so it started with that race against shadow, when reki had totally bailed and sprained his wrist falling against the hard pavement. and whatever, it hadn’t been that bad. it had been stupid, really. he let shadow catch him off guard and he looked like an idiot. it wasn’t an injury he’d earned, but it was one he deserved, and he wasn’t going to bother being careful.

he acted like nothing was wrong, like it didn’t ache when he stocked shelves, like he could still reach things from the cupboards for his mom with no problem, like braiding koyomi’s hair didn’t make it twist in a way that stung. oka noticed, a little, calling him out on saying everything was totally fine, but whatever.

then there was the race against adam, getting thrown from his board so hard they were worried he had a concussion. his wrist already hadn’t been quite healed from the sprain—he’d only just stopped wrapping it. with adam, it’d been a hairline fracture, his wrist totally out of commission. he needed a sling, and miya had pestered him into the hot springs healing trip—which reki could guarantee hadn’t helped.

and after that, it was falling over and over again trying to pull off langa’s trick, trying to get even close to the same kind of air as him. reaching up for that stupid graffiti star and failing every time. reki didn’t know how many times he’d banged his wrist doing that, but it was enough that he wondered if he should wrap it and ice it again.

he didn’t bother. he just let it ache, a slight distraction to distract him from his avoidance and cloud of depression.

he probably should’ve paid a little closer attention. after all, skipping class just to avoid langa definitely was more pathetic than reki was willing to admit.

he knew it was shitty, and petty, and selfish. but he just couldn’t face langa. not after calling out his name as s—why had he done that, anyway? so fucking stupid. and then langa skated like the crazy prodigy he was, reckless and advanced and far too amazing for reki.