Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

JOHNNY.

When Johnny’s name gets called in the waiting room and they step into the hallway, the woman at the reception smiles at him and greets them both by name. 

Last fall, they came here every week for Robby’s amnesia checkups. Once Shannon got out of rehab, Johnny drove her to her appointments sometimes.

It’s pretty funny that he’s still on a first name basis with Cynthia, considering that before the whole karate revival thing, he didn’t really see a hospital or a doctor’s office from the inside for about twenty-five years. 

At least not on purpose.

He mentioned that to Daniel once. Daniel didn’t think it was funny.

“Hello, Mr Lawrence!” Cynthia smiles. “Hi Robby. They want you in room 301, down the hall and to the left“. 

“Thanks, Cynthia.“

Johnny doesn’t really understand the point of coming here - the airbag worked, and sure, it banged up his face a little, but he’s fine. But Robby convinced him to go anyway “just to make sure“. 

It turns out when you have a relationship with your son, weird shit happens. Like wanting to prove to him that you’re okay. And letting him convince you to text Daniel, even though Daniel is in a meeting and probably won’t even see the text for another hour.

He follows Robby into room 301 and sits down in front of the doctor. 

She looks really young. Like she barely has a high school diploma, let alone a medical degree. But the way she studies his intake sheet is all routine. „It says here you were in a car accident?“

“Yeah,“ Johnny says. “Son of a bitch ran a red light, slammed right into us.“

Johnny knows he can’t exactly claim moral superiority considering how often he’s driven either drunk or distracted by random shit. It’s still annoying that he has to sit here now because some hipster dickhead couldn’t put his phone away for five fucking minutes. 

Robby sits down on a chair in the corner. “The airbags went off, but he got hit right in the face, so I thought we should come by to… I don’t know. Check if everything’s okay.“ He seems to think for a moment. “Oh, but it’s normal if he doesn’t know who the president is. Or what Instagram is. Or cauliflower.“

Johnny scowls at him, but he’s secretly kind of glad Robby is here. The last thing he needs is the doctor thinking he’s got brain damage because he doesn’t know what metrosexual means. (He’s pretty sure it means wanting to fuck on a train, but Miguel just laughed awkwardly when he asked him the other day, so who knows, really.)

The doctor examines his face while she asks him basic questions. 

Johnny feels uncomfortably reminded of the amnesia checkups and tries to get through them as quickly as possible. 

John Lawrence, born on August 20th 1967, unmarried. Blah, blah.

“Do you need my birth certificate?“ he asks the doctor.

“No thank you,“ the doctor says politely as she examines his forearm. 

“See, Robby? Nobody wants to see that shit.“

Robby just sighs. He’s probably disappointed that the doctor won’t back up his dire diagnosis on Johnny’s organizational skills.

Johnny’s arm is pretty raw where the airbag scraped him, so she advises him to put some cream on it. He immediately forgets what it was called, but since she’s not writing him a prescription, it’s probably not important. Then she asks him to take his shirt off so she can examine his chest. Which always looks a little fucked up, but no more than it did yesterday.

“Your chest is rather bruised,“ she says critically, poking her gloved finger around the biggest one; angry, somewhere between red and purple. “That one looks fresh. Can you recall if that happened during the accident?“

Johnny grins. He and Daniel did some sparring last night after training. And some other stuff after that. But the doctor probably doesn’t need to know.

“Nah, that was my boyfriend.“

Robby groans. 

“Dad, you can’t just say shit like that. He means he got hit during karate,“ he says towards the doctor who looked up with a rather concerned expression. Ah, yeah. Okay. Sometimes Johnny forgets how things sound to people who don’t do karate. The kids have a whole group chat just for posting and ranking their bruises. Demetri’s always bragging about how how many points he has.

“That one’s from Robby.“ Johnny proudly points at a greenish spot above his belly button. “Good hit, right?“

The doctor looks from Robby to Johnny and then just sighs a little. “Okay. So you don’t recall any sharp pain during the crash in the chest area?“

“No. Just in the face.“

She does a few more tests to make sure his hearing’s okay, pulls out that weird tube thing that lets her listen to his heartbeat. Finally, after about twenty minutes of various tests and questions, she seems to run out of ideas and announces that he seems to have gotten very lucky. 

(Debatable, considering Robby came out of the accident with an intact phone and not a hair out of place, but yeah. Compared to the car, for sure.)

Johnny stands up, nods at her and then turns towards the door. “See, Robby? Told you we should have just gone home.“

“No, it’s still good he brought you in,“ the doctor says sternly. “Your son was right. Some airbag-related injuries aren’t immediately obvious.“

She swivels her chair around to Robby. “Keep an eye on your Dad. If anything out of the ordinary happens, if he starts slurring his words…“

“Yeah, I know the list," Robby smiles. “I had a brain injury last year. I’m pretty much besties with Dr Nguyen up in neurology. Balance, speech—“

Someone’s yelling in the corridor, and Robby cuts himself off in the middle of his sentence. All three of them turn and look towards the door.

“Please, Sir, you need to calm down or we’ll have you removed.“

And then, Daniel’s voice: “I’d like to see you try!“

Damn. Looks like that meeting didn’t take that long after all.

“One second,“ Robby sighs, already half out the door. “I think that’s our cue to leave. Thanks, doc.“

Johnny grabs his denim jacket and walks into the corridor just in time to see Robby stepping in between Daniel and the rather annoyed-looking security guard. 

“Hey,” Robby says calmly. “Hey! It’s fine.“

“Robby! God, I’m so glad to see you.“

Daniel hugs him with an urgency that makes the guard settle down a bit, and Johnny almost laughs. Dude’s gotta be like ten feet tall. Typical of Daniel to walk in and immediately pick a fight with the biggest guy in the building. Truly one of his best qualities.

“You trying to join me in the ER, babe?“ Johnny says, stepping closer, and Daniel looks up, still mid-hug, eyes gigantic. 

“Johnny!“

He pulls away from Robby and pretty much throws himself at Johnny.

His hug is much tighter than would be appropriate for a couple of nicks and bruises, but hey, Johnny’s not gonna complain.

“What the hell happened?“ Daniel demands, letting go again. Something is odd about his face, but Johnny can’t put his finger on it.

“Nothing. Some asshole ran a red light and my face paid the price.“

This is exactly why he didn’t wanna tell Daniel. Cause Johnny knew he’d make a big fucking deal about nothing. But Robby said they should at least give him a heads up, so when Daniel didn’t pick up his phone, Johnny sent him a quick no-worries text, right before his name got called. 

Looking back, he probably should have included the actual words 'no worries'. Or at least an emoji with sunglasses.


“Yeah, he admitted it was his fault and gave us his insurance info,“ Robby says, but Daniel doesn’t even seem to hear him.

“They wouldn’t let me see you,“ Daniel says, distraughtly flipping the collar of Johnny’s flannel. Johnny hadn’t even noticed it was inside out. “When Shannon was in rehab, we did the… you know… the medical power of attorney thing for Robby, but now they wouldn’t tell me where you are, and–“

“Yeah, family only,“ Johnny shrugs.

Daniel cups onto his face and touches one of the bruises, lower lip trembling with rage. “You had me so worried, you asshole!“

“Right,“ the security guard cuts in, looking like he’s pretty sick of their shit. “So you found your boyfriend now? And you won’t ‘open every single door in this hospital’ , am I getting that right?“

Daniel blinks a few times, shakes off his haze, and then looks up at the guy. “I— Uh. I don’t think I said that.“

“That’s right. You yelled it. Get outta here, man."

The guard walks off, and Johnny chuckles, reaching for Daniel’s hand.

“Aw, you love me.“

Daniel just looks up at him, quietly fuming as he shakes Johnny off.

“You think this is funny?“

“Come on. Robby didn’t even get a scratch. Kinda overdramatic.“

Robby groans, like Johnny’s just committed all of the seven deadly sins at once. And at that moment, Johnny finally realizes that it’s Daniel’s eyes that look different. They look all puffy. Like he’s been crying or something. Damn.

“Overdramatic,“ Daniel repeats coolly. “Well, it’s great to hear that that’s what you think. Let’s go home.“

And he stalks off towards the parking lot, leaving Robby and Johnny to hurry after him.

After they drop Robby off at his mom’s house (it’s Shannon’s week), Daniel doesn’t say another word for the rest of the drive. Johnny stares down at his fingernails, not sure what he’s done wrong.

Must be the car.

Daniel gave that car to Johnny. He paid to have it painted Eagle Fang red. They made out in it a fair amount of times. Went to drive-in movies. And now that car is all banged up, being towed to one of the LaRusso workshops, and who knows if it’s fixable. Shit. Yeah, that’s definitely what it is.

They park in front of their apartment and go inside. Daniel immediately goes to make himself an espresso, even though he’s probably had enough caffeine for the day. His hands are already shaking a bit.

“I’m sorry about the car,“ Johnny says, hands in his jeans’ pockets, but Daniel just slams his tiny cup down and incredulously shakes his head.

“Johnny, do you really think I give a damn about that car right now?“

“I mean, it was a gift. And I trashed it.“

“So fucking what!“ Daniel shouts. Daniel only swears when he’s turned on or distraught, and somehow Johnny doubts that this is the sexy version. “Why didn’t you just call someone at the dealership and ask them to get me out of my meeting? You have Amanda’s number! You have the front desks’ number!“

“I thought it’d be better if I texted you.“

“You thought it would be better if you texted me ‘CAR ACCIDENT. WE’RE AT THE HOSPITAL’. In all caps. From Robby’s phone.“

“I mean, yeah. So you’d know what’s up.“

“No! I did not know ‚what’s up’! That could have meant anything! You could have been seriously hurt, Johnny. Of course I assumed the worst!“

“What, that I was dying in the ER?“ Johnny says sarcastically, but the silence that follows makes him flush with shame in three seconds flat. “Wait, really?“

Daniel drinks the rest of his espresso down in one gulp, and Johnny knows it must burn like hell on the way down. He breathes heavily a couple of times before putting the cup in the sink, and then turns back to Johnny. His hands are trembling again. It’s not the caffeine. Shit.

“I called Robby back a million times and he wouldn’t pick up!” he says, despair and anger fighting for the upper hand. “And I called you, but you weren’t picking up, either… I even called Carmen! I thought, it’s her shift, she might know something…“

“My phone broke,“ Johnny mumbles, and he knows that’s not the point but he doesn’t really know what else to say.

“And Cynthia at the reception recognized me, but she couldn’t tell me where you were or if you were okay, she kept saying she was really sorry — And then I went to look for you and that security guard told me I couldn’t just…“ He runs a hand over his face. “But I’m really glad that me being sick with worry is a joke to you. That letting me know that you’re okay is just an afterthought. Something Robby had to tell you to do – only for you to half-ass it!“

“Okay, but…” Johnny licks his lips nervously. “If I’d texted you I was in an accident but I was fine, you wouldn’t have believed me anyway.”

“And if you had been seriously hurt, would you have told me that?” 

Johnny’s losing this argument and he doesn’t like it. He could be half-decapitated and he’d insist on walking it off. But that’s his business, right? Not that Daniel sees it that way. They’ve had more than one discussion about it. 

“Are you seriously still mad about the thing with my shoulder? That was months ago.” 

“The thing with your shoulder?” Daniel snaps. “Do you mean when you dislocated your shoulder and then proceeded to go down on me in the dojo instead of telling me I hurt you?”

And yeah, it sounds a little insane when you say it like that, but Johnny had been looking forward to seeing Daniel all damn day, and he was just so damn sexy during the fight, and –

“I know caring about your own well-being is a chore for you, Johnny. I can guarantee you it’s not for the rest of us. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to call Carmen back and let her know you’re okay.“

“Daniel–“ Johnny says, and his voice comes out really weird. Really wet-sounding. He steps towards Daniel, thinking of how absolutely numb he went when he got the call about Robby half a year ago. He remembers seeing him limp and lifeless in that bed. You’d think loving your kid from afar and doing a piss-poor job of it makes it hurt less when they’re hurting. But it didn’t. He remembers watching the clock turn to noon, to four, to nine, to midnight, until his pounding heart felt like all that was left of his body. He remembers Daniel bursting into that room, his eyes almost as big and angry and helpless as they were today.

Almost.

What would he have done, if he’d gotten a text from Robby that Daniel was in an accident and then nobody picked up the phone for half an hour? He’d have acted like a rabid animal.

Shit. Johnny has no business even trying to win this fight.

He reaches out for Daniel’s arm, but Daniel pulls away.

“Not now. I need to cool off.“

And he storms out of the kitchen.

*

When Daniel finally emerges from the bedroom an hour later, he gives Johnny a brief kiss. He even holds Johnny’s hand in the car as they drive over to the dojo. But he’s still withdrawn, and Johnny knows it might be a while before he lets Johnny properly apologize to him. He tries anyway.

“Can we talk?” he says when Daniel shuts off the engine. “I’m sorry.”

“We have class,” Daniel says gently, running a thumb over Johnny’s hand. “And probably a gigantic audience, considering where we are.” 

Yeah, good call. Johnny still hasn’t fully learned his lesson about how paper-thin Miyagi-Do's walls are. 

“Shouldn’t have said you were overdramatic,” he admits. “If that had been you in the ER, I’d have probably climbed the façade and punched through every window till I found your room.”

“I know, Johnny. I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have yelled.”

“Nah. I messed up. Don’t apologize.”

“You can’t tell me what to apologize for,” Daniel protests, and Johnny damn near laughs out loud. He catches himself just in time, but Daniel seems to see the almost-smile and chuckles at himself.

For a moment, they look at each other. 

Johnny gets why Daniel got mad. And he needs Daniel to know that he gets it. This is like 1984 all over again, when Bobby… Right. Maybe he can just tell Daniel about that. Maybe that will help him understand.

Johnny looks down into his lap for a moment, steeling himself for what’s to come, than looks back up at Daniel.

“You know I was the last person who quit Cobra Kai?”

Daniel’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Bobby and Jimmy quit on the spot, right in the parking lot. And I was so mad on the day of the tournament, but I didn’t really… have anything else, you know? I was at practice every day. It was my life. And I figured, I get mad too sometimes, do shit I’m not proud of… Anyway, the next day at practice I was the only one who showed up. I mean, Kreese was probably in the office, but I didn’t wanna go in alone. So I called Bobby from the diner ‘round the corner. All mad like, where the hell are you? We have training in five minutes! He showed up ten minutes later and pretty much abducted me. Never seen him get that mad before.”

Daniel keeps holding Johnny’s hand and presses a pensive kiss onto it.

“I know I’m not good at the whole ‘taking care of myself’ thing,” Johnny says. “I’ve always been like that. I’m not doing this to piss you off. And I can try to work on it, but it’s probably gonna be a total shitshow.”

For a moment, Daniel is quiet.

Then he nods slowly.

“Hm. Remember when we went to Sugarfish last week and they messed up my order and wouldn’t admit it? You argued with that waiter for ten minutes. And I know you didn’t do it because you love sushi so much. You did it because it was important to me. You’re important to me, Johnny. If it’s hard for you to take care of yourself, maybe just start by taking care of my boyfriend. Okay?”

“Okay,” Johnny says, because that’s such a weird loophole it might actually work. “Gonna take your boyfriend to that stupid eye test, I guess.”

Daniel’s been bothering him about that for weeks now, trying to get him to see a specialist for his eyes. (Which is ridiculous. Johnny doesn’t need reading glasses. But for Daniel, maybe he can go anyway. Get it over with.)

“Great start,” Daniel says, soft smile, warm eyes. “See, you’re a natural.”

And Johnny thinks: Marry me.

He swallows as the realization dawns on him, crawls over the horizon in blinding clarity. Wait, does he want to marry Daniel?

Oh shit. He totally does.

It’s not enough that Johnny is head over heels for this idiot, now he’s thinking about marriage as well? He’s one fuckup away from being dumped, but he’s delusional enough to hope that maybe Daniel would legally swear to be his forever?

This is all Robby’s fault. If that kid hadn’t spent an entire month after his amnesia running around telling everyone that Johnny and Daniel used to be married, then Johnny wouldn’t even be thinking about this right now–

“You alright?” Daniel says, pulling him back to reality. “You kind of zoned out on me there.”

“I was just thinking how I can’t wait to get on my knees for you tonight.”

Daniel shoves him a little, eyes narrowing – obviously not impressed with Johnny’s volume control – and Johnny can tell he’s just as turned on as he is pissed off. “Really? You’re telling me this here? This place has such poor soundproofing that it should have a ‘caution wiretapping’ sign in the front yard. You cannot be serious!”

Johnny grins and shrugs, and Daniel sighs.

“Alright. Go torture some kids with some pushups. I love you.”

And as always, Daniel gets out of the car instead of waiting for an answer they both know won’t come.

Johnny’s not said it back. Not properly, anyways. Not while they’re dressed. They both say it plenty in bed, but it feels different if Daniel says it while pouring Johnny a glass of orange juice for breakfast. He feels guilty that Daniel hasn’t heard that second version from him. But somehow he can never get it out when he wants to say it.

He’ll learn to, though. He’s two and a half months sober, which isn’t something he ever thought he’d manage. (Fifth try, but who’s counting.) He should manage to string three stupid words together. All he wants to do for the rest of his life is sit at a table with Daniel and drink orange juice. It’s humiliating, the depth of that wish. Allowing himself to genuinely want things like this – sobriety, family, happiness – never stops feeling scary. Johnny waits a couple seconds to collect himself before he steps out of the car as well. 

The yard is absolutely packed. They have about twenty-five students between them, plus Daniel just started a class on Mondays for younger children. They’re still trying to figure out if they can start adult classes without having to cut down on their established training times. 

On paper, Miyagi-Fang looks like a disaster waiting to happen, but oddly enough it’s one of the most stable parts of their life together. Daniel takes care of all the paperwork crap Johnny doesn’t want to deal with. Johnny takes care of any handiwork that Daniel can’t turn into a lesson. (Not before making a lot of dumb jokes about it, though. “Hey babe, show me ‘fix the leaky sink’ !” Daniel’s eye roll never gets old.) Their students are allowed to switch back and forth regardless of what dojo they're technically signed up to, and besides the usual teen drama over nothing, things are fun. Things are good.

Sam seems especially happy – and she has every reason to be. Every time Johnny sees her fight he’s reminded that she’s the only one who’s actually done this for longer than a year and a half. And yeah, that matters. Not everyone can be as talented as Daniel. Not everyone can learn karate for two hours and be practically ready for the Olympics. For most of the kids, time is gonna be the best sensei they’ll ever have. Johnny was straight up shit his first year. You gotta put your hours in.

Most others are doing pretty alright, too. Hawk and Demetri still have too much time to discuss their dumb nerd shows, which is a sure sign that Johnny needs to increase the pushup count. Maya is still more motivated than talented, but Johnny’s glad she stuck around, especially since her love for karate inspired her to recruit some more friends.

Robby and Miguel are attached at the hip, which isn’t as strange as it sounds. Johnny keeps having to remind himself that it’s a good thing he feels like a third wheel every time the three of them are in a car together. That’s how it should be. It’s good that the kids have friends.

Tory… well, Tory is there. She does her workouts. She sweats and screams and kicks and goes home without smalltalk. 

In the beginning, Johnny was pretty sure that Tory was better suited to Eagle Fang, but he’s starting to think that Miyagi-Do might be good for her. She always looks really mad when she has to participate in the meditation, but it’s visible that all the tension slowly goes out of her body as time goes by. Who knew – Tory Nichols, the dark horse of Miyagi-Do.

Johnny says hi to his Eagle Fangs, then hangs back a bit. He makes Miguel warm everyone up while stealing glances towards Daniel. 

He looks relaxed, and that should calm Johnny down, but it doesn’t. He really fucked up today, and it’s only a matter of time before he does something he can’t come back from.

How is he gonna prove to Daniel how much he means to him? Just the thought of telling Daniel he loves him makes him want to walk into the ocean. He’s pretty sure he’ll say something absolutely insane instead. Something nobody should be saying six months in. You’re the fucking love of my life, LaRusso. Or, much worse: Marry me.

And yeah, Daniel saying I love you barely two months in was pretty ballsy, but it also just felt right. They were tipsy, they were naked and besides, Johnny’s crazy about him. Zero risk of things going wrong.

But this is different. It’s way too early.

Even worse, after what he’s pulled today, there’s no way Daniel will believe him. I’m the love of your life but you can’t be bothered to tell me you’re not dying in the hospital? Yeah, sure.

“Sensei,” Miguel says, suddenly standing in front of him. They must be done with the warmup. “Are you okay? You look a little… banged up.”

“Yeah, I got in a fender bender like two hours ago. Airbag got me good.”

“Oh shit. Are you okay?” Miguel’s eyes go wide, and Johnny’s guilt does a dumb little kickflip in his stomach.

“Course I am. You should see the other guy.”

And that joke does not come out the way he intended.

“Just kidding, man,” Johnny says lamely. “He’s fine, too. Challenger took all the damage, which is pretty fucked up since I actually had the green light, but hey. I’m fine. Robby wasn’t hurt. It’s all good.”

“Robby was in the car?” Miguel says, horrified, and yeah, shit, he probably should have mentioned that Robby was involved. Johnny is 99 percent sure that Miguel and Robby are secretly hooking up, and while Daniel often reminds him it’s none of their business and they’ve been wrong before, it also feels kind of dumb to pretend he doesn’t know.

“Yeah. Like I said. All good.”

But Miguel’s already across the yard, on his way to interrupt the Miyagi-Do meditations. “Robby! You were in a car accident?”

Robby’s eyes fly open as he pulls out of his exercise. “Yeah, why?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

The Miyagi-Do side erupts into wild chatter, and Daniel rolls his eyes and walks over to the invisible line between their spaces. “Sensei Lawrence, sabotaging my kata yet again. This a special hobby of yours?”

“Well, you know… Do what you love, you’ll never work a day in your life.”

“Looks like I’ll never work a day in my life, the way you’re constantly disrupting my lessons,” Daniel bites out in that deliciously snarky voice Johnny’s so weak for, and walks off with a smirk and a headshake.

“Diaz, let’s go,” Johnny calls out. “You can hang out during the water break. Warm up’s over.”

Miguel seems satisfied that Robby’s alright, so he jogs back over and falls in line with everyone else.

“Okay, listen up, eagles,” Johnny says. “Most of you have been to some tournaments by now, but for a couple of you, the Sacramento Juniors this weekend is gonna be the first one. And you all need more practice if you don’t wanna get trampled at the All Valley. May 19th is only a month and a half away, and they’ve got crazy sponsors this year, which means sign-ups are through the roof. So. Who knows what that means for today?”

“Trial tournament, sensei,” Miguel answers.

“Exactly. Someone get a piece of paper and we’ll draw the matches.”

The kids seem pretty excited about that plan. Maya lifts her hand. “Just the Eagle Fangs or everybody?”

Huh. That’s a good point. They’re gonna need experience beating the Miyagi-Dos, too. Not just each other. Johnny nods.

“Miss Tiwari, go ask Sensei LaRusso if they want to join.”

Maya looks confused, as if she wants to protest – why don’t you ask him? why didn’t you discuss this earlier? – but walks over without an argument. 

Johnny and Daniel agreed it’d be good to sign the kids up for a few tournaments in the area so they can get a feel for the competition circuit. The response has been pretty good. Mostly the usual suspects, but some of the newer fighters have gotten braver and signed up, too. Thirteen kids are coming to Sacramento this weekend. They had to rent a van and everything.

Bert has shown up with a piece of paper, so Johnny starts ripping it up and writing names on the scraps. “It’s not gonna be perfectly divisible. We’re gonna do preliminaries, then KO rounds. Once you’re out, spar with the others who are also out and work on what went wrong.”

“Johnny.”

He looks up and finds Daniel standing in front of him, his Miyagi-Dos trailing behind him like baby ducks.

I love you.

Johnny swallows.

“Hey. You wanna do the tournament thing with the Eagle Fangs?”

“Sounds great,” Daniel says. “I was thinking since the All Valley has separate gender divisions now, we should do the same for today as well.”

“Okay.” Johnny steps up onto the deck and addresses his students again. “I know a couple of you were pissed when the committee changes were announced. And you know we’re a team here and we’re not gonna separate by anything during training. But in terms of trophies, this is the best thing that could have happened to us. More genders, more trophies.”

“See, that’s the wildest sentence anyone’s ever said,” Demetri says. “But I’d buy that on a T-Shirt.”

“Yeah, you shut up,” Johnny says. “Only reason you have a chance to win anything is because Sam can’t kill you in round one.”

“Oh yeah, that reminds me,” Daniel says. “We still don’t have a consensus about our gis for the All-Valley. If we don’t come up with a good compromise by the end of next week, no worries, we’ll just order separately. We’ll still compete as Miyagi-Fang.”

“Exactly.”

It’s almost painful today how well this works. 

Even though they had the fight. Even though Johnny has no idea how to make the rest of this right again.

They draw the teams, and the fights start. Daniel stands next to him while they coach their kids through the tournament. One time, he reaches out and squeezes Johnny’s hand. Johnny aches so much he can barely breathe. 

After Miguel has made it to the final four with Robby, Hawk and Chris, he steps next to Johnny so they can watch the girls’ semifinals (Sam vs Devon, then Tory vs one of the other Miyagi-Do girls. Jessica? Julia?).

Daniel steps to the other side to coach Sam, and Miguel lowers his voice to Miyagi-Do appropriate levels.

“You sure everything’s okay, sensei? You’re acting super weird today.”

Johnny sighs. Yeah. He really isn’t the best actor. Maybe he should tell Miguel, just to make sure this idea won’t die in his head. Johnny wants this so much. He needs someone to convince him not to back out.

“Can you keep a secret, Diaz?”

“Sure!” 

“Don’t make any weird noises, okay? Don’t lose your shit. I think I wanna propose to him.”

“WHAT?”

Devon and Sam freeze mid-fight to turn and stare at them, and so does the rest of the dojo.

“Everything okay?” Daniel asks from the other side of the sparring deck.

“Yup!” Miguel says innocently, as if the gigantic grin plastered across his face isn’t super suspicious. “Keep going, everyone. Great fight.”

After five seconds of skeptical silence, the fight resumes.

“What did I just tell you?” Johnny whispers once everyone has lost interest again, but it doesn’t sound half as annoyed as he meant for it to sound. “I’m probably not even gonna do it. He’d say no anyway.” 

“No way–”

“We literally just had a fight about how he can’t be with someone who doesn’t take care of himself.” Johnny sighs. “Wish I had a sensei for this type of shit. How to propose without being laughed at. Not even a sensei, I’d probably need a whole fucking team with my issues.”

“I mean… not to butt in… none of my business, but…”

“Spit it out.”

“I’m just saying, sensei.” Miguel nods over to Sam, who’s currently sandwiched in between victory hugs from Robby and Demetri. “You have a team.”

*

By the time Daniel drives off, Sam, Demetri, Miguel and Robby are all assembled under the big tree. 

Hawk lingers, too, until Johnny rolls his eyes and waves him over.

“Okay,” Miguel says. “We have a new mission.”

“Miguel, I don’t know if this is a good idea–”

But Hawk is already turning to Johnny with a serious expression. “Kick some ass in Sacramento. We’re not gonna let you down, sensei.”

Johnny clears his throat. “No. Uh… You know that LaRusso and I have been going out for a while…”

“What?” Demetri interjects. “You’re dating? No way. You’re always so subtle and professional; I never would have guessed.”

“Shut up. That was a rhetorical question.”

“Pretty sure a question has to have a question mark.”

“Just ignore him,” Sam says. 

“You’re terminating your old lease?” Robby guesses. “Is that it? You need us to help move the rest of your stuff?”

“No. Uh. I mean, not that I don’t…” Johnny can feel himself flushing. Damn it. “I mean, eventually… Hopefully. The thing is… Look, man, I know you guys are real confident in your matchmaking skills. And maybe I could use a little bit of help with this thing. This plan. To make up for the fact that I’m… what’d you say the other day?”

He looks expectantly at Demetri. 

“Problematic,” Demetri says without even an attempt at hesitation.

“No, the thing you said yesterday.” 

“You heard that?”

“Sure did. What was it again?”

Demetri makes a face.

“Straight up bungling it twenty-four-seven?” he says sheepishly.

Robby snickers.

Johnny points at him. “Exactly.” 

“What’s the plan, sensei?” Hawk says, very obviously trying to distract Johnny so Demetri won’t get in trouble for talking shit. Lucky for him, the sheer concept of the plan is very distracting.

Johnny takes a deep breath.

“I wanna marry Daniel.”

Nobody seems all that surprised.

“Seriously?” Johnny crosses his arms. “You’re doing this to me again? Acting like you know everything? I decided that two hours ago. There’s no fucking way you knew already.”

“Dad,” Robby sighs, looking characteristically judgy. “Why do you think I was asking about your birth certificate?”

“Yeah,” Sam chimes in with a mischievous grin. “Gigantic surprise. The way you two keep saying things like ‘can’t believe I have to put up with you for the rest of my life’ definitely sounds super casual.”

“I actually had a bet you guys were secretly married already,” Demetri says. “You have a lot of nerve asking me for anything, considering you just lost me twenty dollars.”

Johnny buries his face in his hands.

God, this is gonna be a disaster.

Chapter Text

SAM.

There’s absolutely no way that Dad is going to turn down Johnny’s proposal. There are few other things in Sam’s life right now that she is this certain of.

Sure, they get into arguments, and they’ve never been the type of people that keep it a secret when something is bothering them. And yeah, Johnny is kind of a mess, but she’s pretty sure that’s like seventy-five percent of why her Dad is even into him. 

And Dad looks so happy every time Sam catches him looking at Johnny. He keeps talking about Johnny maybe moving in for real. Finally ditching that old apartment that’s doing nothing but collecting dust and costing money on the other side of Reseda. After Robby’s mom got out of rehab, Johnny let her stay at his apartment so she could figure out her living situation with no pressure. Sometimes he still sleeps on the couch at that Reseda apartment when he’s spent the evening hanging out with Robby and Miguel, but it’s more Shannon’s place than Johnny’s at this point. Meanwhile, Johnny temporarily moved in with Dad – and just kind of never moved back out again. For almost three months now, Johnny’s been at Dad’s apartment almost every day, eating pancakes and hogging the remote. 

Maybe he’s got good reason to worry. But it sure doesn’t look that way from where Sam is sitting.

And that’s exactly what she tells him, while Miguel and Robby add an encouraging “Yeah!” and “Exactly!” here and there.

Johnny doesn’t look convinced. 

“Okay, but do you think I’m a good boyfriend?”

Sam pensively bites her lip. Kind of a weird question. She’s never thought about it in those terms. Dad and Johnny are happy with each other. But is Johnny a good boyfriend? Like, in general?

“Thanks for the five year pause, everyone,” Johnny says sarcastically. “Anyways, I don’t want you all up in our private business. I just need some of your date ideas. You know. Like last year. Relationship stuff. So that I have a solid base to build on.”

Demetri frowns. “I mean, the fact that you think you can fully separate ‘private business’ and ‘relationship stuff’ is definitely very interesting…”

“Great, then you can tell Demetri about the sex,” Hawk says. “The rest of us don’t want to know.”

Demetri rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“I think you could do more activity dates,” Robby suggests. “You usually just go to dinner or Golf and Stuff, right? I think it’s nice to switch it up a little; make some memories. Go to the waterpark, maybe...”

“Waterparks are for babies,” Hawk scoffs. “Laser tag. Now that’s a date.”

“Honestly, that’s kind of on brand,” Sam admits. “but it doesn’t exactly scream husband material–”

“What about a hot air balloon ride?” Miguel suggests. “Super romantic.”

“Hard pass.” Johnny shakes his head. “I’m not good with heights. I don’t think he’s gonna love it if I puke on his shoes.”

“Sensei Lawrence?”, Tory says from the garden gate.

And that’s just typical. There’s five other people here, but Tory acts like she can’t even see them. She came to ask Johnny a question and she won’t even pretend she gives a shit about being polite to the rest of them. Sam sighs and pointedly looks away.

“My car won’t start,” Tory says in a tone so neutral it’s alarming. “Can you do the thing with the cables again?”

Sam has gotten over the flares of panic she used to feel every time she saw Tory. But she’s a crack in the lens that Sam can’t seem to teach herself to ignore. It’s even more irritating now that she’s back in school. Sometime in March, Mom started her weird campaign to let Tory back into West Valley High, and after long sparring sessions with her Dad and a talk with Robby, Sam agreed. Tory didn’t seem all that scary anymore.

Because she missed so much time, she came back as a Junior, meaning they have three classes together now. Calculus, World History and English Lit. Tory is always there, at school, at the dojo, in the cafeteria… always in the corner of Sam’s eye.

She’s Miyagi-Do, but she isn’t. She’s participating, but she isn’t.

Sometimes Sam wants to step up to her and demand she make a decision. Either you’re part of this dojo, or you aren’t. You can’t have it both ways.

But that’s as good as admitting she cares. That Tory’s getting to her. And she’d like that way too much. She’d be twice as annoying just to piss Sam off, and then Sam can kiss her concentration goodbye. Which means no All Valley trophy. And she’ll be damned if she lets Tory mess with that. She’s let her stupid crushes mess her life up enough. You gotta draw the line at some point.

Just last week, Sam tried to be nice and give her some pointers, only for Tory to bring up that Sam has competed mostly in childrens’ tournaments. 

“If I ever need to beat up a second-grader, I’ll come to you for advice.”

That’s what she gets for trying.

Johnny looks back and forth between Tory and the rest of his students and finally gets up. “Sorry. My car’s in the shop. I got in an accident today.”

“Okay. Does anyone else… have a car?”

Sam groans.

They both know perfectly well that Sam’s car is the only other one left in the parking lot. Except for Mr Miyagi’s old-timers, but Sam doesn’t even know if they have jump start cables. 

“How about I take a look at it,” Johnny says. “Maybe we won’t even need to jump-start. Sam, you got your stuff? Just in case?”

Yeah, if you need it.”

She trails behind Johnny to the parking lot, car keys in hand. 

Johnny has helped to start Tory’s car a couple of times over the last few months. It’s not exactly news that her car needs a little help now and then. But this looks different. When Johnny opens the hood, an alarming amount of black smoke comes out. Johnny coughs a little as he putters around inside and then makes a disapproving sound. 

“Hate to break it to you, Nichols. That’s not the battery, that’s the engine. You’re gonna have to get that towed.”

“Shit,” Tory bursts out and kicks one of her wheels. She looks honestly distraught now. “Not fucking today, are you kidding me?”

“You got somewhere to be?” Johnny says.

“My mom’s got a doctor’s appointment in an hour.”

“Well, she can Uber, right?” Sam suggests, only to be met with two people giving her do-I-look-like-I-have-Uber-money looks. 

Face flushing, she looks down at her shoes. Okay. Damn. Nevermind.

“Hm,” Johnny says. “Can you wait ten minutes?”

“I guess?”

“Okay, cause I’m gonna need Sam’s help for ten more minutes. Then she can drive us both home and give your mom a ride. How does that sound?”

And Tory grimaces. 

Seriously? Sam’s the one who’s being forced to play taxi driver for some antisocial asshole, and Tory’s acting like she’s being put into a medieval torture device? What’s her goddamn problem?

That’s the one nice thing about this. Tory might be confusingly pretty and impressively good at karate, but she never misses an opportunity to remind Sam why pursuing this would be a terrible idea.

“Well, if you have better options,” Sam says, turning back towards the yard.

“I can teach you that scorpion flip kick,” Johnny says.

Sam freezes right where she stands.

They’ve all seen the video of that girl pretty much obliterating her opponent at a kids’ karate tournament in Beijing. The audience went nuts for her finishing move. Even though Sam doesn’t know if she could pull it off, she was immediately entranced. This was the kind of stuff she wanted to learn as a kid. Granted, that was before she had hips and boobs and actual muscles. It’s easy to throw your whole weight around like that if you only weigh as much as the average eight-year old.

Dad thinks learning complicated new moves before the All-Valley will cost too much time. He thinks Sam should perfect what she already knows, and Johnny’s mostly deferred to him so far. But she’s liked a lot of the stuff Johnny teaches. Sam’s flying tornado kick is pretty sweet.

And this could be her thing. This could be her crane kick.

All she has to do is give one ride to a girl who doesn’t even want to talk to her anyways, and her All Valley win might be what everyone’s talking about for the next thirty years.

“That’d be great,” Sam says, then nods at Tory. “I’ll see you in ten minutes, then.”

She doesn’t wait for Tory’s reaction. She just walks back into the yard and sits back down in her spot. This day seriously can’t get any weirder.

“So what’s up with Tory’s car?” Miguel asks. “All good?”

Sam shrugs as she watches Tory sit down on the bench next to the garden gate and start messing around on her phone. Just because Sam agreed to the deal doesn’t mean she’ll run around advertising it to the world.

Luckily, Johnny’s already sitting back down, too, which means the attention is off Sam. “Okay. I’m back. Here’s what I’m thinking. We had a big fight today, and I wanna make sure we’re good before I ask if he wants to get serious. I could do a romantic gesture, right? Like… buying flowers and cooking and all that?”

“Yeah, burn the house down,” Hawk says. “He’ll love that.”

“Okay, hold on a second… you’re fighting all the time. It’s kind of your thing.” Demetri is leaning forward like he's in a courtroom drama. “What was different about today?”

Johnny shrugs, and Sam honestly feels really bad for him. So far, she doesn’t think they’ve been very helpful. “Well, I was in a car accident…” 

“That fight was my fault,” Robby cuts in. “I had twenty-five missed calls after that appointment. I had my phone on silent. You guys wouldn’t have fought if I–”

Johnny groans. “Robby, don’t even go there. You’re not the one who texted him ‘hospital’ and ‘car accident’ without context and then laughed when he was worried about me.”

Sam sucks in air through her teeth. “Ouch.”

“I would have dumped you for sure.”

“Thanks, Hawk,” Johnny deadpans. “Appreciate the support.”

“Okay, okay,” Miguel says. “This is fixable! I mean… there’s so much stuff you can do to show him you love him before you propose. Make him breakfast in bed. Or write him a love letter. Oh! I’ve got it. You could learn Italian!”

Sam laughs. “Look, my Dad knows a lot of Italian words, but I don’t think he can actually hold a conversation. Or count past thirteen. Might be better if you don’t try to outdo him, actually.”

Johnny looks pretty relieved that he won’t have to battle it out with the Duolingo owl anytime soon. “Alright. Thanks, Diaz. I’m gonna make breakfast in bed tomorrow. It’s gonna be badass.”

“Good luck,” Tory says from over by the gate, impatiently fiddling with her phone. “Glad you solved it. Sam, can we go?”

“Yeah, sure,” Sam says, caught off guard.

She avoids Miguel’s curious look and stands up to walk over to her. Tory’s wearing earrings today. Tiny silver hoops. She usually doesn’t wear earrings in class. If Tory was any other girl, Sam might compliment them. But that’s not how it works between them. Never has been.

She’s just that much taller than Sam that any interaction between them feels tense by default. Raised chin and lowered eyes. Animal instinct.

Finally, Tory clears her throat.

“I just wanted to say, uh…”

“Shotgun!” Johnny calls out as he shoulders past. “Too late, Nichols. You snooze, you lose.” 

Sam can’t believe she’s going to help this guy become her stepdad.

*

She’s crossing in and out of Reseda like a shuttle bus. They let Johnny out at dad’s new place, and from there, it’s only a short drive back north to Tory’s apartment. 

Sam awkwardly waits in the parking lot until Tory comes back outside with her mom. Doors locked, even though she feels kind of mean about it. But Tory told her to lock them, and she’s the one who actually lives here.

When she sees Mrs Nichols and Tory’s iron grip around her mother’s arm, Sam jumps out of the car to help.

“Hey. I’m Sam… Um. Do you need…”

But Tory waves Sam off as she helps her mother into the front seat.

Sam wants to kick herself for her stupid Uber comment. She doesn’t know what exactly she expected when Tory said she had to take her mom to the doctor. Maybe a dentist appointment with anesthesia or something. Something small and simple that you happen to need a ride home for. Not this. Not someone who looks like she only has three ounces of blood left in her body.

“Hi Sam!” Mrs Nichols smiles. “Thank you for driving us. Tory’s always so busy with work and school and everything… Glad to see that she’s making some friends, too.”

Tory doesn’t correct her mom.

During the drive, Mrs Nichols (“call me Andrea”) asks Sam about school, and if she also does karate, and where she’s thinking about going to college, and Sam talks and talks, because Mrs Nichols’ voice is quiet and raspy, and Sam doesn’t want it to get worse by prompting her to talk more.

She waits in the car during the appointment, half-heartedly working on her packing list for Sacramento. They’re leaving tomorrow morning at five. The girls’ tournament is at two, they have the evening off, then the boys’ event at 8 am on Sunday, and a six hour drive back. Should she bring a book for the drive? Or just her headphones? Is it rude to ask how things went when Tory and her mom come back, or is it worse not to ask? 

Sam writes down ‘toothbrush’ three times before she gives up and puts her phone away.

After thirty minutes, Tory and her mother come back out of the hospital. Mrs Nichols doesn’t say a word on the way back, and Tory’s shrinking into herself in the backseat, and Sam stares at the street like her life depends on it.

*

Sam sends her first ever text to Tory while she’s lying in the bath tub. Which seems weird considering how long they’ve known each other, but then again, it’s not like they know each other well . They’re in two group chats together, but they don’t really talk. Tory’s not even on the shortlist of people who get a Happy New Year text, and Sam is not choosy with that list at all.

It barely takes Tory two minutes to answer.

Right. Fair enough. Sam knows how to take a hint. She doesn’t know how patient she’d be if her mom had such terrible health issues. 

She’s gotten out of the tub and wrapped herself up in her bathrobe by the time her screen flashes with a new message again.

If Robby were here this week, Sam could flop down on his bed, talk him into doing a face mask as he puts on Linkin Park, and chicken out on telling him about her crush on Tory for the hundredth time.

But he’s at his mom’s house right now. 

As far as Sam knows, she still has full custody, but Robby usually alternates weekly between staying at her place and his room at Dad’s new apartment. Sam only stays at her Dad’s place on weekends, so that means they get a whopping two days per fortnight that they spend at the same house.

Having divorced parents isn’t exactly an amusement park ride, but the worst part might honestly be that your textbooks, lipsticks and charging cables are always at the wrong apartment. Apparently this also applies to siblings.

When she steps out and closes the bathroom door behind her, Sam hears the quiet splashing of someone washing dishes.

“God, I’m tired”, she hears Dad say. “Let’s head to bed, okay?”

“Hey. Come on. You’re not gonna help with the dishes?”

They’re speaking softly. Anthony is asleep already, and they must be assuming that Sam is, too.

“We agreed you’d do the dishes, Johnny.”

“Yeah? When did we agree to listen to my dumb ideas?”

A quiet kiss. “Come to bed. Let’s do the dishes tomorrow.”

Last year, when Robby approached Sam so she could help with some matchmaking between their fathers, she knew it was an uphill battle. And part of her thinks it’s going to be similar with the proposal. They have enough issues on their own even if you put aside the ones they have with each other. 

But right now, as her Dad and Johnny pass Sam in the hallway saying good night, all wrinkled T-shirts and softness, she thinks, oh wow.

This is going to be the easiest thing in the world.

*

During the drive to Sacramento, Maya paints Anna’s nails Eagle Fang red. She continues with Devon’s nails, then her own. 

“Team spirit,” she says, then taps Hawk on the shoulder. “I brought purple if you wanna match your mohawk.” 

“Sick!” he says, eyes shining. “Is that gonna last until tomorrow?” 

Maya shrugs. “I’m not great at doing nails, but it’s gonna look punk rock even if it doesn’t last, right? You’re gonna leave purple nail polish flakes on everyone you punch.” 

“Hell yeah.”

Meanwhile, Johnny’s complaining about having to get up at four am, why did Daniel plan nine hours for a six hour drive, that’s just insane, “we didn’t even have time for breakfast”, and Daniel goes on about the hotel check-in, and don’t forget we’ll need time to sign up and get changed, and besides, the traffic, you never know much traffic there will be. 

„We’ll get breakfast when we switch drivers,“ he finally promises.

„It’s not the same,“ Johnny sulks.

Oh, yeah. Today was supposed to be breakfast in bed day. Johnny‘s planning skills really aren’t the best.

“Look what I’ve done,” Dad grins. “I’ve spoiled you with my pancakes.”

He pours Johnny a coffee from the thermos. Despite Dad’s warning to let it cool down a bit, Johnny immediately burns his tongue.

Sam doesn’t mind six hours of this, really.

Tory’s in the row in front of Sam, nodding along to her music like she’s listening to metal or something, but her headphones are so cheap that Sam can hear that it’s a pop song, and Dad’s laughing at Johnny and asking if he’s okay in the same breath, and the van smells like coffee and nail polish. Abby is braiding Anna’s hair. She turns around to see what’s happening in the last row – Robby, Miguel and Nathaniel – just as Robby reaches out to tap on her shoulder.

“How was your carpool?” he says quietly. “You drove Tory home, right?”

Sam looks at Miguel sleeping on his shoulder and wonders if there’s anything Robby’s wishes he could tell her when he’s alone in his room and Sam is at her mom’s house.

She shrugs. “Uneventful.”

*

The sports center is gigantic, so they have no trouble finding a corner to put their gym bags down. The girls’ event doesn’t look very crowded so far. It’s probably gonna be a 16 bracket, and who knows if they’ll even fill it up. Some of them might get a free trip to round two if they’re lucky.

Dad goes to confirm to the organizers that everyone is present, and Sam looks around, taking stock. Three Miyagi-Dos and three Eagle Fangs. And any time now… As if on cue, Aisha appears in the hallway and starts waving enthusiastically.

Sam practically throws herself into Aisha’s arms. “You made it!”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

Aisha moves on to hugging Tory.

Aisha’s parents were skeptical about letting her do karate again. It took until New Year’s to convince them, and until now to convince her mom to let Aisha come to tournaments. 

She’s dressed in a black gi with no logo. Unaffiliated, like Tory. Except Tory actually has a dojo and a sensei. Two, if you wanna be technical about it.

“Ready to kick some ass?” Johnny beams, slapping her on the shoulders. “Show ‘em how it’s done?”

“You know I am.”

Dad shows up with a stack of paper and does a double take when he sees Aisha in between his fighters. “Aisha! What a great surprise. Are we gonna see you on the mat today or did you make the drive just for moral support?”

“Oh, you guys are gonna need a lot of moral support once I’m done with you,” Aisha says, nudging Tory in the shoulder. “My mom’s here too, by the way. She’s still looking for parking.”

Just that second, Miguel rounds the corner in his Eagle Fang shirt and Aisha beams and runs over to say hi.

“Okay, I got some copies of the schedule,” Dad says when everyone’s finally assembled again. “They’ll probably announce it out loud any minute now. 15 girls in a 16 bracket, and the preliminary groups are randomized, which means anything is possible!”

Johnny hands out the schedules.

“Hey, I’m in a group with Tory!” Devon says. “Cool!”

“I know that for a few of you, this is your first tournament.” Dad’s eyes drift to Anna, Devon and Maya. “And I just want to remind everyone that if things go our way, you are going to start running each other on the way to the gold medal. That’s unavoidable, and it’s normal. Do your best, fight fair…”

“...and give ‘em hell,” Johnny ends the speech.

“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” Daniel says, smiling at him.

Johnny clears his throat, blushes a bit and then grabs the schedule from Daniel. “First fight in half an hour. Everyone go get changed and warmed up.”

*

The preliminaries fly by. Sam gets put into a group with three girls she doesn’t know – and wins two matches. The first by pure luck, the second by skill. The last one, she loses by the skin of her teeth. When the ranking for the elimination round is out, all the Miyagi-Fangs crowd around the paper. 

“Get out of my way, Hawk! You’re not even on that list!”

“Solid mid-field!” Devon declares proudly. “Hell yeah.”

Sam is ranked second, which means she won’t get the golden ticket (with fifteen people instead of sixteen, first place automatically advances to round two), but she’s still happy. Abby surprisingly ranks fourth, and Tory is deep in the middle, much lower than Sam expected.

They’re the final two people standing in front of the list, and Sam thinks of yesterday’s conversation and finds herself wanting to say something. 

“Victoria Nichols.”

Tory raises her eyebrows at her. “What?”

Sam smiles at her with an awkward shrug. 

“I’ve just never heard anyone call you by your full name. You don’t really seem like a Victoria.”

“You’re just jealous your name doesn’t mean winner.” 

And she leaves Sam standing by the list.

The first fight is Tory’s, so the whole group trails over to mat five to cheer her on. Demetri offers to hold her water bottle and she rolls her eyes at him.

“I won against that girl in the preliminaries,” Tory says. “I’m not gonna need water.”

Sure. Because that’s how that works.

Tory’s opponent is tall with short-cropped curls and muscular arms, and when she steps away from her sensei and turns around, Sam gasps.

“Alex Cohen?”

She didn’t expect to see anyone that she knows. Certainly not a girl who stood on the podium with her at the end of almost every kids’ tournament she participated in when she was eight. They fell out of touch when Sam stopped doing karate, and at some point Alex moved away, but–

Alex looks up in surprise, then beams at Sam. 

“Sam LaRusso? I thought you quit when we were kids! Hi!”

She jogs over and gives Sam a big hug. She’s at least one head taller than Sam, and Sam pretty much disappears into her arms. Her gi smells like it just came out of the laundry.

“Well, this tournament’s over,” Alex laughs as she pulls away. “Was nice while it lasted. Should have kept the car running.”

Sam giggles. “Yeah, right. I paused for six years. You must have, what, ten years under your belt now?”

Alex still has that sunshine disposition to her that she had when they were in elementary school, and the golden retriever vibes are only exacerbated by the gentle giant build she grew into.

“Nah. Just nine,” Alex says humbly, and looks up as the rest of the gang arrives. “Oh. Hi, Mr LaRusso!”

“Alex? Well, you sure had a growth spurt since I last saw you,” Daniel laughs, putting an arm around Sam. “Good to see you! Not great for our dojo, but… really great that you stuck with it. How’s Sacramento treating you?”

“It’s great. Can’t complain.”

Alex smiles, looking expectantly to the rest of the karate gang.

Daniel clears his throat. “Oh, right. This is Alex, she and Sam used to compete together in kids’ tournaments. This is Johnny, my boyfriend. He runs Eagle Fang. And his son Robby...”

Alex lights up. “Oh! That’s great, Mr LaRusso.”

Behind them, someone clears her throat. As always when Sam is having a good time, Tory sounds absolutely furious. 

“You wanna get on the mat, maybe?”

“Sorry. Of course.”

Alex joins Tory on the mat and stretches out her hand.

“Hey, good to see you again. I’m Alex.”

“I heard,” Tory says icily.

“Bet you wish you’d listened to my second-grader tips now,” Sam says loudly, because she just can’t help herself. 

Tory can’t win this fight with attitude alone. Not a chance in hell.

They bow as instructed, and Tory wastes no time. Flying tornado kick.

“Point, Nichols.”

Robby winces as Alex goes down like a sack of flour. 

The kick isn’t a problem, per se; Sam also does it every now and then. But the way Tory did it is all wrong. She doesn’t look competitive or decisive. She looks murderous. But Alex just laughs as she gets back to her feet.

“Damn, that was good. You get a hit like that, you can’t even be mad.”

Clearly, that does nothing to calm Tory down.

And then the fight begins for real. Unstoppable force versus immovable object. Tory circles and spins and flips and gets angrier and angrier when nothing works. Alex dodges with ease and finally makes her first attack. One-one.

“Point, Cohen.”

Tory looks like she’s about to set something on fire.

“Time-out,” Dad calls out, and the ref sends both fighters to their senseis. Tory comes over to listen to him talk about being focused and calm, but Sam can see that Tory is way too pissed off to listen to him right now. In one ear and out the other.

As Tory stands up to walk past Sam, Sam stops her as if to tighten her belt. “Double feint,” she says quietly into Tory’s ear. “Left-right-left.”

“Mind your own fucking business,” Tory whispers back, and steps back on the mat.

Sam’s mouth falls open. 

Fine. Suit yourself.

The worst thing is that Sam spots at least four instances where Tory could have made a point with this exact attack. Alex is an absolute genius of a fighter, there’s no doubt about it, but nobody’s defense is impenetrable. 

But Tory doubles down on angry-and-uncoordinated, wet eyes and dry panting, and it goes exactly as expected.

One-two.

One-three.

“Winner,” the ref announces and lifts Alex’ arm.

Tory genuinely looks like she’s about to cry, but she hesitantly accepts the fist bump Alex offers her.

“Thanks for the fight.”

“Hey, good job,” Miguel says as Tory steps off the field, but she ignores him and walks off towards the change room. Aisha goes after her.

*

The fights are so closely scheduled that they barely have time to watch each other’s matches. The boys trail from one mat to the next in their red and white shirts and hoodies, cheering at every hit.

Sam and Aisha win their first fight, as does Abby. Maya loses hers, but handles it much better than Tory did. She asks her opponent where she got her sparkly scrunchie and ends up exchanging contact information with her as they bond about fashion.

Devon and Anna get matched up for their first fight, which doesn’t surprise Sam. With six Miyagi-Fang girls competing, there was a good chance of this happening. Anna loses 0-3 and Johnny awkwardly pats her head as she tries to swallow her tears.

Sam finds Tory on the bench next to Robby, gym bag packed and dressed in jeans and t-shirt. It doesn’t have the Miyagi-Do tree on it like Robby’s does, but at least it’s white.

She is angrily watching Alex’s fight from a distance. The Fresno girl who got the lucky ticket for round two is suddenly no longer so lucky when faced with Sacramento’s six foot champion. 

Sam has another fifteen minutes until her next round starts, so she sits down next to Tory. After how stressful things seem to be with her family, she didn’t deserve to get eliminated in round one. (Sam knows Tory would hate her for acknowledging what she saw yesterday, even in the privacy of her own head. But it’s impossible to forget the figures of Tory and her mother disappearing across the parking lot.)

“You know,” Sam says, “just because Alex and I used to be friends when we were kids doesn’t mean I was giving you fake advice.”

Tory rolls her eyes but doesn’t protest, which Sam chooses to interpret as ‘Yeah, I know. Sorry.’ Tory’s not stupid. She must have seen the openings, too.

“I know it sucks, getting eliminated in round one. It’s just luck of the draw. I don’t know if I could have beaten her.”

“I don’t need your pity.”

Okay. So this is how it’s gonna be. Sam sighs and stands up. 

“Okay. Anyone want some Black Belt juice?”

Tory looks confused.

“It’s orange soda with food coloring,” Robby explains, showing her the pitch black drink in his plastic cup. “The dojo kids are selling it in the entrance hall.”

Miguel and Tory don’t look particularly excited, so Sam gets one for herself and chugs it in the corner before warming herself back up for round two. Dad gives her a little pep talk, and then the fights begin.

Sam wins against Devon, and Abby gets eliminated by the girl who beat Maya earlier. The final two fighters in the semi-finals are Aisha and Alex.

Johnny boxes her in the shoulder. “You got this.”

“Yeah, man, now you gotta bring it home,” Devon says.

Alex fights Sparkly-Scrunchie-Girl first. She’s also a Sacramento fighter, but the home field advantage doesn’t help her. She puts up a good fight, but loses 3-1. Alex is chivalrous the whole time, but her points are ruthlessly easy.

She makes this look like a casual warm up.

Then Aisha and Sam are up, and honestly, as stupid as it sounds, Sam barely has time to pay attention to the score with how much fun they’re having together. Aisha knocks her off balance and chops Sam’s midsection, then Sam gets her with a foot to her throat, and then suddenly the ref calls “Point! Winner!” and lifts Sam’s arm.

2-3.

They hug it out. Aisha’s hook kick has gotten straight up lethal, and Sam tells her as much, only for Aisha to lose it over how much more fluid Sam has gotten in her combo attacks, and then Dad and Johnny are hugging both of them before passing Sam off to the crowd of her cheering teammates. Tory’s holding a cup of Black Belt juice and nervously keeps it away from Miguel’s giant hugs and Nathaniel’s enthusiastic jumping. Honestly, Sam is having too good of a time to let Tory bring her down. She’s gonna be in the finals.

She’s gonna be in the finals with an old friend, and it’s gonna be one hell of a fight. But first, there’s another event up. The third place fight is the only time that eliminated fighters don’t go home after losing. Sam and Tory cheer on Aisha side by side, and it seems to work. She makes the final point with a straight punch, almost illegally beautiful in its simplicity. No frills. No ifs, ands or buts.

“Winner! Third place, Robinson!”

Aisha’s mom showers her in hugs and kisses as soon as the ref releases her arm, and Aisha’s way too happy to seem embarrassed about it.

Johnny looks particularly proud as well. He keeps saying things like, “I taught you that punch” and “always knew you were a winner.”

Sam always forgets how much faster tournaments get towards the end, as there are less and less fighters. It’s only five minutes until Sam’s fight, so the celebration for Aisha seamlessly transitions into a pep talk for Sam. Johnny and Dad have kept an eye on Alex as a potential opponent and give her a couple of good tips. Stay low, defense-defense-defense, she favors her right so place your counterattacks on the left.

And then suddenly, there’s a loud crash behind Sam.

“Oh, sorry!” Tory says. “I didn’t see you–”

“No, sorry, I wasn’t–”

There are black spots all over Tory’s shirt and Alex’ crisp white gi. 

What the hell is Tory’s plan here? Making it look like Sam has to resort to dirty tricks to get into her opponent’s head?

“What are you doing?”

“What?” Tory looks up, eyes burning. “I didn’t–”

“Don’t worry, Sam,” Alex says, still trying to wipe the front of her gi clean. “I told them that this would be a bad idea. Black food dye at an event where everyone’s dressed in white? Disaster waiting to happen.”

“Are you still allowed to fight?” Tory says, and Sam’s had just about enough.

She grabs Tory by the arm and spins her around. “This fight is between me and Alex. I don’t need your sabotage–”

“Sam!” Alex interrupts. “Sam. I ran into her. It was my fault.”

Sam looks up. “What?”

Tory winds out of her grip. “Fuck you, Sam. I hope you lose three-zero.”

And she stalks off towards the audience. Sam’s never felt this stupid in her life. Shit. She’s still standing next to Alex, unsure what to do, when their names get called. Alex hesitates before shrugging off her gi jacket, revealing a black sports bra underneath. A girl in the audience jumps up and whoops, and Alex laughs, blushing a bit.

“Didn’t bring a backup.”

Sam throws a quick glance to Tory, who’s staring at them and biting her lip with quiet fury. I should apologize to her, she thinks, but what she says instead is, “We should get on the mat.”

The starting announcement rings in Sam’s ears, and the first two points fly by her. One for Alex, then one for Sam.

Three seconds later, she barely remembers how she did it.

This day started out so good. Earlier, Sam was trying to be nice but Tory didn’t trust her. And just now Sam assumed the worst even though Tory did nothing wrong. How do they keep missing each other? Being nice doesn’t work. Being harsh doesn’t work. How the fuck is Sam supposed to talk to Tory without driving them both crazy?

Alex’ left opens up. Left-right-left, Sam thinks, and her hands follow without her even wanting them to. She barely misses the perfect window for the final punch, but pushes on regardless. Alex seems surprised by her fervor and Sam slips by by the breadth of a hair. Contact.

“Point, LaRusso!”

“Time out,” her Dad calls.

What? Sam is in the lead. She’s not doing anything questionable. She’s not a hundred percent focused, maybe, but as long as she’s winning…

“I’m in the lead,” Sam says when she reaches the edge of the mat.

“Yeah, we can see the scoreboard,” Johnny cuts in. “We can also see something’s wrong.”

“I got in a fight with Tory,” she says lamely. “I’m just distracted. Sorry.”

“Well, right now you’re in a fight with Alex,” Dad says calmly, and Sam loves him endlessly for not rolling his eyes right now. “And I want you to win, but I also want you to be proud of yourself when the fight is over. The first one is optional. So focus up and give it your all. Okay?”

Sam nods, bows and gets back onto the mat.

Alex and Sam circle each other for a moment, and now Sam is fully there. She dodges and blocks and weaves through Alex’ attacks, a small smile creeping onto her face. She loves karate. This is so damn fun.

Alex is calm during her fights, almost unnaturally so. If you see it on video, it looks like it’s been slowed down a bit. Like you’d have forever to defend. But you don’t. Because Alex has a way of entrancing you with her calmness, until you’re following her body exactly where it wants you to go.

Like a puppet on a string.

Two-two.

Shit.

Sam licks her lips and narrows her eyes. Alex’ sensei must have been watching her too.

They bow one final time, and Sam knows what she’s going to do. The moment they’re back upright, she throws herself across the mat, hurling herself at Alex, twisting in the air and slicing her uncertainty in half.

Flying tornado kick. 

She knows it’ll hit before she’s halfway there. 

And Tory knows it too, because Sam can hear her little half-swallowed ‘yes!’ in the utter silence of the gym.

She scores. She lands. She extends her hand to Alex on the floor as the ref rips her other one into the air.

“Point. Winner!”

Alex and Sam bow to each other again, more out of habit than anything else, and then Sam yelps as she’s being lifted on somebody’s shoulders. Dad looks like he’s on cloud nine as he hands her the trophy, and Johnny shouts “THAT’S MY BOYFRIEND’S DAUGHTER” to the adults standing closest to him (Aisha’s mom, who definitely knows that already, the announcer who can’t even hear him over the background music and the ref who couldn’t care less).

Sam laughs.

She’s won Sacramento, and she will win Santa Barbara and the All Valley. This is just the beginning. She’s so happy she could burst, but then she sees Tory, arms crossed cautiously, talking to Alex, and she taps Miguel’s arm so he lets her down. 

She hops over just in time for a long-haired girl to join them from the audience. She’s wearing a seventies-style dress and a glittering red “A” is painted on her cheek. Before any of them can say hi, she throws her arms around Alex and kisses her. “You were so good!”

Tory blinks a few times, looking back and forth in between Alex and the girl and then Alex and Sam. 

“Guys, this is my girlfriend Vanessa,” Alex says, setting her back down. “Vanessa, this is Tory and Sam.”

“Nice to meet you!” Vanessa chirps. “You guys were great, too!”

Sam isn’t sure how to say ‘I’m also queer so it’s really nice to see a gay couple here; also Alex’ haircut kinda tipped me off but I didn’t wanna assume’ without coming off like the most friendless weirdo of all time, so she settles for a smile and a thank you.

“Also, I just gotta tell you, you are my new best friend,” Vanessa says, smiling at Tory. “Can’t believe I got to see my girl fight with her shirt off. Can you do that at every event, please?”

“Vanessa!” Alex says, flushing bright red.

“Come on, we gotta go take a picture. Bye Tory! Bye Sam!”

And they disappear before Tory or Sam have a chance to react. Sam has no idea how to apologize without making things worse. It seems like every time she tries to explain herself, she says the wrong thing. So maybe she should start by saying the wrong thing. Maybe that will help.

“Splash me.”

“What?”

Sam points down at the cup Tory is still holding. “I’m sorry about earlier. Splash me and we’re even?”

She ends up looking ridiculous in her victory photo, black stains all over her left chest panel and shoulder, and her left ear is still sticky as she climbs into Miyagi-Fang’s rented van, but she’s so happy about her trophy she doesn’t even care. 

And, more than that: Every time she meets Tory’s eyes, Tory’s grinning. A closed-mouth, under-your-breath sort of thing. Sam thought she’d come out of this ready to win the next tournament, but all she can think as she clicks her seatbelt shut is ‘I can’t wait to lose my next gi.’

Chapter Text

ROBBY.

Sam picks a pizza restaurant for her celebration dinner. 

Johnny orders an affogato with two spoons for dessert. He pronounces it ‘avocado’, and Daniel looks so in love it’s honestly embarrassing.

It’s still weird for Robby to think of him as Daniel, but if you live at someone’s house every second week and he’s also dating your dad, it’s even weirder to keep calling him Mr LaRusso. Not that he didn’t try.

And then, one morning, six am kata in the living room, Robby miscalculated his turn, only narrowly avoided a collision with Sam and accidentally knocked into Mr LaRusso with his arm. ‘Sorry, Daniel.’ 

Daniel acted like it wasn’t a big deal, but he’d made those chocolate pancakes that he always makes when he wants to play nice with one of his kids. A Gesture with a capital G. And that was it, and now it’s Daniel.

“Don’t even think about bothering us in our room,” Johnny says when they reach the hotel lobby. “I don’t wanna hear a peep from any of you for the next three hours. Got it?”

“Unless there’s an emergency,” Daniel says mildly.

“Nope. They can call Greenpeace, not me.” Johnny grins as he steps into the elevator behind Daniel, then blocks Miguel from getting on. “Diaz, you’re a big boy. Get your own elevator.”

Daniel just shakes his head behind him. He’s probably seen Johnny’s MO often enough to know he’s trying to buy them a quiet evening with his weird antics. Considering the CIA shenanigans Robby put them through, he can’t even blame them. “Okay, team. Breakfast at seven. We’re in room 402 and I’m leaving my phone on.”

“Don’t tell them that!” Johnny protests as the elevator doors shut.

“Really, Johnny? Three hours?” Daniel teases, and then the elevator’s gone.

They put the younger kids in the second elevator – Bert, Nathaniel, Devon and Anna – and as soon as it’s gone, Abby steps closer and unzips her gym bag like she’s about to reveal the conspiracy of the century.

“I know Sam’s the queen of the day because she got the trophy, but I brought beer, so I think I should get a medal of my own.”

*

Robby throws a skeptical glance at the energy drink Chris poured for him – it’s a poisonous shade of green, but tastes like it should be blue. Across the room, Abby bravely improvises a speech, with the last can of the six pack ceremoniously tipped over Aisha’s cup and the other hand lifted for an oath.

“...hereby swear to… uh… not invite anyone under sixteen to the afterparties and to distribute the evidence into trash cans that cannot be traced back to us.”

Robby claps with the rest of them as Abby pours the last of the beer.

“Great oath,” Sam says and places the score-sheet-turned-paper-crown onto Abby’s head. “I present to you, the Vice President of the Sacramento Juniors.” 

She plops back down onto the couch between Abby and Aisha, spilling beer on her own jeans and interrupting Abby’s royal wave.

“Shit. Sorry.”

“Immediately got assassinated,” Abby sighs. “What a career.”

“We elbow the competition,” Aisha says.

“Are you okay, Abby?”

“No worries, I’ll just join whatever class action lawsuit the Sacramento girls are filing against you.”

Sam giggles and leans back in between them, the picture of joy and comfort. Robby tries to be happy for her instead of jealous.

They chose the boys’ hotel room for the afterparty. Hawk and Demetri on their bed, Robby and Miguel on theirs. Maya got the desk chair, and Tory and Chris are sitting against the wall.

It’s a math problem that looks like it would break any self-respecting calculator: Ten people, two dojos, six beer cans, and a metric ton of awkward history. But the excitement of karate – their first overnight tournament, no matter how small it might be, and an actual trophy for them – has a way of making things oddly easy. The addictive shortcut of new opponents. Us against them. 

“Never have I ever won a first place karate trophy,” Aisha starts, and under cheering from the whole room, Miguel and Sam toast to each other.

“Hm,” Abby says. “This is kinda lame, but… never have I ever eaten a minibar snack at a hotel. My dad always said that’s a total ripoff.”

Robby thought it’d be awkward not to drink – he hasn’t stayed in hotels a lot, period – but almost nobody does, except for Aisha and Demetri.

“Well, we can’t let that stand.” He laughs, opens the minibar and grabs a single package of M&Ms. He’s got a bit of cash to spare. It’ll be good for morale. 

“Tonight, we’re gonna party like we can afford five dollar snickers bars.”

His friends cheer as the package starts making the rounds. Robby fishes out two red M&Ms and ceremoniously carries them back to Miguel. “Treat yourself. Okay, who’s next? Sam. Hit us.”

Sam has to think about her suggestion for a moment, clearly combing the afternoon for a good prompt. Finally, she grins. “Never have I ever fought with my top off.” Almost all of the guys have to drink for that. 

“Ooh, we should make this a game within a game!” Demetri suggests once the giggling dies down. “If you get everyone to drink, you get to pick the next game after this.”

“Yeah, but the rest of us get to decide if it counts,” Miguel says. “You can’t just say ‘never have I ever breathed air’ and win. That’s bullshit.”

Chris thinks about it for a moment, and by his expression Robby can tell he’s got a pretty good idea for his win. “Never have I ever had alcohol.”

Robby and Maya’s cups stay put. 

They aren’t close enough for him to ask her if it’s a taste thing, a religion thing, an Al-Anon thing or if she just doesn’t feel ready, but it’s a relief either way. Miguel and Chris made a pact not to drink the night before a tournament, and Sam usually just takes a few sips of whatever she’s having. That makes things easier, but it’s not really the same thing.

If you’ve met Johnny Lawrence, it’s probably pretty self-explanatory why Robby doesn’t drink. Hawk was a bit surprised, and that was honestly pretty funny.

Wait, so you were sober when you freaked out on the beach? I always thought you must have been wasted.

Robby still isn’t sure how to deal with everything now that his situation is better. It’s weird if people assume that he’s one of the LaRusso kids who gets cars and trust funds for his birthday. It’s also weird to go around telling everyone the old fairytale of the barfly and the deadbeat now that both his parents have their shit pretty much together. 

Maya’s up next. “Never have I ever fallen into the pond at Miyagi-Do.”

This one’s close. Everyone except Hawk and Aisha.

Then Tory’s contribution –

“Never have I ever kissed a girl.”

Another near-miss. Everyone except Maya and Tory. 

This is more what Robby expected from this game. If they keep this going for another round or two, who knows what kinds of topics will be on the table. At North Hills High, they never got more than three prompts in until someone sprung a ‘never have I ever gone all the way’ on the group.

“No win for me. How surprising,” Tory says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Your turn, Hawk.” 

“Interesting,” Hawk says, narrowing his eyes at Tory while already lifting his own cup to his lips again. “Okay. Get ready for my royal flush. Never have I ever kissed a guy .”

Robby and Aisha's eyes meet in stillness as the room moves around them. And everyone else--

Hawk laughs into his cup. “Yeah, right.”

“Never? ”, Demetri says.

“Yeah, man,” Chris frowns at him. “You’ve never played truth or dare? That's, like, a baseline dare. Girls think it’s hilarious.”

Robby crosses his arms. “I’m not, like, morally opposed to it. Just never happened. Didn’t know I was on trial here.”

“You’re not,” Sam says gently. “Let’s move on.”

“Hell no!” Demetri protests. “You’re telling me you and Diaz have never made out? Not even once?”

Miguel coughs into his drink next to Robby and honestly, Robby doesn’t blame him. This is just ridiculous.

“Wow, I must have just had amnesia again,” Robby sighs dramatically. “We actually make out every time you turn your back. Get over here, sexy.”

Miguel laughs as he pushes him off, and Robby leans back on his pillow, shaking his head at Demetri.

“I’ve never made out with a guy. Last I checked, Miguel’s a guy. If you can’t puzzle that one out, they should knock down your SAT score.”

Hawk snickers. “Last I checked?”

Robby grabs the pillow from behind him and tries to whack Hawk with it over Demetri’s head. The alarm clock on the nightstand between them nearly goes flying, but Demetri grabs out for it just in time, fishing it off the ledge in a half-circle. 

“Sand the floor,” Chris nods sagely. “All your life, you’ve been working up to this moment…”

“Anyway,” Abby interrupts pointedly and gestures at her paper crown. “I hereby decree that we are moving on. Demetri, you go.”

And Robby knows she means well, but really, Demetri’s turn has scared him from the beginning. He knows that Demetri is about to contribute some really weird shit. But at least it’s gonna be Miguel’s turn right after, and then Robby’s, which means they’ll both have an opportunity–

Wait a minute.

Miguel drank.

“Never have I ever been–” Demetri dramatically begins.

“Wait, when did you kiss a guy?” Robby blurts out, turning around.

“Oh. At my old high school in Riverside.” Miguel shrugs, then nods in Chris’ direction as if to underline his point. “Truth or dare.”

A couple weeks after the senseis got together – and were way too busy boning to chaperone anyone – Robby and Miguel went to the Halloween dance as an inflatable dinosaur and Jurassic Park ranger. Very fun, very creative, didn’t break the bank. Ten out of ten costume idea, as far as Robby’s concerned. 

Demetri and Hawk were trying to win votes for the costume contest (Demetri as Spock, Hawk as Joan Jett), Sam was dancing and letting her hair down, and then Sam’s friend Moon walked right up and complimented them on how original their couple’s costume was. They laughed it off, and twenty minutes later Miguel came out to him in a random hallway next to a water fountain and nervously asked if Robby still wanted to be friends. 

(Obviously. What the fuck.)

Miguel also said he had ‘no real experience’ with guys, so Robby didn’t ask further questions, assuming that meant ‘none at all’. 

This whole time, Miguel’s been walking around making out with dudes and keeping it a secret?

“Anyway,” Demetri says loudly, ironically echoing Abby’s salvation attempt from earlier. “I guess I’m changing my question. Never have I ever had a little bit of a crush on Robby Keene.”

“Come on, man,” Miguel groans. “Really?”

Across the room, Sam is the picture of innocence. They’d decided to bury this. If Johnny and Daniel really are getting married, that’ll make Sam and Robby stepsiblings. They absolutely cannot be anything even approaching exes. It’s weird enough that they are , people don’t need to know about it on top of that. Some people may have drawn their own conclusions after the school fight, but as far as Robby can tell, it’s more rumor than written history. He isn’t sure who knows what details exactly, but it’s probably enough for some people to know Sam is lying.

Meanwhile, Maya toasts to Robby from across the room. 

“Don’t worry, they found a cure. Having a crush on you is so 2018.”

“Ouch. Thanks a lot.”

Robby flicks an M&M in her direction, still halfway debating if he should waste his turn on ‘never have I ever had a crush on Demetri’ and hope nobody lifts their cup. But Demetri doesn’t seem concerned about that possibility. He’s clearly buzzed (from, what, the four sips of beer he’s had? Man, this guy is a lightweight) and he’s staring at Miguel. 

“You can’t lie during never have I ever.”

“Look who’s talking,” Hawk mumbles.

Robby’s pretty sure that everyone lies during never have I ever.

Miguel shrugs. “I’m not lying.”

Robby rolls his eyes. “Don’t you have hobbies, man? Leave him alone.”

“Yeah, come on, Demetri,” Aisha cuts in. “This is getting boring. Please save us, Miguel.”

“You guys are amateurs.” Miguel clears his throat and then looks around with a victorious smirk. “You’re being way too specific. Never have I ever had a crush on someone in this room.”

Considering the legendary 2018 love square school fight, he’s got four drinkers for sure. Maybe more, depending on what the others have going on. But Abby and Chris don’t drink.

“Looks like you haven’t learned the ultimate secret of Miyagi-Fang yet,” Demetri says. “Karate is an aphrodisiac.”

At least he seems to have forgotten his little Miguel-and-Robby-are-boning conspiracy.

“Just because you guys are dumb enough to bang your teammates doesn’t mean all of us are,” Abby says sweetly, throwing an M&M in the air and catching it with her mouth on the first try. “Yeehaw!”

Robby cocks his head as he looks around in the room. For a moment, he meets Miguel’s eyes, and the possibility of messing around with that loose thread dangles enticingly in front of him. Miguel would lie to Demetri. Sure. He wouldn’t lie to Robby.

Never have I ever lied during ‘never have I ever’.

But then Miguel smiles back at him, the picture of innocence, and Robby lets the idiotic thought float away. They’re best friends. There’s no need to start questioning everything he knows about Miguel. It’s not the first time someone assumed that something’s going on between them. It happens. Whatever.

One thing’s for certain, though – he has to win this thing to make sure nobody picks truth or dare for the next game.

“It’s like you guys don’t even wanna win,” Robby says smugly, finally looking away from Miguel. “Never have I ever walked in on the senseis making out.”

The whole room groans as they lift their cups to drink.

*

They play King’s Cup for a while, and then they just hang out talking while cartoon reruns are playing on the hotel TV. 

They’re all buzzed from Sam’s win and it’s a lot of chaos with ten people – Robby can barely turn around on the spot without getting in the middle of a physics joke, being asked about karate techniques or shown another instagram picture of the guy Abby’s been texting.

Finally, around midnight, Demetri announces he needs his “Champion’s Sleep” and starts throwing people out. Miguel is the only one of them who remembered to bring toothpaste, so they all crowd into the bathroom at the same time. Hawk sprays on way too much deodorant, and Demetri changes into plaid pajamas like a seventy-five year old, and then suddenly it’s just Miguel and Robby left. Robby rinses out his mouth and then turns around, leaning against the sink as he watches Miguel leaning against the opposite wall, brushing his teeth. He’s already dressed for bed in shorts and a washed-out band shirt. Is that one of Robby’s? Maybe.

“You wanna get outta here?”

Miguel frowns and takes a few steps closer. Robby doesn’t give up his spot, so Miguel leans down next to him as he spits his toothpaste into the sink. 

Robby looks at the tag sticking out of the shirt. Yup, that’s his.

“We have breakfast at seven,” Miguel says, coming back up.

He’s also leaning against the sink, the opposite way, and for a moment they’re just looking at each other over their shoulders as Robby tries to figure out when Miguel turned into such a baby angel goody-two-shoes.

“I’m not saying we should run away and join the army. Let’s just… explore the hotel a bit.”

“You wanna steal stuff from the vending machines.”

“How dare you. I’ve never stolen anything in my life. Ever.”

“Well, according to Demetri you’ve stolen my whole heart.”

Robby laughs. “Oh, man. I’m starting to regret bringing him in on the great divorce conspiracy. Lyle went too deep undercover, now he can’t let it go.”

Miguel chuckles along as he washes out his toothbrush. 

“What code name did we give you again?” Robby muses. It seems so long ago. Italian Job nicknames and John Tucker Must Die group chat names. He was Stella. He remembers that. Sam was Handsome Rob. “Left Ear? You masterminded that whole thing with me. You should have been Charlie.”

Miguel looks up, curls falling in his eyes.

“Well–”

Robby nudges him with his shoulder.

“You know what I mean.”

*

The pool is technically closed, but it just takes one silent look between them before they’re both taking off their clothes and jumping in in their underwear.

“So what’s the deal for this tournament?” Robby says.

They’ve done that before all four tournaments so far. Whoever places higher gets to make plans that the other can’t veto. A couple weeks ago (third place at the San Diego Under 18 Pacific Cup), Robby brought Miguel along to the skate park and taught him beginner’s moves. Before that (sixth place at some tournament whose name was just a wild salad of letters and numbers), Miguel dragged Robby to minigolf with his family. He would have come even without the tournament deal, but he wasn’t about to tell Miguel that.

It raises the stakes. Makes things interesting.

“I have something,” Miguel pants, treading water. Everything looks blue in the low lights, and his eyes are pitch black. “If I place higher, you gotta come to the movies with me next week. They’re showing Star Wars. The original one.”

“That’s not even that bad. Remember when you made me watch that Captain America marathon?”

“You liked Winter Soldier.”

“I just said I was surprised it had a plot line.”

“Yeah, that’s tough guy talk for ‘I liked it’.”

Robby spits a mouthful of water at him, and Miguel yelps as he tries to swat it away with his hand. He doesn’t quite make it. His parries are getting better and better, but the water slows the circle of his arm. 

“If I win,” Robby says, “you gotta go to junior prom.”

All three times he’s asked about Miguel’s plans for junior prom, Miguel has started monologuing about the tournament schedule. Fuck that. Demetri has promised he can “hack” into the DJ’s playlist, and even though Robby and Demetri don’t have the same taste in music at all, he’d go for the chaos alone. He can’t show up without Miguel.

Miguel blinks at him a few times. “Are you serious? You mean–” 

“‘... you mean the night before the All Valley?’,” Robby cuts in mockingly. “I know. You’re a champion, you have a title to uphold, you have to sit in your room doing push-ups all night. Very important stuff. But if I win, you’re going. Single tickets are 50 dollars. Two people are 75.”

“Okay, but you pick me up with Sensei’s bike so we can have a badass entrance.”

“Oh, you’re playing the long game!” Robby teases. “I show up with the bike, your mom kills me because she doesn’t want her precious Miggy to get on a bike, and just like that, you’ve got a clear run for the All Valley trophy. Smart.”

He’s had his license for a couple of months now, even got his own helmet for his birthday, and Johnny lets him borrow the motorcycle sometimes – but they’ve yet to take a drive together. Not that Robby can’t blame Carmen. As an X-ray technician, she’s probably seen a pretty impressive ‘worst of motorcycle injuries’ highlight reel. 

“It’s prom. I can talk her into one exception.”

“Sure you can.”

“My yaya can talk her into one exception,” Miguel amends. 

“Okay,” Robby says, treading water, their legs just a half-imagined myth beneath the surface. “Okay, I’ll pick you up.”

The whole air is blue around them, and the splashing water makes the moment almost too real, too much going on at once.

Robby kicks his legs up to float on his back, and Miguel does the same. Their arms collide, but Robby doesn’t pull away. They’re so used to each other that Miguel feels like an extension of his own body. Doing the wheel technique with him would be ridiculously easy if they didn’t accidentally distract each other with jokes and banter all the time.

“Okay,” Miguel says. “Ideal proposal. If you got to plan it. Go.”

Robby’s immediately in battle mode.

“Miyagi-Do. Definitely. Where they had their first kiss and everything. Except I’d like to not be there this time around. Ugh.” 

“See, because I was thinking, the beach where they met...”

“That’s good! Wow, yeah. We gotta keep that in the running.”

“First of all, we have to ask Sensei if he does want to do it at the All Valley. Do you think Sensei LaRusso is a public proposal guy?”

“I think he wouldn’t mind if it were public, but he’d feel weird stealing our thunder. If two All Valley winners got engaged at the All Valley, nobody would be talking about anything else for the next month.”

“Yeah, but that’s why it’d be kind of cool, right? Like… the symbolism! You beat my ass on this mat, do you wanna be with me forever …”

“Welcome to watch-mojo, and today we’re counting down the top ten things you can’t say in front of people who don’t do martial arts.”

Miguel laughs. “I mean, we know who’s taking the trophy home. I still can’t believe Sensei said that to a doctor!”

“I can. I really, really can.” Robby lazily kicks his legs to stay afloat, and his head drifts against Miguel’s shoulder. “I might honestly be Team Beach, if I think about it. I can’t believe I’m voting against Miyagi-Do.”

“I’m Team All Valley. It’s so romantic.”

Robby sighs, and stares up at the slow spiral of the ceiling. This feels so nostalgic – the idea of plotting for his Dad’s benefit again, googling ‘date ideas’ only to talk shit about every example listed, conspiring over lunch as Demetri passes around his Mountain Dew, listening to voice messages from Miguel with his headphones on because the shoji screen sectioning off his room is so thin and he can’t risk Daniel waking up next door… 

“Is it weird that I’ve missed this?”

“I mean, yeah,” Miguel says. “Probably.”

Robby sends an easy spray of water across Miguel’s face, or wherever he hopes Miguel’s face is. Miguel splutters and folds in half. Got it in one.

He floats in anticipation until Miguel’s revenge washes over him.

*

“You can shower first,” Robby whispers to Miguel as the door clicks and whirs under the touch of their room card. “I’ll go after.”

They try their best to be quiet as they walk in, depositing their shoes and half-wet clothes by the door. 

Miguel vanishes into the bathroom while Robby checks if they’ve woken anyone up.

Hawk is dead to the world, his hair brushed out over the pillow, but Demetri is still sitting up next to him in bed, his face lit up by his phone screen. He looks like a mom from the movies waiting to bust her kids for breaking curfew. More like a grandma, actually, in those pajamas. 

In all fairness, they did kind of slip away without telling anyone else where they were going.

“Why are you wet?”, Demetri whispers.

“We went to the pool.”

“Sounds platonic.”

Robby flips him off wax-on-wax-off-style, not entirely sure if Demetri can even see it in the darkness, but there’s a bit of a chuckle there.

“Never have I ever snuck out,” Robby whispers. “Hope you left me some of Chris’ green bullshit so I can take my drink.”

“Let me know how you get on with the list.”

“Go to bed, dumbass.”

“Can you guys stop whispering?” Hawk hisses. “I’m trying to sleep!”

Robby follows Miguel into the bathroom and plops down on the toilet lid. What did he want to look up on his way up here? Right. Rankings. Some dojos post overall rankings, others only post results of specific tournaments. Sacramento doesn’t do either, but they post plenty of photos and articles of their winners. Alex Cohen is unsurprisingly the star of the girls’ division. The boys’ trophies are pretty evenly distributed between two fighters.

“Ying and O’Malley,” he says out loud.

Miguel shuts off the shower. It’s a fancy shower with a glass wall, and it’s fogged up from the heat. 

“What?”

Robby holds up his phone even though there’s no way Miguel can see the photo through the steam – gold medal, silver medal, matching triumphant grins. “Highest ranked Sacramento fighters. You asked earlier. Kevin Ying and Taylor O’Malley.”

Miguel grabs his towel and steps out to grab the phone from him.

“The hot water supply has taken a heavy beating from Diaz… Is Keene going to be the final nail in the coffin?”

“If you used up all the hot water, I’m throwing you back in the pool.”

*

They meet O’Malley and Ying in the semifinals.

Robby lands a hit that surprises even himself, but Ying is the full package. Speed, precision, endurance, passion and brains. Ugh. He does everything Robby does, except better . By the end, Robby barely has time for his own counterattacks, he’s just blocking and blocking and hoping Ying will accidentally run into his fist. But no. Three-one comes around rather predictably.

His senseis pat him on the back and congratulate him anyway.

“You can still make third!”

“That was a great fight! You really held your own against him.”

Then Miguel is up, and he handles it gorgeously. He barely gives O’Malley time to prove how good he is. He goes in at full speed and lands two hits before the guy even knows what’s happening. He catches up by a point, and Miguel lets him close enough for a second one.

And then he hits him with a beautiful ‘paint the fence’ and claims his third point. Robby’s the first one on the mat.

“Finals! You’re in the fucking finals! That was so good!”

“Good job, Miguel!” Daniel says proudly. “That was a great way to combine techniques. Hope someone got that on tape.”

Back pats and high fives all around, and then it’s just the two of them again. 

“Guess we’re seeing Star Wars,” Robby says and hands Miguel his water bottle. They both still have fights coming up, but even if Miguel loses and Robby wins, second place beats third. Bye bye, prom. He nods over his shoulder towards the others. “Should we…”

“If you want.” Miguel’s still out of breath from the fight. “I mean, Demetri is gonna be whispering fun facts in our ear all the time, and he’ll probably want to bring Hawk, and if the four of us are going, we can’t not bring Sam, and then it’s a whole thing…”

“Yeah. Cool. Good-old-fashioned one-on-one indoctrination. Just the way you like it. But if you think Sam and Demetri are gonna back down from recruiting me for Team Star Trek, you’re nuts.”

Miguel smiles at him.

The microphone static crackles as it gets turned on again. It’s almost a command of its own by now.

“The fight for third place: Keene and O’Malley on Mat Two!”

Robby stands up under whooping and cheering from the Miyagi-Dos and Eagle Fangs. They haven’t done too badly for themselves today. Even their lowest-ranking fighter today, Nathaniel, got twentieth of twenty-nine. 

Hawk in sixth place, Demetri in tenth. Four fighters in the top ten is more than even Sacramento can say for itself.

“Wish me luck,” Robby says to Miguel.

“You don’t need good luck with him. You need good defense.”

Robby sweeps invisible dust off his shoulder. “Lucky me.”

*

It’s enough for third place in the end. Robby wishes it didn’t matter so much to him, taking home a trophy, but it’s addictive, the physical proof that he’s doing well at this. Johnny takes a picture of Robby with his trophy to send to Mom (“Say karate!”), then hands him the phone back with anticipation.

“‘s it look badass or do you want another?”

“Yeah, Dad, I’m sure it’s badass.” Robby pockets his phone, honestly sort of terrified what embarrassing poses Johnny is going to make him do if he gets his hands on it again. “Go talk to Miguel, he’s up in five minutes. We can take more pictures when we have bronze and gold.”

And he sinks into the group hugs of his friends. Even Aisha, who he hasn’t really said more than two sentences to (both of which were probably “Hi Aisha” while she was on a skype call with Sam), comes over to congratulate him. Before the celebration fully dies down, Johnny’s back.

“Diaz needs a moment.”

Miguel is standing by himself, eyes closed, doing breathing exercises. Probably the one where you have to clear all thoughts from your mind. 

It’s not a big tournament, but Miguel is hungry for that win. He hasn’t been first in anything since the All Valley, and Robby can tell it bothers him. When Miguel opens his eyes again, Robby gives him a silent thumbs-up across the mat. Miguel smiles.

Meanwhile, Johnny’s asking Aisha about her new sensei. He’s obviously fishing for compliments a little, but Aisha doesn’t seem to mind.

“Oh, she’s cool. She really helped me work on my stance. And she said it’s usually pretty hard to get girls to stop hesitating and go all in, and that’s it’s really cool that I don’t have that problem–”

“Hell yeah, you don’t.”

“I miss my old gi though. This one’s kinda plain.”

Johnny shrugs. “Just knit your own logos and glue ‘em on there. Robinson Karate. Boom. Add some fire decals. Skulls.”

Aisha frowns.

“What do you think knitting is, sensei?”

Robby watches them with a smile -- Aisha pretending she didn't miss him, Dad pretending he's not flattered by the half-automatic 'sensei'. Only when Robby turns away does he notice Daniel waiting for another moment alone with him. The initial congratulations are always pretty rushed as everyone tries to get a piece of the action. Robby steps out of the crowd and walks over.

“That was fantastic, Robby,” Daniel says, and immediately goes in for a hug. “So much good stuff. I’m really proud of you.”

“Thanks.”

“It’s great, watching the two of you. You know, Miguel, he’s very active, in the opponent’s space, but sometimes he doesn’t go in right away, he just provokes them to do something and then he gets his point via defense… And you lure them in by being calm and then jump forward with the attack… You’re both melding styles, but in completely opposite ways. Would you mind if I build a lesson around that?”

“Yeah, sure,” Robby says. “That’d be cool.”

Praise from his father is its own kind of trophy – and it’s embarrassingly important to Robby, to the point where he feels like he should buy a diary and journal about it every time it happens. 

Having Daniel be proud of him is different. It feels non-negotiable. 

He wonders what Daniel would say if he knew about the proposal, what he’d think of Robby’s involvement. Sure, Johnny asked for their input this time; they’re just helping him out instead of masterminding the whole thing for him. But Robby knows that this isn’t just about Johnny and Daniel. 

It’s about his own place in Daniel’s life. He wants there to be a document that says they’re family.

Obviously, whatever emotion that is makes for a pretty weird facial expression.

“Everything alright?” Daniel says.

“Yeah, of course. I just… I forgot to… I wanted to call my mom, uh…”

He awkwardly brings up his phone to look at the photo Johnny took – and finds the blurriest Dad selfie of all time. Staring past the camera at the spot where Robby’s standing, his grin wide and triumphant. Say karate! 

Robby grins.

“Actually... Could you take a photo of me?”

Chapter Text

JOHNNY.

“And now you wait,” Miguel yawns over FaceTime. His room is still so dark Johnny can barely make out the shape of his face. He’s just spent almost five minutes talking Johnny through the waffle batter recipe, and he’s clearly ready to hit the hay for another hour.

“How long do I wait? I don’t want to burn them.”

“There’s a light, sensei. It turns on when the waffle’s done.”

“A light. Got it. Thanks, kid.”

He could have woken up Robby to help him, of course, but then Robby would be awake, and Johnny would know he’s awake, and that would put a serious damper on the romantic atmosphere.

The screen is pointed at a corner of Miguel’s window now. He’s probably nodded off again. Johnny hangs up with a smile and texts him a thank you and a few thumbs up emojis. He didn’t plan on waking Miguel up so early, but in his defense – how is a normal person supposed to understand the difference between baking soda and baking powder?

A few minutes later, he gets to admire the fruits of their labor. He’s got orange juice, some cut up strawberries, and he’s only burned the waffles a little bit. Little bit of whipped cream… This is about to be a five star breakfast. 

With the six am kata during Robby’s weeks, and Daniel’s weird morning shower bullshit, Johnny is never the first person to get out of bed. On the rare occasions that he does wake up before Daniel, he usually snuggles up to him for some attention or morning sex. Which means he needs to hurry before the alarm clock goes off next door, because once Daniel wakes up alone, he’ll come investigate where the hell Johnny disappeared to. 

He pours two coffees and places them on the tray before his gaze catches on the espresso machine. Daniel does like espresso. If he wants six stars…

Johnny’s watched him make espresso before. Can’t be that hard. Turn it on, grind the coffee, fiddle that thing under the water tap and let it run through. Easy, right? 

He puts the portafilter in the right spot, flips the switch and the grinder roars to life with a ‘krrkkrrkrkrkr’ worthy of a mid-sized construction machine.

“Shut up!” he hisses at the machine. “Shut the fuck up!”

Is that thing always this loud? In the hustle and bustle of weekend breakfasts, frying pan going, playlist blaring, it always seems to disappear among the noise. How has he never noticed that it’s that loud? Jesus.

“Johnny?” Daniel’s voice comes through the bedroom door. “What’s going on?”

“Go back to bed!” 

“Did you break a cup again?”

“Yup. All over the floor. Stay where you are.”

Daniel sighs. “Okay.”

Fifteen seconds later, Johnny nudges the door open with his foot. Fuck the espresso. He’ll finish it later.

“Oh Jesus,” Daniel laughs when he sees the breakfast tray. “What did you do? How many cups did you break?”

“None, you dick,” Johnny grins. “Keep asking dumb questions and I’ll eat it by myself.”

They have twenty minutes until Robby’s alarm clock goes off. He puts the tray down on his side of the bed and sits to join Daniel. 

“Morning, babe.”

“Good morning. For a second I was worried the espresso machine was possessed. How come I’m getting breakfast in bed?”

Cause I wanna marry you.

“Cause you’re sexy.”

“You know what, I’ll take it.” Daniel pulls him on top of him and kisses him, slow and syrupy. God, he’s still hard. Johnny could get used to breakfast in bed. He could get used to all this.

Their routines. Their room. Johnny’s movie posters in Daniel’s frames, Daniel’s water glasses everywhere, Johnny’s socks under the bed, the lava lamp on the dresser doing its little nonsense dance routine. 

Daniel under him, his left ear still bed-warm, the slightest shade of stubble on his upper lip.

Mid-kiss, responsible as ever, Daniel remembers that soon, Robby will be up and the waffles will be cold. Good point. They eat, Daniel making the most obnoxious get-the-balance-right references as the tray wobbles on top of the comforter.

Johnny spills orange juice on a pillow, but his quick reflexes allow him to slap it straight across the room so the rest of the bed doesn’t get wet.

Daniel laughs into his coffee. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“Don’t say that,” Johnny grins. “You haven’t seen what I did to the kitchen.”

“And I never will, because you’re cleaning every last bit of it.”

Johnny grins. “Yes, sir.”

He tosses a blueberry into Daniel’s cup. He can’t flick it like a bottle cap, but it lands with perfect precision. This would have been harder with the espresso cup, Johnny admits. Silver linings.

Daniel steals the last bit of waffle off Johnny’s plate and puts the tray away on the side table. His hair is still in disarray. Johnny loves seeing him like this. Daniel in the morning is a softer creature, somehow. More real than any other time of day. 

“Do you still want to come to the closing event for the blood drive?” 

Shit. Was that tonight?

After their sexy time at the hotel (two minutes of handjobs followed by five minutes of making out while almost falling asleep because fuck driving long distance), Johnny offered to go to one of the LaRusso car dealership sponsor events. That seems like the kind of thing that married couples do. Tag along to each other’s boring events. And Daniel seemed surprised when Johnny offered, which tells him he really needs to try harder for this husband material audition.

“Yeah, of course I’m going.”

“Great. I have the morning off work. Do we need to get you a suit?”

“I have a suit.”

“Suit, singular?” Daniel says with an incredulous smile. “As in… the suit you wore to the committee hearing last year?”

Have they really not been to any events in the last half year where Johnny’s had to wear a suit? He wore a collared shirt and pullover to their short visit to the Christmas party, and he hasn’t set foot into the country club since. Bad enough that so many people saw him dressed like a fifty-year old business major.

“Well,” Daniel says diplomatically. “Let’s put it that way, if you wear that, I’ll be very happy to rip it off of you at the end of the night.”

“You know the list, LaRusso,” Johnny challenges. “What are you allowed to pay for?”

“Dinner, gas and Robby’s college. I know. Thing is, this would just be for my own selfish need…” – Daniel leans in for a kiss – “... to see my boyfriend…” – kiss – “...in a really nice suit…”

“Yeah?” Johnny mutters, letting Daniel climb on top of him.

“If you think about it, it’s more for me than for you.”

“Uh-huh…”

“Could you do me that favor?”

“Maybe,” Johnny breathes, cupping Daniel’s ass. “What do I get in return?”

“I’m sure I can come up with something…”

And right on time, Robby’s alarm clock goes off in the other room.

“...tonight. I got kata to do. Come on.”

Johnny groans as Daniel kisses his nose and rolls off him.

“Kata can start five minutes late…” 

Daniel laughs. “You have a kitchen to clean, if I remember correctly.”

*

He makes fresh waffles for Robby while he’s at it, and finishes what Daniel lovingly calls ‘the most horrific espresso I’ve ever had’. Robby rolls his eyes at the strawberries, but when Daniel’s not looking, he gives Johnny a thumbs up that looks genuinely impressed.

When Johnny climbs into the car’s passenger seat an hour later, Robby already off to school on his old bike, Daniel is talking to someone over the car’s hands-free kit.

“-- and we’ll have it repaired until the end of the week. If you let me apply the discount, that’s eight hundred and fifty. We could do fifty a month with no interest. And if you’re ever in need of a pause, we can arrange for that.”

“That’ll take until September next year to pay off,” Tory sighs.

Daniel doesn’t say that she can pay it off faster if she happens to have it faster, and Tory seems to appreciate not having to lapse into the obvious ‘but we both know I won’t’ silence.

“I mean, thank you, that’s really nice, but…”

“If you want, you can also pay it off by working at LaRusso Auto.”

Tory seems to need a moment to let that sink in. Then she laughs. Johnny doesn’t think he’s ever really heard her make that sound before.

“Yeah, cause my inviting personality is gonna inspire people to spend the big bucks.”

“I was thinking about helping out in accounting.”

“I don’t know anything about accounting.”

Daniel’s got a budget sheet that takes two minutes to load. With everything Tory’s doing for her family, she probably does, too. She calculated the end date of that payment plan so fast–

“You could reduce your hours at your other job, put in twenty hours of work at LaRusso Auto next month and we’ll waive the bill. With the employee discount on top of it, that would shake out more or less the same anyway.”

“You’re gonna pay me 850 dollars for twenty hours of work?” Tory repeats in disbelief. “That’s an hourly wage of $42,50. You… Wait, do you mean 850 before taxes or after?”

“Sounds like our accounting department is in dire need of someone to stop me from running my business into the ground. And if you want an alternative, you can help me with the children’s classes on Mondays. It’s an hour before your group, so you’d just have to come a bit earlier than usual. We’re up to twelve kids now. I could use a co-sensei.”

That was Johnny’s idea. Giving her options, in general, but also to give her that specific option. Out of their best fighters, she might not be the obvious choice for co-sensei material. With Miguel’s patience, Robby’s intuition and Sam’s kindness, there’s lots of competition. Hawk would do well, too, Johnny thinks – the younger kids all admire his hair and tattoos, and he clearly likes himself in the cool big brother role. But Daniel also seems to see what Johnny sees: Tory is caring but straightforward, and she’s devoted to karate.

And unfortunately, right now, she’s silent on the other end of the line. Johnny’s a bit surprised that she doesn’t immediately jump at the chance. At her age, he’d have killed for that opportunity. 

“I usually work Mondays before training,” she finally says, with a sigh deep enough for someone twice her age. “I don’t know if my boss is going to let me move things around. I’m already on thin ice with him. I think we’ll just do the payment plan for now, if that’s okay?”

“No problem at all. The car should be ready on Friday.”

*

Daniel definitely has a better eye picking clothes for other people than for himself. It’s a good suit. Cool blue. It does bring out his eyes. 

For the first two minutes in the change room, Johnny’s posing in the mirror, flexing, unbuttoning and rebuttoning. Oh yeah. This is it. This is a husband you bring to fancy events. This is… Yes.

He still needs to shave when they get home. He usually just doesn’t bother on tournament weekends. 

This is different, though. Fancy event means clean-shaven.

He adjusts the pants a bit, gets down on one knee. Which one is it supposed to be anyway. Left? Right? He tries to pull the tag out of the pocket as if it’s a ring and nearly falls over. Okay. Ring out, then kneel. Should be easy to remember.

“Can I… come in?” Daniel laughs from outside the change room. “Or do you and your reflection need some time to yourselves?”

His hand appears on the curtain, and Johnny leaps to his feet, kicking his discarded jeans halfway across the change room.

“Hey, hey, hey! One second!” 

“What are you doing in there?”

“Mind your own business, LaRusso.”

Button, rebutton. He likes himself in this.

And then something shifts. He’s not sure why, but suddenly he no longer feels dressed up, but in costume. Like other people will see him and know he doesn’t belong.

They genuinely might, if he’s done work for them before. His old buddy Dave started his own woodworking business, and he calls Johnny for jobs sometimes – dojo stuff all happens in the afternoon, so he gets to fill a morning here and there, and it’s decent money. It’s a hell of a lot better than working for that asshole Mike back in the day. 

But yeah, there’s still a chance someone’s going to recognize him and say something dumb. What is he supposed to–

“Do you… like it?” Daniel probes.

Suit’s great, it’s the rest that’s the problem. But that’s not really something the shop guy can help him with. They don’t have measuring tape for that shit.

This time, Daniel doesn’t wait for an answer and sticks his head through the curtain. When he sees that Johnny’s fully dressed, he pulls it aside, beaming.

“Oh, that’s a good blue. I don’t think we’ll make it to that party...”

His eyes tick up.

“You don’t like it?”

“It’s okay.”

“We can try another one. They had a white one, too… not sure if that’s your thing, but we could…”

“No, I said it’s okay.”

“What’s with the nerves? Nobody expects you to hold a speech. We’ll be in and out, two hours tops. It’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, until one of them remembers me from two years ago and wonders why you showed up with some broke janitor.”

He tried so hard to make it sound like a joke, but Daniel doesn’t chuckle. He doesn’t even smile. There’s a disappointment there that Johnny usually only sees when one of the kids messes up.

“That’s not just yourself you’re insulting here, Johnny. You have three seconds to take that back.“

Shit.

“Yeah, of course. Sorry. I didn’t…”

“No, you didn’t. Obviously.”

There’s a quiet, comfortable silence as Daniel softens again.

“Johnny… We don’t have to go. You know that, right? Amanda’s going. Forget about the party. Do you like the suit?”

He does like it.

The price is less terrible than what he expected. Johnny was half worried Daniel would try to talk him into some eight thousand dollar bullshit. But he should have known better. His mom wasn’t born rich either, and she used to take him to department stores, too, when he got his first suits. Good quality, good advice, and you weren’t getting robbed. 

Other people might have used Sid’s credit card to buy all sorts of extravagant bullshit. Laura bought herself the freedom to look at the quality first and the price tag second. He remembers himself, seventeen, sulking in this very store because she wouldn’t buy him Armani.

He can still see her over by the ties, running a careful hand over the fabric. That long, feathery-soft hair she was so proud of. She had lemon yellow curlers in all sorts of sizes.

“Price is a bit high,” he says, clearing his throat. “Normal suit that doesn’t fall apart should be like, two-fifty, right? Three hundred, max?”

“Well,” Daniel says wistfully, like the days of two hundred dollar suits are a fond memory for him, too. “Inflation’s a thing, unfortunately. Things get more expensive.”

“Thought I was just getting more broke.”

Daniel smiles, runs a hand over Johnny’s lapels. 

Yeah, they’re getting that suit. Johnny can even afford to pay for it himself. Of course they’re getting that suit. Johnny mentally files it away for the proposal plan.

“I'll get it.”

Daniel beams like the nerd he is. “You can use my rewards points.”

*

When they get to the Red Cross event, fashionably late because they still had to get changed after training, Johnny immediately finds an excuse to escape to the bar. 

He’s been to plenty of nice parties back in the day. Spiked the punch, danced with Ali, danced with other girls to make Ali jealous… but he’s never given a shit about being liked. He was Sid Weinberg’s kid. It was other people’s job to make him like them.

He sighs, letting his gaze trail across the room. Next to him, some older guy is bragging about being a universal donor, whatever the hell that means. 

Johnny was fully prepared to donate himself, but apparently the actual blood drive happened over the last three days while they were in Sacramento. Tonight is just for celebrating how successful the blood drive was and taking fancy pictures with a big check. Makes sense. Probably not the best idea to start drawing blood after everyone’s had their fill of scotch.

Now all he needs to do is not embarrass himself.

He swore he’d ignore the group chat Robby made, but it seems quicker than trying to find Google. And with how quickly the answers come in, some of the kids actually seem to be online.

Johnny isn’t really sure on that last part, either. Tory isn’t really close with any of the other kids, and she doesn’t seem to give a shit about the whole Johnny-and-Daniel thing. Maybe that’ll make for good balance, having someone in there who doesn’t go 150% in. That is, if she doesn’t quit the group. Deletes it. Whatever.

He looks back down at the display. 

Hawk has changed the group name.

Alright. Be chill. Say nice things about Daniel. Call him your boyfriend. 

That doesn’t sound too hard.

“Can I get you anything to drink?”, someone behind him says.

“I have a boyfriend,” Johnny replies automatically, and turns around to look into the perplexed face of the bartender.

Shit. Still counts, though.

Three bar stools over, the universal donor guy laughs and raises his glass in Johnny’s direction. “Right answer. Put his drink on my tab, Pat.”

Johnny thanks the stranger, then looks at the menu and swallows. It doesn’t matter what sobriety milestones he hits, he still feels like a little kid every time he has to tell a bartender he wants a ginger ale. 

Wait. He’ll get a drink for Daniel. That way he can look classy in front of the bartender and be supportive. Killer.

“Can I get one of those strawberry martini things?” He puts some wrinkly dollar bills on the bar. “And a coke for me, please.” 

“Sure.”

He finds Daniel by the LaRusso Auto sponsorship banner, saying hi to Amanda and some other guy. Amanda beams at Johnny when he steps closer.

“Johnny! Hi! I didn’t think you’d make it! Who’s your new sugar daddy?”

“Hey now, that’s no way to talk about your ex-husband,” Daniel says as Amanda leans in to hug Johnny as well.

“Oh no. I mean that cute bartender who gave him his drink for free.”

“Oh, yeah,” Johnny says, holding out the red martini. “I got a free drink. Here you go.”

Daniel gives him a hesitant smile.

Oh. 

Johnny knows that Daniel drinks at work events, he just hadn’t really connected the dots on the fact that Johnny’s absence is probably why. He’s told Daniel that it might not even bother him, tasting alcohol on someone else’s mouth, but Daniel’s the careful type. If there’s even a ten percent chance that that would make it harder for Johnny, he won’t risk it.

“Let me get this straight, you got hit on so you got me a free martini? You’re the man of my dreams.”

“Too hot to leave unsupervised.”

Daniel sneaks in a kiss that is just as short as it is dirty. “Yeah, you are. And I am still planning on kissing you again tonight, so I’ll give that to Amanda, if you don’t mind…”

“This is Mark, by the way” Amanda says loudly, a we’re-not-alone that’s very hard to ignore. “He’s in advertising, he’s done a few campaigns for the dealership. And this is Johnny, Daniel’s partner.”

“Big shoes to fill,” Johnny grins at Amanda, who smirks back and lifts the free martini she just scored.

“Aren’t you glad the heels are optional.”

He genuinely forgot there’d be at least one person at this event besides Daniel that he gets along with. How could he have forgotten about Amanda?

“Great to meet you, Johnny,” Mark says, shaking Johnny’s hand. “Are you in cars, too?”

“Part time sensei, part time woodworking.”

“Cool, cool.” Mark’s throwing hopeful side glances to Amanda. Probably barely heard Johnny’s answer at all, just checking if he needs to be worried about Johnny running around at the dealership looking this hot. “So… not an office romance, then. How did you two meet?”

“We’re high school sweethearts,” Daniel grins, sneaking an arm around Johnny’s waist, and Johnny wants to marry him right here, right in the middle of this lame party.

Amanda laughs out loud, confusing Mark.

“Yeah, we, uh, we met in high school,” Johnny explains awkwardly. “Didn’t really get along back then, but we reconnected a few years ago... We have a dojo together. It’s pretty sweet.”

That’s the tamest version of their backstory he can manage, and by Mark’s polite nod, it sounds like he did an okay job at it.

Say something nice about Daniel.

“And he’s got a great ass, so that helps.”

Daniel nearly chokes on his sip of coke.

Right. PG-13. He kinda forgot about that part.

Amanda’s laughing up a storm, but Mark’s still doing his best to hold an adult conversation.

“A dojo?” he says, now with genuine interest. “So that’s, uh, kung fu? Or…? I don’t know much about martial arts, sorry.”

“Karate.”

“Ah, should have known. That’s the valley for you. Smog, earthquakes and karate. Demand must be crazy, right? Bet you got classes every day.” 

“Yeah, it’s wild. Great kids, though. Really, uh… rewarding. Seeing them get better, you know.” Johnny isn’t sure what he expected of this evening, but this definitely isn’t it. Mark actually seems like a pretty solid guy. “We usually do warm-up separate, and then each of us leads part of the class. Or by ourselves, if one of us can’t make it at all. Still kind of figuring out this two-dojos-in-one thing. And Daniel just started a class for eight to ten year olds, so if you got any kids…”

“Not as far as I know,” Mark quips. “A nephew, though. Might get back to you on that. When… Oh, hold on, I need to go talk to Barry for a minute. He looks like he’s about to make a French exit. Great to meet you, Johnny, I’ll see you all… Barry!”

Amanda sticks around for a few minutes of small talk, in which she delicately avoids the topics of both Mark and karate. Fair enough. When she walks off to talk to somebody else, Daniel turns to Johnny, eyes shining.

“A great ass, huh? Are you trying to get us kicked out?”

“Not yet,” Johnny counters, kissing him. “But I’m getting there.”

Daniel smiles into the kiss, barely managing to put the glass on the table next to him before Johnny pulls him all the way in.

He keeps his hands on Johnny’s cheeks after the kiss, scrubbing gently through his weekend beard. 

“Ah, shit,” Johnny grumbles. “Knew I forgot something.”

“Oh no,” Daniel purrs. “What a tragedy.”

“Keep it in your pants, LaRusso,” Johnny chuckles, even though he’s ridiculously relieved that Daniel doesn’t find him any less presentable like this. “Pretty sure I forgot my phone at the dojo. We can swing by after this.”

By now, ‘forgot my phone at the dojo’ is established shorthand for the kids are home, let’s fuck in privacy and come home late .

“Gladly,” Daniel grins, sneaking in another kiss. “Or I’ll just blow you in the parking lot if you’re not careful. You know that beard does things to me.”

“Didn’t know that was on the table. You really know how to sell a guy on this trophy husband shit.”

His heart nearly stops when he realizes what he’s just said, but luckily Daniel seems to take it for the joke it is without unwrapping the truth inside. 

“Don’t get too excited,” Daniel says smugly. “We just got here.”

*

After an hour of turning down free champagne and half-hearted mingling with more or less likeable bigwigs, Daniel finally introduces Johnny to the doctor who helped organize the blood drive. Also, coincidentally, the same woman whose roof Dave’s company fixed a few weeks ago. She was nice enough. Tipped them all fifty dollars.

“Francesca and Darryl,” Daniel introduces them. “My boyfriend, Johnny.”

“Oh, I think we’ve met before,” the woman says pleasantly, looking at Johnny. “I can’t put my finger on it right now, but I never forget a face.”

“Not me,” her husband grins. “I called Daniel ‘David’ for half a year. Nice to meet you, Johnny. Or to meet you again.” 

Johnny is too nervous to return the grin. He’s not sure if Francesca actually forgot him, or if she’s pretending not to remember to help him save face. Is she being friendly? Is she embarrassed on Daniel’s behalf?

“We always say we’ll go to fewer events this year, but we never do,” Darryl sighs. Are you guys coming to Phil’s fundraiser in two weeks?” 

“Sure, why not,” Johnny says, and earns a surprised side glance from Daniel. “If that’s not a tournament weekend.”

“It’s a Tuesday, I think. I can’t do weeknights anymore, Fran. I’m an old man. How unethical is it to tell people I have to go do an emergency surgery five minutes after we arrive?”

Francesca shakes her head with a smile. “Well, rumor has it he’s doing a chocolate fountain, so… you’re just shooting yourself in the foot, really.”

“Shot in the foot…” Daniel muses. “That sounds like a good emergency. You should steal that.”

It’s actually a nice conversation. Not as pretentious as Johnny expected. Nobody asked him if he’s read Proust or where his boat is docked or if he can recommend any real estate lawyers. Francesca talks about her son’s first year in college, Daniel talks about the hockey game they saw last month, and then Francesca asks if Johnny has kids, and they talk about Robby for a bit. When the conversation loops back around to where they’ve met Johnny before, Francesca decides that it must have been at a LaRusso Auto event last fall, and nobody corrects her.

Once Mr and Mrs Francesca have fucked off again, Daniel maneuvers himself back into Johnny’s arms. “ Please tell me that the idiot who wouldn’t give you a glass of water wasn’t Francesca.”

“No, no. We fixed her roof in March. She was nice to me.”

“Good,” Daniel says, his expression softening. “If this is weird for you, we can go home, by the way.”

“Nah, I’m cool.”

He grabs for the glass of coke on the table – only to immediately spill some on the sleeve of his brand new suit.

“Shit.”

“One second–” Daniel says, reaching out to help.

“Just stop,” Johnny says, grabbing the napkin from him and pushing his hand away. It’s like he’s trying to make Johnny feel – 

“Just fucking stop, okay? I’ll fix it. Haven’t even worn this for an hour–”

“Hey,” Daniel says, once Johnny’s cleaned up his suit the best he can. “Hey. Johnny.”

“What?”

Daniel just looks at him, honest and beautiful, and waits for Johnny to be drawn back into his orbit. Like a marble giving in to gravity, a planet rolling back into place. Johnny steps closer, and Daniel doesn’t flinch when Johnny’s soda sleeve brushes his. 

And all at once, Johnny realizes that Daniel gets it. That he remembers what this feels like, that he probably still feels like that sometimes. Most people here seem alright, but Johnny met enough old money families that think everyone else is paying in a whole different currency.

He doesn’t want to be all haughty about it, but he also doesn’t want Johnny to go without. Same with Tory. Offering the discount without pushing it. In all honestly, Johnny couldn’t really say how to be a decent person with a decent amount of money. 

He clears his throat. 

I love you.

“Ruined your suit.”

“It’s your suit. And we’ll get it dry-cleaned.”

It’s honestly such a relief that Daniel has no idea how this is supposed to work either. How they’re supposed to be a functioning couple with their money issues, their karate issues, their parenting issues. Sometimes it feels like they’re still figuring everything out from the ground up, even half a year in.

“You still wanna blow me in the parking lot?” 

“I always wanna blow you in the parking lot,” Daniel sighs. “It’s infuriating. I should sue you for how little work I get done these days.”

Johnny chuckles, his earlier restlessness half-forgotten already. “How long did you say we have to stay?”

“We already talked to Francesca, so we just need to take a few pictures in front of our banner, and we can be outta here before ten.”

That doesn’t sound too bad, Johnny thinks. 

And it’s typical, really. It’s as if the joy conjures him up from thin air just so that he gets to ruin it. One moment, Johnny’s looking absent-mindedly into the crowd, and the next one he’s there.

“Ah, shit.”

“What’s wrong?” Daniel says.

But Sid has already reached their table.

“I knew you’d land on your ass without my help,” he rasps. “Didn’t know we’d reached gay-for-pay broke. That’s a new low, even for you.”

“Yeah, don’t worry about him, Sid. I put out.”

“My condolences,” he coughs in Daniel’s direction.

He sounds even worse than last year. Can’t he just die already?

Daniel bristles. “I’m sorry, who are you?”

“This is my dick of a stepdad,” Johnny sighs, nodding at Sid. “And this is Daniel LaRusso. My boyfriend.”

Sid’s the one who taught him you always introduce the less important person first. The more important person gets that one-second head start at knowing who they’re dealing with. Sounded fair enough at first. But he’s lost count, over the years, of how many times he’s heard ‘This is my stepson Johnny, and this is…’

“Boyfriend,” Sid scoffs, sizing Daniel up. “Good luck with that. He’s an ungrateful little shit, let me tell you that.”

“He is no such thing,” Daniel says, not even a half-second pause, in there with a paint-the-house, easy as breathing. “I don’t know what gives you the right to come in here and hurl abuse at–”

Sid lets out a hoarse laugh. “Suit yourself. Don’t be surprised when you wake up one day and you need to lock all your credit cards. Some animals can’t be domesticated, huh, Johnny?”

“Maybe I haven’t made myself clear,” Daniel says in a low voice, stepping forward. “If you don’t–”

“We don’t want your blessing, man,” Johnny interrupts, a hand on Daniel’s shoulder before he gets them both kicked out. “And we don’t want the plague either, so back off. Don’t you have an assistant to fire somewhere? Or a limo to die in?”

Daniel looks back at him. Takes a breath. A dangerous calmness settles into his face. 

“Well, he must have been the one who paid for your karate lessons back then, right?” he says, looking only at Johnny. “We wouldn’t have met without him. If you think about it. What other blessing could we want?”

Sid chews around on his answer for a bit before swallowing it and giving Johnny one final look of contempt before slinking off.

“That was an illegal kick,” Johnny says the moment Sid is out of earshot.

“Johnny–”

Johnny grins. “What? If you don’t want me to sound turned on, stop being sexy. Not my fault.”

But Daniel doesn’t seem to be in a joking mood.

“You didn’t say he was…”

“Oh, I don’t think he gives a shit either way. He always finds something to bitch about. At least now he’s only got the energy for two insults before he has to go take a nap. Should’ve seen him before he fucked up his lungs.”

Daniel looks like things are slotting together for him somehow. Johnny isn’t sure if he likes it, the idea of Daniel judging him in the privacy of his own head. He held his own, right? He told Sid to fuck off. Not like he took it lying down.

“Johnny, you know that’s not normal, right?” he says carefully.

“Yeah, it is. He’s always like that.”

“Right, but…”

“Yes, I know he’s an asshole. I’m not stupid.”

“I didn’t say you were. I just…” He takes a breath. “Wow. I can’t believe he’d come here and say that in front of all these people. What a piece of work.”

“Tell me about it.”

Daniel throws him a searching look. He’s is probably just filing this away for another day, but Johnny will take what he can get.

“Wanna get out of here?”

*

They barely make it into the parking lot in front of Miyagi-Do until they’re on top of each other, desperately fumbling to undo seatbelts, panting and laughing into each other’s mouths.

“If the kids knew how much you curse when that door is shut…” Johnny says, running a hand through Daniel’s hair.

Daniel shushes him and kisses Johnny’s throat, a vague threat of teeth ghosting over his bare skin. “Behave or I’ll buy you another car.”

Johnny laughs, low in his throat. If he died right now, he’d be grinning like an idiot all the way down to hell. He grabs Daniel’s hand and pulls it up towards his face, and Daniel cups his cheek and bends down to bite his lip, his other hand fumbling around at the back of the glove box for that little black zip bag with the lube in it. 

Johnny loves how he kisses. He either does it with quiet, subtle passion, like there’s some dark glow in the pit of his stomach – or like now, hungry and eager, feverish. There’s no such thing as a casual kiss from Daniel LaRusso. 120% or nothing. It’s the hottest thing in the world.

And it’s ridiculous how easily Johnny is turned on these days.

He doesn’t know if it’s because he was alone for so long and now he just needs to get it all out of his system, or if it’s because this is the first time he’s been doing things with a guy and his nerves are still a bit in overload.

Maybe he has mercury poisoning from how much fish he eats now (at least once a month, which is objectively way too often).

Either way, Daniel pretty much just needs to look at him these days and Johnny’s drooling on his shirt. Super fucking awkward.

Yeah, they’ve been going out for about half a year now, and Johnny technically kind of lives at Daniel’s place. But that doesn’t mean he has to be desperate about it. Hawk, that little shit-stirrer, has referred to Johnny as “whipped” on more than one occasion.

He’s been trying to be cool, but the second Daniel touches Johnny when they’re alone, even if it’s just his leg pressing against Johnny on the couch while they’re both on their phones, all logic flies out the window. It’s like he’s seventeen again, only without the stamina and without the muscle definition.

Most nights, lazy sloppy blowjobs is all they have the energy for. Johnny’s gotten a taste for thigh sex, too – quick, dirty, effortless.

But when they have the time, Johnny goes down on Daniel while he fingers him open, and once he’s ready, he slides his cock into the tight, wet, explosive heat of Daniel’s body.

Daniel never shuts up, and it’s perfect. One time he corrected Johnny’s grammed mid-moan and Johnny nearly came on the spot. 

He’s had sex just for the orgasm’s sake, and he’s had sex with people he loved, but it’s never been like it is with Daniel. That first time they hooked up, buzzing from Merlot and adrenaline, it didn’t even feel like the same thing. Felt like they invented something new.

Would be cool if Daniel was even more in charge, if they tried it with him on top again, but they’re sort of locked in now. They have a routine, and Daniel clearly loves it. Johnny’s not about to complain and ruin it.

Besides, would he even say? 

Need you to stop letting me win. 

Daniel puts his hands on the roof of the car as Johnny fucks his thighs, steadying himself, pretty and obscene. The sliver of skin between the buttons of his half-open dress shirt drives Johnny wild.

Impossible to tell who’s in charge right now – Daniel’s wrapped around him, slick with lube, but he’s been calling all the shots since the car stopped, and Johnny’s the one who’s almost fully dressed while Daniel is unraveling on top of him, writhing and moaning, but Johnny’s in the suit Daniel bought him, and all the power dynamics are so deliciously, shamelessly melting into each other until you can’t tell where they begin and end – fucking balanced , of all things, Johnny thinks as he snaps his hips, it’s so like Daniel LaRusso to balance his hang-ups against Johnny’s until they get a dirty fantasy to sink their teeth into.

Daniel leans forward for another deep kiss and then puts his hands on Johnny’s shoulders, sliding up and down as he takes over the pace, and Johnny lets his hands drift up to Daniel’s belly, his chest, his throat.

Scrapes a fingernail over Daniel’s hidden nipple, bares his shoulders so he can bury his face into Daniel’s warm skin.

“God, just like that,” Daniel pants, still rising and falling like the tide, like the ocean coming out of its bed to swallow Johnny whole. “So good for me, Johnny. You’re perfect.”

Johnny swallows, not even capable of more than breathing.

Daniel slows down a bit, sucks on Johnny’s earlobe.

“Love that beard so much,” he whispers. “Y’make me so happy–”

Johnny actually lets out a sigh at that, deep and urgent and you-can’t-do-this-to-me.

“You need it faster, huh?” Daniel says, eyes glinting, slowing down, but not stopping. It’s not a question. “You really meant it last year when you told me to fuck myself, huh?”

“Maybe I still mean it,” Johnny teases, waiting for that spark inside Daniel’s eyes to ignite, and it does. He seats himself fully on Johnny’s lap, lets a hand vanish in his lap – the warm, slick drag of his palm around Johnny.

“Yeah?” Daniel whispers, grabbing a handful of Johnny’s hair while his other hand is still rubbing over his beard. “You want me to fuck myself, Johnny?”

“Not sure you’d do a good enough job, LaRusso,” Johnny taunts between kisses. “Maybe I’ll have to do it for you.”

Daniel moans, squeezing tight around his cock.

“Can we take this inside?” Johnny murmurs. “Not that I don’t love this, but… feel like I wanna stand up.”

“Mh,” Daniel hums into Johnny’s hair. “Standing up sounds great, actually.”

“Knee bothering you?”

“Little bit.”

“No problem. My fault for fucking such old men.”

Daniel laughs out loud. “I’m only eight months older than you. And don’t think you can sneak that plural past me. What other old men are you fucking?”

Johnny leans in for a few lazy kisses. “Sometimes I hook up with the 1984 All Valley Winner. Or the ‘85 winner, if I wanna mix it up… My roommate, too. And the car dealership guy from TV, kick the competition or whatever…”

“Really, how’s he?”

“Eager. They all are. And I still keep coming back to you. How about a little gratitude?”

Daniel bites Johnny’s lower lip.

“You know, for a moment there,” he whispers. “I was really worried you were going to say you’re fucking your co-sensei.”

“Not yet… But that guy’s pretty much begging to get railed on the daily. I’m only a man. I can’t resist forever.”

Daniel grabs his chin as he leans in for a kiss. “Sounds like I gotta put you on a leash.”

Johnny moans into his mouth.

He ends up railing Daniel over the dojo kitchen table, still mostly dressed as Daniel moans below him, rocking back into him, saying “you know i can – harder – ugh – holy – so beautiful – just like that –”

When Johnny finishes, he slowly pulls out and turns Daniel around. Drops to his knees, swallows Daniel’s dick down in one smooth motion, ready to put everything he’s learned over the past half year to good use.

Daniel thrashes under him, hands running over Johnny’s jaw, temples, neck, the praise spilling out of his mouth nearly unintelligible. He bites back a scream when he comes in Johnny’s mouth, and Johnny rubs his hands over Daniel’s thighs.

“Hey,” Daniel whispers, blinking down at Johnny in soft, lazy bliss.

Johnny smiles up at him, saltwater mouth and firecracker heartbeat.

“Love you.”

Chapter Text

SAM.

The hole Cobra Kai ended up leaving is mostly cosmetic. Once the other dojos in the Valley noticed that Cobra Kai had wheezed out its dying breath, they carefully tiptoed closer to see what they could loot from its empty husk. 

They’ve seen a few dojos rebrand themselves in black and yellow, with snakes incorporated in the logo or with short punchy three-line slogans. Hawk calls them copycobras. 

Sam wonders what it says about her that it doesn’t distress her, seeing neon green letters spelling ‘VIPERS KARATE DOJO’ painted on a building on her way home. She finds it weirdly soothing, actually. The inheritance was split so often, spread so thinly, that Cobra Kai’s ghost is now less than the sum of its parts. Everyone else stealing a part of their marketing demystifies the building blocks, and it assures her that Cobra Kai really is gone. Without death, there can be no inheritance.

Mom’s working from home today, and when Sam finally gets home, she’s on the patio with a lemonade and a tablet, scrolling through a 2-for-1 sale on bikinis.

“What’s up?” Sam says, dropping onto the chair next to her.

“I think I’m bored,” Mom says incredulously. “What’s happening to me? Should I take up painting? Isn’t that what divorced women are supposed to do, rediscover their love for painting or something?”

“I thought it was gardening.”

Mom snorts. “That, too. God, can you imagine? Me and the bonsai scissors against the bougainvillea? Suburban midlife crisis. All that’s missing is a half-marathon.”

“You could come to karate if you want?”

Mom gives her a narrow-eyed look as she pours Sam a glass of lemonade, and Sam smirks at her.

“Anthony’s at Zach’s house, they’re having a… LAN party or something,” Mom says, pulling her feet up under her sundress. “What about you? Maybe we could hit the town, you and me, once you’re done with homework. See about those bikinis. Do a little movie night when you get back from training.”

Sam’s got a planning committee meeting at six. Miguel added it to the chat at the very last minute, which means Johnny must have asked to meet up with them. She definitely can’t tell her mother the real reason why she can't make it.

“Uh, yes to movie night, raincheck on the bikinis. I’m… seeing someone later. We’re going to a diner.”

Technically, none of that is a lie.

Mom perks up. Hopefully getting to be the first person with a juicy bit of gossip can make up for the shopping spree she’s missing out on.

“A date? Do I get to hear about your… mystery man slash mystery girl?”

Both her and Dad have been aggressively inclusive ever since Sam came out. It’s like they’re trying to outdo each other in who can be less casual. 

Christmas family dinner, Daniel seething because Johnny had eaten half the dessert in the middle of the night, then making out with him in the kitchen when he thought nobody could hear, only to come back to the table with some corny joke about it being ‘easier to have good taste in women than it is to have good taste in men’ –

And Sam had laughed and blurted out ‘yeah, right. My taste in girls is the worst.’ Not exactly what she’d planned, but at least nobody asked too many follow-up questions.

“How you met, maybe?” mom prompts.

I kissed her boyfriend, she beat me up in front of the whole school, and she might not even show up to the diner today. She’s probably muted the chat.

“We’re in English class together,” Sam says, clinging to the fact that this is, in fact, true. She’s not lying to her mom or anything.

“Shakespeare’s still got it, huh?”

“Well, we’re doing Hamlet, so… not really that romantic.”

Mom smiles as she inclines her head. “Anything else? You’re really making me work for it here.”

“Nothing to tell. I don’t really know much about her yet.”

“Well, that’s what dates are for,” Mom says, reaches out for the tablet again and drops an overly casual, “Do you want me to drop you off at the diner?”

Sam laughs. Typical.

“No, thanks. I’ll go get started on homework.”

She grabs her glass to take it upstairs, but her Mom lays a hand on her arm that tells her in no uncertain terms that she'll be staying down here for a bit longer.

“Oh, and… Sam? Your dad told me you dropped Tory off at home the other day. After her car broke down?”

“Yeah, why?” 

She knows her Mom is pushing for more, probably still trying to get her to talk about her arm. About that week right after the school fight when she had nightmares every day and kept wandering around the house with a glass of water at two in the morning. Sam isn’t sure why that would still matter. It was half a year ago.

“I’m really proud of how you’re handling her being in Miyagi-Do,” Mom says softly. “I know I’ve said that before, but that can’t have been easy.”

“Thanks, mom.”

“How’s it been, with her being back at school, too? And don’t just say fine–”

“Well, it is fine,” Sam says. “What do you want me to say? It’s the same as at the dojo. She minds her own business. She’s not bothering anybody.”

“Good. That’s good.”

There’s a bit of a pause, and Sam wonders, heart sinking, if Mom hears that strange new tint of protectiveness in her voice.

This isn’t Sam’s business. Tory would kill her if she knew Sam was making it her business. But she can’t say nothing. Whatever’s wrong with Tory’s mom looked pretty close to being terminal. And that appointment, whatever it was about, clearly didn’t have promising results. Tory’s drowning in this. Sam won’t refuse her a lifeline just because of her past.

“Did you talk to her mom? When Tory came back to school?”

“Well, she has health issues, so we didn’t talk in person," Mom says. "She called me.”

“Really? What did she say?”

Mom gives her a curious look. 

Back then, Sam asked why Mom would support Tory, why she was suddenly encouraging Sam to give second chances – all that after making such a big deal out of Sam being twitchy for most of September. But she never asked her mother how she knew so much about Tory’s situation. It reminded her too much of things she wanted to put out of her mind.

“That they were both very sorry for what Tory did,” Mom finally says. “That she’d be very grateful if we helped her daughter get another chance at an education.”

Sam tries to imagine that phone conversation. She tries to imagine how much healthier Mrs Nichols must have sounded in order for Mom not to immediately ask if she should call an ambulance. 

“I think Tory’s mom is a lot sicker than she might have let on,” Sam admits. “Or maybe it’s just gotten worse since she first called you. Do you think you could call her again? Ask if there’s anything she needs? I’m not close enough to Tory to bother her with that, but… maybe you could ask? Mom to mom?”

Mom’s eyebrows rise.

“Of course. Thanks for telling me. I’ll set up a call.”

There’s a text waiting when Sam finally gets back to her room.

Speak of the devil.

Hospital at five, planning at six, training at seven... Sam shoves the folder with her calculus worksheets into her bag. Maybe the hospital pickup will be over quickly, and she can get to the diner a little early and get started on math.

*

The last time Sam was in here was after the school fight, and the irony isn’t lost on her. It was a short visit. No stitches or anything. Still.

Tory’s waiting in the cafeteria, chewing on a pencil as she bends over a folder. Waiting, but clearly not waiting for her. 

“Hi.”

Tory looks up as Sam sits down in the chair opposite her. Her hair is braided today, and she’s wearing a brown flannel shirt and chunky silver rings.

“Hey.”

They had a moment of shared apologies, sometime during Tory’s first month in Miyagi-Do, over the drinking and kissing and fighting and everything else that’s tied up in that messy knot, and Sam should feel like that’s solved everything, but it really hasn’t. 

It was the sort of apology you give to a stranger – honest, but not really all that personal. Tory got in the way of that apology the same way she got in the way of Sam being drunk. 

More of an ‘I’m sorry I did that’ than ‘I’m sorry I did it to you’.

“We took the bus here,” Tory says, casually folding her arms over her chewed-up pencil like that’s way worse than anything else Sam might see today. “The five-seventeen, and then the 9A. Kind of a hassle, so… thanks.”

“No problem. Have you heard about your car yet?”

“Your dad said end of the week. I’m guessing that means either tomorrow or on the weekend.”

Obviously she didn’t plan on asking Sam for any more favors, and obviously she realized the damage to her mom’s health might be much bigger than the damage to her pride. Sam’s never taken the five-seventeen, but Valley buslines can be hit or miss. Standing around at a bus stop for fifteen minutes in Mrs Nichols’ condition…

“So, uh…”

'Is your mom doing okay?'  might be the dumbest possible way to finish that sentence, considering where they are. But Tory doesn’t look like there’s a life-threatening emergency going on. Besides, Sam has never heard of a life-threatening emergency that wraps up punctually enough to arrange a ride home in advance.

“It’s kidney failure,” Tory says, eyes back on her worksheet. “She’s getting dialysis. Stop thinking so loud, I’m trying to do homework.”

Dialysis. That takes a few hours, right? She wonders what last week’s appointment was about. That was an hour at most.

“Last Friday during her checkup, they finally agreed to test me,” Tory says. Maybe Sam is just really that transparent. “Turning eighteen in July. Wrong fucking blood type, though. And they wouldn’t approve me anyway, because I wouldn’t have a caretaker during recovery. Brandon’s only eight.” 

Sam has no idea who Brandon is. Does Tory have a younger brother? How does she manage an eight-year old on top of everything else? And the baseline implication of what she just said is even harder to stomach. She won’t last long enough for us to find out if Brandon can donate.

“I’m sorry,” Sam says quietly. “I don’t really know what to say.”

Tory’s pencil finally stops scratching and she looks up. There’s a softness to her face now, and Sam realizes she must have done something right.

“Yeah, I don’t either.”

There’s a short moment in which Sam selfishly wishes that Tory’s car took longer to fix. Which is so stupid, because she never wanted to drive Tory anywhere in the first place, but that was back when all she expected was a close-up of the inhospitable landscape of Tory’s face.

They don’t talk like this at Miyagi-Do. They don’t hang out. But when it’s just the two of them, it’s like they’re finally the same species. It’s weird, but by the grace of just how weird it is, it all cancels out somehow. They finally remember how people talk to each other.

Yesterday, she texted Sam ‘can you tell sensei i might be ten minutes late?’ and on Monday, after school, Sam dropped her off at work. She still isn’t sure what store in that mall Tory actually works at, and she caught herself wanting to take a stroll and do a little research. Bad idea, obviously. She drove straight home instead. 

But the point stands – they become more real to each other whenever they wait in front of the same traffic lights and roll their eyes at the same overplayed radio songs, and Sam has managed to get addicted to that shortcut in less than a week.

Tory breaks eye contact, and her glance flits over to the clock, then back to her sheet of paper.

“Sorry, but do you mind if I…”

“Not at all.” 

Sam pulls her folder out of her bag and lays an identical worksheet opposite Tory’s. She makes a silent sort of competition out of it, trying to finish all twenty differential equations before Tory does, even with the head start.

She makes good time, but the distance doesn’t get that much smaller.

“I’m at sixty-five percent,” Tory finally says.

“What?”

“You keep looking at my worksheet. I just finished number thirteen. FYI.”

Sam feels her cheeks color.

“I wasn’t…”

Tory smiles. “Sure you weren’t.”

They continue in silence, Sam bent over her worksheet, feverish the way she hasn’t been in a long time. And then a pencil clatters onto the table and when Sam looks up, slack-jawed, Tory is grinning at her from the opposite side of the table.

“Okay," Sam says with begrudging admiration. "Congratulations.”

“You thought you had that in the bag, didn’t you?”

“Well, my name doesn’t mean winner. Not exactly an even playing field, now that I think about it.”

For a second, she’s sure she’s ruined it. What is she doing here? Sitting around in the hospital flirting with Tory while her mother is getting dialysis? What’s wrong with her?

“I’m sure Mr B is going to give us a rematch opportunity tomorrow,” Tory says, hidden smile and open threat, and Sam looks up again, finally understanding. She’s cheering Tory up. She’s not being weird at all.

Sam finishes her last two equations, which takes a bit longer now that she knows she’s being watched. When she slides everything back into her folder, Tory’s messing around with her nails, looking serious.

“Look, I know this is weird to ask, but… I don’t think my mom knows that it was you.”

“Hm?”

“The girl I attacked at school. The reason I got expelled.”

“You’re the reason you got expelled,” Sam says coolly, and their lungful of stolen joy is suddenly all used up.

Tory looks hurt. “That’s what I just said.” 

Fair enough. More than one way you can read that. Looks like they’re back at square one. Expecting the worst of each other.

“Sorry,” Sam says quietly. “I thought…” 

“Yeah, of course you did.” Her voice is terse now. “I just don’t want her to feel weird, okay? Or guilty. She knows you go to school with me, but I’m not even sure she knows that we’re in the same dojo. I don’t want her to worry about us owing you.”

“Yeah, fine. I won’t say anything. And you’ll get your car back tomorrow, and then you can go back to hanging out with other people.”

Tory gives her a tight-lipped smile.

Sam wishes she knew what the hell that means.

“You don’t owe me anything,” she assures Tory. “Seriously.”

“Yeah, I know. Not like you’re not getting anything out of it.”

Sam opens her mouth for a moment, nearly flushing with how accurate that observation is. She’s getting plenty out of it. Tory in a brown flannel, for one.

“I, uh…”

“I mean, how are they going?” Tory asks casually. “Your scorpion lessons from Sensei Lawrence.”

Sam hasn’t had a single scorpion lesson from Johnny. With everything going on, she’s honestly sort of forgotten about those. 

“They’re good,” she says with a light shrug. “More fun than I expected.”

*

They pick up a package on their way back to Tory’s place, and Sam helps carry it inside because Tory’s got her hands full with her mother.

It’s a small apartment. A similar layout to Johnny’s old place.

“Could I use your bathroom for a second?”

“Knock yourself out.”

Sam isn’t sure why she expected medical equipment everywhere, but the bathroom looks like any other. Sam stares down at the blue bath mat underneath her socks, and notices that the color almost matches. Being around Tory makes her notice the weirdest things. She wouldn’t be surprised if she brought that up later, when she runs out of smart things to say. 

When she comes outside again, Tory’s sitting on the couch, her English folder open in her lap, eyes shut and arms crossed, and Sam’s about to say something light-hearted when she realizes Tory has fallen asleep. She must be so tired. 

All day at school, then the hospital… Training in two hours, homework, housework, maybe actual work… She did mention they have a nurse coming by twice a week, but that can’t possibly be enough.

“Honey?” Mrs Nichols’ raspy voice says next door. “Can I have some more water?”

She shouldn’t interfere, really… but she can’t possibly wake Tory up, either.

Sam quietly fills up a glass of water and carries it to the half-open door.

“Tory fell asleep. Sorry. Can I do anything else?”

Mrs Nichols smirks at her as Sam sets the water down on her nightstand. 

“Depends. What’s your blood type?”

“Um. B negative,” Sam answers, squirming under a vague sense of we-shouldn’t-be-joking-about-this .

“Can’t even haggle you into B realistic?”

And Sam can’t help it, she does smile at that, and she takes in the room for the first time. A small DVD collection of 2000s rom coms. Cable spaghetti beside the nightstand. Chamomile hand lotion and a pack of lozenges on the nightstand, next to a fake plant and a phone with a teal phone case. 

Yes, someone’s dying in here. But someone’s living in here, also.

Tory’s mother gives her a long look.

“Thank you for letting her sleep.”

“Of course. I mean, uh… she’s a good friend of mine, I…”

“I know who you are, Sam.” 

“Oh.”

Mrs Nichols gives her a smile through cracked lips, practical and straightforward. Sam thinks of the practical, straightforward woman she must have been before this. One of those cool moms who wears jeans and sneakers 24/7. Direct enough to make every one of her kids’ friends doubt if she secretly hates them, but ready to pick everyone up on the other side of town at three in the morning.

“Don’t worry, I like bad liars. Good quality to have.” She adjusts the pillow under her head. Tory must usually do this for her, and Sam feels guilty for doing too much and not doing more at the same time. “I think I’ll go follow my daughter’s example and take a bit of a nap now. There’s juice in the fridge if you want some.”

“Thanks.”

“Tell your mother I said hi.”

Sam leaves the door slightly ajar, thinks of her mom waiting for her on the patio – a jar of lemonade with two glasses and a sale on bikinis, and Sam spending barely half an hour at home before blowing her off to hang out with her crush and her friends. Andrea Nichols probably wants nothing more than that. To be an afterthought to her seventeen-year old.

Tory’s still sleeping, so Sam sits down at the kitchen table.

She can’t leave Mrs Nichols alone with her unconscious daughter, and she can’t wake Tory up. Lose-lose game.

She opens her chat with her mother.

That doesn't really alleviate her guilt all the way - especially with how fast Mom replied - but it's better than nothing.

Then Tory’s phone vibrates, and she startles awake. Immediately, she rushes off to see her mother. 

Sam slowly stands up and waits for Tory to come back outside and say her goodbyes. Listening is awkward, but so is rushing out like a burglar.

A low voice from next door.

“Was Sam nice to you?”

“No complaints except for the blood group,” Mrs Nichols rasps. “Missing an A, unfortunately.”

“Oh, that’s impossible,” Tory says with a sarcastic look back toward the living room. “Sam’s got every A you could possibly have.”

Her mother’s face lights up.

“Did you just joke about my–”

“No. You know I don’t do that. I made a joke about Sam’s grades.” She leans forward and fixes a strand of her mother’s hair. “Do you need anything?”

“Besides a kidney?”

“Never gets old,” Tory sighs, straightening up again. 

“Best things never do.”

“Wow, Mom. You’re making such a good impression. I’ll cut you up some bell pepper and then I’m closing that door.”

Mrs Nichols smiles at her daughter. “Thanks.”

Tory makes good on her promise, but in reverse order. When she seems satisfied with the state of the bedding, the pillow and everything else, she pulls the door shut. Then she nods at Sam’s phone on the kitchen table.

“Vote for the gis is through, by the way. It’s the boring one.”

Sam nods politely. ‘The boring one’ was her suggestion, but hey.

“Are you thinking about getting one?” she says.

Tory pauses, fridge door half-open.

“What does that mean?”

“Well, you didn’t buy a Miyagi-Do gi. I was just wondering if you’ll get this one, or if you’ll keep going for unaffiliated.”

The door crashes shut, accompanied by a hard snort.

“Is that what you think? That I don’t have your Dad’s little logo on my back because I’m trying to be difficult?”

“Well, I… Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. As soon as I say I'm competing as Miyagi-Fang, I have to have a gi. And you weren’t even sure about final designs for the All Valley back then. I didn't want to drop a hundred bucks on a gi that was gonna last me a month at best. And then… tournaments? Hotel, gas money, participation fee, and all that for what, seventh place?”

She looks up from the cutting board. Sam is still just… fucking standing there. Somehow, she missed the right moment to leave. Tory doesn’t seem to even notice. She just keeps talking.

“But hey, my mom’s glad I went. One less weekend with my mom for seventh place. That equation shakes out right in her head, apparently.”

“I think she wants you to have some fun,” Sam says gently. “Make some friends.”

“She doesn’t want me to make friends. She wants me to have a support system when she’s gone.” 

And yeah, that’s sort of a conversation ender. Another thing Sam’s never been briefed on how to reply to. Tory walks to her mother’s door, turns around once more and sighs. 

“Sorry, could you put the knife in the sink? Brandon's gonna be home in twenty minutes, I don't want him to-”

“Sure.”

Sam drops her backpack on a chair and starts running the knife under the tap. She dries it off for good measure, because Tory isn’t back yet, and puts it in a drawer, and… well, there are other dishes in the sink, and she’s here, and…

“Are you doing my fucking dishes?” Tory says behind her.

“Uh–”

“You got something wrong with you, princess. You know that, right?” She grabs the plate that Sam was washing moments ago. “No, stay here. You can dry them off if you don’t have enough chores at home.”

Sam looks back to Mrs Nichols’ bedroom door. Closed.

They wash three plates – remnants of a rice dish – three forks, a glass and two cups. Tory balks when Sam puts them in the cupboard right side up.

“I found a silverfish in a cup once. In our old apartment. We always put them open side down.”

“Cool,” Sam says. Cool?  “Sorry.”

“For?”

“I don’t know,” Sam says defensively. “Just… sorry. Take it or leave it.”

Sam still can’t believe she said that. She meant it in a ‘oh, you do things differently, that’s fine’ way, obviously, but it sounded so stupid. You had silverfish at your old apartment? Cool!

“Okay, fine.” Tory throws her a side glance as she dries her hands on the dish towel. Then she sighs. “Thought it'd be a lot worse if one of you actually met my mom. I mean, you wouldn’t have been my first choice for who gets to have that ammo…” 

“I can tell you a secret,” Sam offers without thinking about it twice.

“Like what?”

She takes the towel back from Tory. It’s so wet by now that it doesn’t really make a difference, but Sam wipes her hands on it anyway.

“I don’t know. Something nobody else knows.” She pauses, and for once, her brain cooperates and provides a piece of information Tory might actually find fun. “When I first met you, I thought you were a senator’s daughter or something like that.”

“What?”

“Yeah. Who else would go and loot the bar unless she knew she wasn’t going to get in trouble? I thought your parents had to be real big leagues. Kind of a ‘my dad owns this club’ type thing.”

Tory throws her a daring look. “And you went and picked a fight with me? That’s pretty ballsy.”

That’s one way to describe what she did.

“Pretty rude.”

Tory shrugs, the peace offering sliding right past her defenses and landing in the center of her chest. Sam nods to herself, as if after a point. This might actually be the strangest afternoon she’s had in a long time, and she hasn’t even gotten to the part where she plans her own father’s proposal.

“Not good enough,” Tory says. “I want a better secret.”

Sam laughs. “Okay, do you… want a detailed account of how it feels to have your ex become your stepbrother or just the regular insecurity bullshit?”

“Tell me about Princeton.” When Sam leans back against the counter, she bites her lip and looks down at a water drop on the floor. “You told my mom when we were in the car last week. Was kind of a long monologue.”

Oh. Sam hasn’t really told anyone about Princeton.

Not even Robby or Moon. Not even Aisha.

“Should have known, though,” Tory says, face suddenly guarded again, and she swipes her sock across the water drop. “The princesses go to college where the princes go. They go to Princeton.”

“What?”

“Cinderella Story. The one where she loses her phone instead of her shoe? It’s set in the Valley. They have a Halloween costume dance.”

The idea of Tory even getting into the vicinity of a rom-com is unbelievable, but knowing one well enough to quote it… 

Who even are you, Sam wants to ask.

“It’s my mom’s favorite.”

Right. Andrea Nichols’ daughter, that’s who. And that suddenly makes it easy to spit out. Tory will get it. 

“Not much to tell yet. They have this amazing astrophysics program, but don’t even open applications until August. And my Dad’s not a fan of me moving. He always makes that ‘we’ll pay for anything in California’ joke, and I think he’s only, like… eighty percent joking.”

“That’s a generous guess,” Tory says evenly.

Yeah. She gets it.

“I just want to stop being LaRusso 2.0, you know? I love my dad so much, but I’m so sick of being… an echo. You know what I mean? I want to meet people who have no idea what the All Valley even is. I want to be in a karate class where nobody knows who I am.”

“Well. Cali championships are in the fall. If you do half okay in that, you can’t ever step foot in a karate class again without at least one person knowing who you are. So if that’s the goal, you better drop out now.”

“Nice try,” Sam says, and Tory grins.

It’s not fair, that Tory of all people knows exactly what to say to her, now that this’ll be the last time they’ll ever hang out. It’s not like Sam can just cut her own brake lines and pretend she needs Tory to give her a couple of rides. Tory’s got things to do. 

“And it all depends on perspective, anyway,” Tory says, flicking the kettle on. “Sorry, could you give me those cups again, I think–”

“Sure,” Sam says, and then, “What do you mean?”

“I had no clue who your dad was when we met. The way I see it, he’s a lot like you, not the other way around.” Tory shrugs. “You’re the blueprint to me.”

The kettle huffs quietly in the silence of the kitchen.

Sam isn’t sure what she’s supposed to answer to that. Nothing feels big enough. Nothing feels perfect enough.

You're the blueprint to me.

She looks away, checks her phone awkwardly, trying not to let on what Tory’s words mean to her.

“Oh, shit. I’m late.”

“Time flies when you’re having fun,” Tory says sarcastically. “Prom Queen duties?”

“I’m not running, actually, but thanks for believing in me.”

“Bachelorette party, then?”

Sam smiles. 

“You want to tag along? Could be fun.”

Tory looks down at the teacups. Yeah, she’s not coming. One more hour until she has to be at Miyagi-Fang, and she obviously wants to spend it with her mother.

“You guys are weirdly into that. You know that, right?”

“Well, it’s something to think about that isn’t college or trophies or divorce or… other life stuff.”

She pulls her shoes on at the door, and turns her back under the ever-louder bubbling of the kettle.

“I’ll walk you out,” Tory says.

“It’s ten steps.”

“I’ll walk you out.”

They cross the parking lot in perfect silence. Sam gets in the car and opens the window all the way.

“Well," Tory says. "Thanks for the rides. And the dishes, I guess. Weirdo.”

“I can pick you up before training if you want.”

“I know how to read a bus schedule, Sam.”

“Okay. Well… Text me if you have any proposal advice. Or advice on how to stop someone from breaking up with you; I think Johnny’s still a bit hung up on that…“

Tory thinks for a moment. “Don’t bring him to a party his drunk ex is at?”

“You’re seriously gonna hold that over my head until we’re fifty?”

“I kind of plan on not knowing you when I’m fifty,” Tory shoots back, but Sam can tell, heart racing, that there’s a lightness to it now.

Sam turns on the ignition, her lips pursed tight so as to not let her smile out all the way. “Just because your mom’s the governor or whatever, doesn’t mean you can talk to your driver like that.”

*

When Sam gets to the diner, the planning’s already in full swing. 

“I just don’t think any proposal should start with ‘you’re way hotter than Tom Cruise’,” Hawk says, tossing a flashcard over his shoulder. “We’re better than that, sensei. As a species.”

“He is hotter than Tom Cruise,” Johnny points out.

“I’m hotter than Tom Cruise; we’re not putting that in the speech either.”

“I’m also vetoing whatever draft that was,” Sam says, squeezing into the booth next to Hawk and handing the card back to him. Those are probably hers, now that she looks at them. The line pattern looks familiar. “But we’re also better than littering. You nearly split that kid’s banana split a second time. Where’s Demetri?”

“Studying for his chem test. He wants updates, though. Where’s Tory?”

“Why would I know?" Sam asks, half-teasing, half-nervous. Is she being obvious after all?

"Because you're late and I already asked everyone else if they've heard from her."

"Oh. Yeah, no idea. I don't think she's coming." She grabs the stack of flashcards closest to her in an attempt to change the subject. “We’re doing proposal speeches?” 

“Never written one before,” Johnny says, scratching his head. “Thought I’d ask for another pair of eyes, at least. Thanks for coming.”

“Did I miss the ranking? Top three or something?” 

Robby grins. “Are we sorting by best or worst? Cause my golden raspberry goes to the one where he rhymes ‘beach’ with ‘bitch’.”

“I was being a bitch,” Johnny protests. “And asshole rhymes with beach even less. Just thought I’d try it out. One of the websites said to try and write a poem.”

“Okay, while I… uh, catch up,” Sam says, delicately pushing away a card that contains nothing but ‘pour some sugar on me’. She really hopes that’s a song lyric of some kind. “Have you thought of anything you might want? Location? Flowers? Do you want one of us filming?”

“I don’t want any of you there,” Johnny says instinctively. “Sorry, but if that proposal goes well, you’re gonna wanna be somewhere else.”

Hawk snorts into his drink, then makes a sound like he’s just been kicked under the table.

“Don’t encourage him,” Robby says.

“I wanna keep it simple. You know. Garden at Miyagi-Do, maybe. I have a good suit I can wear. Or maybe we’ll come back after a tournament, go to five, I get on one knee…”

“Wait, what about the All Valley?” Sam suggests.

On the opposite side, Miguel is proudly nodding along and throwing hopeful glances up at Johnny. Well. That at least answers the question of how emotionally involved he is in this whole thing.

“The All Valley’s about you guys,” Johnny says. “Also, if I do it before the fights, we’ll be too distracted to coach, and by the end the whole place is gonna smell like feet. Arenas are nasty.”

“It’s not that bad…” Miguel protests half-heartedly, and Johnny grins down at him.

“Okay, Diaz, then save it for when you get engaged.”

Miguel indulgently shakes his head. Robby snickers into his coffee.

“And, uh…” Johnny’s outright seeking Sam’s gaze now, and she’s a bit scared of what that means. “Might be nice if I at least told your grandma what I’m planning, right?”

Sam bites her lip. How does she explain to Johnny that telling Lucille LaRusso might be the fastest way for this proposal to end up ruined? With how tense that lunch on Boxing Day was, she suspects the first thing Grandma will do is run to Dad and tell him they can’t seriously be thinking about marriage.

“I think we can skip that,” she says lightly. “She doesn’t really… She’s hard to impress. She doesn’t like my mom either.”

“What do you mean, she doesn’t like your mom?” Johnny looks genuinely worried now. “But Amanda’s got her shit together. She’s Amanda! If your grandma doesn’t even like her, she’s gonna–”

“Don’t freak out, sensei,” Miguel says. “Think about it this way, Sam’s grandma didn’t approve and he married Mrs LaRusso anyway. You know it’s not a dealbreaker to not have her approval. This is good news.”

“There is someone else in the family you should ask, though.”

Johnny exhales noisily. “You really think I’m gonna get a yes from Anthony?”

“Maybe not in one conversation.”

“He might run to your Dad and give it away, though,” Hawk says.

“He has to ask,” Sam says, end-of-discussion voice. “The element of surprise is optional, my brother being on board isn’t.”

“Okay, Sam. Cool your jets.”

Johnny still doesn’t look convinced.

“I’ll talk to him,” she promises. “I’ll warm him up to the idea.”

“Thanks, Sam.” He nods down at the flashcards expectantly. “So what do you think? Which ones do you like?”

“Honestly?” Sam asks. “They're okay, but... I mean, look at this one. It's just lyrics. Is my Dad marrying you or is he marrying Bryan Adams?” 

“Thank you!” Robby says. “That is what I keep saying. You can prep all you want, in the moment you’re saying whatever pops into your head anyway, and that’s how Daniel wants it. And if it’s Top Gun, so be it. I don't think we're dissing Tom Cruise nearly enough anyway.”

“What are you trying to say, sensei?” Miguel adds. “Summarize it.”

“I love him. I wanna marry him.”

“Cool. Boom, that’s your speech right there.” 

“But–”

“Don’t overcomplicate it,” Hawk says, leaning back with a daredevil grin, holding his coffee cup by the top as if it’s a glass of scotch. “That’s what my sensei would say.”

“Yeah? Well, your sensei’s never been married.” 

“First time for everything,” Hawk and Miguel parrot at the same time.

Johnny shakes his head in exasperation, runs a hand through his hair. But underneath it, Sam can tell he’s flattered that his lessons are sinking in. And she’s glad on his behalf, too – that this is the sort of thing people associate with him now.

First time for everything. Get on the mat and do it.

*

Sam, Miguel and Robby drive to training together. It’s almost nostalgic, putting on the old gis now that the new design has been decided. Paige and Devon have shown up in their dojo tees, and if you squint, it’s almost a yin-yang thing: white eagle on a red shirt, orange sun on a white shirt.

At precisely three minutes to seven, Tory rushes into the bathroom which doubles as the unofficial girl’s change room. In the middle of tying her belt, she meets Sam’s eyes, then turns her back. Crisp, plain white. And for the first time, Sam notices how smooth the fabric is. 

She usually folds her own gi, shoves it into her backpack and sweats the wrinkles out over the course of the workout.

Not Tory. Tory shows up with an ironed gi. Every single day.

How did she miss that?

She finds Tory after the warmup, for the all-dojo partner exercises. Demetri raises an eyebrow, but goes to partner with Hawk without saying a word.

“Those with their backs to me, take measure and strike ten times to the chin on my count,” Dad says. “The other side defends. Remember, up and out, one fist of distance between your hand and your forehead.”

Sam gets into position, lets Tory’s fist hover a half-inch from her face as she takes the proper distance.

“Your hair looks nice,” Sam says.

Tory blinks. 

“One,” Dad counts, and the whole dojo moves around them as Tory stands still and cocks her head.

“Two.”

“Thanks,” Tory says, and lets her fist snap forward. 

Perfect distance. Half an inch from Sam’s lips.

Chapter Text

ROBBY.

Robby eats a PB&J in his mom’s kitchen so he won’t be as hungry at the movies. They’ll probably get ice cream before, too – there’s a fancy new store next to the mall where the movie theatre is, and Miguel obviously really wants to go, the way he keeps going on about how ridiculous the prices are.

Mom comes out of her bedroom in workout clothes. She’s been getting back into dance lately, and she’s beaming. It’s still odd to look at her sometimes. Like he should be wearing solar eclipse glasses. Her hair, chopped to chin length, is tied up into a little half up half down thing, and the little ponytail bounces happily as she goes through the pockets of her handbag.

“Okay, now where’s my chapstick… Alright, sweetheart. I’m off to dance class. Oh, don’t fill up on sandwiches! You should get a treat. Third place and all. I’m so proud of you. Here, popcorn’s on me.”

She rumbles around in the abyss of her bag some more, finally fishes out her wallet and slides a twenty dollar bill over the counter.

“Thanks, mom. Have fun.”  

“You, too. Do you guys need a ride?”

“No, I borrowed Sam’s car.”

“Okay,” she says, a little smile tucked into the corner of her mouth. “Well, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Doesn’t really narrow it down.”

She scrunches up her face in mock-anger, then gives him a hug goodbye.

“Okay, you say hi to Miguel and his family… And tell your Dad to call me, okay? He wants to come by, pick up the last of his stuff, but they still have to tell me if they want to come Saturday or Sunday. And then when I pick you up from school on Monday, we can swing by Wendy’s on our way to the store. What do you say?”

“Mh… I think I’d rather do Five Guys.”

“Something you wanna tell me?”

“Wow, Mom, you’re so funny.”

Robby rolls his eyes, but it’s hard to even pretend to be mad when Mom is so warm and kind and excited about boring life stuff.

Sober Mom loves cooking shows, people-watching and dragging Robby along to the mall to try on sunglasses together. She buys five different flavors of tiny fruit smoothies every time she goes to the store. 

It’s still crazy that Robby gets to hang out with her all the time now.

“God, I’m so late,” she says, slipping her feet into her sneakers without bothering to undo the laces. “Five Guys sounds good. Keys… Where are the keys… Okay, don’t forget to take the cilantro for Rosa! Text me when you get home. Have a good weekend!”

She blows him a kiss and pulls the door shut behind her. 

One thing sobriety hasn’t done is improve her punctuality. 

When she rushes off to her Monday dance classes, it’s usually almost seven, and Johnny and Miguel are already setting up for movie night and arguing over whether Kill Bill is a ‘chick flick’. 

It’s wild how quickly Johnny’s become a guest in an apartment that he’s technically still a co-tenant for. Mom’s really made this place her own – yoga mat in the corner, walls full of photos she printed out at Walmart and the fancy glass jars Amanda got her for Christmas that she’s so proud of, with a different shape of pasta in each one. 

On Monday, she’s taking Robby to the hardware store so they can pick out the new wall color together. Robby’s angling for light blue, Mom wants mango yellow. Dad is all for the renovations, now that he’s moving his final boxes soon. Most of his participation has been sending emails with paint brand lists that say ‘WATERY’ or ‘OVERPRICED’ in the subject line. 

Robby finishes the sandwich, then grabs the paper bag on the table and two of the tiny smoothies.

Ten steps, and he’s over the courtyard and at Miguel’s door. 

Yaya Rosa is reading a novel on the sofa, but she gets up when she sees who’s at the door and walks over to claim the first hug.

“Brought the cilantro you wanted,” he says, holding up the paper bag.

“Ay, Robby… Eres mi nieto favorito.”

Miguel opens his mouth in shock, and Robby laughs. 

“What? You can be my Dad’s favorite kid, but I can’t be your yaya’s favorite grandchild?”

Last week, Yaya taught them both to make empanadas, and to everyone’s surprise, Robby did much better than Miguel. After a few messed up tries, his empanadas had so closely resembled Yaya’s that Miguel had spent the rest of the night trying to get Robby to confess that they’d been practicing without him in secret. It’s great, honestly.

Robby has never had grandparents before, and he didn’t anticipate how much he’d love it. 

Mom dropped out of school at seventeen and moved halfway across the country with her shitty high school boyfriend. Her parents have only called a handful of times since, mostly about funerals that she refuses to attend. She doesn’t talk about them and Robby doesn’t ask. His Dad’s side is a clusterfuck of death and abandonment and whatever Sid Weinberg’s deal is. Clearly not somebody you can expect candy, praise and lawn mowing money from.

Yaya doesn’t seem to mind that Robby’s imprinted on her like some little baby duck. She gives him leftovers to take home, she cheers him on at karate events, and she single-handedly got Robby’s Spanish grades up just by chatting with him and giving casual corrections here and there.

“A tu mamá le gusta su nuevo trabajo?” she says while unwrapping her herbs.

Mom waitressed for a while, but apparently the restaurant industry isn’t so fun if you’re trying to kick addictive habits, so she’s now working the front desk at a dentist’s office.

“Creo que sí,” Robby says slowly. “Pagan mejor que en su trabajo… uh… previo? I don’t think that’s a word.”

“Anterior?” Yaya suggests. 

“Ah yeah, makes sense. No, she likes it. People are nice. She says her boss gives a lot of vacation days.”

“Muy bien.”

Miguel’s already got his shoes on and is waiting for Robby to wrap up the smalltalk. 

“Yaya, we gotta go. The movie starts in half an hour.”

“Sí, sí, el estarwars.” 

She gives Robby a little wink, and he smiles back, not entirely sure what that’s all about. He leaves the smoothies for Yaya and Carmen on the table.

*

When they finally make it far enough to the front of the ice cream parlor’s queue, Robby’s even more confused on what to order. Two whole rows of wild flavor combinations, and only three classics. Vanilla, chocolate, nuts.

“I love that this one is just called nuts,” he says to Miguel. “What kind of nuts, you ask? Mind your own goddamn business.”

“You’d go nuts if you knew.”

Robby groans. “Ouch. Okay. Find someone else to take to the movies, I’m not listening to this all night. Hi. Can I get, uh… salted licorice and vanilla in a cone, please?”

“Vanilla? Really? All these options and you’re getting vanilla?”

“That’s how you figure out how good a gelato place is. If they can’t get vanilla and pistachio right, you can forget it.”

“Gelato,” Miguel repeats tonelessly, but with a gesture that has an undeniable Italian accent. Robby grins and shakes his head as he accepts his cone. Can’t he at least wait until they’re outside? 

“I’d like ginger pineapple and chili blood orange, please. In a cup.”

They step back outside with their ice cream, squinting into the sun, and Robby downs two Lactaids for good measure.

“Don’t even think about shit-talking my cup again,” Miguel says. “You just get a cone because you wanna be fancy, and then by the end your whole arm is sticky because you take too long to eat it.”

“I wanna savor it.” Robby intercepts the tiny spoon on the way to Miguel’s mouth and puts it in his mouth. “Mh. Not bad. Not really that much chili. Okay, give me ginger.”

“Ginger pineapple…” Miguel announces, feeding Robby the second flavor.

“Oh, that’s good! Holy shit.”

“Okay, let me try yours.”

Robby hands over his cone, watches Miguel try vanilla, try licorice and then make a face. “This is… sorry, but this is so disgusting.”

“What are you talking about? It’s salty black licorice! It’s the best one!”

Robby’s glad they made the detour.

*

“2 tickets for 14$ every second Friday of the month,” a poster with big neon orange numbers at the entrance announces. “Valentine’s Day all year round!”

Okay, yeah. 2 - 14. Valentine’s Day. That’s actually pretty clever. 

Miguel already got the tickets online, so they start queuing at the concession stand right away and it’s not before long that they get a bored ‘what can I get for you’ from – 

“Tory,” Miguel says, clearly surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“Selling you something, hopefully.”

“Okay, uh…” Miguel looks over to Robby. “Sorry, I… I didn’t know you worked here. Uh. Popcorn or nachos?”

“Nachos,” Robby decides. “We could get a combo deal or something.”

“You wanna share a slushie?” Miguel says, eyes widened with excitement. “I haven’t had one in forever.”

“Sure, let’s do it. What flavors do you have?”

“Blue raspberry, lemon and green apple,” Tory lists while sliding their nacho tray over the counter. “But don’t get green apple. I don’t think they’ve cleaned that thing in the last three weeks.”

“Appreciate the heads-up,” Robby grins. “So of the other two, which one’s less likely to give us food poisoning?”

She thinks for a moment, then grabs a cup and pours them a small blue raspberry slushie. “That’s 10.71.”

Miguel’s already counting out cash before Robby can even get his wallet out. 

“Wait, no. My mom gave me money. You already paid for the tickets.”

“Yeah, but the tickets were basically half off,” Miguel says, sliding the money over to Tory with a weird facial expression. “And I need to get rid of some change anyways. You can pay next time, okay?”

“Okay,” Robby says slowly.

Miguel doesn’t normally mind splitting the cost.

That’s the nice thing about having a friend who’s also kind of broke. Money is never weird between them. Sure, Daniel gives Robby a little extra cash here and there, and then Robby pays for both their stuff. That’s probably what it is. Miguel got some extra money from his Yaya.

Robby is her favorite grandkid, after all.

“Straws are over there,” Tory says, pointing at the dispenser.

Robby taps the dispenser once and waits for the straw to roll out. “Straws, plural ? In this economy? The planet is dying, Tory.”

She rolls her eyes and turns to the next customer.

They make their way into the auditorium, which is already reasonably packed. Lots of couples, which makes sense considering the “2 tickets for 14$” sale. Robby and Miguel find their sofa seat in the third to last row.

“Killer,” Robby says, carefully setting the nachos down in the middle. “Best seats in the house.” 

Once Miguel has settled in on his right side and the lights dim a little for the beginning of the ads, Robby reaches into his jacket pocket and grabs the M&Ms he brought. Hopefully they’re not too melty. 

Miguel gasps when Robby slides them over to him. “No way! You brought outside M&Ms?”

“Yeah. You said they don’t sell the good ones here.”

Miguel opens the pack with near-reverence.

“Contraband candy,” he says with a dramatic headshake. “That wasn’t very Miyagi-Do of you.”

Robby grins. “What can I say? I’m beyond saving.”

*

For someone who owns about four DVDs, Robby enjoys going to the movies. Gigantic screen, and a little bit of a separation from the outside world. His mom used to take him sometimes when he was little.

When Darth Vader comes on screen for the first time, Miguel leans over and whispers, “Did you know that the guy who played Darth Vader and the guy who voiced him never actually met? That’s crazy, right?”

“I thought you didn’t want people to whisper in your ear the whole time,” Robby whispers back.

“Maybe I just want a whispering monopoly.”

The movie chugs along comfortably. 

Great music, Robby has to admit, and he is digging the unironic power point wipe transitions. He must have seen it before at some point before, because he’s vaguely familiar with some scenes. It’s been at least five years, though. If not more.

Suddenly he feels something touching his hand. For half a second he thinks maybe the nacho box slid down, and then he understands what’s actually happening.

Miguel’s pinky finger is touching his. His hand is very still next to Robby’s, and he’s staring ahead at the screen. 

Maybe he didn’t notice, Robby thinks for a brief, stupid second. Maybe he’s so focused on the movie he’s not even aware.

He looks up at Miguel’s face, but doesn’t move his hand. Miguel’s mouth twitches slightly. Instead of pulling away, he moves his hand until it almost covers Robby’s.

Miguel’s always been more casual with physical contact. He’ll throw his legs over Robby’s when they’re on the couch; he always hugs people goodbye… Robby remembers when they sat in the car last year after the hockey game, listening to his Dad flirting with Daniel in the parking lot. When it looked like their matchmaking might pay off, Miguel grabbed Robby’s arm pretty enthusiastically. He’s one of these people who likes to squeeze and shake his friends during an exciting movie, and Darth Vader just appeared down the corridor from Luke’s old sensei, so there’s clearly a duel coming up. 

Miguel’s never gone for Robby’s hand before, but hey...

Robby turns his hand palm-side up and opens it, so that Miguel can grab it if he wants to. But instead of squeezing it with the holy-shit-how-cool enthusiasm that Robby expected, Miguel laces his fingers through Robby’s and smiles at him. His eyes tick down to Robby’s mouth.

For a second, he wants to reach for an invisible remote and hit pause. Sit in this feeling, whatever it is, until he can figure out its name. Then the nerves in the rest of his body come back online, and they carry the tidal wave of panic upwards – too-much-too-much-too-much. By the time it reaches his brain, it’s taller than the moon. Instant, city-wide blackout. 

“I gotta go to the bathroom,” Robby blurts out way too loudly.

And he’s stumbling away, towards the end of the row until he finds the steps up to the exit. He trips over something on the ground, and someone curses behind him as the popcorn scatters.

Finally, the door falls shut behind him and the bright emptiness of the lobby welcomes him. Robby walks a few steps towards the railing of the balcony and puts his arms on the cool metal. What the fuck? 

Sure, they joke about that kind of thing, but they never… Why would Miguel… This doesn’t…

The way he looked at Robby just now –

“The good guys win,” someone says behind him.

Robby whirls around.

Tory is leaning against the popcorn counter and chewing gum, her head curiously dipping to one side. “Don’t think that’s been a surprise for forty years, but you looked like you could use the spoiler.”

She’s the only worker left in the room. The others must all be over by the ticket booth, or cleaning up the other halls. Not too many witnesses, at least.

When Robby doesn’t react, she grabs a small cup from behind her and walks over to him. “Here.”

“Uh,” Robby says slowly. “My jacket’s inside. My wallet…”

She shrugs. “I still owe you. For the arcade.”

He remembers running into her for the first time after his head injury. Warning her about Kreese. Telling her to practice escaping a headlock. She never needed to actually use that info, as far as he knows. But apparently it still meant something to her.

“Thanks.” He takes the cup and drinks a big sip. Coke zero. Honestly just what he needed. 

Tory leans against the railing too. 

“Don't worry about it. Did you actually freak out about Star Wars or is your date…”

“I’m not on a date,” Robby snaps, like it’s crazy she’d even think that. Like Miguel didn’t apparently also think they’re on a date.

But that’s the thing, right? Both people need to think something is a date for it to actually be one. Otherwise anything could be a date. A freaking dentist appointment. There’s a reason it’s called asking someone out. You have to ask.

Tory frowns. “He took you to the movies on Couples’ Night and paid for everything.”

And shit, maybe Miguel did ask. The tickets, the food, just the two of them. And Robby went, and snuck in Miguel’s favorite snacks, and only grabbed one straw, and turned his hand so Miguel could hold it…

“Did he get a love seat?” Tory asks.

“It’s a sofa!” Robby snaps. “You can put the nachos in the middle. It’s practical!”

“Okay,” Tory says, eyebrows raised in obvious judgement. “Not a date, then. Sorry. So you… don’t like him?”

And how weird must this be for her? Miguel’s ex-girlfriend thinks she sold them nachos on their date.

She’s a big part of the reason Robby’s even here with Miguel right now, one of the engines that powered the train wreck school fight that led to the amnesia in the first place. They might be in the same dojo now, but they don’t really know each other all that well. A warm-up partner exercise here and there. A helping hand out of the pond. That’s all he and Tory really have in common.

“I’m not gonna punch you if you say yes,” she says defensively, crossing her arms. “I just think if you don’t, you need to tell him, like, yesterday. I thought you liked him and I don’t even talk to you.”

“He’s my best friend.”

Which isn’t really an answer, except it’s the only answer that matters. It’s the only answer that even comes close to mattering.

Sure, obviously they're both a little bit interested in each other, but that's miles away from whatever this is. Miles away from reality. And now Miguel's suddenly decided he wants more, and Robby has to make a decision he was perfectly happy to postpone forever. Miguel drove a lightsaber right through the tender balance of 'almost' Robby worked so hard to maintain. 

The door to the movie hall opens.

“Hey,” Miguel says, carefully shutting the door behind him again. He’s holding Robby’s denim jacket over his arm. “Sorry. Wasn’t sure if that was a ‘don’t follow me’ or a ‘meet me outside’ or…”

Robby shrugs. Whatever he was thinking didn’t have that many syllables.

“Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Miguel doesn’t even have to say it. They’re both thinking of the Italian Job, that movie they saw an eternity ago with Johnny.

Freaked out, insecure, neurotic and emotional.

Miguel turns to Tory.

“Um… Can you give us a second?”

“You do know that I work here, right?”

But she walks back to the popcorn counter, turns the background music louder before sitting down and demonstratively staring into her phone.

Miguel turns back to Robby. “Listen, I’m sorry. I thought…”

“Is this a date?”

Miguel looks down at his shoes, then back up at him again.

“It was kinda supposed to… become one, maybe? I didn’t want it to be a big deal or a big announcement, so I thought… I don’t know. I’ll try something, see if you wanna take it there.”

Robby nods slowly.

“So you did lie during Never Have I Ever.”

Which is decidedly easier than saying ‘so you do have a crush on me’.

Miguel shrugs, looking unsure. “It’s not perjury, Robby. It’s just a party game. None of their business who I have a crush on.”

„None of my business, either?“

Miguel huffs out a short, confused laugh.

“I thought you already knew. I thought you just wanted to take things slow. I mean… You wanna hang out every day, you wear my hoodies, you… you said we should go to prom together!”

He doesn’t even want to imagine the face Tory must be making right now.

“Yeah, to save money!” Robby shoots back. “I didn’t mean…”

“Well, I thought you did. Sorry.”

Miguel’s got his hands in his pockets now, and he’s keeping to the other side of the hallway. Robby’s not sure who he’s trying to protect here, but it pisses him off either way. 

“Look, I am sorry, really,” Miguel says carefully. “You know, if I freaked you out... We’re at the movies with a million strangers…”

And what the actual fuck is that supposed to mean? Like Robby’s some kind of coward? Miguel’s got the nerve to act like–

“I’m not freaked out. Sorry for being the only person at Miyagi-Fang who doesn’t drool over your biceps.”

“Why are you mad at me now?”

“Because this is stupid!” Robby snaps, the empty cup inconveniently getting in the way of crossing his arms. He throws it into the trash can next to him with entirely more intensity than he wants to. “I’m sorry, but it is. I borrow one hoodie from you, so obviously I’m in love with you?”

“I didn’t mean– There were just a lot of small things that made me think that maybe there was something more going on and–”

“Like what?”

Miguel pauses for a moment, arms out in a helpless gesture.

He’s still holding Robby’s jacket.

„Everything? The way you look at me? And you were so obsessed with getting Sensei Lawrence and Sensei LaRusso together. Come on…”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, I wanted to make it up to you, with the school fight and everything. And I care about my sensei. I want him to be happy. But was I also excited because he might get with a guy? You know, like I might want to one day–”

“Right, and it was my idea to set them up,” Robby cuts in sharply, “so obviously I must have been thinking the exact same thing–”

“Robby…” Miguel says tiredly. “I was wrong, okay? I’m sorry. Can we just…”

“No. If you think you know everything about me, fine. You wanna know what I think? You’re jealous. The only reason you think you want me is because my Dad is actually spending more time with me than with you. Do you really think this is gonna get his attention back?”

It takes a moment until that sentence really sinks in for Miguel, and Robby can watch it burying itself into depths he never meant for it to reach. He never meant to say it at all, he just… He just…

Miguel nods slowly. “Okay. Well… I guess that’s that.” 

And he turns around and walks down the stairs into the lobby.

“Miguel, I’m sorry–”

“Good for you.”

He’s caught up to him, and he overtakes, gets on the step in front of him. Miguel’s a head taller than him now. Literal fucking high ground.

“Please, Miguel, I didn’t mean it.”

“What, and that makes it okay?” 

“No, but…”

“Yeah, I just assumed you liked me, and I should have asked. Fine. That’s on me. Wishful thinking. But that doesn’t mean you can…” 

He looks at Robby for a moment, helplessly shakes his head. It’s only then he seems to realize he hasn’t given back the jacket, and he hangs it over the railing where it ceremoniously slides down onto the ground.

Robby doesn’t know what to say, and Miguel doesn’t wait around for an answer. He’s past him, down the stairs and out the door before he can figure out what to say. Robby stands uselessly in the middle of the staircase.

“Fuck.”

He groans and rubs a hand across his forehead. Where the fuck did that come from? He didn’t even mean any of that. It was pure instinct. Faster than he could process. Defend, counterattack.

God, he hates when he gets like this. It’s gotten so rare these days. Robby barely lashes out anymore – but when it happens, it leaves a crater as big as a mid-sized town. He sighs and looks back towards Tory behind the counter, who’s unabashedly staring at him, chin propped up on her hand. 

“Damn,” she says. “And I thought I was damaged."

“That didn’t sound as bad as I think it did,” Robby says lamely. “Right?”

She gives him a look, and that’s almost worse than Miguel’s face. Almost.

*

Robby can hear them talking in front of his room.

“You should go talk to him,“ Daniel says, as if the way Robby rushed through the living room and slammed his door didn’t clearly communicate ‘don’t fucking talk to me’ .

„Me? No way. You always do the serious talks. I suck at serious talks.“ 

This house has thicker walls than Miyagi-Do, but when people are loudly arguing in the other room, you still hear a great deal more than you want to. 

Where are his headphones? Normally they land in the space under his bed sooner or later, but they’re not here. Did he bring them to school? He remembers putting them in his gym bag for the Sacramento trip. Has he used them since Sacramento?

He’s just gotten up to search his bag when the door opens behind him and Johnny walks in.

Robby groans in annoyance. Great.

“Hey,” Johnny says awkwardly, absent-mindedly picking up the first book he sees off the shelf. It’s an algebra book. Johnny looks at it and then points at it awkwardly. “Math going okay?”

Robby almost feels bad for him. He knows Johnny’s only doing it because he googled parenting for five minutes and some freak on some forum said the direct approach might not work. Robby would take the direct approach any day over whatever smalltalk distraction this is supposed to be.

“Dad... Come on. I don’t want to talk. You don’t want to talk. Math is going fine. Just leave it, okay?”

The headphones are in the big side pocket, opposite the pocket where his shoes go. Too late now, though. Johnny’s already in the room, and he puts the math book on a precariously left-leaning pile on Robby’s desk. Then he turns the desk chair around and sits.

„Did you get in a fight with Miguel?“ he guesses.

Robby sighs and sits back down on his bed, avoiding his Dad’s eyes.

„Shit, really? I don’t think I’ve seen you and Miguel get in a fight since—“ He trails off, clearly not trying to reawaken any amnesia experiences. „Yelling fight or punching fight?“

Robby runs a hand through his hair. „Yelling. Said some stuff I didn’t even mean.“

„Just apologize to him tomorrow. It’s gonna be okay, man.“

„It’s not like that. You don’t get it.”

Johnny looks at him with his head cocked. Considering.

Robby doesn’t know what exactly his Dad is thinking about, but he knows that he does not have the bandwidth to deal with it right now.

After a long pause, Johnny awkwardly scoots closer on the chair. “You know you can… tell me stuff. Right?”

“What stuff?”

Another pause, but shorter this time. Dad blinks up at him.

“If you guys broke up or something.”

“What?”

“I mean, even if you did, you can still apologize—”

“We aren’t fucking together! Did Miguel tell you that we’re together?”

“No–”

“Were you in on this whole thing?” 

“Robby–”

“Oh, I should have known, this is so like you. You and your bullshit macho advice… Here’s what you’re gonna do, Diaz. Take him to the movies and when it’s dark and he doesn’t suspect anything, you pull your big move.”

“What move?”

“Just get out of my room!”

He stands against the door after he’s slammed it in his father’s face, just in case they get any ideas about tagging Daniel in relay race style. Hell no.

“You heard him,” Johnny’s mumbling comes through the doors. “I suck at this.”

“No, that’s just the holy trinity of having a teenager. Get out of my room. You don’t get it. Oh my God, you’re so embarrassing. You hear all three in a day, they send you a baseball card in the mail.”

Johnny scoffs out a laugh before it’s interrupted by a quiet kiss. 

“Let’s go sit on the balcony and give him some space,” Daniel says. “I found a new ice cream flavor you’re gonna love. He'll come talk to us when he's ready.”

Robby stares at the ceiling. Is Miguel right? Is this why it makes him so happy to see his Dad and Daniel together? But he didn’t even know Miguel back then. Not really. Not the way they know each other now. Getting Johnny and Daniel together was more about guilt than anything else. Of course it was about Robby, but not like that. 

God, he’s so mad at himself. And part of him is still mad at Miguel, too. Everything was perfect. Why would he risk that?

Probably says a lot that his version of perfect includes wearing Miguel’s hoodie, napping halfway on top of him on the couch and going to prom together. Fucking hell.  

How could he do that to his best friend?

He walks back to the bed and grabs his phone, but the call goes to voicemail instantly.

He was Miguel’s ride, too. He drove them to the movies. Miguel had to have taken a bus home or something. 

*

It's almost eleven already, but Sam’s still up. She’s doing her nails in front of her laptop, watching one of the Star Trek shows Robby still can’t tell apart. He hovers in the door for a second until she looks up. One look at Robby, and she pauses her screen on a shot of some orange creature with gigantic ears.

“Are you okay?”

“Not really. I just… keep freaking out today. Attacking people.”

She tilts her head, watches him close the door.

“Can you wait until my nails are dry, at least?”

He grins half-heartedly as he sinks down on the bed opposite her. She nods toward the top coat lying on the face towel between them, and he unscrews it and hands it to her.

“Thanks. So–”

“Miguel wants to date me.” 

Sam looks up at him, a perfect flip of her lashes – moving only her eyes, not her face. Too late, Robby remembers the obvious. Sam and Miguel… 

Fucking hell. Isn’t there anyone to talk to who isn’t Miguel’s ex or Miguel’s sensei? 

"Well... wanted to," he amends. "Up until half an hour ago."

“Okay?” she says, as if waiting for the rest of the story.

“You can’t just ‘okay’ me. This is big news.”

“What part?”

She’s not teasing him. That’s the worst part. If this was Demetri, Robby could at least tell him to stop fucking around. Sam is kind and earnest and worried about him, and that’s a million times worse. 

“Look, I know you’re not actually dating," Sam says. "I know half the dojo thinks there's something going on, but we both know you’re way better at hiding secrets. You must have noticed he likes you, though?”

The truth is that Robby is just way too good at not thinking about stuff he doesn’t want to think about. He’s blocked this out for months now. There’s a curiosity between him and Miguel, but they don’t talk about it, they don’t do anything about it and they certainly don’t go around developing real feelings and asking each other out. It’s off-limits.

They were in the perfect spot. The safety of friendship and the excitement of something that could be flirtation but didn't have to be. Yeah, lots of people thought they were dating. But Robby had a pretty great life in that bubble of plausible deniability. 

Now it feels like Miguel broke an unspoken promise. 

“I thought we agreed we wouldn’t–” He breathes out in frustration when he realizes how little sense that makes. “Well, ‘agreed’ sounds like we talked about it. I just thought it was obvious it wasn’t happening.”

Sam makes a sympathetic noise, like she understands. Great, Robby thinks. That makes one of us. 

For a while, he watches her do her nails in silence.

Things are going to be so awkward at karate next week. There’s no way nobody will notice the difference in how they act.

“Karma got me good, man.”

Sam looks up again. “Hm?”

“Now everyone’s going to think that Miguel’s my ex."

Chapter Text

JOHNNY.

On Saturday morning, they drive over to Shannon’s place to pick up the last of Johnny’s boxes. She’s ready to head to work – Saturday shifts pay extra – but she helps them carry stuff to speed things up. 

Daniel offers to take one last look around and lock up. Out in the courtyard, Johnny and Shannon on either side of a heavy cardboard box, she finally takes mercy on him.

“So what’s going on that you didn’t want to say in front of Daniel?”

Johnny laughs. So he’s really just that obvious, apparently.

“Is this about Robby’s fight with Miguel?” she asks. “Rosa told me things didn’t go so well at the movies.”

Johnny shrugs, narrowly avoiding the plant in the middle of the courtyard. “Couldn’t tell you. I still think they broke up, but he won’t talk to me about it. Didn’t even want to do kata with Daniel this morning. He hasn’t said anything to you?”

“No,” she sighs. “But I’ll try to talk to him again on Monday when we go to the hardware store. Buy him a milkshake or something.” 

“Good idea.”

“So what’s actually going on with you?”

“Gonna ask Daniel to marry me and hope he doesn’t dump me instead,” Johnny says. This is the first time he’s told an actual adult about this. Not even Bobby knows. Not even his support group knows yet. “The kids have been helping.”

She chuckles and readjusts her fingers on the handle.

“You want to make sure you won’t get dumped and you thought you’d ask a bunch of teenagers for advice as opposed to… someone who dumped you?”

Johnny nearly stops dead in his tracks and only remembers the swinging box between them at the last second. A weird little stumble, and he tries to adjust his step to hers again.

“Shit. Good point.”

“I know.”

“So, if I’d done flowers and breakfast in bed and all that, would you have…”

“No,” she says, plain and straightforward. “Because that wasn’t the problem in the first place. We didn’t work out because you always gave up the second it got hard.”

Johnny quietly lets out a breath through his nose. 

“Yeah, that sounds like me.”

She throws him a look, like she sometimes did at the beginning of their relationship, fondness and frustration. 

“Well, not anymore,” she prompts. “You’re coming up on ninety days, right?”

“Yeah, twelve weeks. Three full months next week. Is that crazy or what?”

“That’s a big deal. I know Daniel tells you that too, but he doesn’t know how true it is.”

She’s eight months sober now. Eight full months, while he’s still working on his third. It’s hard to put into words how jealous he is of that head start. 

He tried moderation. He tried quitting without telling anybody. Then he tried AA. It didn’t even take half an hour before he called Bobby mid-meeting, said ‘hey, can you explain to this guy I wanna be sober, not a priest’ and handed the phone to the moderator. Ironically, it was Bobby who helped him find a support group that didn’t involve any Jesus stuff. Apparently not every AA group’s like that, but Johnny wasn’t gonna take any chances. He needed something that would work for him. Someone who’d get him.

Then he went to Shannon’s yuppie rehab without expecting too much, and now he’s in their follow-up group.

Eddie, who was his main counselor there, still calls every two weeks to check in on him. 

He doesn’t even want to think about what that stay must have cost. Valentine’s day in rehab, now that’s a story that screams husband material…

“I’m on my fifth try, Shan,” he says quietly.

“And you’re lasting longer than I did on my fifth.”

They’ve finally reached the car and squeeze the box into the last free space on the backseat. Johnny throws an old pair of shoes into the front seat to make room. Shannon leans against the car, smiling and panting with an ease that only comes from setting down something heavy. She looks happy. Sky blue blouse and a pair of sunglasses in her hair.

“Look, Daniel’s not shy,” she says. “If there’s something that’s making him second-guess this, he’s told you. And not just once.”

“Says I gotta take better care of myself,” Johnny admits, kicking a small rock across the lot. “We’re going to take an eye test later.”

“Johnny Lawrence at the optometrist! It’s a Christmas miracle. That I live to see the day… While we’re on it, when’s the last time you went to the dentist?”

“You should be ashamed of yourself, Shan. Trying to squeeze money out of an old man like that.”

“Doesn’t have to be our office. But… if you wanna skip the queue…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know who to call. Get in your car, man. Can’t help me out if you keep being late for your fancy job.”

“Oh, screw you. I’ve only been late once.”

“In two weeks? Talk about Christmas miracles.”

If someone had told him a year ago that they’d be able to talk like this without wanting to yell at each other, like they’re old friends, like she’s an ex-Cobra who can’t help but take a jab at him when she can…

Shan’s a people person in the worst way. She’s spontaneous and optimistic and deliciously bad at pretending. Likeable, but not a diplomatic bone in her body. Held back by the tender leash of sobriety. He’s so glad to have her around. Someone who doesn’t have to be patient or empathetic or supportive, but just gets it. Who gets to say ‘yeah, is that fucked up or what?’

Daniel’s coming across the parking lot behind her, looking happy as can be, and Johnny turns to Shannon. One last thing he needs to get off his chest. He swallows. Directness and sincerity aren’t at all the same thing, and he’s still not used to how different they feel.

“I don’t think I’ve ever said, but… I don’t think I’d be here if you hadn’t done it first, you know?” 

Her smile melts into a grin almost immediately. 

“Yeah, thank God you’re so competitive. You couldn’t possibly let me be more sober than you.”

Daniel’s reached them, keys extended. “Thanks for the help, Shannon.”

“No problem at all.” Her eyes flash to Johnny. “Good luck.”

“For the eye test,” Johnny rushes to explain, not meeting Daniel’s gaze.

“Yes, of course for the eye test,” she says smugly, savoring every syllable. “Okay, I’ll call you if there’s any problem with the lease agreement. I mean, we’re both on there now… Should be no trouble that you’re dropping out… But just in case. Bye!”

She hugs Daniel goodbye, accepts her key (which really is just her key now, how crazy is that?) and walks over to her car. 

“Thought you might want this.”

Daniel hands him the picture of Robby on his soccer team, the one that’s been on Johnny’s fridge for nearly eight years. Shannon’s fridge now. 

“Thanks.”

He takes out his wallet to push it under that see-through plastic thing.

“Hey, Johnny,” Shannon calls out, and when he turns, she’s beaming wide out of the rolled-down window of her car. “Race you to a year.”

There’s only one way she’s not winning that, and he’d be crazy to wish for that. But they both know what she means.

“You’re on.”

*

“This wasn’t part of the deal,” Johnny whines. “You said I only had to take the eye test.”

It’s almost noon, and the sunlight coming through the optometrist’s windows is merciless. It hits like a slap with an open palm.

“Yes,” Daniel says, crossing his arms. “With the prerogative that if it comes back negative, we have to pick some glasses out for you! What did you think, that I’d just let you knuckle through it? This morning, I asked you what day the milk is going to expire and you said the forty-seventh. I’m not drinking spoiled milk for the next thirty years just because you’re too stubborn to admit you need reading glasses.” 

“Only a little bit!” Johnny protests. 

“Yes, but not getting glasses won’t make it go away!” Daniel says impatiently. “It’ll get worse with time.”

The sales associate next to him nods earnestly.

“Your husband is right.” 

And Johnny would correct her, he really would… if only he wasn’t so taken aback at how happy that comment makes him feel.

People think they’re together. People think they’re together for good. Daniel smiles at him, that little mischievous smirk he does when wants to let Johnny know he’s in on the joke. Fuck, he’s gorgeous.

The saleswoman has assembled a few pairs of glasses and hands the presentation box off to Johnny. “I’d say start with these and see what direction you like, okay? Have a look around and let me know if you need help.” 

And she walks over to a kid and her parents who are browsing the shelves a few steps away. Johnny skeptically looks down at the glasses she picked out. Daniel makes quick work of it and places one of them on Johnny’s face.

“Oh, you look so cute.”

Johnny looks at himself in the mirror. Yeah, no way.

“Shut up. I look like a grandpa.”

“Yeah, really big change,” Daniel teases. “At least now you look like a grandpa with a home library.”

Johnny flips him off in the middle of the store, and Daniel laughs and cajoles him into a kiss. They try on a couple more frames, and once Johnny’s gotten past the initial weirdness of seeing himself in glasses, he’s less and less sure how to actually pick a pair. They all look fine. They look like glasses.

Finally, he tries on a pair that gives Daniel that ‘one wrong move and I’ll suck your dick right here at the post office’ look. That, Johnny can work with.

They finish up the paperwork, and before he knows it, they’re back on the road. Wasn’t so bad after all. Bit fucked up to have to pay money for your eyes to do their job, but if he gets less headaches out of it…

Johnny’s so busy watching Daniel that he nearly misses Daniel missing their turn.

“Weren’t we supposed to turn left back there? By the diner.”

“Oh, I’m not taking you back home just yet. I have news about the car. It’s gonna take a week or two, we’re pretty slammed at the body shop right now and we’ll have to order some replacement parts, but it should all work out.”

“Cool,” Johnny says, trying to work out where they’re going. The dojo? Is Daniel seriously trying to get a leg over right now? Johnny was hoping to get started on unpacking a few boxes so they’re not in the way for when he does his pushups, but that’s a setback he won’t complain about.

“You’re more flexible when you have a car, though, so we should talk about how you’ll get around while it’s being fixed…”

“If you bought me a car–”

“I did not buy you a car,” Daniel laughs. He sets his turn signal, steers around the corner one-handed and pulls smoothly into the Miyagi-Fang courtyard. “Lucky for you, I inherited a couple.”

Johnny must have misheard him. He can’t mean…

But Daniel pulls the parking brake and beams at Johnny, the classic cars lined up behind him and gleaming in the spring sun. “Pick one.”

“What?”

“It’s just for two weeks, Johnny. They’re all still running. Except for that little blue number, that battery is a mess and none of us have a clue how to fix it…”

He’s out of the car already, and Johnny follows with mounting confusion.

“There’s only so many times you can make a kid wash and wax a car that doesn’t even get dirty,” Daniel says, one appreciative hand on the Ford’s buttery yellow hood. “You’d be doing me a favor, really.”

“Babe, that’s a really fucking bad idea.”

“Why not?”

Johnny just stares at him open-mouthed. Really? He’s really gonna make Johnny state the obvious?

Daniel’s pretty good about the ‘dinner, gas and Robby’s college’ rule, but every once in a while, Johnny lets himself be talked into allowing a small exception. (Fucking car salesmen.) But this feels like such a monumental break of the rules that Johnny doesn’t even know how to put it into words. Yeah, Daniel’s not technically spending any money. He inherited that car. But that’s the fucking point, isn’t it? It’s got more than monetary value. It’s sentimental. And Daniel’s ready to give him the goddamn keys? Just like that?

He looks over at the row of cars. The yellow Ford, Daniel’s favorite. The sleek black Cadillac.

“See, I know you were a Cadillac guy–”

“I can’t,” he protests, but there’s joy in there too, now. Just a tiny bit of excitement. “Mr Miyagi’s cars? I can’t do that. Come on.”

“That’s pretty much exactly what I said in ‘84.”

“Well, at least these don’t come with a bonsai,” Johnny says, softly running his fingertips over the chrome framing around the windshield.

“Well, uh… I’ll keep it if it’s too much.” Daniel nods towards the backseat, and when Johnny steps closer, he sees a small tree with a seatbelt on. Which is so stupidly adorable that Johnny almost forgets why he threw the first one away. 

He knows that Daniel is bummed out that Johnny never interacts much with the bonsai. He’ll water them (if he remembers), but he’s not invested the way Robby is. Johnny never sits down with them on the balcony, sipping tea and trimming branches. Even Miguel has joined a few times, and Johnny can tell that he’s into it.

Daniel has gotten Johnny interested in a few things that were out of his comfort zone. Pistachio ice cream, for one. This is different. 

“I just think it’s sad,” Johnny says slowly, clicking the seatbelt open and picking up the little tree. “Keeping them small so they’re nice to look at or whatever. What kind of tree is that?“

Daniel watches his face carefully.

“This one’s an apple tree,” he finally says.

“Maybe he wants to be tall and make apples and get left alone. You know what I mean? Maybe he doesn’t wanna be easy to handle.”

Daniel steps closer and carefully takes the pot from him, fingers brushing past Johnny’s. “You know, bonsai only stay small as long as you keep them in their pot and trim them. If you put it in the yard, it’ll start growing bigger. Might even have some apples in a couple years.”

“Really?”

“It’s the same plant.”

Johnny runs a careful finger across one of the leaves. They’re bigger than the usual bonsai Daniel has. Almond-shaped. Bright green. 

He likes the idea of putting that little guy in the yard somewhere, but wouldn’t that be disrespectful? Isn’t it meant to be an art form or something? If Johnny wanted another tree in the yard, he could just get a regular one.

But Daniel knows him better than that. Johnny knows himself better than that, for that matter. Better than assuming that ‘maybe the tree doesn’t want to be controlled and restricted’ has nothing to do with him.

“You know, Mr Miyagi always said trimming the tree is a metaphor for shaping your life the way you want. If you want to put it in the garden, that’s your call. There are worse fates for a tree.”

He could actually do that. Get some good soil. Fertilizer.

Pick up his landscaping gloves.

Making something of his life is one thing. Making sure the tree’s alright sounds a lot more manageable. Maybe Mr Miyagi was onto something.

*

Daniel drives the rest of Johnny’s stuff home, and Johnny announces he’ll take a quick joyride to get familiar with the car. 3-speed manual and all. And that’s what he plans to do, really, just a slow crawl through Sunday traffic. Somehow, he ends up in the Reseda Heights parking lot. Johnny has to at least check in on Miguel. 

Robby’s at home watching TV with Sam. He’ll never know. 

Johnny opens his chat with Miguel and types up a new message. House emoji or no house emoji? He decides in favor of the emoji. Just in case Miguel happens to not be at home, he’ll at least get what Johnny means by ‘outside’.

It only takes a few minutes for the door to open. 

“You can just ring the bell, sensei,” Miguel calls across the parking lot.

He’s squinting into the sun as he walks over in sweatpants and Adidas-style slides. For a second, he’s distracted by the change in wheels.

“Nice car,” he says, and then, eyes wide, “That’s Mr Miyagi’s.”

“Alright, calm down. I didn’t steal it. Daniel said I should borrow it while my car’s in the shop.” 

“Really?”

Johnny chuckles. “Yeah, that was my reaction. Hop in, I’ll take you for a spin around the block.”

“We’re having lunch in half an hour.”

“I’ll drop you back off in twenty,” Johnny promises. “You can even set the table. Come on. You don’t wanna see what this baby can do?”

"What, stand in traffic?" Miguel counters with a smile. But he climbs into the passenger seat without protesting any further. “Robby’s not coming?” 

“Nah, he’s at home with Sam and Anthony.”

For a split second, he can see Miguel wondering what exactly that means – if that’s all Johnny knows, that Robby’s at home, or if the news has already circled the block twice.

“He told you?”

“Nah, of course not.” Ah, shit. He puts on his best innocent face. “Told me what?”

“Great.”

Miguel sighs. 

He’s quiet today. Seems defeated. Johnny watches him out of the corner of his eye and wonders what he should do.

And then you pull your big move, Robby said.

Maybe he’s got this all wrong. Maybe they really weren’t dating. Either way, he doesn’t get how anything between them could have gone this far off the rails. 

Daniel does this really weird thing to get the kids to talk. He just hangs out with them in silence. Sometimes he makes them do chores, too – not even karate chores. Works with all sorts of things. Dishes, folding socks, setting the table... And then he waits, and before long they blurt out whatever they’re dying to say.

But Miguel’s clearly immune to the silence trick. Five minutes pass without him saying a single word, and when they reach that corner where the red phase always takes forever, Johnny can’t stand it for a second longer. 

He tries his best to not sound like he’s mad or disappointed or anything. Miguel’s already in a weird mood.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were gonna ask him out?”

Miguel laughs weakly. “Sensei…”

“Well, yeah, Robby’s my son, I know, but…”

He’s not sure how that sentence is supposed to end. You told me when you wanted to ask Sam out. You told me when the date went well. You told me you were gay or whatever. This feels like a downgrade.

“I just didn’t want to put you in the middle,” Miguel says. He’s staring at Robby’s TicTacs in the center console, already transferred over from Daniel’s car. “I thought that… we’d tell you together, I guess. Something like that.”

The light turns green, and Johnny makes the turn.

He can’t say that he’s sad that that conversation isn’t happening, because man, would he not have known what to say, but the conversation that’s happening instead is clearly worse.

Is he even allowed to do this, or is this picking sides? Is he supposed to stay out of it? Is Robby going to be mad because he’ll think Johnny’s choosing Miguel? That’s a problem Johnny thought they were over, now that they’re getting along. Apparently they got along so well that it looped all the way back around to being a problem.

He heard Robby out, though. As much as Robby wanted to be heard out. He should at least offer to do the same for Miguel. 

“I can listen to both sides, you know. Balance.”

Miguel turns around and gives him a sad, kind smile.

“Not this time, sensei.”

*

All three kids are still in their pajamas when Johnny gets home, and none of them look like they’ll be much help unpacking. 

Johnny carries the boxes into the bedroom as Daniel throws some of his frozen meal prep bolognese into a pot. 

Maybe there’s a way to get them both to sit at the same table again. They do have a common interest besides karate: Getting on Johnny’s nerves and getting way too involved in other people’s business. 

Johnny pulls out his phone and sends what he hopes qualifies as a Hail Mary text. There’s not a lot of proposal-related emergencies. 

He’s gotta bring out the big guns.

Now if they agree, they have a week to cool down and then they can reunite while rolling their eyes at Johnny’s bad taste in engagement rings. That’s not too bad a plan, right?

Honestly, he wishes he could ask Daniel. He’s gotten so used to being part of a team, it feels strange to not ask his opinion.

One minute passes without a reply from either Robby or Miguel. Two minutes. Three. How come these kids are always on their goddamn phones, but nobody ever texts him back? 

He starts unpacking, randomly placing his possessions around the room while staring down at the display. Finally, he sees some replies coming in.

Miguel doesn’t reply in the group, but texts Johnny that he’s available in their one-on-one chat. Hm. Better than nothing.

Then Daniel walks in, and Johnny nearly throws the phone out of the window. Shit. He’s gotta be better about being sneaky.

“That’s your idea of decorating?” Daniel laughs, looking at his own nightstand, where Johnny has absent-mindedly placed his 1983 trophy.

“What, you don’t like my trophies?”

“You’re unbelievable.”

Johnny gives him a little taste of just how true that is. Daniel hums into his mouth. Pretty good moving in present, as far as Johnny’s concerned.

“What do you think we should do with the rest of the day?” Daniel asks when they pull apart. “I told Sam and Robby the weather’s too good to be rotting in front of the TV all day and they gave me some Anthony-level attitude.”

“What’s Anthony up to?”

“Online gaming with his friends.”

“Let ‘em hang out today and force them to do something tomorrow,” Johnny suggests. “The movies or something. Well. No, not the movies. Maybe lunch. That new burger place on Ventura?”

“Great idea.” Daniel comes closer and drops his voice. “In that case… what do you think we should do with the rest of the day?”

Johnny’s about to suggest Golf-n-Stuff when he remembers he wanted to switch things up a bit. He did write down a list of date ideas. Only three bullet points, but that’s a start. Drive-in movie. Bowling. Swimming.

“You wanna check out if there’s anything good at that drive-in movie place? We can take Mr Miyagi’s car.”

Daniel lights up with mischief. 

“If we take Mr Miyagi’s car, you’ll have classic car enthusiasts knocking on the window every five minutes. You sure you wouldn’t rather take my car and make out with me in peace?”

“I don’t know what you’re on about,” Johnny lies. “I’m just going to see a movie.”

Daniel squeezes his ass, then reaches past him to fish his phone off the nightstand. “I’ll look up what’s on,” he says, turning toward the bathroom. “You know, the trophy-on-the-nighstand decor is kind of growing on me. Why don’t we put mine on your side?”

Johnny grins as the door falls shut.

A glance down at his own phone, and he sees a new message. Would you look at that, the other fish has finally swallowed the bait. 

Private message, but still.

Shit. Good point.

Johnny doesn’t even have his own ring size.

The only ring he’s ever seen Daniel wear is his old wedding band, and he’s got no idea where that even is these days. Did he give it back to Amanda? Johnny doesn’t really know the procedure on what happens to wedding rings after a divorce. 

Amanda’s cool, but she’s not that zen. Her and Daniel have only been divorced for, what, nine months? Ten? She’s grieving the companionship more than the marriage, as far as Johnny can tell, but it just seems bad manners to ask someone what their ex’s ring size is.

He’s gotta be smarter about this.

“Grease,” Daniel says through the bathroom door. 

It takes a second for Johnny to actually process what he just said and calm his runaway heartbeat. Damn. 

“Nine pm. Haven’t seen that in ages. Does that work for you, or are you actually going to want to pay attention?”

Johnny puts his phone away and opens the door. Daniel’s standing at the sink washing his hands, his shirt pushed up to his elbows. He shakes the last droplets off, which is a stupidly sexy gesture. Outright illegal, actually.

Johnny puts a hand on Daniel’s hip.

“I’ll pay so much attention, you won’t know what hit you.”

*

Johnny pays so much attention they end up leaving early. 

Enough to remember musicals aren’t his thing, enough to notice that John Travolta and Olivia Newton-John both look like they could have high school aged kids, and enough to consider buying a new leather jacket.

Which makes this date an overall success, Johnny decides, mid-kiss out in the hallway in front of their apartment. The kids are probably still up, and they don’t need to see all this. Kind of a fun role reversal. Reminds him of making out with Ali below the kitchen window so her parents wouldn’t see.

Sam and Robby don’t seem to have moved from the couch except to make space for Anthony and slaughter a bag of peanut flips and a Pringles can together. Johnny’s glad they have each other at least. 

“You guys have a good time?” Johnny says.

Noncommittal teenaged mumbling.

Johnny and Daniel spend the rest of the evening unpacking the last boxes. As good luck would have it, Johnny ends up finding a piece of string in the trash can, nestled in between some lint and loose buttons that Daniel threw away a few minutes earlier. 

When he read that article about how to figure out someone’s ring size, he was sweating trying to figure out where he’s supposed to find a random piece of string in a place like this. Thank God for twenty years of being too lazy to clean out the sediment of his life at Reseda Heights.

After they finally turn in, it’s a long journey of lying awake until Daniel’s finally off to the land of dreams.

This is going to be a challenge. Daniel’s a deep sleeper when it comes to noises – he doesn’t hear the garbage truck, the blinds, the ticking of his own watch. Nothing except the alarm clock. But if you touch him, he’s awake immediately. Total opposite of Johnny, who could probably be tied up, blindfolded and put in the trunk of a car without noticing but would startle awake the second the kidnapper turned on the ignition.

What follows are three frustratingly botched tries of carefully threading the string in between Daniel’s fingers in the dark and trying to pull it close enough to get a good measurement.

Four.

Five.

Daniel stirs on the sixth, absent-mindedly rubs his hand on the bedsheets. Shit. Johnny probably tickled him. 

Johnny has stopped counting his attempts by the time he finally gets a good hold on Daniel’s ring size. Thank God. He was this close to just turning on the lights and telling Daniel to mind his own business.

Daniel does wake up when Johnny crawls out of the sheets, but Johnny brushes him off with a mumbled excuse about ‘glass of water’ and closes the door.

In the kitchen he finds Robby, shutting off the tap.

“Can we not have another talk, please?” he sighs when he sees Johnny. “I already had one with Daniel this morning. I just wanted to sleep in for once, okay? I wasn’t in the mood for kata.”

“That’s fine,” Johnny says, watching him hide behind his glass. “I was just going to ask if you know where the tape measure is.”

“With the pens, I think.”

“Thanks.”

Johnny starts rifling around in the junk drawer one-handedly, back turned to Robby. “But if you do wanna talk, just say so.”

“Sure.”

“I mean it.”

No answer. Johnny turns around. The kitchen is empty.

“Robby–” Johnny says, and drops everything he’s holding onto the counter to follow Robby down the hallway and knock quietly on his door.

Silence.

Johnny sighs and trots back to the kitchen. The loose string and tape measure lie on the counter. Perfectly useless.

Shit.

*

On Sunday at around eleven, he drives to the dojo with a shovel and his old gardening gloves. The bonsai’s still sitting on the kitchen counter, and it’s time to get it out of that pot. 

When he pulls into the lot, Tory’s old Toyota is standing in the driveway.

If it weren’t Sunday, he’d guess that maybe she came here to talk shop with Daniel. Daniel mentioned that she called him back and asked if the dealership job was still available. 

Or maybe she’s just trying to take her mind off what’s going on at home. What Amanda told them last night over the phone sounded pretty dire. Apparently Annie Nichols has full-on kidney failure and the donor list isn’t looking too promising. 

He finds Tory on the pond platform in shorts and a hoodie, legs still wet from when she must have climbed on. She’s running defense drills in repetitions of five. Might be a good opportunity to talk to her. She’s always the first one to rush off after training. Hard to get a word in one-on-one.

“Nichols,” he calls.

Her head ticks up, and he holds up the bonsai.

“Wanna help me do some gardening?”

*

She holds the tree still as he shovels the soil back around it.

“Apple tree, huh,” Johnny says. “Let’s see what you got.”

“Do you think it’ll actually grow any apples this year?”

“No clue. I’m not much of a gardener.”

Tory inspects the tree once more and then nods at a tiny green bud. “That thing could be a blossom. Blossoms turn into fruits.”

“I knew that,” Johnny mumbles. “Thirty years ago, I bet I knew that.”

Tory tries to swallow her smile and doesn’t quite manage.

“You holding up okay?” Johnny says.

He might not be the right person to have this talk with her. But he’s the one who’s here. He’s just going to have to do his best.

“What do you mean?” she says, sounding guarded.

“Amanda’s been in touch with your mom. Apparently…” She’s dying. “She’s not doing too hot.” 

To his surprise, Tory blurts out a laugh. He remembers what that’s like. Those days when the grief is so deep it flips back into being absurd.

“Oh, she’d love that. Not doing too hot.”

“Sorry, kid. Didn’t know it was that bad.”

“Yeah. Well. It is what it is.”

She moves to stand up again, and Johnny clears his throat as he gets up, too. 

“Do you, uh…”

Do you want to talk? Do you need anything?

“What?” she says, and she looks so young for a second, so uncertain with her frown and her big dark hoodie. Dressed up like someone she won’t actually be for another ten years.

“Do you wanna do a couple of reps? If we’re already both here?”

She nods. 

He should go inside and get the focus mitts from one of the overflowing cupboards. But his gaze is glued to the tree now. Brazenly alive. Leaves stirring in the breeze. 

Tory’s legs must be cold, he thinks absent-mindedly. With the wind and all. Wasn’t she just in the pond?

“I got in a really bad accident the year my mom got sick,” he says. “The car was toast. My shoulder hurt like a bitch. Got a DUI, of course…”

Tory’s expression is somewhere between searching and defensive. “Just because I have my car back, that doesn’t mean I’ll celebrate by driving drunk.”

“Fair enough. Smarter than me.”

He doesn’t elaborate on what happened. The last thing you want to hear when someone in your family is dying is stories about other people’s dead family members. Johnny always hated when other people came around the corner with their sad cancer stories.

“How old were you when that happened?” she asks.

“Thirty-three. Not really the same thing, I know. I’m just saying, before you ever go around having accidents like that… Come here, punch some stuff. Talk to someone. Not your school counselor, I heard she sucks ass. But… I don’t know. Daniel? Amanda?”

“I have a therapist. Had to get one, you know. To get back into school.”

“Cool.” He doesn’t ask how that’s going. It probably helps, but it can’t save her mom. Not the kind of help Tory wants. “Wanna hit something?”

“Definitely.”

They cycle through a few repetitions. Defense. Attack. Johnny takes steps backwards across the deck as she follows with straight kicks, and then they walk all the way back as he goes in and she defends.

She’s good. Getting better and better.

Johnny wonders why she didn’t seem that interested in the sensei job.

“Let’s call it a day,” he decides after fifteen minutes. “Gotta save some of your strength for training tomorrow. Remember your elbows, ‘kay?”

“Yeah, okay.”

“You’re getting really good, you know. I know you’re starting at LaRusso Auto next week or something…”

“Yeah, I got fired. Gave away a drink to some guy who was having a rough time. And I’ve been late a lot, too.”

“Right. What I meant is… any reason you didn’t want to help Daniel teach? You can’t get enough of karate.” He points around at the empty dojo garden on a nice Sunday morning. She could be out doing anything, but she’s here. “Apparently.”

She wipes the sweat off her face, panting and staring at him.

“I got expelled, remember? I have a record.”

“What, you think we’ll do a background check?”

She sighs, and the frustration she almost got out of her system is immediately back, scrunching up her face. 

“I started in Cobra Kai.” 

“So did I.”

She won’t meet his gaze. Looks down at her bare feet on the wood. Most of her wet footprints have dried already.

“You know what I mean,” she says quietly.

“Not really, no.”

“What if I stand there and open my mouth and…”

“And his voice comes out?” Johnny tries to complete the sentence.

Tory looks up at him with silent, burning eyes. 

Jackpot.

“How’d you make sure that doesn’t happen?” 

Johnny exhales. Man, what a question.

Is he even doing enough to make sure it doesn’t happen? It definitely happened a lot in the beginning. Under Kreese’s banner, it was hard to be fighting for anything else. Having Eagle Fang made it easier in a way. It’s its own thing, and he can build it from the ground up. He’s good at correcting form details. He’s good at teaching confidence. The rest is a lot of guesswork with zero GPS. Hoping he doesn’t end up driving his eagles into the ocean.

“When I was fourteen,” he says, vaguely wondering why it’s so easy for Tory to just stand there and make all this stuff come pouring out of him. “I asked why the left flap goes over the right. Why we tie the gi that way, you know. And Kreese said if you know so much better than me, why don’t you teach the class. And he made me run laps until I threw up. And I still don’t know why. Never asked again. So… I don’t know. I just start with ‘what do I not do’ and work backwards from that, usually.”

She nods.

“All I want you to do is think about it. Daniel’s gonna do most of the teaching. You just make sure they make their fists right. That they don’t fall in the pond and shit.”

“I’ll think about it.”

That’s all he can ask, really. More than he can ask. 

“Good luck at LaRusso Auto,” he says, raising his hand for a high-five.

“I’ll try not to give away any cars for free.”

Johnny grins at her. “Gotta work your way up to CEO to do that.”

She smiles back at him for a moment, and that’s enough for him. That has to count as a successful conversation. Wasn’t even that hard, actually. 

“Oh, and Daniel’s gonna kill me if I don’t tell you that – you can come here anytime you want, but stay off the platform when you’re alone. Promise?”

“Yeah, okay.”

He gives her a look.

“I promise,” she says quietly.

“Good. You cool down a bit, do some kata, whatever. I’m gonna water my little apple guy and then head out.”

“Sensei Lawrence?”

He turns back.

She hesitates, gestures down at her hoodie, where her gi jacket would normally sit. 

“It’s to do with death. You only put the right side on top when you’re dressing a dead person. Sensei LaRusso explained.”

A heavy pause. And now that Johnny knows the answer, he wonders – did Kreese even know the day Johnny asked? He might have looked it up later. Then again, Tory started out in Cobra Kai and apparently still found out from Daniel.

“It’s kind of dumb,” Tory says quietly, “but I used to tie my mom’s bathrobe right over left, and ever since I found out, I’ve been doing it like a gi.”

The familiarity of that tugs at Johnny’s pulse. Helpless hands on Laura’s fluffy bathrobe. The white belt she’d die in. Forever outmatched.

He nods. “I used to tie it left over right for my mom, too.” 

A fragile smile passes between them.

“See, you’re a natural at this sensei stuff,” Johnny says, in an attempt to convey his gratitude without having to get weird and mushy. “Hung out with you for twenty minutes and already learned something new.”

She blinks up at him, in a way that teenagers sometimes do when they’re seeing right through you and don’t even care enough to pretend they aren’t. “Thank you, too.”

“For what?”

“Giving a shit.”

*

Sam calls him on his way home and sneaks him some updates about Robby. In the background of the call, he can hear her puttering around with some drawers – probably as an alibi. 

Still no contact with Miguel, as far as she knows. Robby seems to look forward to ring shopping on the twenty-seventh, which is definitely a win, but he’s already told Sam that if Miguel doesn’t want him there, he’ll bow out.

Johnny tells her about his failed attempts at getting a good ring measurement, and she reassures him that he still has time.

“Tell the others to get ready for lunch, alright?” he finally says. “I’ll be there in fifteen. Ten if traffic goes easy on me.”

No response except a suppressed curse.

“Sam?” He fiddles with the volume button. “Something wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“You sure?”

“It’s fine, really.”

“I can be there in seven if I speed,” Johnny says, already checking his mirrors. “You want me to speed?”

“Definitely not,” she says, making a sound that could be either a sigh or a laugh. “It’s not a big deal, I promise. I just realized I forgot some stuff at Mom’s place. If you really want to help, you can stop by the store. Or I could just go, then I might be a bit late for lunch.”

“What are you talking about? Of course I can go to the store, but you gotta tell me what to buy.”

There’s a bit of a pause. Why is she being so cryptic?

“I thought I had more period stuff over here, but I think I’m out. But it’s no big deal if–”

“No problem,” Johnny blurts out. “Yeah, I’ll… Sure thing. On it. Cool. Period stuff. I’ll go, uh… Get right on that. Over and out.”

He fumbles for the big red button. Finally, the call drops.

Honestly, it’s bananas that the possibility of asking for Johnny’s help even crossed Sam’s mind. That amount of trust is a currency he’s a bit scared to convert. He’s not sure he’d know what to do with it all if he looked at it too closely. Thank God he’s not embarrassed. If Sam’s not embarrassed, why would Johnny be embarrassed? 

Over and out? Fucking hell.

He pulls into the parking lot of the next supermarket he sees.

The last time he bought anything period-related was eighteen years ago. They might not even have Shannon’s brand anymore. It was blue packaging; he remembers that. Or was it purple?

Johnny finds the right aisle without much trouble, but that’s where his plans for a quick, easy mission fall apart. The options seem to have doubled since the millennium. Some are on sale, but this seems like the kind of thing he shouldn’t skimp on. There’s something that looks like a rubber shot glass, too. Is that for pain medication? Some wild west ‘grit your teeth through it’ kinda thing? He picks some options out of the shelf, hoping for clues and hints, but that doesn’t really help, either. 

“8 L 18 R 8 S…” he reads off one of the packages. “The hell? They got left and right tampons now?”

“Can I help you, sir?”

A sales lady has snuck up on him, and Johnny awkwardly scratches his head.

“Yeah, my stepdaughter says she ran out of her… uh, period stuff. She’s about five three, brown hair. High school junior.”

The sales lady frowns. “Okay.”

On one of the packages he’s holding, there’s the silhouette of a woman running. Maybe that’s important.

“She’s an athlete, too. Karate. What should I get?”

“Well, whatever your stepdaughter likes to use. Everyone’s got their own preferences. Pads, tampons, wings, no wings… Did she tell you anything?”

“Wings?” Johnny repeats. “Does that help with… gravity? You know, kicks and jumps?” 

The sales lady seems to get more confused by the minute. Some help she is. One would think she’d know what the hell she’s talking about.

He looks back at the shelf. Man, this packaging is weird-looking.

“What is all this, anyway? This one comes with a rabies shot…”

“That’s an applicator,” she says faintly.

As far as Johnny’s concerned, an applicator goes on the end of a broom for if you want to stain floors. Sales Lady has clearly never been to Home Depot before.

“Can your stepdaughter send you a picture, maybe?” she suggests helplessly. “That might be the easiest way to do this.“

When he opens his chat with Sam, he sees a screenshot from the store website waiting for him already. Smart kid. 

Johnny turns the phone to the sales clerk with relief. 

“That one.”

She walks him down the end of the aisle and points to a box on their right. “There you go. You want one box or two?”

Johnny frowns. He doesn’t really feel like going through this ordeal again anytime soon. How many tampons do you need a day, really? Ten? Twenty?

“How many you got?”

Chapter Text

SAM.

The ‘Search for Robby’ group chat (Miyagi-Fang’s unofficial top six plus Aisha) has been renamed many times since the night Cobra Kai collapsed. Usually, it’s Demetri and Hawk one-upping each other with more and more nonsensical ideas. Search for hidden cameras, Search for truffles, Search for Spock, Search for sensei’s car keys. It’s a near-weekly ritual.

When Sam checks her phone on her way to lunch, it’s been renamed to Search For Prom Outfits. Demetri's posting selfies in a bafflingly shiny suit. Sam hasn’t found anything yet (she’s not really prioritized it so far), but she’s pretty sure she can swing it. There’s a month left. She’s done wilder things on shorter deadlines.

Neither Miguel nor Robby has said a single word in any of the chats since their botched date last Friday. Not in the big dojo chat, not in the proposal chat, and not in the Search chat. Sam is honestly just glad that neither has packed up and left a group entirely, like Yasmine always used to when she got pissed off at Sam and Moon. 

Tory’s replied, though. Normally she just reads without commenting.

Miguel is early and has already secured the unofficial dojo table by the window. Over his shoulder, Sam can see that he’s reading his own chat with Robby as the group messages pop up at the top of the screen. When she sits down next to him, he clicks the phone shut as if she just caught him doing something unspeakable.

Over the weekend, Robby spent all day lying around on the couch and letting Sam put on a whole Deep Space Nine marathon. On Sunday, they hung out with Anthony, and listened to him go on and on about Dungeon Lord – the new skins you can get for the werewolf king if you collect enough diamonds, and the Shadow Skip, a maneuver which allows you to mimic a member of an opposing team before uncloaking in the middle of them. Robby even asked follow-up questions. If that’s not a cry for help, she doesn’t know either.

“He just needs some time to freak out in peace,” Sam says quietly. “Sorry it didn’t go well.”

Miguel looks over and sighs.

“I think I blew it.”

“Look, anyone can see what you mean to him. Last time he started dating a friend of his, it was all… chaos and cheating and amnesia. I get why he’s being careful this time. You know, not…”

“Not that keen on it?” Miguel murmurs through a mouthful of mashed potatoes. Sam groans at the terrible joke, and to her relief, Miguel smiles. 

“Actually, never mind,” she says. “I don’t think he’s ever calling you back. Do you want those?”

He finally faces her all the way as she ladles a spoonful of peas onto his plate and starts scooping up the baby carrots instead. Miguel hates baby carrots. Old habit. He’s clearly grateful that she’s here, but still looks conflicted.

“Are you supposed to be sitting with me? Maybe you should sit with Robby.”

“Yeah, I’m not playing ‘You get Sensei and I get Sam’. We’re not splitting assets. No way. How are you doing? Still had an okay weekend?”

“Well, my yaya was bugging me all weekend about what happened, so… kind of exhausting, actually.”

“Are you going to Monday movie night?”

It’s not every week, as far as Sam knows, but often enough to be a standing appointment. Something you have to cancel, not something you have to set up. Johnny, Robby, Miguel and Mrs Keene’s couch.

“Am I going to…” Miguel shakes his head. “After what he said to me?”

“I have no idea what he said to you.”

Miguel bites his lip for a second, unsure what he should tell Sam. Whatever it might be, he decides against it. “Doesn’t matter. Might not even mean what I think it means. Either way, I must have really freaked him out.”

“There he is!” Hawk’s voice booms across the cafeteria before Sam can come up with a good answer. “Look at you, Romeo!”

Worst timing ever. Sam tries to gesture at him to cut it out, but Hawk doesn’t seem to notice. Too busy grinning and dramatically pointing at Miguel.

“Oh my God,” Miguel says, running a hand across his face. “How the fuck does Hawk know?”

“You saw Star Wars, you genius,” Sam whispers. “What do you think?”

“Shit, I bet he went with Demetri… Oh, God… And Tory saw the whole thing, too…”

“Tory?” Sam repeats, head whipping back to Miguel. “Wait, how come everyone was at the movies except for me?”

“Always knew you had it in you,” Hawk throws his tray on the table with a big grin. “Good for you. You won me twenty dollars off Demetri. Minibar snacks on me next time.” 

What is it with these two and their idiot bets?

“Hawk…” Sam says, putting down her spoon.

“We saw you leave early. Let’s hear details!”

“You don’t want details.” 

Hawk rolls his eyes at them.

“I don’t mean what brand of Plan B you bought. I just meant… you know… details. Happier than ever?”

“Nope,” Miguel says evenly, stabbing a fork into his peas until it looks like an abacus.

“Yeah, as if,” Hawk snorts. “We know you can kiss. Sam kept coming back for more. We had a whole gang war about it.” 

“Don’t make me bring out the catapult,” Sam says, lifting her spoonful of mashed potatoes. “Would be a shame to ruin that beautiful hair.”

“The lips that launched a thousand ships or whatever the Trojan horse was about–”

“Hawk,” Miguel says with mounting annoyance. “It was bad, okay? Stop asking for details. The details are that he told me to get lost.”

“Bullshit. Robby’s obsessed with you.”

“Yeah? You wanna go and tell him that?”

Hawk frowns, looking from Sam to Miguel and finally taking in that there doesn’t seem to be that much to party about. “You’re serious?”

“Yeah, I’m serious. We didn’t leave early. He walked out on me. And I’m mad at him, but we’re fine, okay? If I hear that one of you is giving him a hard time about this, I’m gonna–”

“Would you look at that?” Demetri interrupts, putting his tray down on Sam’s other side as he grins at Miguel. “Mr Happy Ending himself. If there’s one thing we can learn from Star Wars: Just because he kissed his sister, doesn’t mean you can’t be endgame–”

“Jesus Christ,” Sam says, burying her face in her hands as the laughter fights its way out of her. What the hell is the matter with these two?

“Get a clue, man,” Hawk says, throwing a protective arm across Miguel’s shoulders. “It didn’t go well. Can’t believe you’d come here acting like that. Read the room, Demetri.”

“What did I do?” Demetri complains. “You’re the one who said they were probably sneaking off to bone in Sam’s car–”

“That doesn’t sound like me.”

“And what does that mean, didn’t go well? You guys were sitting so close together… I mean, why even pay for a second seat if you’re not gonna use it–”

“Demetri, can you please sit down,” Miguel begs.

Hopeless, all of them. 

Herself included, to be fair. A normal person wouldn’t eat off her ex’s plate after he just got brutally turned down by her stepbrother-to-be. Any hope for normal probably went out the window the day Dad and Johnny met again. Whatever rabies they have, they’re catching.

At least Miguel seems to be mildly entertained by Hawk and Demetri’s antics. “Let’s just… not do this here, guys. Okay?”

By now, Moon and Yas are putting their trays onto the table, settling down next to Hawk. Moon and Hawk’s on-and-off thing has recently hit ‘on’ again after Moon and Piper broke up, so the dojo lunch table has gotten a few extra members.

Moon’s been really great about making amends, but she seems to believe she can make Yas a better person Little Lord Fauntleroy style – by acting like she already is and shaming her into compliance. The success rate so far is rather mediocre. 

Today, Yas seems pretty mellow, so Sam still has hope for a relaxed lunch break until Yas finally interrupts the vaguely Star Wars themed chatter to point at Miguel with her fork.

“Wait, why isn't Robby sitting with us?”

Moon swallows hastily. “What?” 

“Come on, you know who I mean. Hot guy with the bike. The one where I told you I’d try to hitch a ride if he was ever--”

“Don’t even think about it, Yas,” Sam says sharply. Even though Miguel and Robby don’t actually qualify as broken up, seeing as they’ve never dated, bringing this up at all has to violate some form of girl code. Also, does Yas really  think Moon doesn't know who Robby is? Especially now that Sam’s father has pretty much adopted him?

"Okay, Sam," Yas says, raising an eyebrow. "No need to act all holier-than-though. I was clearly kidding. Nevermind. Do all of you take off your sense of humor at the door or is that a shoe-only rule?"

Sam looks over at Miguel to see how he's handling it all, and follows his gaze past her own shoulder, where Yas was just looking. Just in time to see Robby putting his tray down at Tory’s table.

Shit. Maybe they are splitting assets.

*

In English Lit, Mrs Scott puts them in groups of three to discuss questions about Hamlet. As fate would have it, Tory does the math before Sam does. When Sam realizes everyone else has matched up and looks at Tory over by the window, she’s already turned around to Sam with a resigned expression.

“I think you and Victoria don’t have a group yet,” Mrs Scott says helpfully. Perfect, Sam thinks, not even sure if she’s being sarcastic or not.

She makes her way to the other side of the classroom and pulls an empty chair up to Tory’s desk.

“Howdy, partner,” Sam says, because she’s an idiot.

“Hi.” 

“How was lunch?”

“Mashed potatoes, same as you. Do you mean ‘how’s Robby’ or…?”

“Well, we were at my dad’s place all weekend. I know he’s not doing great. I just meant, uh… how are you?”

“How am I?” Tory repeats. “You never ask me how I am.”

“Well, uh, if that’s too personal for you…” Sam glances down at the handout. “...what are the three most significant scenes in Hamlet and why?”

They get to work. Tory seems to understand the play a little better than Sam does – which is fair because she’s probably spent considerably less time staring at the back of someone’s head during class – but they agree on most things overall. Sam is almost sad there’s not much reason to argue. It’s pretty straightforward as far as plays go. A desperate son’s plot to avenge his father’s murder, and by the end more or less everyone’s dead. Fun.

Before long, they’re nearly at the end, discussing when Hamlet crosses the line from wanting justice to wanting revenge. Sam throws out a few suggestions, maybe when he kills the wrong guy by accident, maybe the play, and watches Tory’s face for something like an impressed little twitch of her mouth.

When it doesn’t come, Sam opens the booklet and flips pages until she finds the right scene. “I mean, that’s where he’s essentially telling his uncle, I don’t just want you to die, I want you to see what you did. The play’s the thing wherein I’ll catch the conscience of the king. Oh, that’s where that’s from!”

“What?”

“Conscience of the King. The Star Trek episode.”

“No, I mean, what are you talking about? It’s the scene where he almost kills his uncle.”

“Yes, but he doesn’t. He spares him.”

Tory leans over and taps her finger on the paragraph at the bottom of the left page. Lets it rest there.

“If Hamlet still wanted justice at that point, he could kill him and be done.” she says. “But he says he wants Claudius to go to hell. So he has to wait until after his prayer. Until he’s sinned again.” 

“To make it hurt,” Sam says quietly. “Do as much damage as possible. Got it.”

She always saw that scene as Hamlet making excuses because his conscience was acting up at the last minute, but the way Tory put it makes a lot of sense. Intellectually, at least. 

She can’t imagine hating anyone that much. Not even Kreese. She looks up at Tory, wondering if she’s thinking the same thing. Wondering what they’re capable of at their worst.

“I shouldn’t have done that in front of the whole school,” Tory says, and she has the nerve to look sad as she withdraws onto her side of the table again. “Making it hurt more. If my relationship’s dead, so is your reputation… That was so stupid.”

“I don’t see you in this at all, honestly,” Sam says, picking up her pen again and hoping she doesn’t sound too invested in Tory’s self-image. “You’re not that patient. You’d have sent me straight to heaven if you had the choice.”

“Like you’d be able to get in,” Tory counters.

Sam grins at the worksheet as she completes the sentence.

“Oh yeah, that ship’s sailed. Last question?”

Tory sighs as she reads it.

“Ugh, of course. The female characters in Hamlet…”

“I can do it alone if you find the question too hard,” Sam teases.

“Right, because you’re the expert on women.”

“Well, I did get more points on Never Have I Ever–”

“There’s no points, Sam, you can’t win Never Have I Ever–”

“-- especially when it comes to girls. So if you have a question…”

“I’ll consult your neverending wisdom,” Tory says, and the spark of challenge in her eyes seems to catch fire. She remembers exactly what Sam was talking about. And Sam remembers Tory wasting her opportunity to get everyone to drink, just to find out who in the room had kissed a girl. She hadn’t herself, so she knew she wouldn’t win, but she asked anyway. Fascinating.

“Well,” Sam says, not sparing a single glance towards her worksheet or her copy of Hamlet, “there’s the Queen and there’s Ophelia…”

“No, I do actually have a question.”

By Tory’s facial expression, Sam can tell that this question is definitely going to be very casual and not at all aggressive. 

“Go ahead,” she says anyway.

“Why do straight girls do that? That’s sooo funny, I bet I’ve kissed more girls than you, and I don’t even like girls. What am I supposed to say? Oh, good for you! Like, what kind of a sociopath brag is that? You don’t see me bragging about all the guys I’ve kissed while having zero fucking feelings for them.”

No. This can’t be happening. 

Sam is nothing but thorough: She has a list of reasons why having a crush on Tory is the worst idea of all times. She hates me. I hate her. She annoys the hell out of me. It would be really bad for Miyagi-Fang if we mess it up. The longer Sam lies awake at night, the more these reasons start folding in on themselves. ‘Tory isn’t queer’ has always been one of the last stable strongholds. And now it’s gone, turned to dust in less than a second.

“Hello?” Tory says with visible annoyance. “What do you get out of that?”

“I don’t know,” Sam says tersely. “You should ask a straight girl, probably.”

“Huh,” Tory smiles, her demanding expression gone in the blink of an eye, and Sam realizes she’s been played. 

“What?”

“Was it Aisha?”

“What just…”

“You both drank during that question and you've been friends for years. I feel like that’s not a crazy conclusion.”

Sam laughs. “What’s crazy is that you think this is any of your business.”

“Alex?”

“Didn’t see her since I was eight,” Sam says pointedly. “So… no. Obviously not. Also, again: None of your business.”

“Moon.”

This time, it doesn’t sound like a question.

“Moon and I are just friends.”

“So that’s why you ditched Aisha for your prissy little friends? Because you had a crush on Moon?”

“I did not ditch Aisha, I–”

Tory raises her eyebrows the smallest bit, and Sam rolls her eyes, already feeling herself flush. 

“Okay, I did. I get it, I was a shitty friend. When I like someone, it always kind of… consumes my life a little. Not something I’m proud of.” 

She takes a breath. It’s her turn to take a risk again. And Sam knows more than decides that she’s all in. This is too important not to talk about. Not when something so similar has been swimming laps around her own mind. 

She did make quite a mess with Robby and Miguel. It’s a miracle that either of them still talk to her. And getting into a relationship just always seemed like the only way to get close to a guy she really liked having in her life, but it was never really what she wanted when she got there. Kyler was an asshole, obviously, so good riddance. With Miguel, she convinced herself that Cobra Kai ideology was the only problem. And Robby didn’t seem quite right either, and everyone was happy to believe that it was because he just wasn’t Miguel. Except she could have asked Miguel out again before he got that close with Robby, and she didn’t.

She’s too good at pattern recognition to not be able to put two and two together.

“So when you say, uh… zero feelings… Does that include Miguel?”

Tory takes a long, solemn look at her. 

“Sorry, that’s…” Sam’s face burns. “That was a really weird thing to say.”

“Yeah, a bit,” Tory says. “But no, it doesn’t. I kind of almost wish it did. Then at least your arm wouldn’t look like that.”

“Actually, it doesn’t look like much of anything these days. Just an arm.” And before she can think twice about it – or even think once about it, for that matter – “You want to see?”

She’s wearing a dusky pink blouse today, sleeves down to her elbows. Sam slides the seam up toward her shoulder. Her veins shimmer soft and blue on the inside of her elbow, right underneath the three pale marks Tory left. 

Tory hesitates.

“I thought it would look worse,” she says, more to herself than to Sam.

“Exactly. I don’t think I could even find it in the dark.”

Tory doesn’t ask why Sam would ever attempt to find her own scars in the dark, and Sam is glad for it. It suddenly seems like an inappropriately intimate thing to admit out loud.

Tory reaches out, a shiver of fingertips, and pulls away again right away.

“You probably could,” she says.

“Maybe.”

Tory looks at her as the sleeve falls back into place.

Sam wishes she’d say something. As always, Tory does her the favor of making Sam’s wishes come true in the most contrarian of ways.

“So… when did Moon dump you?” 

At least it breaks the tension.

“We didn’t date. We just made out a few times the summer before sophomore year. Are you good now? Do you need a play-by-play?”

Tory shrugs. “Feel like I can imagine it pretty well. Look at me, I’m Sam LaRusso! My backseat has tinted windows and I have Swarovski studded nipples, what do you say– ”

“Go fuck yourself,” Sam says, but the insult is so absurd that she snorts out a laugh halfway through the sentence.

*

During the water break at karate, Demetri graciously tries to distract Robby and Miguel through playlist-building. At least that’s how it starts – it doesn’t even take two minutes until he’s viciously arguing with Hawk and Maya about each other’s playlist nominations. 

“Til I— We’re not putting Til I Collapse twice.”

“It’s a banger! What the hell is King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard?”

“My taste in music is vast and varied. Your playlists are just Numb by Linkin Park twenty-seven times–”

Sam’s added a lot of ABBA, because that’s always a crowd pleaser, and a bit of Ed Sheeran, because (at least according to Demetri) she’s a sadist. 

Hawk’s thrown in the whole buffet from pop punk to rap, apparently.

Both Miguel and Robby are keeping to the outside of the group, and manage to stay as far away from each other as possible. 

“Demetri, give me the list–” 

“Bitch Better Have My Money stays,” Maya demands, grabbing out for the phone on the other side. “That or I’m deleting Rasputin.”

“What kind of Sensei Lawrence torture playlist are you guys making?” Johnny interrupts, pushing through to the middle of the throng. “Gotta tell you, the fact that I’m not hearing Van or Halen is not promising.”

“It was supposed to be a Santa Barbara road trip mixtape,” Hawk grins. “But that’s actually a killer idea. Robby, you go start the torture playlist. Put the link in the group chat. Everyone do your worst.”

“On it,” Robby says, actually halfway smiling now. “I’m thinking we start with Barbie Girl…”

“How about my suggestion – the driver picks the tape and if you don’t like it, I can tie you to the roof so you don’t have to hear it.”

“He’s kidding,” sighs Dad, who somehow snuck up on them without Sam noticing. Thank God they weren’t talking about proposal stuff. “Get your last nominations out, okay? Time to get back on the mat.”

More of a metaphorical mat. 

The permits still haven’t come in, as far as Sam knows. Hopefully they’ll actually get to start building before summer, otherwise she’ll barely have time to actually train inside the new dojo space before she graduates next summer.

“Poison by Alice Cooper,” Devon says once the senseis have turned their backs again, looking over Demetri’s shoulder. “For the road trip playlist. Sensei loves that song.”

“Suckup,” Hawk coughs.

“Okay, then let’s put all of thank u, next for the torture playlist,” she shoots back. “Whole Ariana Grande album just for you, Hawk.”

“Come on–”

Demetri cackles. “You heard her. Abby?”

“I want Hips Don't Lie. On both playlists.”

“Daring. I like it. Miguel?”

“I was thinking we could start another playlist,” Miguel quietly suggests. “For, uh… You know. If there’s ever, uh… any mystery events in the future that might need music.”

“Good idea,” Robby says. “Maybe you could start that one.”

Miguel doesn’t look at him.

So that’s going to be awkward for a little bit longer.

At least nobody’s brought up prom yet. Miguel did let it slip to Sam that at some point, he and Robby were thinking about going together, so that’s a big no-go zone, as far as Sam’s concerned.

They abandon their phones on the deck and line up again. Today, they’re doing the soto uke exercise that involves your arms touching nearly all the time. She’s still deciding if it’s better to ask Tory or to give herself a break from all that crush madness when Robby walks up and offers himself as a partner. Right. Now all their default pairings are in flux. Next to him, Demetri pairs up with Tory, and to Sam’s surprise, she answers his how-are-you with a brief, casual complaint about getting fired last week. A month ago, she’d have just rolled her eyes and asked him to get in position.

“I’m doing a couple days at LaRusso Auto to work off the car bill,” she says. “Saturdays or whenever. But I still need an actual job for rent.”

Robby is quiet and focused, so Sam spends almost the entire exercise listening to Demetri recommending new jobs to Tory.

“What about tutoring? I tutor for compsci and math… Pays more than you’d think. Or maybe you can ask Chris if Golf’n’Stuff–”

“Little more karate, little less job center,” Johnny says. “Demetri, wider stance. Tory, keep your arms further out. You can’t fully block like that. Better.”

Demetri barely waits for Johnny to take two steps away.

“And Abby’s a lifeguard, right? You can get your Baywatch on, if that’s your style…”

“Yeah, don’t join for the uniforms,” Abby interrupts. “Your only options are polos or wetsuit zip-up shirts. I look like I work at the penguin center.”

Tory snorts quietly.

When Sam meets her eyes, she looks away.

*

Sam always stays longer after training now to work on her scorpion with Johnny. Dad tolerates it, as long as she promises not to take unnecessary risks. It’s an instruction begging to be ignored. The whole idea of the scorpion flip kick is an unnecessary risk. On the other hand, an injury would throw a serious wrench in her plans, so he does have a point. Two weeks until Santa Barbara. A month until the All Valley. There’s no time to sit around and wait for a potential injury to heal.

So far, it’s not going as well as Sam had hoped. The momentum just isn’t there. She’s supposed to drop to the ground face first and bring up her legs behind her body, but right now she’s barely managing to land on her hands without breaking her nose. Maybe there’s just too much on her mind. Getting into a college she hasn’t even told her parents she’s considering. Tory. Robby and Miguel’s falling out. Her Dad potentially getting remarried. 

Why can’t she get this stupid flip right?

At the beginning, Johnny asked her how it was, driving Tory around, and when she told him it was fine, he said she’d gotten ‘the easy part of the deal’. She still can’t let go of the implication that apparently, teaching her karate is the hard part. Sam is supposed to be the one you don’t have to worry about. She’s supposed to pick it up immediately and then help the others. 

Finally, Johnny calls for a break.

He chugs half a bottle of water, then walks over to a little tree halfway between the house and the pond and pours the rest of his bottle out. That one is new, isn’t it? Sam hasn’t really noticed it before.

“Is that a bonsai?” 

“Yeah,” Johnny says, scratching his head as he squints down at the leaves. “Liked him better out here. Just you wait, five years from now, we’ll be selling Miyagi-Fang applesauce. Every new member gets a free jar or something.”

‘Miyagi-Fang’ and ‘five years from now’ in the same sentence puts a smile on Sam’s face that’s going to be hard to shake. The casual inevitability with which Johnny talks about the dojo’s future. She wonders if he even notices that he’s doing it.

“Gonna go to the garden center and see if they’ve got some good fertilizer for apple trees. I’ve been googling. Never did much landscaping.”

She could make a quip about Johnny’s infamous googling skills, but she can tell this is nervous rambling. Is this about the whole the-tree-is-your-life thing? Sam remembers being very nervous about that responsibility when she got her first bonsai from Mr Miyagi at nine years old. 

At last, he blurts out what’s really on his mind.

“Daniel says your grandma wants to visit for a couple days in May.”

Sam hadn’t heard about that yet, but she’s not surprised. Grandma’s visits tend to be brief and spontaneous. Both Santa Barbara and the All Valley are in May, but she’d be surprised if Grandma had the tournament schedule in mind when she announced it to Dad.

“You’ll do fine. She’ll like you.”

Johnny huffs. “Thank God you’re better at karate than at lying.”

“I’m a quick study,” Sam challenges, getting to her feet again. “I’ll pick it up. Probably pick it up before the Scorpion at this rate.” 

That came out sounding a little more self-pitying than she intended. But she can’t help it: If you’re used to not having to try that much, struggling and failing to be barely good enough at something is the worst feeling in the world.

“Sam, come on. We just started last week.”

“What am I not getting? It’s the angle, right?”

“It’s the risk.”

“What?”

Johnny gestures a flip motion.

“It’s a trust fall with you on both sides. You don’t trust her to catch you.” 

He’s probably right, but he doesn’t have to be so blunt about it.

Sam’s at a bit of a loss on what to say. She’s used to running a hundreds of repetitions to get a move just right. How the hell do you work on trusting yourself? More repetitions, probably. Right? Until you’ve done it for long enough to know you’ve got it the next time.

“Maybe if we had a big mat for you guys, we could go at this with a bit more energy,” Johnny says. “Better to land on than the grass.”

He doesn’t look over at the empty plot of land behind the fence, but Sam knows he’s also thinking about the building permits. Proper flooring. A whole wall full of cupboards to store equipment in.

“Can you do one?” she asks.

And she meant it more as a demonstration. Not as a way to dig in that he doesn’t fully trust himself, otherwise he wouldn’t be asking them for all this help in convincing Dad of something for which he needs absolutely no convincing. But Johnny’s eyebrows knit together, and he stares at the ground.

“Not sure,” he admits.

“I can assist, if you want.” 

Johnny grimaces.

“See, you don’t trust me to catch anyone either!”

“I weigh twice what you weigh,” Johnny says. “You’re not gonna get better at this by throwing out your back. Let’s do three more and then pack it up. You should take it easy.”

Sam raises his chin at him.

Oh, so this is how it’s going to be?

“If I need to take it easy, I’ll tell you,” she counters. “Ten more.”

*

Both Tuesday and Thursday training pass without any more progress on the scorpion, flavoring the otherwise bland week with a healthy dose of frustration. Sam drafts admissions essays, hangs out on the Princeton website and goes for a few morning runs to work on her stamina. 

Robby and Miguel continue to politely ignore each other. The Santa Barbara Playlist is now seven hours long and features the entirety of 1989 and Born in the USA. Nobody’s admitted to adding either.

When she walks out after the last bell on Friday, Aisha is leaning against a tree opposite the school entrance. 

“Come here often?” she calls, three seconds before Sam crashes into her arms. She’s wearing Ray Bans and a black T-shirt. The confidence of making it out of this school alive looks fantastic on her.

“Every day, unfortunately,” Sam laughs. “What are you doing here?”

“My dad has a conference tonight. I thought we could hang out.”

“Of course! Are you kidding?”

This is great. Besides the joy of an unexpected Aisha visit, now she won’t have to sit around all Saturday trying to convince herself not to visit the dealership with a bunch of donuts and accidentally run into Tory. 

And she’s itching to tell Aisha about this newest development. Nobody knows her and Tory have started flirting with each other, and while that gives their conversations that special little glow of secrecy, she might burst if she doesn’t share sooner or later. 

She gives Aisha the choice of tagging along to karate or skipping altogether, and Aisha unsurprisingly votes for karate. It’s great to spar together again – not for points, just for fun. Johnny hovers for a correction or a high five here and there, and Aisha indulges him. The one that got away. 

Towards the end of the lesson, Sam spars with Abby so that Aisha finally has an opportunity to go chat more with Hawk and Miguel. It's a good fight. Abby's got real potential. She's also overdue for a nail clipping, as the scratch on Sam's forearm proves. Sam tries very hard not to look up for Tory's reaction as Abby apologizes and helps her put the band-aid on at the right angle.

To her relief, Aisha and Miguel volunteer to put away today’s equipment together. That’s one thing she didn’t take into account, actually. Aisha is extremely partial here. She might be one of the only people Miguel can actually open up to without worrying about messing up one of Robby’s friendships. When they come back outside for the goodbye, she tries to gauge how much they talked by Miguel’s facial expression. Hard to say, but he looks happy she’s here. That’s something.

When they get home, Mom interrupts her exploration of the fridge to give Aisha a big hug. “Oh, good to see you again!” 

Her hair is still wet from the shower. Sam wonders what that’s about. Mom takes morning showers like the rest of them. Did she actually try her hand at gardening? Is she going to spin classes again?

“Thought we’d have another pizza crime night,” Mom says, holding up a can of pineapple. “What do you say?”

Every two weeks at least, they roll out pre-made pizza dough, slap some tomato sauce and cheese on it and then add a mosaic of toppings that would give Dad a stroke. Pineapple. Broccoli. Anchovies. Barbecue sauce. 

It’s secretly Sam’s favorite dinner tradition of all time. 

Aisha lights up.

“Do you have pickles?”

“Oh, fun,” Mom says. “We’re about to invent a whole new crime against humanity. Can’t wait.”

Sam goes for pineapple and spicy mayo, which may be her favorite combination yet. Anthony outdoes her, of course. 

She doesn’t think popcorn on pizza sounds very good, but she still tries a bite. You never know with him. If Anthony gets a food combination really right, it’s the stuff of dreams. Three years ago, at a make-your-own-chocolate workshop, he put gummy bears in his chocolate bar. Heaven. Sam still thinks about that little corner she stole. 

After dinner, they go upstairs. Sam throws her entire bedding on the floor so she can show Aisha her scorpion progress. As expected, she fails miserably, but at least it’s a soft landing. 

Well. It’s a difficult flip. At least that’s what she thinks before Aisha tries – one fail, two fails, and then she lands clean, both feet on Sam’s collarbone as they tumble into the pillows together.

“Oh, come on,” Sam says, mouth open, and Aisha giggles, propped up on her elbows. Sam has missed her like a fucking limb.

*

Aisha and Sam wake up at eight on Saturday and pick up frozen yoghurt on the way to the beach. The sun hangs in the sky like an open threat, and the chocolate sauce melts down their arms quicker than they can eat it. The towel corners weighed down with flip flops, a shiny magazine opened to the page with their crossword puzzle, and Sam suddenly feels deeply, gloriously twelve years old again. 

„Very cold, but still alright,“ Aisha reads. „OK?“

“Yeah, as in okay or zero Kelvin,“ Sam says, absent-mindedly rubbing sunscreen onto her leg. “Tory asked me if we kissed.”

Aisha drops the pen in the sand. “What?”

“Because of Never Have I Ever. I didn’t know if you wanted her to know about it, so I just told her about the stuff with Moon.”

Aisha squints at her from behind her sunglasses.

It’s been almost three years since that sleepover the Saturday before freshman year of high school. Sam can still feel her heart beating in her throat, eyes trained at the ceiling. She was wearing hideous turquoise pajamas. 

It had taken until halfway through season three of Buffy for Sam to finally notice that she was ten times more interested in Faith than in any of Buffy’s boring boyfriends. It had taken until season two of The Next Generation until she was ready to do something about it. 

So on Saturday, September 3rd of 2016 (she had extensively journaled about it afterward), she screwed her courage to the sticking place and asked a very innocent question.

“Do you think people will make fun of us in high school if we haven’t kissed anyone yet?”

“I don’t care,” Aisha said, sounding halfway asleep already. “Also, why would anyone ask us that on the first day of school?”

It was frustrating that Sam cared so much about so many things that logically didn’t matter. It was even more frustrating how hard it was to explain to Aisha.

“Sam, we spend all our time in our bedrooms watching TV and talking about physics. Nobody would believe that you kissed someone even if you said so.”

“I could have kissed you.”

“Guys only think that’s hot if they think we’re both pretty.”

“I think you’re pretty.”

And Aisha sat up and turned the light back on.

It was a quick kiss, awkward and closed-mouthed and not very romantic, but from then on, Sam knew that she had a problem. She wanted to be liked and admired. Prom queen. Valedictorian. The first to get picked in gym class. And she wanted to kiss girls until she passed out. 

That didn’t really seem to go together.

Aisha kicks a bit of sand onto Sam’s foot, getting her back to reality.

“Are you seriously asking me permission to date Tory?”

And yeah, that’s a problem just as much as it is a blessing: People don’t stop knowing you just because they no longer live next door.

Sam looks away. “Tory doesn’t want to date me.”

“Holy shit, you are!”

“No, I’m just not sure if… I don’t know…”

“What, you're not sure if I'll call dibs?”

Sam can feel her face run hot. “Well, it sounds stupid if you say it like that. I like her. And I know you guys still text, so I just wanted to make sure I’m not… messing with anything there. And… we’re friends, you and I...”

"You should go for it."

"Really?"

"Sam, come on. You know me. If I was going to ask Tory out, I already would have done it. And looking back on being fourteen and dumb…”

“Now that you’re seventeen and infinitely wise--”

Aisha casually flips her off, and they both laugh.

"I don’t even think I really liked you. Sorry, that sounded so rude. What I mean is... You were the kind of girl you’re supposed to have a crush on. If you’re gonna be a lesbian, that’s the responsible way to do it.”

“Well, I hope you’re being a bit more irresponsible about it,” Sam says tenderly. “Out there in Santa B.”

“Don’t say Santa B. You sound fifty.”

“Hope you’re dating girls who don’t say Santa B.”

Aisha looks caught, and Sam grins. So there is somebody in Santa Barbara that Aisha is interested in. Good to know.

“One more year of high school,” Aisha says, and Sam can tell by her tone that she’s repeated this to herself ad nauseum, “and once I’m done with SATs and AP classes, I can be as irresponsible as I want. Dorm full of karate trophies… UCSB’s my oyster. Or Berkeley or UCLA. Wherever I get in. Don’t make any dumb oyster jokes.”

“You should have gone to the beach with someone else, then.”

“Yeah, but I kind of miss them. The jokes.”

“I miss you too.”

There’s a moment where they look at each other and Sam is dead sure that Aisha can see right through her. 

That Sam does want to date Tory. That she might not like guys at all. That she won’t be anywhere close to California after they graduate, and that missing each other is just a thing they’ll have to get used to.

Every desperate twitch of her try-hard brain.

*

When they climb back into the car, Sam has extensively made fun of Aisha’s one and a half dates with Jasmine-with-a-J – “you are the biggest soccer hater in the world and you’re going to away games for her?” – and Aisha has ribbed her for seriously considering dropping by LaRusso Auto – “try to be cool for once in your life, Sam”.

Ergo, they’re finally caught up enough on their own drama to move on to Johnny and Daniel. Aisha demands a wedding invitation and an immediate gossip session once Johnny’s proposal has actually happened. Just like the rest of them, she has no doubt there’ll be a wedding.

Johnny could ask Dad at the DMV, no ring and no preparation, and he’d say yes in a heartbeat. That’s a no-brainer.

They drive over to Dad’s place for lunch because it’s his day, and he makes his fanciest meatball recipe as Johnny grills Aisha about her plans for the All Valley. She can’t compete because it’s a closed tournament, L.A. county dojos only, but she’s definitely coming out to watch. 

“Maybe you can come a day early,” Sam suggests. “Join us for prom.” 

“Sorry, we have our own on the same day. I mean, what is it with Friday proms? I feel like when we were younger, everyone had Saturday proms.”

“I’m just glad they didn’t schedule it the same day as the All Valley. Nothing says prom queen like splintered fingers and busted lips.”

“I thought you weren’t running,” Aisha counters, and Sam sticks her tongue out at her. “So what’s the plan, Golf’n’Stuff?”

“Definitely. Maya got a polaroid camera for her birthday and she wants to take, like, Vegas style pics, you know? Posing in our tuxes and dresses.”

“Sounds fun,” Dad says with a casualness so practiced that Sam immediately rolls her eyes at him. “Do you have a date yet?”

“No, we haven’t figured out who’s going with who.”

“That’s good,” Dad says, drizzling more olive oil onto the meatballs. “It’s nice that you’re taking some time to focus on yourself. Last year there was so much relationship drama… and, well…”

He seems to realize that he shouldn’t have said it as soon as he closes his mouth, so Sam decides not to call him out on it.

She's out, sure, but part of her wonders how he’d react to the whole ‘I might be a lesbian’ thing. Not really what you expect from your daughter who had – dramatic gasp – three boyfriends within a span of twelve months. God forbid, what a man-eater.

“Three guesses who I get that from,” she says instead. “Pass the water?”

“What?”

Dad turns around. Aisha throws her a ‘seriously, you had to do this while I’m visiting’ look. But Sam’s already in too deep. The first rule of good defense is follow-through.

“Come on, Dad. Didn’t Ali dump you three days before you asked out that girl in Okinawa? And then Mom's cousin right after you came back, that was the same summer... And then what was the name of the girl who–”

“Hey, hey,” Daniel protests, mouth open. “That has nothing to do with–”

“And then you rebounded with Johnny, what, a month after Mom divorced you? Month and a half? No offense, Johnny–”

“Don’t worry about me, man,” Johnny grins, leaning back. “I’m havin’ the time of my life. Keep going.”

Daniel crosses his arms, laughing through his own outrage. “I really don’t appreciate everyone ganging up on me…”

“You started it, babe. She’s just got good defense.” He leans forward to give Daniel a playful slap on his ass. “Three guesses who she gets that from.”

*

Dad slowly pulls the door shut behind himself.

“Hey, I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to–”

“Yeah, I know.”

Aisha’s back on her way to Santa Barbara, and Sam’s hanging out in her room finally getting into Tara Westover’s memoir that she bought last year. Barely any time to pick up a book these days. 

“I shouldn’t have said that, especially in front of Aisha.”

Slowly, she shuts her book and lets him settle on the side of her bed, like she’s sick in bed and he’s coming to tuck her in.

“It’s fine, Dad.”

He hesitates, probably looking for the right words.

“You know, part of me wishes that you could just be ten years old forever. Every time you remind you how grown up you are already, I just... freak out a bit.”

And this would be the perfect time to tell him about Princeton.

Dad, I want to go to college in New Jersey. 

Dad, I love you, but I need to get out of here.

“It’s not like I’m out there buying houses and having babies,” she says quietly. “I’m seventeen.”

His mouth does an odd thing she can’t really quantify as happy or sad.

He brushes a strand of hair behind her ear. 

“You won’t always be.”

It’s strange that she loves her father this much but she still can’t let him in. Maybe Sam is more of a coward than she gives herself credit for. Sort of a chicken-and-egg thing, that last drop of confidence she needs. What does she need to land first, the scorpion or the Princeton conversation? Which will give her the backbone to confront the other?

On the bright side, even if Dad blows up at her, after Johnny’s Walgreens shopping spree she has enough tampons to live off grid for the next five years.

“Maybe we need to do more stuff that isn’t karate,” she says. “I want to hang out with my Dad, you know? Not just with my sensei. Maybe if we went to a basketball game or something… I don’t know…” She searches for another benign activity you might do with a parent. “Prom dress shopping…”

“You want to go prom dress shopping with me?”

She laughs. “Not really, actually. I don’t think you’d be much help.”

Dad looks a bit relieved. 

“I’ll plan something, alright?” he promises, already getting to his feet again. “Just you and me, and nobody’s allowed to say balance or defense or tournament for the whole afternoon. Sound good?”

“Sounds great.”

He shuts the door, and suddenly Sam’s no longer so sure if that was the right call to make. She tries to remember what they did together before karate took up so much of their life. Years of family dinners and doing homework at the dealership, and before that, when she was younger, when they were closer – more karate.

She always found that comforting, after she found her way back into the dojo, but maybe it’s more of a crutch than she’d like to admit. Maybe it’s not just her father relying on karate to make things easier between them.

If she ever decided to quit karate, or to not compete anymore, to only come once a week… She can’t imagine wanting to, but if…

What would they have in common?

Maybe it’s less than she’d like.