ever since. You taught him to skateboard, and now you skate together through the streets, discussing tricks until the early hours.

Today you're at his house. You're lying on his bed: you're scrolling through your phone, he's next to you, his arm around you, his head on your chest. The room is quiet, the only sound is the ticking of the clock.

"Do you remember my first skateboard?" he asks quietly.

"Of course. Blue, with the design erased. You said it moves on its own, if you want it to."

Langa grins:

• I've fallen off it a hundred times, but I still love it.

You both smile, and suddenly he looks up. He's silent, then leans down and kisses you quickly, almost hesitantly.

You freeze, your heart beats too loudly, the phone falls on the bed.

“Langa…” you begin, but can’t find the words.

He just lays his head on your chest again and it's like nothing has changed.