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When Chinen Miya qualified for the 2024 Summer Olympics, he cried. Big, ugly sobs tore their way out of his chest, and his face and shirt collar were immediately soaked.
Hasegawa Langa, standing at his side when they heard the announcement, pulled him into a fierce hug, pressing the sixteen year old’s face against his chest. The man smothered his own victorious tears in the dark hair atop Miya’s head.
They could hear the cheers and shouts of spectators and fans around them. Many of them, watching this competition, may not have been aware of the dual levels of success this worldwide first and second wins meant for Miya and Langa respectively.
But in the stands, one cheer stood out among the others. Because Kyan Reki knew, and he was crying too.
To officially qualify for the Olympics, they’d needed to medal in the world championships, two months before the games. So they went out and did it.
Langa was almost sent directly back into the bowl, sans skateboard, due to a leap and tackle from Reki as soon as the crowd was released from the stands.
Thankfully, Langa was used to this kind of reaction, because flying tackles had become a thing for them, giving and receiving. With so many people around, they couldn’t congratulate each other as most couples usually would. So they had their own love language.
Miya would have had to gag and make fun of them if they had kissed or something, anyway. Instead, he threw his arms around Reki’s middle and had used the back of his vinyl logo impressed hoodie to smother his continued flow of happy tears.
Two months of non-stop practice had finally brought them to Paris in July. Miya wasn’t the youngest Japanese skateboarder to enter the Olympics by far, that honor went to Kokona Hiraki who had only been 12 in 2021 when she competed in Park and won the silver medal. But she had inspired Miya to put his all into his professional skating career and continue to strive for more.
Once Langa joined the National circuit not even a year after moving to Okinawa, thanks to his previous snowboarding career boosting his chances, his competition became another motivator.
Now he was barely sixteen, and he was an Olympian.
The Olympic Village in Paris was quite compact in comparison to what Japan’s had been. He could get to any building within the Village within a half an hour, and it was only a five minute walk from their housing to the gym and cafeteria. Of course, being right along the Seine meant gorgeous water views, so even the longer walks were a joy.
Miya was determined to love every aspect of this experience, even if he didn’t medal. He was only entered into the Street event for men’s, whereas Langa had signed on for both Street and Park. Miya knew the man would shine in his Park events, using his snowboarding tactics to do some impressive high-flying tricks. He was a bit glad to not be Langa’s competitor in that.
But even with four events spread between two back-to-back days, they were some of the first games to be played, which meant the skaters had a lot of extra time post-games to explore and chat with the other athletes. Or go home early, if they so wished.
Miya knew that Langa had special plans of his own for the remaining time, but Miya hadn’t planned anything specific. If he could, he’d like to see a few volleyball or tennis matches. He’d met and bonded with one of the Japanese gymnasts, so he was definitely planning to watch her perform and hopefully medal.
Whatever his plans were, they primarily included staying far, far away from Kyan Reki, because he was going to be a mess .
Reki had actually, begrudgingly impressively, gotten invited on his own merit for his contributions to the Japanese Olympic team and Olympic athletes in general. He’d branched out from making skateboards to including snowboards to his roster. And once Langa had declared publicly he’d never skate on anything not branded REKINFINITY, others started to notice and buy in on the brand. Big named people. Shaun White big. Tony Hawk big.
No, literally. When Reki had gotten the order form the skating legend himself, his subsequent FaceTime with Miya and Langa had been incomprehensible shrieking and flailing hands.
Miya skated using Reki’s boards alone, too, but he didn’t brag about it like Langa did.
So Reki, though not staying in the Olympic Village (officially; unofficially Miya was going to likely have two roommates instead of one), did have access to all skateboarding events and the privilege to sign up for tickets for any other events of his choosing. But Reki didn’t plan ahead for things like this, so Miya had no idea if their plans would overlap.
Look, Reki was Miya’s best friend. He would admit that. He even almost liked Langa at this point. But that didn’t mean he wanted to be anywhere near them. In Paris. Especially once—
“Miya!” Langa hissed, pulling Miya to the side. They were walking into their first practice in the Village, and Miya had been focused on his training schedule. So he nearly stumbled at the man’s sudden tug on his arm.
“Oi! What the hell, Snow ?” Miya snapped using the S moniker that he knew Langa disliked.
“We’re about to get really busy, so this is the only time I’ll get the chance to ask you.”
Miya started getting a bad feeling in his gut, but he hoped for the best and that Langa was going to ask something stupid and/or a small request. “We’ll be busy for a very important reason . So make it quick.”
Langa pursed his lips, huffed, but then shook his head, as if telling himself off. “It is important, but so is this.”
A shot of fear ran through Miya. He took a step back, out of Langa’s reach. He shook his head slowly. “No.” When the look on Langa’s face didn’t change from its sincere, begging pout, his head-shaking grew faster and his voice went harsh. “No. No!”
“Please, Miya! You know he’d want pictures.”
“You want me to crash your proposal?” he hissed, backing Langa up against the side of the building. “You want me to tail your romantic trip around fucking Paris just so that when you finally pop the fucking question, I can snap a mediocre picture of Reki’s weeping face?!”
Langa hemmed and hawed for a few seconds before nodding decisively. “Yes. I suppose.”
Miya threw his head back and groaned loudly enough to attract attention. Langa’s face went red and he chuckled nervously, stepping away from Miya a few paces. He waved at a passing group of athletes, his winning smile on display.
Miya crossed his arms over his chest and waited.
Langa looked back at him once the coast was clear and sighed. “Please, Miya? If I tried to hire someone, it might leak to the press.”
Miya’s arms dropped. Alright, well, he had a point there.
Though Langa being homosexual was not a secret, it was never explicitly stated. His family, Reki’s family, and all of their friends knew of their relationship. But it wasn’t known by the entire world, or even all of Japan. Reki’s sexuality had never been questioned, but he’d never been under the scrutiny that Olympic athletes were under. Naturally, their relationship was another open secret.
Neither of them cared personally about the backlash that would befall them when they chose to come out, but doing so during the Olympics would be a public relations nightmare. The press would lap it up; “Historic Olympic Love in the City of Love” or some bullshit.
Miya had talked and brainstormed with both Reki and Langa, individually and collaboratively, on many occasions about their future plans and what they would announce and when. Miya could be realistic and objective about possible outcomes, so they valued his insight. Before coming out as a couple to the world, they wanted to be married first. Though Japan wouldn’t recognize their marriage legally ( yet ), they could still go abroad and marry. And once Japan got with the program, they would be granted all other rights and advantages immediately.
Reki had told Miya countless times that he was looking forward to being a husband. They may never be allowed to father children, but with his many sisters and half-siblings (from Reki’s biological father’s side), he figured he’d have at least a few nieces, nephews, or nonbinary second-gen kiddos to spoil.
Getting engaged was their first major step to preparing to go public with their relationship. Many might say they were too young to be engaged (like they themselves or their parents weren’t married by twenty) and Reki and Langa would agree. They weren’t planning on marriage quite yet, but to them, an engagement was more of an announcement for the people in their lives that they were about to make some major changes and felt comfortable in their place in life to be forward about it. Those two idiots had known since they were seventeen that they were endgame and didn’t need vows to assure that. But they wanted them, too. They wanted the ceremony, the time of togetherness, the celebration.
Having gone through some of the things they’d gone through, and having lived lives (Miya as well) where they grew up and matured quickly due to family situations and then continued on a forward path to aging faster than they should have needed to… Who could blame them for wanting stability like a certified life-long partner when that relationship was the easiest part of their lives?
Miya should be honored that Langa was so trusting of him, to allow him to stay so close and be in the know as part of their family, not just Reki’s.
But after several years of knowing those bozos, Miya wanted nothing more than to get a “he said yes!” text and then roll over and go back to sleep.
But these were, unfortunately, friends in need.
Langa’s eyes had gone big to match his pouty lips. Miya would assume he was playing it up, if Langa were anyone besides himself. But Langa was so damn earnest; these were his true emotions showing on his face.
Miya held out for another sixteen seconds of silence before he turned and mimed slamming his head into the brick of the building.
“Thank you,” Langa exclaimed on an exhale, gripping Miya’s shoulders, spinning him around, and squeezing them. “We won’t steal your whole day. Just… we have early dinner reservations Tuesday—” Miya mentally viewed the events schedule and relaxed knowing that, though it was the day of a gymnastics meet, it was the men’s, and he could miss that, “— near the Eiffel Tower, and then I was going to walk us towards Trocadero so we could watch the sunset there. Since sunrise is when most people go there for the view, I figured it’d be pretty empty especially on a weekday evening, so we’d have more privacy.”
Unlike Reki, Langa liked planning trips.
“It will be really pretty looking,” Langa added, like that would seal the deal for Miya— a good view.
Well, Miya supposed he was going to make Tuesday be his sightseeing day.
“I’m not getting a fancy camera for this.”
“Oh, no worries!” Langa assured him. “I already borrowed one. I hid it in your suitcase when we unpacked.”
Of course he did.
“Great,” Miya deadpanned. “Now, can we get to practice? We have games to win first.”
Langa’s face lit up. Miya groaned again, shoved Langa against the wall, and stalked into the facility.
🛹💍
Silver. Miya grinned down at his medal. He’d take it. He was only sixteen after all. In 2028, Los Angeles better watch out. He was going for gold. And he made that promise on national television to the clamoring reporters, holding up his medal with pride.
Langa snagged bronze in the same category, Street, but also finished with silver in Park the day before.
There was a celebration after the competitions that Miya remembered very little of. He spent most of Monday sleeping it off and dreading what the next day would bring. When he safely packed away his medal in his suitcase inside of a lockbox he’d brought specifically for this occasion, he’d found the black camera bag shoved inside and groaned at the sight. Langa hadn’t been joking about the camera.
Being the wonderful best friend that he was, he made sure the battery was fully charged and that there was an SD card inside and a backup on hand.
Since his services weren’t necessary until the evening, Miya got a late start to his day of Paris tourism. Taking advantage of having a nice camera, he bought a day pass for the batobus, Paris’s water taxi system. He was grateful he’d grown up on an island where ferry trips were plentiful, because some unfortunate souls got motion sickness ( Langa ) but he did not.
But before he arrived at Paris’s epicenter, in between Saint-Denis where the Olympic Village sat, he took an actual taxi to Montmartre, known as the home of many artists, as well as the location of Basilica of the Sacré-Cœur. After touring the basilica, he explored the rest of the historic district, took a break for a quick lunch, and then snagged the metro to the Louvre.
(Miya’s thoughts on the Mona Lisa? Unnecessarily long line and much, much smaller than expected. Still, to see so many people gathered together to experience a single painting was a bit of magic itself, not that Miya would ever admit that.)
He got a few stares from people as he traveled on foot towards the Musee d’Orsay, either people wondering what a lone sixteen-year-old Japanese kid was doing by himself or people who recognized him from watching television the day before. He ignored it for the most part, except for the one brave trio of girls, also Japanese tourists, who asked Miya for a picture and he obliged.
Once back on the other side of the Seine after a jog across the Pont de la Concorde bridge, the batobus took him past the Champs-Elysees (big name brand stores on a street; not that interesting to Miya after all the walking he’d already done), and around towards, finally the Eiffel Tower. He got off at that stop, noting that Trocadero was across the river, but directly across and not a long walk.
He didn’t go up into the tower, but he did stand back on the sidewalk next to the blocked-off grassy lawn and stare at it for a while. Miya had seen Tokyo’s replica of the tower on a trip he’d taken in middle school, but even though that one was actually bigger, there was something special about the original. It made Miya wish he cared more about architecture. He bet Reki went insane over admiring all of the details in the structure. Langa had said they’d start the day at the Eiffel Tower and then make their way back around for the evening.
That might have been why Miya started his trip going in the opposite direction that the pair were, just in case fate tried to bring them together.
It was late afternoon now, and Miya was pretty exhausted from the travel he’d already done, plus, you know, the Olympics . He spent a lot of time admiring the side streets. Rue Cler was his favorite. All of the small shops and cafes, the tall and skinny hotel that towered over the small grocery next door, and the gelato stand staffed by a cheerful bearded man who put up with Miya’s horrific French culminated in a good time waster.
Sitting at one of the sidewalk cafes, he flipped through the pictures he’d taken so far. His reminiscing of the day was interrupted by his phone’s buzz, and his smile vanished.
Hasegawa Langa ❄💩
At dinner. You still able to do this?
Miya shot back, are you?
He followed up with, Yes, I’m nearby , in case Langa assumed due to his clear nerves that Miya had backed out.
Hasegawa Langa ❄💩
Am I ready to spend the rest of my life with Reki? 100%
Thanks for the pick-up Miya 😁
He hadn’t meant it like that, but… ah, whatever.
After paying his bill (and figuring out for the third time that day how Euros worked), Miya headed towards Trocadero. The sky was beginning to wane. Langa (and Reki) were lucky the weather was nice and it wasn’t too cloudy. The view would be nice and clear.
As Langa had predicted, Trocadero and its garden was pretty empty besides some tourists taking photos of the lawn and the fountain, the Eiffel Tower in the background. Up the many stairs on the square-tiled landing that looked perfect to skate on (alas, Miya had left his board back in the Village to deter people from recognizing him), Miya found a ledge further back from the railing and took a seat.
Sunset was still another half an hour away, but there was a nice cool evening breeze rustling his hair, and for the first time that day the air wasn’t cloying with scents of a lived-in city. Miya let the camera drop into his lap, the strap around his neck, and pulled out his phone. It wasn’t his switch, but he had enough games on his phone to occupy himself until the couple arrived.
Miya wasn’t wearing anything to mask his identity, which perhaps he should have thought about. Miya hoped Reki would be so enraptured by the romance of it all that he wouldn’t look too hard at the people nearby.
A banner fell across his phone screen, buzzing the device and scaring Miya enough to make him jump, about ten minutes later.
Hasegawa Langa ❄💩
Leaving the restaurant!
Langa using exclamation points? He must be nervous.
After each round, Miya glanced up to check and be sure he hadn’t missed bright blue and fiery red hair ascend the stairs, but it wasn’t until the fifth scan of the area that he felt his own heart leap and he fumbled with his phone to shove it into his pocket. It was time.
Miya turned on the camera and, standing slowly so as to not attract the nearby couple’s attention, he put his back to them and took some random shots of the sky. He turned with slow steps to face them and almost facepalmed. The two were holding their skateboards. Of course they were.
Miya backed up towards the ledge to give them room (and maybe dissolve into the wall) and took some shots of the couple as they skated lazy circles around each other. The sunset was a great backdrop, and the few people around were watching the tower being backlit by the oranges and pinks, not the skaters.
Feeling a bit mushy himself after spending a day in a very romantic city, Miya felt bad that there wasn’t someone else to video record this. He dropped the camera back to his chest for just a moment, opened his phone to the voice recorder app, and hit play. At least now they could have sub-par audio and photographic evidence, if not video.
Miya inched closer, at an angle, so his face was still hidden. He could pick up their voices from this distance.
“I’d never had that before. It was like… cold meatloaf?”
Langa laughed at Reki’s description.
“It was!” Reki defended himself. “I didn’t say it was bad, it was just a new… texture… to experience cold.”
Langa reached for Reki’s hand and Reki skated close enough to snag it after glancing left and right. Langa was still snickering, but Miya could see his free hand was shaking and he kept patting his jeans pocket.
Such a casual ensemble for a proposal, but Miya supposed it was a surprise, so Reki would have definitely noticed something was happening if Langa had suited up.
Miya snapped a few photos of their clasped hands before the brief touch broke. The sun was giving a silhouette look to them, but Miya didn’t want to risk Reki spotting him if he moved to their other side so he could capture them in the light.
“Are you tired?” Langa asked.
Reki shook his head. “Am I tired? The silver medalist asks if I’m tired?”
Langa rolled his eyes. “We lazed about all of yesterday, I’m all reenergized, as you well know.”
Oh, ew. Miya shook his head to dispel any and all thoughts as to what that might have meant.
Reki shoved at Langa’s shoulder gently and they went back to silently skating and doing minor ollies and spins in a wide circle around each other, avoiding the few people still milling about.
The longer the moment went on, the more Miya was doubting the proposal would ever happen. Langa kept patting the pocket, but never taking out what was obviously a ring box.
“Are we doing more sightseeing tomorrow?” Reki asked. “Oh schedule master,” he tacked on.
Langa laughed. “I figured we’d see how we feel tomorrow,” he responded, vaguely.
Reki stopped skating and stared at his boyfriend, one eyebrow arched. “Really? You have nothing planned?”
Langa explained. “I have about three plans, all of which are potentials depending on how we feel tomorrow. Maybe all of the walking will catch up to me and I’ll be too sore to move.”
Reki nodded in understanding. “Okay.” He reached out for Langa’s hand again, and neither of them checked for observers before taking the plunge this time. Miya could see Reki’s thumb brush back and forth against Langa’s knuckles.
“Your dad would be really proud,” Reki told Langa.
Miya could see Langa visibly swallow. Miya had been in the room, during the celebrations the night after their wins, before it all got hazy, when Langa and Reki were on the phone with Nanako. She’d said the same thing to her son, who had agreed while Reki wiped away his tears.
There was no crying this time, but hearing the sentiment again clearly was important to Langa.
“My dad… he studied abroad here. Not in Paris, somewhere else in France. But he once told me how beautiful he found the country and the language to be.”
Reki hummed in acknowledgement. They were both standing still atop of their boards, pinkies interlocked. Miya captured the moment.
“When he and my mom got married, they didn’t have the money to go on a honeymoon, but they saved up so that on their ten-year anniversary, they could go. I went to stay with my grandparents for a week when they did, I was eight I think. And when they came back, there was this… I didn’t know how to describe it then and barely do now, but this happiness they had. Like experiencing this country or experiencing time away together made them brighter, happier, more themselves. They had a glow.”
“That’s wonderful,” Reki spoke softly.
Langa nodded. His hand slipped into his pocket, and one foot stepped off of his board. Miya had the camera up in a flash.
Langa swallowed again. His next words came out slowly, with pauses between phrases where Langa was clearly choking down emotion. “That, um. That glow. That beauty. They had. That they felt? I feel that with you. Every day.” And, oh, there were the tears.
Reki reached up and brushed away one from Langa’s cheek. Reki had this sickeningly sweet smile on his face, and it was obvious that he understood, because he felt the exact same way. Before Reki’s hand could fully fall back to his side, Langa slid his skateboard behind him and dropped onto one knee. The ring box was open in one shaking hand and held up.
Snap. Snap. Snap . Miya could barely breathe. He couldn’t even imagine how Reki was feeling, staring down at the love of his life after hearing one of the most romantic things Miya had ever heard uttered.
Reki sniffled. His shoulder raised and he brushed his upper arm over his face. “ Langa.” His voice was awestruck.
“I want to take the next step in this infinity with you. Will you—”
“Yes!” Reki shrieked.
All heads in the vicinity turned and watched as Reki threw himself off of his board and onto Langa, who was still kneeling. They both hit the ground, Langa’s head nearly missing cracking against his skateboard.
A round of scattered applause broke out. Miya snapped a single photo and then ran to rescue Reki’s board which had rolled away at his push off and was careening for the stairs. Once snagging it, he jogged back to the couple who were now sitting up, practically in each other’s laps, faces bright red as they waved off the onlookers, accepting their congratulations.
Langa caught his eye and nodded, and Miya approached, depositing Reki’s skateboard on the ground next to them.
Reki glanced up, a thanks on his tongue, and froze when he saw Miya.
“Miya! You’re here?”
Miya took a picture, using flash, directly in Reki’s face.
“Congratulations, dorks,” he offered over Reki’s yelp. Then he sniffled and turned his face away.
“Can I put the ring on you?” Langa asked Reki.
Reki’s attention diverted back to his fiancé — oh God they were going to be horrific from now on, weren’t they — and his head nodded so aggressively Miya seriously feared it would snap off.
Miya returned to his photographer post, no longer upset about it because his presence was known. Langa pulled the ring from the box, and Miya zoomed in to get an up close shot of it. It wasn’t highly embellished. The band was silver, wider than traditional rings, but thinner. It glowed orange thanks to the setting sun as Langa slid it on to Reki’s fourth finger, and the redhead admired it, jaw unhinged.
“I know your work makes it hard to wear jewelry,” Langa explained, “so I got one that won't stick out so it shouldn’t get in the way. And on the inside—”
Reki tore the ring off to see, and Miya couldn’t help the choking laugh he burst out with at the display. With a tilt, Miya too could see an infinity symbol etched into the metal along the inside, darkened with black ink. He took another picture before Reki put the ring back on.
“I love it,” Reki assured Langa before pulling him into a tight hug. Most of the other tourists around had disappeared, but some were still sticking around for the after show. No one that he could see had a phone out taking pictures, and no one seemed especially gossipy like they recognized Langa, but Miya was still cautious. Miya shot all of them a glare and moved to stand in front of the couple and block them from view, to give them a moment of privacy. People scattered quickly.
A minute later, Miya turned back just as the two broke a kiss and scrunched his nose up in disgust.
“Thank you, Miya,” Langa said, once he noticed Miya standing to his left. The two finally stood up from their sprawl on the ground, simultaneously kicking their boards up and into their hands.
Miya shrugged. “It’s whatever. I was in the area today anyway.”
Reki beamed at him and ruffled his hair, to which Miya loudly protested and batted the hand away. Before he let it go on any longer, Miya pulled his phone out and ended the voice recording. He waved his phone, “Got audio, too. Not sure how it’ll come out, but I tried.”
Now Langa reached over to ruffle his hair, but Miya ducked away from the reach.
“You want any more pictures? I wanted to get back to the Village before too late.”
“Just a few more?” Reki asked.
Miya sighed. He should have expected.
“And, um, I’ll spend the night with Reki at his hotel—”
Miya made a screeching noise which cut Langa off. Please don’t say anything,” he groused. “Or I will smash this camera.”
Langa pursed his lips.
Miya, the wonderful human being he was, obliged and took another round of photos, catching as much of the dying light as he could so that their faces were visible. They did the tacky hand-out poses, typical grinning side to side with the ring hand just on display, and Miya even suggested Reki hold Langa’s skateboard with his banded hand, which turned out awesome if Miya did say so himself.
Once the night was truly upon them and the photos were nothing but grainy shadows, Miya dropped the camera. “Alright, I’m out.” He snapped a finger in Langa’s direction, because he could see the man’s mouth beginning to open. It snapped shut.
Miya turned in Reki’s direction, eyed him up and down, and then rushed in and hugged him tightly. “I’m happy for you,” Miya whispered in his best friend’s ear. “But I sure as fuck will not photograph your wedding.”
Reki laughed into Miya’s shoulder and tightened his arms around Miya’s back. “Of course not, you’ll be next to me as my best man!”
Miya quickly exited the hug because he could not cry in front of Reki anymore.
“Message us that you got back to the Village safely,” Reki instructed, kindly pretending not to notice Miya’s misty eyes.
“Sure. I’m just going to call a taxi.”
Miya left the two alone as he headed back down the stairs. Halfway down, he looked back up at the platform and rolled his eyes. The two had gone back to skating.
“Don’t break anything, you grandpas!” he shouted.
“I’m not even twenty!” Reki shrieked back.
Miya smirked. That reminded him. He’d have to text Hiromi and let him know the good news and have him start prepping congratulatory flower arrangements.
On the taxi ride back to the Olympic Village, Miya flipped through his photos. He fast forwarded through the ones from his traveling, but slowed as he reached the last few dozen. He paused when he came across probably his favorite candid shot of the night, right at the moment a second before the proposal. Langa on one knee, Reki’s face starting to shift to surprise. He snapped a photo on his phone of the camera’s screen.
Once he was back to his room, he sent it to their group chat.
The Under-21 Sk8 Club
-photo attached-
Back in the room, here’s a sneak peak of your grossness
After carefully tucking the camera back into its bag and doing the bare minimum to prepare for bed, Miya climbed under the sheets and exhaled heavily.
Fuck, what a long day.
His phone buzzed and he floundered for where he’d plugged it in on the nightstand.
Guess what I just realized?! Reki messaged. I got a silver medal too!!!
Oh. Ew. So gross.
Miya was smiling, though, when he sent back the vomiting emoji.
