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It was a bad night for Hawk.
Granted, he shouldn’t have been surprised, given how bad the day had been.
His knuckles had been scrubbed of blood, but it didn’t change the fact that he’d felt inclined to bare knuckle punch the bag until they’d bled in the first place.
Everything sucked.
He’d been trying to convince himself that it didn’t, but facts were facts.
Robby, the guy who’d put Miguel in the hospital, was in the same dojo as him. Kyler, the guy who’d bullied him for years, felt comfortable throwing a casual arm around him. Kreese, the sensei who was supposed to be his, was scouting replacements.
Everything was shit.
He couldn’t sleep.
He was lying in bed, everything hurting from the overexertion, but he couldn’t sleep. And he was so tired. That had been the whole point of punching the bag, of running the laps, of lifting the weights.
Don’t think. Just get tired enough to sleep. Don’t think. Just wear yourself out. Don’t think. Tomorrow will be better. Don’t think.
The sound Demetri’s arm made when it broke.
DON’T THINK.
He slammed his fists against the mattress like he could do anything against the power of memory foam.
He didn’t want to think about anything. He just wanted to sleep. If he could just go to sleep, then all the noise would stop. And, yeah, maybe in the morning some of the thoughts would still be lingering, but they’d be weaker. He’d be able to shut them out with enough distractions.
Demetri used to talk you to sleep.
He sat up in bed and slammed his hands against his ears like that would stop him from hearing his own thoughts.
It was true, though. Demetri used to talk him to sleep. When his anxiety was too loud, Demetri proved he could be louder. He’d talk about anything and everything. He’d bitch about the kids in their class, spout theories about the TV show or comic book they were currently invested in, talk to Eli about what their lives would be like when they were grown up and going to MIT.
He just liked to hear himself talk. You were just the only one desperate enough to listen.
He couldn’t take it anymore.
He thought about going for a run, but his body still ached from the running he’d already done. Not to mention, he had practice tomorrow.
Don’t be a pussy. Push yourself.
He already had, and he was bone tired.
He looked over to his closed closet door, the moon giving him just enough light to make it out. He couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t.
But he pushed himself out of bed and walked over to the door anyway. He opened it slowly and then dropped to his knees. In the very back of the closet, past some boxes, there was a black trash bag.
He’d meant to throw it away. To donate it. To fucking burn it.
But he’d left it to sit.
It would have been nice to convince himself that to have it there and never open it was a sign of strength. He could have it in front of him and never touch it.
But the strong thing to do would have been to get rid of it.
Some dark part of his mind knew he’d kept it in hopes of a switch in sides.
Or maybe for a night like tonight.
He pulled out the bag and ripped it opened. He pulled out the first thing he touched, a soft green T-shirt.
For a moment he just held it. He let the fabric sit in his hands and did nothing with it. He pleaded with himself to let it end there.
Just shove it back in the bag. Just shove his shit back in the closet and go to sleep.
But he couldn’t sleep.
Everything was too loud, and he had to try something.
He shoved the T-shirt to his nose and inhaled.
You’re pathetic. You deserve to feel like shit.
It still smelled like Demetri.
Like the scent Eli had picked out for him when they were 13 years old.
When they were 13 it seemed like every boy in their grade decided it was time to start wearing body sprays and cologne. And even if Eli and Demetri had never been part of the in crowd, they still hit the same milestones.
For Eli, it hadn’t even been a choice. His father had handed him his own bottle of fancy cologne, something he got imported special, and had told him it was time. Eli had accepted the gift eagerly as he did anything his father gave him.
And after, Demetri had declared it was his time as well. They’d gone to a department store and had started spraying things, trying to find the scent that would scream Demetri: Sex God (a title he hoped to one day earn).
Most of the guys in their class were using Axe and Old Spice, but Demetri had stuck his nose up at the thought. He wasn’t one of them. He had more class.
Demetri had spayed a bottle. “What do you think of this one?”
Eli had sniffed and then wrinkled his nose. “I think B.O. might be a better option.” In his head, he thought Demetri might as well bottle his night farts as opposed to wearing it.
Demetri nodded. “Alright, less musky. Noted.”
They’d searched a little longer before Eli had found one that made him stop. It was a relaxing smell, kind of nature-esque, but not overpowering. He held it for a moment before shyly presenting it to Demetri. “I like this one.”
Demetri had put down the cologne he was trying and had walked over and took the one from Eli. He sprayed it, then took a whiff. “This is your favorite one?”
Eli had nodded, despite an almost nervous feeling in his belly. “I like it. I think it’s nice.”
Then Demetri had looked at him for a second before grinning. “What you’re smelling, my dear Eli, is Sex God. This is the one.”
And just like that, he’d walked out of the store, a new signature scent that Eli had picked for him.
Of course, it hadn’t meant anything.
Why would it?
Eli could have been replaced that day with anyone. A helpful store clerk would have produced the same reaction. Eli had just been the one there.
Now Demetri had lots of other people there.
Hawk tried to remind himself that he did, too.
But it was hard to pretend like that mattered when he had Demetri’s shirt pressed against his face.
He wanted to believe that it was because the smell was relaxing, but he knew that wasn’t the case. It was because it was his. His brain associated the smell with Demetri and Demetri with comfort. It didn’t matter what had taken place over the last year.
He’d considered buying the cologne he wore. He thought maybe he could train his brain to not associate it with Demetri. But he couldn’t get over the irrational fear that Demetri would smell it on him one day and know.
He could imagine the knowing smirk. The jeering. ‘Do you miss me that much?’
He could also imagine the softness of his eyes, titled lips. ‘You miss me?’
Both made him want to hurl.
He stood from the floor and took the shirt with him. He grabbed his pillow, pulled off the case that his own smell clung to, and then pulled Demetri’s shirt onto it.
Pathetic. Pathetic. Pathetic.
His mind was on a loop that he couldn’t stop. Only sleep would end it.
He threw the pillow onto the floor, then followed it with his blankets. In the dark he could pretend he was at Demetri’s house, sleeping on his air mattress—
Your waterbed. Maybe he was right; maybe you DO like piss.
—with Demetri in the bed above him.
He lay down and tried to imagine it. When things were bad, he always wanted to be at Demetri’s. He didn’t want his parents to see him and worry. He didn’t want his dad to look disappointed, and he didn’t want his mom to beg him to talk about it.
He just wanted Demetri to distract him.
He lay on his side taking deep breaths, pretending Demetri was in the bed beside him, his arm lying over the edge of the mattress in case Eli had a nightmare and needed to grab it.
Now, he’d never do that again, because Eli had broken the same arm that Demetri used to leave him as a lifeline.
Eli let out half of a scream behind his lips.
He just wanted to sleep. He just wanted to sleep, and cry, and scream.
He pressed his fists into his closed eyes until everything looked like static.
He wouldn’t cry. He swore he’d never cry again.
He felt like he’d never sleep again.
He didn’t know what else to do.
He wanted Demetri.
He’d broken his arm and would never have him again.
He never really had him in the first place.
He was just the only one there. Demetri liked that he didn’t talk and would have followed him blindly forever if no one had suggested he do something different. If he hadn’t blown out his own brains, at least.
He imagined going to Demetri’s house.
He couldn’t go to the front door for fear of waking up Ms. Alexopoulos. If she caught him, Hawk wasn’t sure what would happen. He’d obviously never asked Demetri what he’d told her about their friendship status, but he figured she had to know something. Although, truth be told, all of the evidence pointed to her knowing nothing.
Even though Demetri’s mom was far more hands off than his own, he couldn’t imagine her knowing any of what was going on without making so much as a phone call to his mom.
The only reason for him not to tell is to protect you.
Demetri probably had too much pride to get his mom to fight his battles.
It wouldn’t be his mom, it’d be her lawyer, you fuckin’ psycho. You committed assault. You BROKE his—
He’d have to go to Demetri’s window if he went to his house. It was located on the backside of the first floor.
He always kept the window locked, so Hawk would have to knock to get him to open it. And then what?
He could imagine Demetri pulling back the curtains and seeing his face. What then? He’d probably scowl, angry that Hawk was interrupting his good night’s sleep. He probably didn’t have one of Eli’s t-shirts shoved against his face for comfort.
Or maybe he wouldn’t scowl. Maybe he’d be afraid. Maybe he’d think Hawk had gotten even bolder and was there to break something else. Maybe the sight of him would have Demetri calling his friends at Miyagi-do, or the police, or his mom.
What if Eli came differently? What if he washed the gel and hairspray out and came to the window with his eyes wide and begging?
He could picture Demetri not recognizing him at first because the sight would be so foreign, but then he realized how stupid that would be. Demetri could recognize him in the dark, could pick him out of a lineup by the sound of his breathing (at least Eli used to think he could). Even if he couldn’t, his scar was impossible not to notice.
Still, his hair being down might be a sign of something. A change. Submission.
He pictured the pathetic look on his face, crawling to Demetri’s window with his metaphorical tail between his legs.
So pathetic to even consider it. Why don’t you just fuckin’ beg?
What would Demetri do if he did? If he begged, would it be enough?
Picturing it felt like being in the front seat of a car crash.
He could imagine Demetri opening the window for him. He could imagine the words spewing out. ‘I’m sorry. Please let me in; I’m sorry. I was wrong about everything. I was stupid to join Cobra Kai. I’ll quit. I’ll do whatever you want. Demetri, please. I’m sorry. Please.’
He could hear Demetri’s laughter, the kind he let out when something bad happened to one of the bullies at school. ‘What? You think it’s that easy? You broke my arm. Go fuck yourself.’
He wouldn’t be able to convince him. He’d shut the window on him. On them.
Ha, like that’s the worst that could happen.
The thought was replaced with one where Demetri smiled at him. ‘Finally. I thought you’d never give it up. Now things can go back to normal. No more karate. No more Hawk. Just quiet, sad, little Eli.’
It didn’t matter that Demetri wouldn’t say the last bit, that’s what it would mean. He would never go back to that. He refused to be the version of himself who sat and took whatever was thrown at him quietly, who tried to sink into the walls because he was so scared of existing. He wouldn’t do it.
Maybe if he came to the window as he was, he could still get Demetri to open it.
Maybe Demetri would pull up his phone like he was going to call for help, but he’d realize Hawk was alone. Maybe his curiosity would get the best of him, and once he looked around and didn’t see anyone else, he’d open it.
‘What are you doing here?’ would be the million-dollar question. The tone was trickier. Maybe he’d be so surprised that would be all Hawk could hear. But more likely, there would be suspicion. Demetri had trained himself to think of the worst-case scenario.
Bet he didn’t think you’d break his arm. He thought you were too weak to do it. He thought you lov—
Hawk wondered what would happen if he just told the truth. ‘I can’t sleep. Mind if I crash on your floor? You can talk about whatever nerd shit you want. I don’t care.’
It was so stupid he thought it might throw Demetri off. Maybe he’d just go with it. Maybe he’d think it was late and weird but—
He would never open the window for that. At best, he’d have follow up questions. At worst, he’d have an answer.
‘Are you serious? You think after everything you’ve done I’m going to act as your nighttime meditation?’
That didn’t feel mean enough.
‘You think I want to talk to you about anything after what you did? The only things I have to say can’t even be aired on nighttime television.’
Still not enough.
‘Sure, Eli, come on in! Why don’t you let me make you some hot cocoa, so you have something to piss on the floor later. I’ll just scream here in agony until then, I figure that’s a sound you enjoy.’
Fuck, you’re sensitive about the piss thing. You should go to therapy for that if nothing else.
It was probably the closest to what he’d say, though. He couldn’t come begging for a favor if he didn’t want to be met with something scathing. Not after everything that he’d done.
Right, because Demetri has always been a fucking angel.
He wondered what would happen if he confronted Demetri in response. ‘You act like such a victim, but what about me? You told my secrets to everyone. You kept embarrassing me when I was just getting my footing. Did you ever even care about me or was I just the only guy who stuck around?’
But the truth is, he didn’t know how Demetri would react to that. Defensively, for sure. He couldn’t stand to lose or to be wrong. But… he wasn’t sure what it would look like. He could almost guarantee Demetri would tell him he deserved the treatment that he got; it was payback.
But what would he say if Eli—if HAWK asked him if he ever cared about him?
He imagined a cutting grin, the type that could cut glass, the kind Demetri used to wear right before he said something that would get him shoved into a locker (back before he’d become to o defeated to fight back). ‘What do you think, Eli? Do I seem eager to have you around? Do I look lonely when I’m chatting it up with your ex and hooking up with a girl who thinks you look like you gave oral to a blender? You were like a dog to me at best, but you aren’t even good for that now, so unkindly and disrespectfully, fuck off.’
Eli rolled over and shoved his face into the pillow.
He’s never going to take you back. He barely even wanted you before. You’re better off.
He didn’t feel better off. He was so tired. Everything hurt. He just wanted—he just wanted—
Demetri’s voice seemed to break into his mind against his will. ‘How are you the one asking me that? Of course, I cared about you. I still care about you ! How can you think I don’t? I’ve been fighting for you the whole time. I’m at the damn window instead of calling the cops, you ignoramus. How— just come in.’
And just like that, he was imagining the sound of Demetri opening the window. He was thinking about the warmth of Demetri’s hands as he pulled him inside. He could practically feel himself lying down on Demetri’s carpeted floor, getting thrown a blanket as Demetri muttered complaints to himself.
And then he could hear the huff as Demetri lie back down, the imagined murmur of, ‘Tomorrow you’d better apologize.’ before he launched into a recap of the most recent season of Doctor Who, all the while, hanging his arm over the side of the bed for Eli like he always had.
Finally, he couldn’t hold it anymore, and a few desperate tears rolled onto Demetri’s shirt, but it was short lived as he finally fell asleep to the smell of Demetri and imagined forgiveness.