Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Johnny’s really not sure how he got roped into this—one minute, they were laying on the couch, watching a re-run of Gilligan’s Island (well, kind of. Daniel was underneath him, moaning and gasping and Johnny happened to catch the tail end of the episode, so it counts) and the next, Daniel was sitting shotgun in the Firebird while Johnny drove them towards the beach.

(Johnny does actually know: Daniel had been kissing and licking his way down Johnny’s neck and their hips were grinding even though they’d just come not even a few minutes ago and then Daniel hit him with full force of those Bambi eyes and asked him to take him to the beach and Johnny was helpless to comply).

So even though its all of sixty degrees outside and it’s only getting colder as the day goes on, Johnny finds himself taking a couple blankets out of the backseat of his car and trying not to fret over Daniel too much as he hobbles through the sand on crutches.

Which, isn’t going very well.

The crutches keep getting stuck in the sand and Daniel— who’s built up muscle over the last few months from training but hasn’t been physically active for a month and half—is getting tired and frustrated and in his aggravation, almost trips and tumbles, but Johnny catches him with a quick arm around his waist.

“Whoa, easy there, LaRusso,” Johnny says, gently setting him up right. “Here, let me—“

Johnny takes the crutches from Daniel, tucking them underneath his arm. He holds the blankets out to Daniel, who takes them with a confused look on his face.

“Johnny, what are you—hey!” Daniel shouts, voice going up a few octaves as Johnny scoops him easily into his arms. “Johnny, put me down!”

“Would you relax?” Johnny says with a roll of his, carefully arranging Daniel in his arms so his left knee is comfortable and not pressing down too hard on Johnny’s forearm.

“Okay, first of all: I ain’t no chick that you can just manhandle, man,” Daniel protests, which totally contradicts  the fact that his lanky arms are currently coming up to wrap around Johnny’s neck.

Johnny fights back a smirk.

“And second of all: how the hell do you expect me to relax when you’re going to drop me—“

“The only way I’m going to drop you is if you don’t stop squirming—“

“—I wouldn’t be squirming if someone woulda just told me what they were plannin’ on doing,” Daniel mutters petulantly, but he settles in Johnny’s arms, tucking his head underneath Johnny’s chin and Johnny can’t help the smile that spreads across his face or ignore the warm feeling spreading through his veins.

He presses a kiss to Daniel’s hair in a silent apology as he treks them carefully across the sand. Once they reach a spot they deem acceptable, Johnny sets Daniel carefully on his feet, trading the crutches for the blanket. He lets his touch linger until he’s sure Daniel is stable and then he focuses his attention on spreading the blanket out in the sand, helping Daniel down on to it once Johnny deems it sitting worthy.

Daniel already looks more relaxed, spread out on the blanket, shoes kicked off, bare feet playing in the sand, breeze blowing his hair around his face and Johnny decides that’s worth freezing his nuts off for—see that utter contentment on Daniel’s face as he basks in the late afternoon sunlight.

Johnny plops down next to him, shivering in his leather jacket and flannel. He’s happy he thought to bring a second blanket, wrapping it around his shoulders, offering it to Daniel, who shakes his head.

“How are you not cold?” Johnny demands, cocooning himself in the warmth.

Daniel smirks, brown eyes hidden behind his stupid aviators he insisted on wearing. Johnny thinks they’re a little too big for his face, making him resemble a bug, but it’s kind of cute in a way that only Daniel LaRusso can be.

“This is nothin’. You should see some of the winters I had to deal with back in Jersey,” Daniel says, putting his hands behind his head, tilting his face towards the sun. “Snow and rain and the cold—it was the type of cold that you can never get warm from. Our old apartment never had good heat and I would have to sleep underneath all these blankets to stay warm,” Daniel grins, shaking his head. “You southern Californians got it so easy, man, you don’t even know.”

“Yeah, because earthquakes, mudslides, and fires are so much better than some rain and snow,” Johnny says dryly.

Daniel shrugs. “Guess that just goes to show the grass ain’t always greener, huh?”

Johnny hums because yeah, okay, point.

“But it’s not all bad here,” Daniel continues. “I like the sunshine and the ocean. People are nicer here, too,” a pause and then, “well, most people, anyway.”

Johnny swats at the back of his head and Daniel laughs, grabbing Johnny’s hand before he can pull it away, intertwining their fingers.

Daniel’s hand is warm, so warm, and it feels good—right—a welcome weight in the palm of Johnny’s cold hand.

“Do you think you’ll ever go back? To Jersey, I mean.” Johnny asks after a beat of silence.

Daniel hums, but otherwise doesn’t answer right away. It’s not that important of a question, but it also kind of is, to Johnny anyway. And Daniel must sense it, because when he answers, he seems to weigh his words carefully.

“I don’t thinks so,” Daniel murmurs. “I’m not sayin’ it’ll never happen—who knows where the future will take me. But I’m not really thinking about going back, to live, at least. Where I was from, there wasn’t much in the way of opportunity. You either dropped out of high school and joined the mob or you finished high school and went to work at a factory making car parts or working in a local mom and pop shop,” Daniel shrugs. “It’s why my ma wanted us to move out here. She didn’t want that kind of life for me. And at first, I was pissed, you know? I couldn’t understand why she’d wanna leave our whole family and move all the way across the country where we wouldn’t know anyone. And then we got here and for the first few days, it didn’t seem so bad, until—“

Daniel bites his lip, huffing a soft laugh because they both know what those first few months were like for him. “Well, I begged my mom to let us move back, but she always told me that ‘LaRusso’s don’t quit’ and I guess I’m glad she didn’t listen to me, in the end.” Daniel says, giving Johnny’s hand a quick squeeze.

Johnny swipes his thumb over the back of Daniel’s knuckles in response, praying that Daniel blames his red cheeks on the cold.

“I’m glad you stuck around, too,” Johnny admits quietly, biting the inside of his cheek.

“Man, who woulda thought?” Daniel says with a teasing quirk of his lips. “Johnny Lawrence is actually happy about my presence.”

Johnny shrugs, a small smile dancing on his lips. “You’re not all that bad, LaRusso.”

“Screw you, I’m a delight.”

Johnny grins, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. “Maybe later.”

His grin widens when he hears Daniel suck in a sharp breath and Johnny doesn’t have to see his eyes to know his pupils are dilated, eclipsing the brown, a sure sign of his desire.

“Fuck, you can’t just—say things like that, Johnny,” Daniel says, shifting his hips. “Not in public, at least.”

“You were the one that brought up screwing,” Johnny reminds with a smirk.

“Not like that, you asshole,” Daniel huffs, cheeks flushed red, teeth gnawing on his lower lip.

Johnny’s belly heats at the sight. “Don’t do that,”

Daniel shoots him a weird look. “I’m doin’ anythin’, Johnny, what are you—“

Johnny nods to Daniel’s lower lip, which is still stuck between his teeth. The skin is flushed red, slick with spit and swollen and fuck, does Johnny want to lean down and taste it.

“You’re biting your lip,” Johnny murmurs, swallowing heavily.

Daniel hums, swiping his tongue along the marks his teeth left behind. “Yeah? What about it?”

Johnny shifts, feeling himself harden in his jeans. “Stop doing it.”

Daniel’s eyebrows raise in challenge, teeth still tugging on that damn lip and Johnny can’t look away—

“You gonna make me, Johnny?” Daniel whispers, jutting his chin out in a silent dare.

Johnny growls. “You little—“

“Johnny?”

Johnny and Daniel’s heads whip up simultaneously at the new voice, hands ripping a part like they caught on fire.

Bobby’s not fooled, however, if the amused twinkle in his eyes is anything to go by.

“Bobby, hey,” Johnny greets, shooting him a glare. “What are you doing here?”

Bobby nods down the beach, where his parents are setting up what looks to be a bonfire; Claire, Bobby’s little sister, is running around with an open bag of marshmallows while their dog, Sandy, chases after her.

“Mom and Dad are going down to my grandparents for New Years Eve, so they wanted to do our beach bonfire a day early,” Bobby explains, eyes shifting towards Daniel, who is sitting, tense, at Johnny’s side.

“Hey, Daniel,” Bobby greets, giving him a hesitant smile.

Daniel jerks his chin. “Hey man, how’s it going?”

Bobby shrugs, biting his lip. “Not bad,” he answers, eyeing Daniel’s knee, Bobby swallows nervously. “How’s uh, how the knee going?”

“It’s on the mend,” Daniel says. “Kind of slow going, but I’m getting there.”

Johnny knows Daniel’s glossing over it, underplaying the entire thing because that’s just the type of person he is. And Johnny feels a rush of gratitude towards him for it.

Bobby nods, looks away and Johnny can physically see the guilt eating Bobby alive.

“Look, Daniel, I know it’s not—it won’t change anything, but I’m really sorry,” Bobby says when he finally looks at Daniel, blue eyes wide and genuine. “I never should’ve done that to you. I should’ve—Kreese—“ Bobby takes a breath, blows it out and it mists in the cold air. “Hurting you like that will be something I’ll regret for a long time, man. It wasn’t right.”

“It wasn’t right,” Daniel agrees. At Bobby’s crestfallen expression, he adds, “But I don’t want you beating yourself up over it, either. Your sensei is—well, he’s a scary dude and Mr. Miyagi says there’s no such thing as a bad student, only a bad teacher. So, I don’t blame you, not really.”

Bobby’s shoulders relax and Johnny could kiss Daniel, right here, right now, for how gracious he’s being. Bobby has always been the most sensitive out of all of them, feeling things a little deeper and Johnny knows, without their conversation the other day, that the remorse has been weighing heavily on his mind.

“Now that whole thing at the soccer tryouts—“ Daniel starts, just to be a shit, but Johnny can hear the teasing tone and so can Bobby, who just rolls his eyes and grins.

“Hey, man, that was all Johnny. And besides, you slugged me pretty good, if I recall—“

Daniel grins, bright and proud. “I did, didn’t I?”

Bobby laughs, rolling his eyes again. “I think Johnny’s a bad influence on you.”

Daniel shrugs, shooting Johnny a secret smile. “Oh, I don’t know about that. I think it’s pretty even.”

Johnny flushes. “Whatever, LaRusso.”

Bobby raises his eyebrows, but before he can comment, a voice that Johnny recognizes as Karen’s—Bobby’s mom— is calling him back over.

Bobby waves in acknowledgement before he turns back to Johnny and Daniel.

“I gotta go, but I’ll see you at the party tomorrow night, right?” Bobby asks, looking between the two them expectantly.

Daniel pauses, taking his sunglasses off, shooting Johnny a confused look. “Um—“

“We’re still thinking about it,” Johnny cuts in, shooting Bobby a glare that says I know where you live and I’m going to kill you in your sleep.

“Oh,” Bobby says, wrinkling his eyebrows completely obvious. “Well, if this is about what happened with Dutch the other day—“

Now Daniel looks even more confused, looking between Johnny and Bobby suspiciously.

God damn it

“—you know he’s over it already. It’s not the first time you two have gotten into it. Even if you did break his nose—“

“You broke someone’s nose?” Daniel demands, eyebrows shooting up.

Shit

Bobby pauses, eyes flickering between them—Johnny, who’s glaring at him like he wants to kill him and Daniel, who looks totally lost and annoyed.

“Wait, you didn’t—“ Bobby starts, biting his lip anxiously. “You didn’t tell him?” He asks, lowering his voice, like Daniel isn’t sitting right there

“Uh, tell me what?” Daniel demands impatiently,

Johnny sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Fuckfuckgoddamnshit

“Bobby, don’t you have somewhere to be?” Johnny reminds him with a tense smile, raising his eyebrows in a way that says get the fuck away from me before I beat you to a pulp.

And Bobby—Bobby fuckin’ Brown reads it, loud and clear and a little too late.

“Right, um, well,” Bobby says, giving Johnny a sheepish smile. “See you guys later, I guess. And Daniel, hey, I’m glad I ran into you. I told Johnny I’ve been meaning to come over and talk to you—which, um,” Bobby falters, when Daniel scoffs, shaking his head, glaring at Johnny like he wishes he could kill him with just his look alone. “I gather he didn’t tell you either?”

Daniel shoots Bobby a tight smile, but his eyes never leave Johnny’s face. “Apparently there’s a lot he hasn’t filled me in on.”

Bobby chuckles nervously, backing away. “Well, uh, I’m gonna let you guys—yeah, later.”

Bobby shoots Johnny one last guilty look and mouths sorry and Johnny answers with him another death glare.

When Johnny turns back to Daniel, it’s to find him already standing, struggling to bend down and grab his crutches from where he laid them on the ground.

“What are you doing?” Johnny demands, scrambling to get up and offer him help.

Daniel slaps his hands away, brown eyes flashing dangerously. “I don’t need your help.”

“The hell you don’t,” Johnny snaps back when Daniel bends his left knee a little too much, a grunt of pain leaving his lips without his volition.

Johnny tries again to reach down and assist him, but he’s met with a stony glare and a snarled, “Don’t.”

Johnny blows out a frustrated breath. “Just let me help you, dammit. You’re going to hurt yourself.”

But Daniel ignores him, somehow managing to scoop up his crutches with a triumphant grin that dampens when he stands up too fast and his knee spasms in a way that Johnny can physically see and it looks down right  painful, if the way Daniel’s face scrunches up is any indication.

“Are you alright?” Johnny demands, anger momentarily forgotten.

“I’m fine,” Daniel spits, yanking away from Johnny’s out stretched hand. “Don’t worry about me. I don’t need you.”

Johnny ignores the way those words hit like a direct blow to the chest—focusing, instead, on the anger rolling like lava through his veins, making his fists clench so hard, his knuckles pop.

“Jesus, what the hell is your problem?” Johnny snaps, but it’s such a stupid question— one that he already knows the answer to and judging by the incredulous look on Daniel’s face, he’s thinking the same thing.

“My problem? You wanna know what my problem is?” Daniel snaps back, cheeks flushed in anger.

Johnny rolls his eyes and can’t help the sarcastic, “Obviously, LaRusso, or I wouldn’t of asked.”

It only serves to make Daniel madder, big brown eyes sparking like embers that glitter dangerously in the setting sun.

“God, you are such a fuckin’ asshole,” Daniel says with a scoff, but it doesn’t hide the way his voice is shaking. “You’re really gonna stand there and pretend like you don’t understand why I’m pissed at you?”

Johnny swallows, but doesn’t say anything.

Daniel chuckles and it sends a shiver of fear down Johnny’s spine. “Yeah, why am I not surprised?” He mutters to himself. Shaking his head, he steels himself and levels Johnny with a look of faux patience. “Alright, fine, we’ll play this your way. Lemme ask you somethin’, Johnny, when were you gonna bother tellin’ me you got into a fight and you apparently broke someone’s nose?” Daniel pauses, raising his eyebrows expectantly but Johnny stays silent. “Okay, let me guess, it’s somehow none of my business, right? Right.” He says, asking and answering his question in a way that’s just—so goddamn irritating.

“It wasn’t important,” Johnny finally says, finding his voice. “Dutch was just running his mouth about stuff he doesn't understand—“

“So you break his nose?” Daniel demands, wrinkling his eyebrows like he’s genuinely confused. “Johnny, you can’t just go around—punching people—“

“He was talking about you,” Johnny snaps, temper finally igniting. “He was saying things, about you and I was—“

“What? Defending me?” Daniel says, waving his hands about in a oohh gesture that’s just…so fucking annoying that it sets Johnny’s teeth on edge and make his fists coil tighter. “You broke his nose, Johnny, that’s not—that’s not okay—you can’t just punch your way out of everything—“

Everything’s a fight for you, Johnny

Cobra’s aren’t weak

“Well, I guess the next time someone wants to call you a faggot, I’ll just let them,” Johnny sneers, taking a step closer, heart hammering in his chest. He can feel the words on his tongue, but he can’t do anything from spilling out and over.

No mercy

“After all, that’s what you are, isn't it? A faggot?”

Daniel recoils as if Johnny physically hit him and there’s a part of Johnny, a dark, twisted part that revels in it—the rush of landing a painful blow, the satisfaction of knowing he’s cut his enemy down to his knees and there’s a voice that sounds a lot like Kreese that whispers finish him, finish him.

Johnny can feel his fists twitch at his sides, feel the muscles of his shoulders coil, tightening, aching to rear back and feel the momentum of his body, propelling itself forward, feel the power and the rush of blood in his veins as his fists connects with soft skin, feel the bone crush and give with the force of his anger as he punches through his target, can taste it, can feel it, wants to feel it, aches for, thirsts for it—

FINISH HIM! NO MERCY! FINISH HIM!

—but then something cold washes over Johnny’s feet and it’s like being shocked out of a nightmare. Johnny blinks, glancing down and—water, Johnny’s mind supplies, it’s water. Cold water. High tide, the beach, too cold for the beach, why am I at the beach—

Soft lips, whispered pleas— C’mon Johnny, I’m like a prisoner in here, only leaving to go to doctors appointment and physical therapy. Besides, you love the beach, don’t you?

A laugh, a moan as lips teased over his hammering pulse—Yeah, in the summer, LaRusso. When it’s hot and you can actually enjoy it—

Daniel

Daniel’s the reason I’m here—Daniel, where’s Daniel—

Johnny whips his head up and Daniel’s still standing in front of him and oh, god—

“That’s what you are isn’t it? A faggot?”

Remorse punches the air of Johnny’s lungs, stomach twisting in guilt and he opens his mouth to say something, anything, but Daniel beats him to it.

“So that’s what this is about?” Daniel whispers with a dawning realization.

He doesn’t even sound angry anymore, just…tired. Disappointed. And it makes Johnny ache inside because this is what he does to people. His mom, Ali and now Daniel and this can’t be happening, no no no no—

“Are you—“ Daniel starts, pauses, licks his lips, looks away like he can’t even face the answer that Johnny has to give to whatever question he wants to ask.

But this is Daniel and Daniel isn’t afraid of anything. He’s not a coward, he doesn't back away or run from a fight or a problem. He faces it head on, with squared shoulders and his chin jutted out stubbornly, looking his opponent right in the eyes, a silent dare that they can either take or leave.

It’s how he’s looking at Johnny right now—eyes glinting like steel bronze in the setting sun, jaw clenched, feet hips width apart in the sand, like he’s preparing for a fight. Even with the crutches holding him up and taking most of his weight, he looks strong in a way that Johnny will never be.

It’s the same look he gave Johnny on the beach, in this very spot, months ago. The same look he gave Johnny when Johnny held his face, streaked with blood and blooming bruises, in his own hands, Bobby’s voice yelling at him to stop it, Johnny, he’s had enough. The same look he gave Johnny across the mat, almost two months ago, he right before he delivered the winning shot to Johnny’s face.

I’m right here, it says, look at me, I’m right here. Take your best shot. But you’re going to look me in the eyes when you do.

“You’re ashamed of me,” Daniel says, but this time, it’s not phrased as a question. Because he doesn't need the answer that Johnny more than likely wasn’t going to give. He already has it. Because Daniel has always been better at reading Johnny than anyone Johnny’s ever known. Because Daniel knows to read between the lines, to hear what Johnny doesn’t say.

And Johnny is an idiot for thinking this wasn’t going to blow up in his face sooner or later.

“You’re ashamed of me—of this—whatever this is that’s been going on between us,” Daniel continues, voice shaking with anger and something else that Johnny’s trying really hard not to think about. “It’s not real as long as no one can see it, right? That’s why you wanted to keep Bobby away, why you didn’t tell me about the party, what you did to Dutch,” Daniel smiles and it’s not nice, “because saying it out loud would mean that it’s true. Being around people—your friends—means that you run the risk of someone knowing and well, we can’t have that, can we? Johnny Lawrence, Karate King of the Hill, being seen around town with Daniel LaRusso, suspected fag.”

“That’s not what this is about,” Johnny snaps, but the anger is gone and there’s only a knee shaking level of desperation clawing at his gut. “I—Dutch, he’s an asshole—“

“—he’s not the only one,” Daniel mutters, but Johnny ignores him.

“—I just didn’t want to deal with him or make you feel like you had to deal with it because of me,” Johnny says and it sounds weak, even to his own ears and Daniel isn’t buying it, not for a second.

“You didn’t even give me the choice, Johnny,” Daniel says, frustrated. “I get to decide that, for me, you don’t get to make these choices for me. And I’m not stupid, alright? I wasn’t going to like, expect you to hold my hand or nothin’, but we could’ve just gone as friends, did you ever think of that?”

Johnny opens his mouth to snap back that of course, I thought of that, but it dies on his tongue because, no, no he didn’t think of that. It never really occurred to him, either, to just…bring Daniel along as a friend. Dutch would’ve been an asshole, either way, but Bobby, Tommy, Jimmy, they wouldn’t of minded. Ali still stopped by, from time to time, to check in on Daniel, they were friends still. And Freddy, even if they were from the wrong side of the tracks, him and his friends have always been cool with Cobra’s. It wouldn’t have been this…big thing and well, doesn’t that just make Johnny feel like an ass?

Daniel must take Johnny’s silence as answer enough, because he scoffs, shaking his head. “Yeah, didn’t think so.”

“Well, what the hell do you want me to do?” Johnny demands, throwing his hands up in the air in aggravation. “If you want to go to this stupid party, we’ll go—“

Daniel sighs in that way that Johnny is all too familiar with and the sad smile he gives Johnny is an echo of the one Ali gave him the day she broke up with him.

You just never learn do you, Johnny?

“How about this: you go to the party with all your friends, drink and have a fantastic time and we can just…forget that this ever happened, okay?” Daniel offers, turning on his heel to walk back up the beach. He adds, over his shoulder, lips twisting into an angry smirk, “And hey, by the way, Ali told me the other day that she broke up with her college boy, so looks like you’ll have someone to kiss on New Years.”

It’s a low blow and they both know it, but it’s also a true testament to Daniel’s anger that he’d stoop that low to hurt Johnny, but it’s not like he doesn't deserve it.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Johnny demands, catching up to Daniel easily.

“Home,” Daniel snaps, right before he falters, crutches catching in the soft sand.

“What, you gonna walk there?” Johnny snipes sarcastically, reaching out to steady him. He’s not surprised when Daniel yanks himself away from his touch, but it sends a pang through Johnny that he tries to ignore, but it’s there, like a bruise that just won’t heal.

“If it means getting away from you, then yes, gladly,” Daniel snarks, eyes flashing defiantly.

“Just let me take you home, Jesus Christ,” Johnny says, running his hand through his hair in exasperation.

Daniel laughs sardonically, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows heavily, looking away. “You don’t get it, do you?”

“I do get it, you’re pissed at me—“ Johnny starts, rolling his eyes but Daniel shakes his head, still not looking at him.

“I mean, yeah I’m pissed at you, but that’s not—“ Daniel laughs and it sounds wet, choked, almost like—

When Daniel finally looks at him, Johnny feels all the breath get knocked out of him like he’s been sucker punched. Because, yeah, there’s anger in those big, fathomless dark eyes, but there’s also a glitter of tears that threaten to bring Johnny to his knees.

“I thought you—I thought maybe you—“ Daniel tries, swallowing heavily, another wet laugh leaving his lips that sends a knife right through Johnny’s heart, “—who the hell knows what I thought,” Daniel mutters to himself with a sniff. “My point is Johnny—I can’t even look at you right now without wanting to either punch your stupid face or just—“ a few tears escape and Daniel swipes them away with the worn sleeve of his hoodie, chuckling darkly to himself. “I just don’t even want to be around you right now, okay? I don’t want to—look at you or listen to you or—“

He breaks off on a half sob half laugh and Johnny feels a stinging sensation in his eyes, a lump that’s hard to swallow around and his chest aches to the point of physical pain.

“Danny, I—“ Johnny whispers, pleads and Daniel flinches away, shaking his head.

“Please don’t—don’t call me that, not right now, not after you—“

You hurt me.

Daniel doesn't say it, but they both hear it, lingering there, awkwardly, hovering between the two of them and it’s suffocating, how much Johnny wants to say, how much he wants to apologize but the words just won’t come.

“Okay,” Johnny concedes, holding his hands up. “Just, please, let me—“ fix this, apologize, hold your hand one last time, kiss you, taste you, just one more time—“let me take you home, okay? I won’t—I won’t ask you for anything else.”

Daniel looks like he wants to fight him, like he was to protest or object, but eventually he just nods, and for the first time since Johnny’s know him, he looks like all the fight, all that passion and fire, has drained right out of him. Like someone kicking sand over the embers of a bonfire, smothering the flames until they die off.

Johnny tries really, really hard not to think about the fact that he’s the one responsible for blowing out that flame.

“Okay,” Daniel agrees, so quietly, it almost gets lost in the wind.

But Johnny hears it and he savors it, because it’s last thing Daniel says to him for the rest of the night.

*

Johnny drives home that night with plans to get shit faced drunk in the hopes of it erasing the memory of Daniel walking away from him and out of his life for good. Or at least make the empty feeling in his chest go away. But when he gets home and opens the fridge, he eyes the beer cans for a long time, before he slams the fridge door shut in frustration and stalks off to his bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him. The wood creaks ominously, but Johnny doesn’t care.

He kicks his shoes off, uncaring where they land and falls into bed, snatching his Walkman off the nightstand as he goes.

It’s dusty from disuse and Johnny tries not to think of why he hasn't needed it lately. Tries not to think of Daniel’s apartment that’s become a safe haven over the last month. Tries not to think of nights staying up too late watching shitty TV movies, Daniel’s body a soft weight in his lap, gentle fingers brushing over the sensitive skin on the inside of Johnny’s arm. The way Daniel’s eyes sparkle in the low light from the Christmas tree that Lucille had yet to take down, even though tomorrow was New Years Eve. Tries not to think of days spent down in Mr. Miyagi’s shed, Daniel’s body heat warming Johnny from behind as he whispered instructions to Johnny on how to properly trim a bonsai tree. The feeling of his warm breath over the skin of Johnny’s neck. His huff of soft laughter whenever Johnny got frustrated or cracked an inappropriate joke about trimming bushes.

Johnny shakes his head, putting his headphones over his ears, not even bothering to check to see what cassette is in the tape deck and presses play.

He groans into his hands when he the music starts up halfway into his Fleetwood Mac tape, the ending notes of Say You Love Me fading seamlessly into Landslide.

Johnny was never a big Fleetwood Mac fan until he and Daniel stumbled upon Lucille’s old records one day. Daniel had pulled this one from it’s sleeve, eyes lighting up at the sight of it.

He made Johnny swap the records out—uncaring that they were right in the middle of A Night At The Opera, that they hadn’t even gotten to Bohemian Rhapsody on the track list yet. Daniel had hit him with those big, Bambi eyes and Johnny had folded quicker than a house of cards.

Daniel had melted back into the couch as soon as the first track started, while Johnny took the record sleeve from Daniel’s hands. He remembers the way their fingers brushed together, the zing that had gone up his arm like he touched a live wire.

Johnny remembers being completely unimpressed for the first few tracks—Monday Morning was okay, Blue Letter was eh, Warm Ways was kind of trippy and mellow, something he could see himself getting high to, a joint between his lips, letting the warm notes float over his head as the weed let him seep into the soft carpet underneath him—until he heard Stevie Nicks croon over the thumping bass track that was Rhiannon.

The wonder must’ve shown on his face, because Daniel had shot him this smug I told you so grin and Johnny was captured by it—Stevie Nicks’ voice and the way Daniel began to hum along to the song, eyes closed, lashes fluttering, plush lips framing the lyrics in a way that had Johnny entranced with the movement.

The record had played on and Daniel lost himself in the music and when Landslide came on he’d actually began to sing—his singing voice was higher than Johnny would’ve thought, but it harmonized with Stevie’s low, raspy voice, wrapping Johnny in a warm blanket of bliss and for a moment, Johnny had felt high—loose limbed and languid, just listening to Daniel sing.

That night, he’d swung by the music store and bought the tape and fell asleep listening to it, with the memory of Daniel, eyes closed and totally lost to the music burned like brand into Johnny’s mind.

The memory makes Johnny’s heart throb as he lays there, listening to Stevie Nick’s dreamy voice as she sings about her reflection in snow covered hills. And he wonders, as his eyes shut, if he’s ever going get another day like that with Daniel—the warm sun filtering in from the windows, the feeling of Daniel in his arms, his head on Johnny’s chest, Daniel’s singing to him as lay there, letting the music wash over them like calm waves on the shore.

(Johnny also wonders if there’ll ever be a day where he doesn't destroy everything he touches).

And if you see my reflection in the snow covered hills,

The landslide will bring you down,

Oh, the landslide will bring you down

*

Madonna is blasting so loud through Tommy’s parents state of the art stereo system, Johnny wouldn’t be surprised in the slightest if one of the speakers doesn’t blow by the end of the night. Half the Valley is currently swarming the house, dancing and drinking and counting down until the New Year.

Normally, Johnny would’ve been right in the middle of it all, kicking ass at beer pong with Dutch, watching Bobby and Jimmy attempt to hit on all the hot babes and sneaking off to smoke weed with Tommy on the back porch right before the ball drops.

But Dutch is still pissed at him from last week, Jimmy managed to actually bring a date to the party, Tommy had snuck off long ago with a girl underneath his arm and last Johnny saw, right before he ducked into the safety of the kitchen, Bobby had been caught up in conversation with Ali. A few months ago, that might’ve pissed Johnny off enough to start a fight right in the middle of the living room.

But now, with a Daniel LaRusso shaped hole in his heart, Johnny had just rolled his eyes and gave Bobby a knowing grin, silently wishing Bobby luck.

Bobby was the best of them and he’d be good for Ali—better than Johnny ever was, at least.

Johnny snorts to himself, taking a sip of the beer that’s long gone flat and warm by now. It’s the same one Tommy had shoved into his hands as soon as he walked through the door and it tastes like ash in Johnny’s mouth, settling like lead in his stomach.

He leans his head back against the cabinet doors, closing his eyes and wishing, not for the first since he walked through the front door, that he would’ve just stayed home.

His head hurts, his chest feels like he’s been used as a warm up dummy in a dojo and he just…really misses Daniel.

Johnny had tried calling him when he woke up. Lucille had answered and told him Daniel was still sleeping. He’d waited another hour and tried calling again, but the line had just rang and rang and eventually, Johnny had just hung up. He gave it a few more tries, but after the last try, when he got a busy signal, he’d slammed the phone back down in the cradle, barely refraining from throwing the whole thing at the wall in his anger.

He’d debated going by the apartment, but then he remembered the look on Daniel’s face—the hurt, the anger, the betrayal—and it was enough to keep him locked in his room all day, headphones over his ears, listening to that Fleetwood Mac tape over and over until the lyrics were engraved on his heart, burned like a brand into his brain.

Johnny’s mind drifts to Daniel—wondering if he’s okay, if he’s thinking about Johnny, if he misses him as much as Johnny misses Daniel right now. If he feels like there’s a piece of him missing, without Johnny there. Because that’s what it feels like to Johnny—like something that should be there that isn’t. Daniel’s running commentary on the comings and going of the party, complaining about the music, his weight at Johnny’s side, his laughter, the knowing look he’d give Johnny when he saw Bobby and Ali together.

Daniel is a social butterfly, he can talk to anyone about anything in a way that Johnny envies. If he were here, he’d be working the room, talking to Bobby about cars and comics, trying to dance with Ali despite his crutches and he’d look like a dork doing it, but somehow, it would be charming and cute and he’d shoot Johnny that annoying little smart ass smirk of his over Ali’s shoulder while she laughed and laughed at his antics. Dutch would probably try to goad Daniel into playing beer pong in another show of posturing, another attempt to show Daniel up and embarrass him in front of a house full of people. Daniel would rise to the challenge, even though Johnny’s willing to bet Daniel’s never played a drinking game in his life and somehow, the little shit would win and Johnny would have to swoop in before Dutch could attempt to take a swing at him.

They could sneak off to the beach—tonight was a full moon and Johnny could imagine seeing it reflecting in Daniel’s dark and fathomless eyes, the way the fireworks would glimmer like stars in those dark depths, the way they’d paint his tan skin in technicolor when Johnny laid him out in the sand, going into the New Year with Daniel’s lips parting underneath his, Johnny’s name getting lost in the overhead boom of the fireworks as they popped and sizzled over the ocean behind them.

It’s a nice fantasy and because Johnny is a fucking coward, he’ll never get to know if it would’ve ever come to fruition.

Johnny smacks the counter top he’s sitting on in frustration, just as the kitchen door swings open and suddenly, he’s no longer alone.

Ali stands in the doorway, hair loose around her shoulders, cheeks pink from dancing, matching the soft looking sweater she’s wearing. Her brown eyes widen in surprise at the sight of him, before they relax, her lipstick painted lips quirking up into a tentative smile.

A tiny piece of Johnny’s heart twinges at the sight of her, but it doesn’t hurt anymore. It’s more of a bittersweet ache that Johnny knows will always be there, but it doesn't feel so overwhelming, so all consuming, like it used to. Ali will always hold a special place in Johnny’s heart but he can say, with absolute certainty, that it doesn't belong to her anymore. Not like it did a few months ago, before Daniel LaRusso came waltzing into his life and turned everything upside down and upside right like some streetwise, smart talking tornado with a Jersey accent.

“Oh, hey Johnny,” Ali greets, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind her ear.

“Hey, Ali,” Johnny returns, giving her a half smile.

The air around them isn’t awkward, per se, but it’s not relaxed, either. They’ve carefully been avoiding each other since the tournament, orbiting around each other like planets, Daniel at their center, their common denominator, which has suited Johnny just fine.

“It’s getting crazy out there,” Ali says, walking over to the kitchen island to  grab a soda from where they’re piled haphazardly in a bowl that was once filled with ice. “I had to step away for a bit.”

“Yeah, Tommy went a little crazy with the invite list,” Johnny agrees, rolling his eyes. “I don’t even think he knows half the people here.”

Ali laughs, soft and tinkling—the sound like bells or wind chimes. “Probably not, but it’s Tommy, so I’m sure he’ll be friends with them by the end of the night.”

Johnny smiles and while this one feels a little bit more genuine, it still feels hollow, robotic.

And Ali notices, tilting her head to the side quizzically, eyes narrowing. “Hey, are you okay?”

While Daniel may be the best at reading Johnny, Ali is a close second. She was always able to tell when something was wrong, always able to see past his defenses, no matter how many walls Johnny had tried to put up in the way of flirting and charming smiles.

“I’m just not in the party mood, I guess,” Johnny says with shrug, giving her a small smile.

Ali hums, eyes still narrowed, like she’s studying him, trying to work something out. “I’m surprised Daniel’s not with you.”

It’s an observation, but Johnny can hear the question behind it, the gentle probing as she tries to pinpoint what’s wrong.

Johnny tries to keep his face neutral, shrugging again in a way he hopes comes across as nonchalant rather than jerky and nervous.

“Bobby told me he invited him,” Ali continues, taking a delicate sip of her Coke, eyeing him over the rim of the can.

“Must not be in the party mood, either.” Johnny says dismissively, eyeing her suspiciously.

There’s a knowing gleam in her eyes that doesn't sit well with him, like she knows more than Johnny does—which, isn’t too far fetched, if he’s being completely honest with himself. Ali was always way out of his league when it came to her brain.

She’s doing that thing that chicks do—this word game that Johnny’s always hated. It’s like some code they expect guys to be able to follow. Where they say one thing but it really means another or they’re saying something without actually coming out and saying it. Like they’re purposefully being selective with their words and guys are just supposed to…figure it out on their own.

The world would be a much better place if girls just said whatever the fuck they meant without all the headache inducing head games.

“Well, that’s interesting,” Ali comments, snagging a chip from the snack tray. “Because I just saw him a few minutes ago.”

Johnny’s heart stutters to a stop before it picks up again at break neck speed.

Daniel’s here?

Ali raises her eyebrows and Johnny realizes, with a blush, that he said that out loud.

“Yeah, he came with Freddy and his friends,” Ali says, shrugging. “Got here about an hour ago,” she’s watching him closely now, but Johnny can’t bring himself to care. “Looks kinda like you do now—like he’d rather be anywhere else but here.”

Johnny bites his lip and looks down at his beer that’s dangling precariously from his grip, stomach twisting into knots. All night, Johnny had been thinking that Daniel was at home, alone, probably laid out on the couch watching TV or listening to records or reading his comic books. He never thought that Daniel would come to the party, especially not after what happened yesterday.

But now, as Johnny stares into the murky depths of his beer, he realizes, once again, that he underestimated LaRusso—because coming to the party, even after what happened yesterday, is exactly the kind of screw you move that Daniel would pull.

Johnny shakes his head, snorting to himself.

“Fuckin’ LaRusso,” Johnny mutters with a scoff.

“What’s going on, Johnny?” Ali asks softly.

Johnny blinks—he’d forgotten she was even there.

“Nothing, just—“ Johnny sighs, shaking his head with a self deprecating laugh. “I think I screwed up, Ali.”

“Let me guess,” Ali says, lips twitching. “Daniel got too close, you got scared, you said something stupid that hurt Daniel’s feelings and now, instead of trying to fix your mistake, you’re sitting here—alone—pouting into the same beer you’ve had all night, thinking that you’ve lost him for good and a part of you is wondering, maybe, if he’s not better off for it,” Ali pauses, tilting her head to side, brown eyes glittering in the florescent lights of the kitchen. “Does that sound about right?”

Johnny’s torn between being impressed and annoyed—but there’s something else there, lurking in her eyes, that makes him instantly suspicious of her deduction skills.

“You already talked to him, didn’t you?” Johnny asks, eyes narrowed.

Ali grins cheekily. “A magician never reveals her secrets,” at Johnny’s unimpressed look, she concedes, “okay, maybe I swung by today to check in with him and he ended up telling me everything.”

Johnny flushes, clearing his throat. “Ah, everything?”

“Everything,” Ali confirms, giving him a pointed look. “And I have to say, I wasn’t surprised—well, not as much as I should’ve been, I suppose,” she says with a furrow between her eyebrows. After a beat, she shrugs, adding, “It makes sense, now, why things were always so—intense between the two of you.”

Johnny groans, rubbing his eyes. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”

Ali giggles and Johnny shoots her a glare. “It’s not funny, Al.”

“Oh, c’mon, Johnny, it’s a little funny,” Ali counters with a soft smile. “Hey, imagine how I feel. Two of the guys I dated are now dating each other,” she shakes her head, giggling again, “I mean, what does that say about me?”

“We’re not dating,” Johnny mutters, but the flutter his heart gives at the thought of Daniel being his and only his begs to differ.

And apparently Ali does, too, because she shoots him a knowing look.

“Okay,” Johnny says, rolling his eyes. “Even if that were true—which it’s not—“ he feels compelled to add at her victorious smirk, “—I did a pretty spectacular job of fucking things up, so.” He shrugs, glancing back down into his beer. He dumps it into the sink, tossing the cup in the general direction of the trash can. It banks off the side and rolls awkwardly underneath the counter. Johnny makes a mental note to pick up and throw it away whenever he decides to leave his perch on the counter.

“Do you know why I broke up with you?” Ali asks suddenly and it’s such an out of the blue question that Johnny just blinks, wondering if he even heard her right.

But Ali just blinks stares up at him, an unreadable look on her face and Johnny decides that he did, in fact, hear her right.

“Um,” Johnny starts, hesitates, but Ali just watches him, waiting for his final answer and suddenly, Johnny feels like he’s taking a test he didn’t study for. “Because I forgot your birthday?”

Ali laughs softly, glancing down at the counter she’s been absentmindedly tracing circles into since she asked the question. “Well, yeah, that was part of it,” she allows. “But there’s more to it than just that.”

When she looks back up at him, there’s something sad in her gaze and that piece of his heart that belongs to Ali, gives a weak tug. That familiar urge to beat up anyone who put that look on her face, to soothe the pain away, flares unexpectedly and it catches him off guard and amuses him, all at once. Because Ali never needed him to fight her battles for her and if she did, Johnny would’ve spent a lot time beating himself up, since more often than not, he was the one responsible for putting that sad look on her face.

Johnny doesn't say anything and Ali sighs, like she’s praying for patience.

“It was more than that,” She repeats and Johnny wonders who she’s trying to convince. “Whenever we were together, I always felt like I was getting half of you—like there was this…part of you that I never got to see, that you kept hidden away,” she pauses, biting her lip. “Like you were always afraid to let your guard down. Like maybe, if you did, I wouldn’t like what I saw and I would run screaming in the other direction.”

Johnny suddenly wishes he would’ve drank that beer. And about six more, maybe. That was about the only way this conversation was going to be even remotely tolerable.

“I thought maybe it was because of Cobra Kai or even your friends—Dutch, mainly—that you always felt this need to keep parts of yourself locked away. Maybe, that was part of it, but ultimately, I think you were too afraid to really love me.”

The words are soft, but they land like a physical blow, right in the center of his chest, punching all the air out of his lungs and leaving behind a sharp ache that makes him want to curl up in the ball on the floor and never get back up.

Ali’s eyes are sad, but there’s no apology lurking behind the sadness. She means every words she’s saying and Johnny can admit that maybe, she’s not wrong. And that makes the ache worse, because he knows, down to his bones, that it’s true.

“There were other things, too, but that one,” Ali shakes her head, lips twisting into a self-deprecating smile, “well, how can you be with someone who doesn't love you?”

Johnny opens his mouth to argue, because he had adored Ali and everything about her. The way she smiled, the way she laughed, the smell of her hair, the way she wasn’t afraid to tease him or call him out on his bullshit when he pissed her off. The way it had hurt to lose her.

But he closes it when he realizes that while he had missed her, had been upset at the thought of her moving on so quickly, it wasn’t this…empty feeling he has currently chewing away at his gut. The way he’s been thinking of Daniel all night, wondering what he’s doing, wishing he was here, next to Johnny, his warmth and his smile and his big, doe eyes sparkling up at him like the sun rises and sets on Johnny.

Johnny had missed Ali, in the general sense, but right now, Johnny can physically feel Daniel’s absence—even if he is only a room away.

And that really just says it all, doesn't it?

“I wanted to love you,” Johnny says quietly. “I think—maybe, I did, in my own way, but it wasn’t the way you deserved.”

Ali smiles faintly. “I know you did, Johnny. And you’re right,” she admits, shrugging, “I deserve more than what you were willing to give.”

It sounds an awful lot like I deserve more than you and Johnny’s inclined to agree, but she shoots him a glare like she knows what he’s thinking.

“But that doesn’t mean that you’re a bad guy, Johnny,” She says sternly, hands on her hips. “It doesn't mean that someone—a specific someone,” she clarifies with a wink, “wouldn’t be lucky to have you. After all, dating you isn't all bad.”

Johnny rolls his eyes. “Gee, thanks.”

Ali giggles, soft and melodious. “I mean it, we had our problems, but there was a reason I stayed with you for two years.”

Johnny smirks, wiggling his eyebrows and Ali rolls her eyes, slapping his shoulder.

“Don’t be a pig,” She admonishes, cheeks flushing pink like her sweater. “I’m being serious—you could be very sweet when you weren’t so concerned about being cool,” Ali’s face turns serious as she continues, “I also think there’s parts of you—those parts you never wanted to share with me—Daniel understands. You guys have this…connection,” she pauses, a mischievous glint in her eyes, “it’s almost like you’re soulmates.”

Johnny groans. “Oh please, Ali, don’t even start with that bullshit. Do I look like Susan or Barbra to you?”

Ali laughs and eventually, Johnny does, too, albeit grudgingly. It starts with a twitch of his lips and then soon, they’re laughing together, the air light and friendly, unlike when she first walked in here.

It’s an echo of the happier times of their relationship—laughing and teasing each other and being happy in each other’s presence.

And it feels good, Johnny realizes and he hopes that maybe, this could mean that he hasn’t lost her entirely. That they could maybe be friends and stop feeling awkward around each other.

It’s a thought for another day, because soon they’re interrupted by Bobby, who bursts through the swinging door so fast, he almost hits himself in the face on the backswing, catching the door just in time.

He looks panicked, eyes scanning the kitchen, exhaling audibly in relief when his eyes land on Johnny.

“Johnny, you’ve got to get out here,” Bobby says breathlessly.

Johnny raises an eyebrow, chuckling. “If it’s Tommy trying to seduce a girl by dancing topless on the coffee table, man, you’re on your own with that—“

“Johnny,” Bobby interrupts, tone serious, blue eyes wide and nervous. “It’s Daniel.”

All the humor drains out of Johnny’s body and he leaps off the counter, gently shoving Ali out of the way and following Bobby out into the chaos that is Tommy’s living room.

The music is still pulsing—Olivia Newton-John insisting let’s get physical, physical, I wanna get physicalllll— but no one’s dancing, all their attention focused in the center of the room, where a loose circle has formed around two people, one of them being Daniel and the other one—well, Johnny would recognize that box bleached head of hair anywhere.

Dutch is circling around Daniel and his mouth is moving, but Johnny can’t hear what he’s saying over the music. Tommy and Jimmy are standing off to the side—Tommy looks coiled, like he’s ready to jump in if things get physical and Jimmy just looks confused, but Johnny can see his mouth turned down in a frown, his eyebrows wrinkled with worry.

Daniel looks calm, but Johnny can see the way his eyes are tracking Dutch,  the way his muscles are tensed, the way his weight has shifted to his good leg, the way his knuckles have turned white from the tight grip he has on his crutches. His jaw his twitching and Johnny knows it’s taking every ounce of patience Mr. Miyagi has instilled in Daniel to keep his cool.

Dutch looks like a king holding court and Johnny can only imagine the sick things that are coming out of his mouth, the taunts he’s throwing to Daniel. Dutch has always been the more…creative out of the five of them, when it came to insults. A lot of it is the rhetoric that Kreese had spewed to them over the years and Kreese didn’t have much use for anything if it wasn’t male, white and American. While Johnny, Bobby, Jimmy and Tommy had done a decent job at keeping those particular parts of Kreese from spilling over into their own morals and beliefs, Dutch lived it and breathed it, like Kreese’s word was law and no other way about it.

It had always reminded Johnny uncomfortably of Sid—who was about as racist, sexist, classist and any other word ending in -ist as they came.

Come to think of it, there were a lot of parallels when it came to Sid and Kreese and Johnny didn’t really know what that says about him, to think that he could hate one with a passion that burned almost white hot and blindly idolize the other, like they both weren’t cut from the same kind of cloth.

But while Johnny had idolized Kreese, looking to him as a replacement father figure, Dutch had worshipped him. Like Kreese was a God and Dutch couldn’t help but worship at his alter, Kreese brought out the worst in all of them, preyed on it, encouraged it. Breaking them down to their base instincts and then built them up, using the worst pieces of themselves to shape and mold them into perfect little mindless soldiers.

But when they left that dojo, they left those pieces there—at least they tried to. Bobby, Jimmy and Tommy, they had perfect parents who loved them and doted on them. Johnny had his mother, on good days, when Sid wasn’t around.

Dutch had nobody. Nothing.

And when someone has nothing to lose, nothing to live for, that meant they really have nothing to gain, either. And that makes them dangerous.

And Dutch is nothing but danger, with a capital D.

He’s a mirror of Kreese and Johnny had never really truly realized it, until now, watching Dutch circle Daniel slowly, taunting him, winding him up, getting closer and closer with each complete orbit, a vicious smirk dancing on his lips, a familiar glint in his eyes and Johnny finds himself moving, pushing through the crowd, roughly shoving people out of the way and he knows without looking that Bobby is right behind him, hot on his heels.

Dutch looks up at the same time Daniel does and Johnny meets his eyes, briefly, brown meeting blue and then Johnny looks over to Dutch, who’s smirk widens into a sneer. Well, as much as one can sneer with a broken nose.

“Well, look who it is,” Dutch crows, teeth gleaming, sharklike, in the living room lights. “Johnny-boy, it’s about time you joined the party. Your little girlfriend here was worried about you,” Dutch adds with a mock pout, propping his elbow up on Daniel’s shoulder.

Daniel tenses, uncomfortable, trying to shuffle out of the way, but Dutch throws his arm around Daniel’s shoulders, roughly pulling him back into his side. Daniel’s face twists up in pain and Johnny clenches his fists at his sides and tells himself to be cool, be cool.

“Leave him alone, Dutch,” Johnny warns, stepping closer, but Dutch counters by stepping back, dragging Daniel with him.

“What are you gonna do about it, Johnny?” Dutch challenges, eyes gleaming. “Huh? You gonna hit me again? Re-break my nose?” Dutch scoffs, slipping his arm around Daniel’s neck, muscles flexing as he tightens his grip. It’s the same hold Kreese had Johnny in, two months ago, in the parking lot after the tournament. Daniel’s face looks like Johnny imagines his did—panicked, scared, flushed red from the lack of oxygen and only getting darker.

“You wouldn’t touch me, not when your little girlfriend could get hurt.” Dutch continues, smirking down at Daniel, who’s face is now turning purple

Johnny doesn’t know what to do—if he charges at Dutch, Daniel could get hurt, but if he doesn’t, Daniel is going to surely pass out from being unable to breathe. Because there’s no Miyagi here this time to save the day and Johnny knows, down to his core, that Dutch will follow through with it. Because that’s what Kreese would’ve done, had Miyagi not butted in.

“Jesus Christ, Dutch, let him go!” Tommy demands, eyes wide and afraid and Johnny knows he’s thinking of that night, too. Of catching Kreese’s elbow to the face for trying to help Johnny.

“Shut up, Tommy,” Dutch snarls, looking down at Daniel like he’s to blame for all what’s wrong in the world. “This little faggot deserves it after everything he’s done to us, to Cobra Kai, to Sensei,” Dutch’s voice is filled with so much anger, so much contempt and it sends a shiver down Johnny’s spine and he wonders, if this is what he looked like that night of the Halloween dance. Bobby yelling at him that he’s had enough, Jesus Christ what’s wrong with you, Johnny?!

“What do think this is gonna solve, Dutch?” Jimmy says exasperatedly, always the voice of reason. “Cobra Kai is done and over with, Kreese is gone—“

It’s the wrong thing to say, because it only enrages Dutch more, his arm constricting around Daniel’s neck, muscles taught and Daniel’s eyelashes flutter, he can’t breathe and Johnny feels helpless, he has to do something—

“He can’t breathe, let him go!” Tommy says, taking a step closer and it’s the opening Johnny needs, because it pulls Dutch’s attention away, distracting him, his grip loosening and Johnny chances it.

Lunging forward, he swings, catching Dutch just as he turns back around, knuckles landing on his cheek and it sends him reeling backwards, stumbling but Daniel falls with him and for a brief moment, Johnny panics, but then Daniel slips out from underneath Dutch’s arm, jabbing him in the ribs with his bony elbow and it knocks Dutch off balance, sending him sprawling to the floor in a heap.

Daniel teeters, but Johnny reaches out to steady him, hands on his waist, heart squeezing when he feels the way Daniel’s ribs expand and contract with his labored breaths.

“Are you okay?” Johnny demands softly, eyes flying over Daniel’s face, his neck, which is red and will probably be bruised and sore tomorrow.

“I’m okay,” Daniel assures, albeit shakily, chest heaving. “A little dizzy, but I’m good.”

Relief hits Johnny like a sucker punch, knocking the wind out of him and he aches to pull Daniel closer, to hug him and never let go, but they’re still in the middle of Tommy’s living room and people are still watching and then Daniel’s eyes flicker over Johnny’s shoulder and Johnny turns to look, has just enough time to shove Daniel away, but not enough time to dodge the fist flying at his face.

Pain explodes in Johnny’s jaw and he can taste the blood from Dutch’s ring catching on his lip, tearing open the wound that was already there from Sid, but Johnny ignores it.

He blocks the next punch, countering with a blow to the ribs and a swipe of his left fist against Dutch’s jaw and he finishes it with a hook kick to the face, which sends Dutch stumbling into Jimmy and Tommy, who each grab an arm, locking Dutch into a tight hold, that he tries to wriggle out of, but that only makes their grip tighter, more constricting.

Dutch looks like a wild animal, almost feral, blood gushing out of his nose, lip split and swollen from Johnny’s fists, eyes bright and crazed as he jostles around in Tommy and Jimmy’s arms.

“This isn’t over, Johnny,” Dutch hisses, spitting blood out on the hardwood floor, baring his red stained teeth. “You and that little faggot girlfriend of yours are dead, do you hear me?”

Johnny grins, sharp and menacing, getting right into Dutch’s face, reveling in the sliver of fear that lurks just beyond the anger in Dutch’s eyes.

“If I ever see you so much as look in his direction, I’ll rearrange your face so badly your own mother won’t even recognize you,” Johnny says lowly, voice filled with a dark promise. “Do you understand me?”

Dutch swallows heavily, eyes flickering between Johnny’s like he’s searching for weakness, a chink in in his armor and Johnny stares right back, unflinchingly, jaw clenched, daring Dutch silently with his eyes to even try.

Because Johnny had no qualms about following through on his promise and Dutch knows it, too.

Finally, Dutch nods once, sharply and Johnny smirks.

“I’m glad we understand each other.” Johnny steps back, nodding to Tommy and Jimmy, “Get him the fuck out of here.”

Tommy and Jimmy don’t hesitate, keeping a tight grip on Dutch’s arms, they drag him out the front door and as soon as the door closes behind them, the party resumes—people go back to drinking and dancing like nothing happened.

Johnny can still feel the anger coursing hotly through his veins, heart hammering a wild beat against his ribs and his jaw aches like a sonofabitch, blood dripping steadily down his chin from the re-opened cut on his lip.

But Johnny ignores all of it and focuses his attention, instead, on Daniel, who’s being looked over by a worried Ali and Bobby. Their eyes meet and Johnny winces when he sees the red marks from Dutch’s choke hold around the tan skin of Daniel’s neck.

A part of him wants to run after Tommy and Jimmy to beat Dutch’s ass into the ground for leaving marks on his boyfri—on Daniel, but the bigger part of him wants to scoop Daniel up and whisk him back to the safety of his little room, in that small little apartment in Reseda that’s become more of a home to Johnny than any place he’s ever been before and pretend this night never happened.

That the last twenty-four never happened.

But none of those are an option, not unless Johnny can find a time machine parked somewhere.

So he squares his shoulders and faces the consequences of his choices head on by walking over to Daniel, who’s waving off help from a concerned Ali and a guilty looking Bobby.

“Johnny, man, I’m sorry,” Bobby begins, biting his lip. “I really thought Dutch would back off and he seemed cool when he came in, but then he saw Daniel and I talking and he just—lost it.”

Johnny waves him off. “It’s not your fault, Bobby. Thanks for coming to get me.”

Bobby nods and Johnny’s gaze moves over to Daniel, who’s eyeing the cut on Johnny’s lip with a frown on his lips, like that’s the worst injury that was sustained tonight. The red around Daniel’s neck is already beginning to turn purple and it looks like he’s having a hard time swallowing—Johnny knows, it sucks.

Their eyes meet and it’s…awkward. There’s a tension that wasn’t ever there before and Johnny knows he’s not the only one who feels it, because Ali’s gaze flickers between them, an amused smile on her lips.

“Well,” Ali says, breaking the awkward silence. “I think we’ll leave you two alone to…clean up. C’mon, Bobby.”

Bobby, bless him, looks lost, but he follows Ali anyways, shooting Johnny and Daniel one last look of concern before they disappear into the kitchen together.

Daniel meets Johnny’s eyes briefly, before they drop to Johnny’s still bleeding lip, his bruised jaw. Something flickers in his gaze, but before Johnny can catch it, it’s gone and he’s back underneath the scrutiny of those big, Bambi eyes, watching him with guarded concern.

“C’mon,” Daniel says, crutching past him, towards the bathroom. “That looks bad and you’re bleedin’ all over Tommy’s floor.”

Hope blooms, tentative and fragile, in Johnny’s chest and he follows Daniel without protest, the crowd parting for them like Moses and the Red Sea.

*

Johnny feels a wave of deja vu wash over him as Daniel cleans the blood from his face with gentle fingers. The alcohol wipes are cold and they sting like a bitch, but Daniel’s hands are warm on his bruised jaw, grip tender and Johnny closes his eyes and revels in Daniel’s touch.

It’s only been a day, but Johnny’s missed the feeling of Daniel’s hands on his skin, the heat of his palms, the feeling of those long, slender fingers teasing over any patch of skin he could reach, like he wants to map every part of Johnny that he can.

Johnny’s eyes flicker open when he feels Daniel’s touch disappear, finding those big brown eyes already watching him.

“You’re an idiot, you know,” Daniel murmurs, pulling away to throw the used wipes away and Johnny misses his warmth already.

“That’s an odd way of saying ‘gee, Johnny, I really do appreciate you coming to my rescue’,” Johnny says, sarcasm thick. “I mean, they don’t even come close to sounding the same—“

“Wait wait wait, lemme get this straight,” Daniel starts, putting his hands up. “You want me, to thank you?”

It sounds like a bad De Niro impression from that one movie about the angry taxi driver that kills a lot of people and it makes Johnny’s lips quirk into a grin. Daniel catches it and it only adds to the spark of anger he can see simmering in those dark eyes.

Johnny shifts uncomfortably, clearing his throat and tries to put on his best I’m listening, let’s talk about this face that he can.

“I’m bein’ serious here, Johnny,” Daniel scolds, eyebrows pinched. “You actually expect me to thank you? None of this would’ve happened if you hadn’t of broken the guys nose—“

“I was defending your honor—“

Daniel snorts and Johnny ignores it, continuing. “—and you can’t tell me that Dutch didn’t have it coming. He’s an asshole.”

Daniel raises an eyebrow, lips twitching with dark amusement. “Uh, I hate to break it to you, Johnny, but the guy has always been an asshole.” He points out and yeah, okay fair point.

“Maybe,” Johnny concedes. “But,” he adds when Daniel looks a little too smug, “it’s different now.”

Daniel hums, disbelieving. “And why’s that?”

“You know why,” Johnny says quietly after a beat of silence.

“Do I?” Daniel says, grabbing one of those instant ice pack thingies and twisting it. It pops and hisses and when Daniel presses it, non to gently, to Johnny’s jaw, it’s ice cold. He shivers.

“I would hope so,” Johnny says, hurt.

Daniel gives him a small smile that’s more sad and nowhere near the neighborhood of happy. “Johnny, you kept me from your friends,” Daniel reminds him, as if Johnny had forgotten why he’s been deprived of Daniel’s presence over the last twenty-four hours,  “you never told them that you came to see me, that you were hanging out with me. That we were friends. You kept Bobby away from me, even after he told you he wanted to apologize to me, which was kind of a dick move, by the way—“

“Well, it’s not like you were going around and telling everyone about me,” Johnny says, suddenly angry.

Daniel laughs and it sounds bitter, ugly. “Who was I gonna tell Johnny?” Daniel demands, eye brows raised expectantly. “My mother? Mr. Miyagi? That’s about the extent of my social circle, no thanks to you and your little boy band of assholes,” Daniel adds, again, like maybe Johnny had forgotten that little tidbit, too. “All the people that matter to me, you’ve met already.”

Johnny swallows and looks down at his lap, shame welling hot and heavy in his gut.

“I just—it sucks, you know?” Daniel says after a moment of silence. “I thought—well I thought that like, I mattered to you, I guess.”

The ache in his jaw is nothing compared to the ache in his chest—it almost feels like a distant, phantom memory when Daniel’s words register in Johnny’s brain.

“I—of course you matter to me,” Johnny breathes, a tight knot of anxiety forming in his chest. “Danny—you—you matter to me, so much, I lo—“ he pauses, catching himself and thankfully, Daniel’s too distracted by his own anger to catch Johnny’s slip up.

Too soon, Johnny thinks to himself.

Suddenly, the room feels too hot, the bathroom is too small and Daniel’s watching him with wide eyes and Johnny can hear the thumping bass of a Cindy Lauper song and he just needs to get out.

“Look,” Johnny says agitatedly, running a hand through his hair. “Can we not do this here? I’m not—I’m not saying I don’t want to talk about this but I just—not here, okay?” Johnny pleads.

Daniel eyes him for a moment and the hesitation hurts, but Johnny understands it and forces himself to be patient.

“Okay,” Daniel agrees after a minute. “Okay, we can—just—no funny business,” he adds with a pointed look.

Johnny’s lips twitch, a soft laugh escaping before he can help it. “I make no promises, LaRusso.”

*

The beach is quiet, the moon still full and Johnny slows his gait to a snail like pace because Daniel refuses to be swept up in his arms like some sort of damsel in distress and so he crutches, slowly, through the sand next to Johnny.

Johnny thinks it’s more to the fact that Daniel’s getting a kick out of testing his patience, but whatever. LaRusso wants patience, Johnny will have the patience of a saint, okay?

They find a spot a few minutes later and Johnny lays out a few towels he managed to snag from the storage bin on the back porch before they left. He helps Daniel down on the towels before he seats himself and the deja vu from earlier comes back, but this time Johnny hopes this trip to the beach ends better than yesterday’s.

They sit there for a moment, listening to the calm waves, watching the moon reflect over the dark ocean. It’s peaceful and it sinks Johnny into a sense of calm and, keeping his eyes on the moon, he starts to talk.

“I’m sorry,” Johnny begins quietly. “I never should’ve kept what happened last week a secret. I should’ve just been honest with you about Dutch and I—I really have no excuse for why I did what I did.”

Johnny licks his lips and fiddles with a lose thread in the knee of his jeans.

“He just...made me so angry,” Johnny breathes, voice shaking. “The things he said about you— I just—I think it made me angry because I was sitting there, listening to him talk about you and it was like looking in a mirror of who I was a few months ago and it just didn’t sit right with me,” Johnny shrugs, sighing. “So I punched him. And god, it felt so good,” Johnny admits, ashamed. “But for the first time, that rush of...hitting someone, causing someone else pain, it also scared me.”

Johnny shakes his head, huffing a laugh that’s bitter and sad. “Kreese was...he just had this way of...getting under your skin. Of building you up and tearing you down in a way that made you hunger for his approval. And to do that, you had to be more vicious than your enemy. Tougher. Stronger,” Johnny blows out a breath and tries to ignore the way his hands are shaking, “It’s hard to get that out of my head. It’s like I have this instinct to just...hurt people and I—what kind of person does that make me?”

A soft hand reaches out and rests gently on top of his, long fingers threading through his and the relief that sweeps through him is enough to bring tears to his eyes.

“Danny I—I never meant to hurt you,” Johnny whispers, almost pleadingly. “I’m just scared of...everything. Everything changing and I don’t—I don’t know how to be me without Cobra Kai—I’m always so fucking angry and I’m just tired of it—of being angry and scared and confused about what parts of me are me and what parts are Kreese and Cobra Kai and—it’s got me all...messed up and I don’t know how to control it and—“

“Johnny,” Daniel soothes, scooting closer, grabbing his other hand. “Take a breath, okay? You’re okay, it’s just me and you and the ocean, okay?”

Johnny nods, inhaling shakily and exhaling just as roughly. There’s a pressure, sitting on his chest and it’s making it harder to breathe. It’s like being in a choke hold, all this weight pressing down and Johnny can’t escape it, can’t fight his way out, he can’t breathe, he can’t breathe—

Daniel grips his hand harder and the touch grounds Johnny, back to the present, back here—to the beach, to the ocean, the feeling of sand on his feet from where, despite his best efforts, it’s gotten on to his towel. Daniel’s hand is a reassuring weight in his, anchoring Johnny so he won’t float away again.

“That’s it,” Daniel coaxes, tone low and calm. “Take another one, okay? I’ll do it with you,” Daniel breathes in, Johnny copies. Daniel exhales, Johnny exhales.

“Better,” Daniel says, voice soft. “Just do that for me a few more times, okay?”

Johnny inhales. Holds it. Exhales. Does it again. And again, and again.

Slowly, the knot of anxiety starts to untangle itself from its position over Johnny’s throat, making his breathing easier and his lungs feel less tight, the ever present anger laying dormant, for now.

“Johnny, why didn’t you tell me any of this?” Daniel asks, once Johnny has calmed down.

Johnny shrugs, playing with Daniel’s fingers. He can’t seem to look him in the eye.

“I don’t know,” liar, he thinks to himself, “I guess I just—Cobra Kai—me—I’ve been the root of all your problems here and I guess, I don’t know,” be honest be honest, he reminds himself, “I just thought it was weird...me admitting that I miss something that’s caused both of us so much pain and suffering.”

The words sound stupid and Johnny can’t help but feel embarrassed. But when he chances a look up at Daniel, there’s a thoughtful look on his face that shouldn't surprise Johnny, but it does.

“That makes sense,” Daniel says. “And in some way, I understand what you mean. I mean, sure, it’s not the same thing, but,” Daniel shrugs, biting his lip. “I miss training with Mr. Miyagi—I’ve been feeling really restless lately, not being able to do anything and I know I haven’t been doing this as long as you but—“ Daniel pauses, like he’s searching for the right words. “Karate has become this...part of me that I never really expected it to. It centers me, it grounds me and god knows it’s helped with my temper,” Daniel says with a soft laugh, “I may not understand why you miss a sensei that wanted to kill you and trained you guys to be assholes, but—“ Daniel adds at Johnny’s glare, “I know that place was like a second home for you. That those guys—Bobby, Jimmy, Tommy and even Dutch—are like brothers to you.”

Daniel hesitates, before he continues, tone gentle, “I know Kreese made you feel like you were something, when you probably felt like you were nothing, but Johnny,” Daniel turns to him, facing him fully, giving Johnny the full force of those sincere baby browns, “you are something. With or without Cobra Kai. With or without Kreese. With or without karate. And you’ll always be something, even if you never go back to it. Because you, Johnny Lawrence, are enough.”

And like, the thing is, Johnny can’t help but believe him. Because Daniel’s look at him with those expressive eyes that are like, so earnest and it’s—Johnny’s not crying, the wind is just really cold and he’s like, allergic to something, maybe.

(It’s definitely not because that’s the nicest thing someone’s said to him in—well, he can’t really remember the last time someone had something so sweet to him. And that’s just, well, a tad bit pathetic).

“Okay, okay,” Johnny says gruffly, clearing his throat, “you don’t need turn this into some weird, touchy feely after school special, LaRusso—“

Daniel rolls his eyes but there’s a smile dancing on his lips and Johnny knows, without having to ask, that he’s been forgiven but—

“I’m still sorry,” Johnny says quietly. “You got hurt because of me and this whole thing was—so stupid. I was stupid.”

Daniel shrugs, rubbing his thumb over the back of Johnny’s bruised knuckles reassuringly. “Well, I guess that’s what I get for dating a blonde.”

He shoots Johnny a sneaky smile and Johnny responds in the only way he knows how. He shoves Daniel (gently) into the sand, rolling on top of him, straddling his hips and wiggles fingers into Daniel’s sides. Daniel’s body is quaking with laughter, lips parted as he gasps and giggles, trying to wiggle away from Johnny’s ministrations. It’s dark, but the moon is full and Johnny can see the flush on Daniel’s lips, the tear tracks on his face from laughing so hard, the gleam of the moonlight reflected in dark pools of his eyes and he’s just—so beautiful that Johnny can’t help but lean down and kiss him.

Daniel respond eagerly, lips parting, opening up for Johnny like he expected this all along and Johnny melts into it—the warmth of his lips, the feeling of his tongue dancing and tangling with Johnny’s, the feeling of his hands tangling in his hair. It’s a rush of DanielDanielDaniel and it hits Johnny in the center of his chest, trickling languidly, like warm honey, through his veins, heating him from the inside out.

It’s only been a day, but it feels like a lifetime since Johnny’s felt the happy, lazy contentment that comes with having Daniel in his arms.

And it occurs to him then, that maybe this is what he’s been searching for, all this time. Why things with Ali never worked, no matter how much Johnny had wanted them to, at the time. Or why no amount of money could soothe the ache of not having a father in his life. Or why, no matter how many fights he won, it never really truly felt like winning. The ache of this missing piece has always been there, like a wound that never really heals. Why all of those things just felt like temporary fixes.

Because this right here—this skinny, long limbed, arrogant, smart mouthed Jersey punk—is what Johnny’s been missing all along.

Johnny’s never felt more whole, more like himself, than he has these last few weeks.

He’s finally found his missing piece, his balance.

And it’s Daniel LaRusso—annoying, loud mouth, proud little Italian Jersey boy and all.

The thought makes Johnny smile.

But there’s still one thing that’s bugging him.

“Are we?” Johnny asks between bruising kisses, pulling away to look down at Daniel’s face, smirking when Daniel chases after his lips, eyes still closed, like he can’t get enough and Johnny gets the feeling, but—

“Are we what?” Daniel demands impatiently through pants, eyes fluttering open, eyebrows furrowing into an annoyed scowl when he once again reaches up for Johnny’s lips and he’s denied.

“You know, what you said earlier—“ Johnny says, cheeks flushing because he feels like a twelve year old girl passing her crush a note in class.

Do you like me? Check yes or no.

God how pathetic, he thinks to himself with a snort.

“What are you—oh—“ Daniel breathes suddenly, when his scrambled brain registers what Johnny’s referring to and now it’s his turn to flush bright red. He shrugs, biting his lip. “I mean, I’m not kissin’ anyone else or nothin’,” Daniel’s eyes are cautious when he adds, almost shyly, “I don’t really want to, either.”

Johnny has to duck his head to hide the dumb smile he knows is on his face, cheeks flushed, heart fluttering with the overwhelming sense of happiness beating a erratic rhythm in his chest.

“I don’t really want you to kiss anyone else, either,” Johnny admits softly, looking up at Daniel from underneath his lashes. “Especially if they’re not me.”

Daniel rolls his eyes and Johnny knows he gets what Johnny’s trying to say.

“So,” Daniel says slowly, after a beat, voice hopeful, “we’re like—together, then?”

“Are you asking me to go steady, LaRusso?” Johnny teases, batting his eyelashes playfully.

Daniel sighs in exasperation, cheeks tinged pink. “You’re a dick.”

Johnny laughs, kissing the tip of his nose, his cheeks, before brushing a soft, gentle kiss over his lips.

“Is that a yes?” Daniel whispers against his lips.

Johnny smiles, brushing his nose against Daniel’s. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “You’re stuck with me, LaRusso.”

“I can live with that.” Daniel says before he leans up and kisses Johnny.

Above them, fireworks go off, shouts of happy New Year! flood the beach from the houses around them; in Times Square, the ball is dropping, Dick Clark is ringing in the New Year with Barry Manilow’s It’s Just Another New Year’s Eve as the backing track to leaving 1984 behind and welcoming 1985 in with open arms.

But right here, on this very beach that started it all, a new beginning is taking place, too. Old wounds and new ones are soothed with warm kisses that burn and tingling their way down Johnny’s spine, curling low in his belly and leave him wanting more. Always wanting more.

“Happy New Year, Danny,” Johnny murmurs, stroking a gentle thumb over the curve of his cheekbone.

Daniel smiles, soft and serene. “Happy New Year, Johnny,” he whispers back before leaning up and capturing Johnny’s lips again.

It sounds like healing, like a new beginning, a fresh start, the chance for a do-over, and Johnny grabs on to it with both hands, following Daniel back down into the sand with a happy hum.

Happy New Year, indeed.