Chapter Text
It was snowing when Eli Moskowitz was born. It was early January and the sun was obscured by the vast white expanse of the clouds, all merged together until the sky was as blank and meaningless as a plain piece of paper. It loomed over him threateningly, daring him to disrupt its nothingness, as if he had the power to do such a thing. It was cold too, a rarity for the Valley, the wind harsh enough to make the newborn Eli cry when he was exposed to the weather upon leaving the hospital. He’d keep crying for a long time after that.
It was hot when Hawk was born. Summer was on its way and its presence could already be felt, the sun loud and brash enough that all the shade had been scared away from the California streets. His mohawk stood proudly on his scalp, and he was all new and exclusive, a person he’d never met before. He was modern art, in the sense that nothing was on the canvas so it could mean anything. And there was comfort in not recognising himself; he stopped crying.
This evening, however, was neither freezing cold nor blazing hot: Hawk had gotten so used to extremes that he’d almost forgotten the calm of a temperate evening. It made him want to punch a wall, or scream, or just do anything to throw off this newfound balance caving in on him. Then he remembered that he didn’t have the power to control the universe - he barely had the power to control himself, not anymore.
He was alone in his bedroom, and all the walls felt too close and too far away at the same time. He could still see the tape marks on the walls where his posters used to be, the ones which found a new home in the trash after he’d joined Cobra Kai. Now, there was the blank slate of his white walls, as empty as the sky on the day he was born. Too much space, he decided decisively, focusing on one spot in the corner of the room to keep the world around him from collapsing. He was looking at his dresser, where his and Demetri’s coding competition trophy sat (he never had the heart to throw it away, even at his most detached from 'nerd shit'). He could still feel Demetri’s long, bony arm draped across his shoulders, how it felt like a warm scarf wrapped around his neck on a cold winter’s day. After he became Hawk, he pretended to feel like Demetri’s arm was like a boa constrictor, or a noose, or anything claustrophobic. Because Demetri was holding him down. Because he needed to escape.
But there was never any escape. No matter how completely he changed himself, neither version of Eli or Hawk was correct; they were two messed-up sides of the same messed-up coin. Not the type of coin you’d throw in a fountain to wish for stuff, but the kind that makes your hand smell if you hold it for too long. Disposable.
He didn’t realise he was standing until he was facing himself in the mirror. His eyes were red and staring, like if he blinked the stranger in the mirror would disappear, and he’d just be looking into the void where he once stood. An absolute vacuum where no sound or light could live; at least he wouldn’t be able to screw more up over there.
Eli Moskowitz had always hated looking at himself. Yeah, there was the obvious scar running from his top lip up to his nose, the one that had stamped him a loser from birth, but there was also his wide, saucer eyes, the hunch of his shoulders, the dull brown of his hair. Then Hawk came along, and the mohawk had remedied his insecurities for a while, kept people looking up rather than focusing on his lip. Then it went too far: he didn’t know when to stop, and when he did, there was so much carnage from the warzone he created. And it was all his fault, he knew it.
And now, looking up to the blood-red spikes jutting out of his head, the only word he could think to describe them was fake . He had always been fake but he pretended he didn’t know, or maybe he was delusional enough to really believe it for a while. He wondered if anyone else ever believed it, or whether the fakeness radiated off him so they could all sense it, but never called him out on it just to see what he’d do. How far he’d cross the line to prove himself.
Written on his face in his reflection was the evidence of how far over the line he had ventured. He was miles away from himself and he didn’t know how to make the journey back. The mohawk was taunting him now, standing up so straight and stoic like a soldier. Somehow everything had turned into one big battle, and god, he was tired of fighting.
Snip.
It was so easy to cut the spikes. He thought the gel and the hairspray would make the hair tougher, but no, they fell easily to his bedroom floor, his feet surrounded by the small corpses. He kept going until each point was gone, the remnants of his hair flat and all pointing in different directions, like an explosion had erupted on top of his head. It didn’t help that he was shaking; even after the mohawk was gone, his fingers were still trembling so hard he could barely keep hold of the scissors. Eventually they dropped next to his foot with a soft thud, and the world was quiet enough that his thoughts were screaming, scratching and crawling at the back of his throat, and he couldn’t breathe.
He couldn’t breathe and all he wanted was Demetri’s long, bony arm snaked around his shoulders, to hear Demetri’s heartbeat and revel in how incredible it is that they’re alive at the same time.
---
Demetri was finishing off his history homework when he heard the knock at the door. Tap, tap, taptap, tap. His and Eli’s secret knock. He was equal parts thankful for the distraction - the collapse of the USSR was, frankly, boring as hell - and apprehensive, since Eli hadn’t come around to his house in almost a year. Even after they made up, their friendship couldn’t simply go back to normal. Eli needed to take it slowly, and Demetri respected that. But now he was on the other side of the front door, and Demetri had no idea why.
He wasn’t prepared for what he saw when he opened the door: Eli, close to tears and out of breath, his usually neat hair destroyed, messy and jagged like an iceberg. “Woah, what happened? Did the Cobras do this to you?”
Eli shook his head, avoiding eye contact with the taller boy. “No, I, uh… I did it. I was just, uh…”
“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Demetri said when Eli trailed off, offering his friend a small smile. Eli tried to return it but his mouth seemed to have forgotten how to form the shape, his lip wobbling and faltering like a dam struggling to keep the water from crashing past it.
When Demetri turned around and went back into his house, though, he felt like breaking down in tears, something he hadn’t done since he first ‘flipped the script’. Now, the script was so flipped that all the pages were torn out and he had no idea what the hell the next page would even look like. He sat down on the step of Demetri’s porch, holding his head in his hands like it would fall off his shoulders if he let go. The evening felt colder without Demetri there, and everything felt a bit more blurry now that he was alone. God, he felt so alone now Demetri had left, that the other boy couldn’t bear to be around him anymore.
He was about to leave, go wallow in his bedroom some more, when Demetri returned, armed with a pair of his mother’s craft scissors, a couple of rubber bands slung around his slender wrist. Eli just stared at him in awe, his eyes wide and red around the edges as he looked up at Demetri, like he almost didn’t believe he was actually there.
“You did a terrible job there, so I thought I’d neaten it up for you.” Demetri smiled as he spoke, his words like a lifeboat cutting through the vast, crashing waves of his mind. They made him feel safe.
“Thanks,” he choked out as Demetri sat down on the step above him, combing his fingers through the stiff clumps of hair on his friend’s head. It was slightly knotted due to the wind, but it began to soften as he carded through it, causing Eli to quietly hum with satisfaction every once in a while. Demetri kept talking while he played with his friend’s hair; he knew Eli never liked silence when he was upset or anxious. So he told him about what he had for dinner (homemade chicken dumplings) and his elaborate WandaVision theories (“there’s no way they’d cast Evan Peters for no reason, dude!”). Eli listened, less focused on the words themselves than the mouth they were spilling from. How, after everything, Demetri was sitting behind him and being there for him, as if he was somebody who deserved it.
“I’m sorry, Dem’,” Eli’s voice shakily cut through the quiet snipping sounds of the scissors. “I shouldn’t have shown up without calling first. It just… everything was too much? Like, my brain got too loud all of a sudden. I don’t really know how to explain it, you were always the words guy.”
“Hey, no apologies,” Demetri soothed, rubbing Eli’s shoulder comfortingly. “You don’t need to explain yourself to me, man. We’re practically connected telepathically.”
“God, I hope not,” Eli huffed out a laugh. “You don’t wanna see what’s going on up here.”
Demetri sighed dramatically. “I’m supposed to be the self-deprecating one, dude! Quit stealing my brand!”
Eli ducked his head as he smiled, even though Demetri couldn’t see his face. It almost felt like the old days, full of sleepovers and loud laughs and rosy cheeks. He felt more comfortable around Demetri; he used to hate that feeling, how he used to think he wouldn’t be able to function without him. He supposed that was true, actually, given their current position on Demetri’s porch, his hair weaved between Demetri’s fingers. It was almost like they were holding hands.
He pushed the thought away quickly, shaking his head slightly as if it could fall out of his ear if he tried hard enough. “Hey, stop moving! I’m trying to braid your hair!” Demetri chuckled, warm and soft, like his laugh was made of sunlight.
Eli’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. “How’d you know how to braid hair, dude?”
“What? It’s not hard,” Demetri replied cockily as his fingers danced around the strands of Eli’s hair delicately, careful not to pull too hard. Eli appreciated the sentiment.
As Demetri constructed the plaits, Eli started to think about the calmness of the weather. He was so used to approaching the weather as only something to consider when engaging in small talk, something which made him deeply uncomfortable and antsy, like a spider trapped under a glass, waiting for either escape or death. Neither option was particularly appealing - house spiders couldn’t survive outside for long, because they had evolutionarily adapted to the home environment, and death was, well, death. Eli felt like he’d been waiting under a glass for most of his life, even when he thought he might've been able to adapt, Hawk was only fighting from behind the glass, inside and looking out at everything else.
But this, now, didn’t feel like entrapment. The evening breeze was calm, rippling around them with untold promises, drowning him in tingles of anticipation. For what, he wasn’t sure, but he held onto the feeling nonetheless as the last of the daylight slipped away through the clouds. He thought about what tomorrow might look like, if it would be cloudy or rainy or perfectly sunny, the sky as spotless as a dinner plate after a satisfying meal. He thought about whether tomorrow could possibly be as quiet as today, or whether he would dread that or find solace in it. He thought about what Demetri would be doing tomorrow, what he’d be wearing (some graphic t-shirt with a god-awful pun on it, no doubt), how he was feeling after the events of this evening.
There was no monumental shift for Eli - the view from Demetri’s porch wasn’t a world-bending new perspective for him, but as he considered how he’d want Demetri to feel after everything, he couldn’t help but wonder if the other boy felt the same tugging in the pit of his stomach when he was around him, the same buzzing when they touched, like if you were to open him up, a whole hive of bumblebees would burst out of his body. And, yeah, they could sting sometimes, but the honey they made was so goddamn sweet that you’d instantly forgive them. He supposed that was what love felt like, at least.
Shit, was this love? Eli honestly wasn’t sure. But, if he were to fall in love, he couldn’t think of a better option than Demetri. Demetri, who had always been there for him, who continued to reach out to him even when he kept pushing him away. Demetri, who understood what he was thinking without him having to articulate it, who could navigate his messy, confusing feelings. Demetri, who was sitting behind him, his knobbly, jean-clad knees either side of Eli’s body, gently fixing his hair without a second thought.
“And… done!” Demetri’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. “How do they feel, not too tight?”
“Yeah, no, they’re great, thanks,” Eli shook his head, feeling the plaits gently slap against his cheeks due to the motion. It felt nice, to not have to constantly think about if his hair was still in place, or having to be careful about how he moved his head in fear of destroying a spike. It would certainly provide less of a distraction during karate practices, which was a positive. He felt exposed though, the same feeling you get when you’re naked and worried that somebody will walk in and see you. Without the mohawk acting as an arrow to keep people looking up, then people will just see Eli Moskowitz. And while he wasn’t the same person he was a year ago, the thought still made his hand lift to brush over his scar on instinct.
Demetri noticed the movement and reached over Eli’s shoulder to grab his hand, causing the other boy to whip around to face him. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, fine,” Eli responded instantly, but his eyes faltered for a moment under Demetri’s knowing gaze.
“You don’t have to lie to me, Eli,” Demetri kept his hand on Eli’s, as firmly as he could manage. “I know you.”
And that was so simple but so incredibly intimate that Eli felt like he could melt into a puddle right there. “It’s all my fault,” he blurted out, his mouth disconnected from his brain. “I broke us, and it’s all my fault, and I don’t know what to do.”
“Hey, we’re not broken,” Demetri’s voice was soft, like what he’d imagine a cloud would feel like. “We’ve had our fair share of bumps in the road, but I forgive you, and you forgive me, right? You’ve always been my favourite person, Eli; you couldn’t get rid of me that easily."
“I broke your arm , Dem’,” Eli’s voice was as shaky and unsure as an ameteur tightrope walker. “It can’t be that simple for you.”
“And yet, somehow, it is,” Demetri pressed his forehead to Eli’s, looking at him directly in the eyes without an ounce of uncertainty. “You’re my best friend, Eli Moskowitz, and I’ll be there for you through thick and thin. Do you understand that?”
Eli could only nod, not trusting his tongue to form the words that could accurately describe how entirely he trusted Demetri. He hoped his sincerity was reflected on his face, and, judging by the way Demetri’s lips quirked up to form a smile, he guessed it was.
“Do you want to come in?” Demetri offered as he gestured to his still-open front door, endearing smile still present on his face. “I have some leftover cake from my dad’s birthday, if you want a piece. It’s pretty good - it's red velvet. I know you’re not big on cream cheese frosting but we can always scrape that off--”
“No, I, uh--” Eli cut him off, shaking his head fondly at Demetri’s rambling. “I should probably get home. My mom’ll be coming home from work soon, and I don’t want her to worry where I am, so…”
He trailed off awkwardly, but Demetri still nodded his head in understanding. “Wow, didn’t realise a badass like yourself would still be such a softie.”
“I guess I’m just complex.” Eli smiled; he wondered if the glow he felt expanding inside his chest could be seen on his face.
Demetri barked out a laugh, short and sharp, a gleeful glint unashamedly front and centre in his eyes. “That you are, my friend. That you are.”
He rose to his feet, reaching his hand out to help Eli up. If their hands lingered for a second too long, neither boy brought it up.
“So, I’ll, uh, see you around?” Eli pulled at the end of one of his plaits, his fingertips fidgeting around the strands.
“Of course you will,” Demetri replied like he genuinely couldn’t imagine a world where he didn’t see Eli around, and the thought filled him with stardust.
And with that, Eli left. The world was the same as it was before, the same California he’d been in for his whole life, and yet something inside him had changed slightly. The buzz in the air was still present: maybe they’d left some things unsaid, maybe they said just enough. There was no point in contemplating it. Demetri’s front door was now closed and the street was full of silence.
But he was feeling alright, because he knew Demetri loved him. Maybe not in the same way Eli loved him, but hey, just having him in his life, supporting him, that was enough.
Obviously, things weren’t magically perfect inside his mind, but that doesn’t happen overnight, does it? Eli didn’t know what would happen tomorrow, or the day after that, but he did know that he wanted to wait and see. It had been a long time since he’d felt hopeful, and he let the feeling fill him up until he was drowning in its warmth, its promise of a future where happy endings were real.
And, on the other side of the front door, Demetri was still smiling, remembering the way Eli looked at him, so young and alight. Thinking about how it was him who caused that expression to bloom, his body erupted with a feeling he couldn’t explain, and every colour around him appeared slightly more saturated. He was surrounded by so much colour.