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The first time it happens is at a joint Miyagi-Do/Eagle Fang training, not too long after the intervention-turned-house-brawl that brought them all together. Everyone is grouped loosely in the yard, cooling down. Hawk leans forward where he’s sitting to grab the toe of his sneaker, breathing slowly through the burn in his hamstring. They definitely do a lot more of the stretching, breathing, body awareness stuff under Sensei LaRusso, but he’s grateful for it. Sensei Lawrence has called it “pussy shit,” but any athlete knows that prevention is better than treatment. Sensei LaRusso just said, “Yeah, wait until you’re laid up in the hospital because you pulled your groin,” and Sensei Lawrence said, “Stop talking about my groin,” and anyway, sometimes it’s best to just ignore them and focus on your own work.
That in mind, Hawk switches to his other leg, counting to thirty before he sits up with a deep exhalation.
“Hey, Assface, toss me my water bottle?” he calls. “Sorry, I mean Mitch. You like ‘Mitch,’ right?”
“Uh, yeah,” Mitch snorts, throwing it over. “How ‘bout you, should we call you Hawk or Eli?”
“Hawk. Just ‘cause I left Cobra Kai doesn’t mean I’m not still Hawk.” He sees Sam roll her eyes but decides to shrug it off. It’s not like she doesn’t have her reasons. She doesn’t speak to him directly often enough for it to really matter what she’s calling him, anyway.
“How about me?” someone behind him asks. Hawk twists around to see Demetri, balancing on one foot to stretch his quad. “Should I call you Hawk, or can I call you Eli?”
It’s not the first time Demetri has asked him about his name since Hawk adopted it, but it’s the first time it’s felt genuine. That, combined with Demetri’s big, stupid, dark eyes – which are actually looking at him right now, without hurt, or anger, or malice – well. It makes him soft.
“Whatever,” he says. “You can call me whatever you want.”
Demetri nods thoughtfully, drops his foot, and wanders away towards the dojo.
Hawk doesn’t think anything of it, finishing his stretches and chatting with the others – those that speak to him, anyway.
“Babe, can you give me a ride home?”
Is Demetri on the phone with Yasmine? Hawk thought they were more casual than that. Or Sam usually drives him, actually, is he doing, like, a BFF thing with her?
Then he glances up and freezes, because Demetri is looking right at him.
“Wh-what?”
“Can you give me a ride home?” Demetri repeats, face blank except for the slightly raised eyebrows. “You have your mom’s car this week, right?”
“Yeah, sure,” he scrambles to his feet. “What did you just call me?”
Demetri, already walking away, turns back to look at him.
“Did you just call me babe?” Hawk asks. He’s peripherally aware that everyone, including their two sensei, is engrossed in this conversation.
Demetri tilts his head. “You said I could call you whatever I want,” he says, and turns again to leave.
“That is not what I meant,” Hawk calls to his retreating back. “You know that’s not what I meant!”
Demetri doesn’t stop, just waves a hand dismissively over his head. “I’ll be at your car!” he yells. “Hurry up, we have four pages of calc I haven’t started.” And he disappears around the corner of the house.
Hawk blinks vacantly for a moment before making baffled eye contact with Miguel.
“There’s no way he’s gonna,” he says, but Miguel just presses his lips together. Hawk gets the impression he’s trying not to laugh.
“Good luck, bud.”
“He’s not,” Hawk says to himself, grabbing his things and jogging away from the looks of his teammates and teachers. “There’s no way he will.”
Demetri does.
This really should not have come as a surprise, not to Hawk. Not when he’s known Demetri practically since babyhood, and knows Demetri is nothing if not pedantic as fuck. Also, snide, combative, and largely unselfconscious.
So it really, really is not a shock to have Demetri slide into his space the next morning before homeroom and say, “Hey, sweetheart, did you finish the math?” Hawk still nearly brains himself on a locker door.
He recovers enough to look at Demetri, who, in his usual way, ignores any interruptions to what he’s asking. “I think I screwed up the discontinuous integrand thing.”
“I got it, I’ll check yours,” Hawk says. “Did you seriously just call me-”
“Thanks,” Demetri says. Then, “Hey, Moon, guess what!” and in an instant he’s gone again, back down the hallway with Hawk’s ex-girlfriend.
Miguel is definitely laughing now, hiding the smile in Sam’s hair. Hawk glares balefully at them.
“I am so glad I could be here for this,” Sam deadpans. Hawk sticks his tongue out at her.
Catching Demetri alone to talk about it does nothing. He just stares blankly at Hawk, and somehow Hawk is always too flustered to press the question (“Did you call me, uh, d-darli-?”). He has the feeling that even if he did manage to ask, Demetri would just say, “You said I could.” Revoking permission will do next to nothing, not when Hawk has failed to demonstrate any true distress beyond poorly stifled embarrassment and deep bewilderment and not when Demetri has a reliable tendency to take a mile, when given an inch. At this point, the best Hawk can do is let it happen and pretend it’s not throwing him off nearly as badly as it is.
By the time a week has passed, he’s at least grateful that Demetri has avoided anything too embarrassing. One of the worst offenders was the “what’s up, buttercup?” at the lunch table on Tuesday, and there’s no evidence that it was addressed to him specifically. If Demetri pulls out something like honey bunches or snookums, that’s when Hawk will put his foot down. For now he’s just...letting it wash over him. Maintaining his balance. Sensei LaRusso should be proud.
It would probably be easier to ignore if less people knew about it.
For one thing, all of Miyagi-Do and Eagle Fang are perfectly aware. Even if anyone managed to miss it the first time, Hawk had been the last to arrive at the next training. Without being present to intimidate any rumors into a swift death, and with the gossip-mongering Bert and Nate making the rounds, it’s inevitable that when he walks in, it’s to a full dojo of raised eyebrows and Demetri’s casual “Hi, sunshine.”
Hawk would prefer that Sensei LaRusso and Sensei Lawrence at least pretend to be less amused by the whole thing, but they’re not exactly a font of maturity on the best day.
So, Miyagi-Do and Eagle Fang are a wash.
Cobra Kai knowing about it, though, is just an unnecessary pain in the ass.
It happens during an uncomfortable moment in the halls at school. Somebody bumps into somebody, someone casts a dirty look, and suddenly Demetri is opening his big, stupid mouth and getting surrounded by five or so Cobra Kais, including Tory and Kyler.
It’s not luck that puts Hawk in the same hallway as much as it is what appears to be a baseline instinct to stay near Demetri. It’s like Hawk’s brain is trying to make up for the months-long deficit when he was without his best friend, and now he’s constantly seeking him out. Grabbing the chair next to him, finding him in the hall between the few classes they don’t share, drifting over to stand by him at training. It’s not a thing, Hawk tells himself firmly. He’s just readjusting to having Demetri around again.
He’s fine with it if it means he can intervene on bullshit like this.
Hawk shoulders through the loose crowd of onlookers, all waiting to see if there’s going to be another fight, and steps up next to Demetri. He lets their shoulders press together before nudging his way slightly in front.
“You really want to do this right now?” Hawk says. “Still got a few months to go until the tournament, last I checked.”
Tory scowls. She knows anything she does before the tournament won’t fly with the agreement. At least, not with this many witnesses.
“This isn’t over,” she threatens. Hawk snorts. Like that’s news.
But Tory, Kyler, and their assorted goons back off, the tension winding down slightly.
So far, so good, but here’s the aforementioned pain in the ass:
Demetri leans up against Hawk’s shoulder, or, really, leans down on it, all six-still-growing feet of him, and says, “Thanks, angel.”
“Angel?” Hawk strangles out.
“Yeah,” Demetri says. “My angel.” He sways, rocking them back and forth gently. “Can always count on you to swoop in and save me from torment.” He nods a chin at the Cobra Kai kids.
The crowd is moving again, conversation picking up now that there’s no promise of spectacle. Hawk still catches the baffled look on Tory’s face.
He drops his head in his hands and lets Demetri pull him to their next class.
Once Cobra Kai knows about it, it’s no surprise that the entire rest of the school becomes aware. To be fair, this probably has less to do with Tory or Kyler spreading rumors, however well-sourced, and more to do with how Demetri keeps saying things to him loudly and in public.
Hawk himself is not exactly subtle. That was kind of the point. If everyone was going to stare at him, going to point and whisper when they weren’t turning a blind eye to gut punches and shoves in the halls, then give them something to stare at. Something he picked, something he built.
He’s less certain of it than he was before. He acknowledges now that many parts of it were built for him by someone he trusted blindly when he shouldn’t have trusted him at all, and that he demolished some things that were good to make the room. He’s working on it. But he likes the mohawk and the karate, and he likes taking no shit, so by outward appearances not much has changed. It’s probably why LaRusso hasn’t warmed up to him.
The point of this is, he’s pretty distinct. Demetri, who is six feet tall, loud, and, in a bizarre turn of events, actually friends with some of the most popular girls in school, is also fairly recognizable. So Demetri calling him “dear” gets passed around pretty quick.
Actually, that one was probably overlooked as run-of-the-mill sarcasm. Demetri then calling him “dearest,” totally unprompted, less so.
“Upgraded, nice,” Miguel had mumbled through a sandwich, raising his hand for a fist bump. Hawk just stared at him incredulously.
High school being high school, people try to give him shit for it.
Demetri’s reaction puts a pretty swift stop to that.
Some underclassman overhears the latest pet name and thinks he’s funny, makes some dumbass comment to his dumbass friend. Seems like a poor personal choice to Hawk, given the school’s recent spate of extraordinary physical violence, but to each their own. He’s debating putting the fear of God in them (it's for a good cause, homophobes can choke), but Demetri beats him to it.
He turns his head, locking eyes with the kid. The look on his face is such cold, concentrated disdain that Hawk, who's only catching it in profile, almost jerks backwards. Demetri’s kinda tall, yeah (Has Hawk been saying that a lot recently? He’s been noticing it a lot. It’s just because he’s standing next to Demetri all the time these days), but he has this way of making people feel so tiny, next to him.
He keeps eye contact with the kid, actually stops walking and just stares, thoroughly unimpressed. It’s a blatant challenge, for the kid to repeat himself, or to say something else. It’s the shit that’s gotten Demetri, and Hawk, for that matter, the crap beat out of them on multiple occasions. Only now Demetri is pulling it off, and pulling it off well.
The kid backs down, cowed, muttering a half-assed apology as he goes. Demetri just clicks his tongue and they keep walking like nothing just occurred.
This happens maybe three more times over the course of a few weeks, and Hawk stops hearing comments.
God. Demetri has a rep.
Hawk has a mixed reaction. The knee jerk is anger. The knee jerk is always anger, recently. He’s angry that anyone thinks they can say shit to him. He’s angry that he didn’t get to take care of it himself. He’s angry that Demetri thinks he needs protection, like he’s weak.
Then it’s eclipsed by the rest of it – Demetri wants to protect him. Demetri is ready and willing to fight his battles. Demetri values Hawk enough to do so, even after Hawk ignored him, chased him, insulted him, held him down and hurt him. It’s a gift, undeserved, but precious all the same.
It stops his breath every time. And it doesn’t make him feel weak. It makes him feel...full. Full to bursting, like his soul’s too big for his skin.
The anger, a programmed response he doesn’t want anymore, maybe doesn’t need anymore, dissolves every time.
Demetri calls him pumpkin and asks if he wants to play co-op that weekend. It’s the stupidest one yet, but Hawk looks over and grins.
Hawk is glad, when it happens, that it happens in private.
He’s surprised it doesn’t happen earlier. Miguel is also surprised, Hawk discovers one day after school. “I honestly thought you’d’ve lost your temper by now, man,” he says. “But I guess you do have a soft spot for Demetri.”
“I do not have a soft spot for Demetri,” Hawk says, which is such a blatant lie but so expected that neither of them even blink. “And what’s to get mad about? It’s just Demetri being a weirdo, like usual.”
Miguel looks at him dubiously.
“I’m just gonna let it happen, man,” Hawk says.
“You do seem more chill than at the beginning,” Miguel says. “At the beginning I could literally see the question marks over your head.”
“It wasn’t that big a deal.”
“I sincerely thought you were going to jump out of a window and run when he called you sweetheart. Just sayin'.”
“Say less,” Hawk advises. He wasn’t that thrown off guard, Miguel is just poking fun. He’s been totally poised, outside of some perfectly understandable confusion, he tells himself.
So, again, he’s glad what happens next happens in private, or everybody else would clock that bullshit a mile off.
He does take Demetri up on playing co-op that weekend and shows up Saturday midmorning with his extra controllers, phone, charger, and little else. It’s been almost ten years since he’s needed an overnight bag, a decent amount of his and Demetri’s stuff having migrated between their houses ages ago. He doesn’t bother to put his hair up. He and Demetri aren’t planning to go out, and he’ll just shower and wind up with it down the rest of the evening and the next day anyway. And maybe he’s a little sensitive, with his armor off, so to speak, but it’s just Demetri.
Unfortunately, outside of karate, Demetri hits harder than anyone he knows.
Hawk rings the bell, mostly out of politeness in case Demetri’s parents are home, and makes out the muffled “it’s unlocked!” from the open second-floor window. Demetri must have spotted him coming and run down. He lets himself in, locking the door behind him, and jogs upstairs.
“Hey, I brought chips,” he says, walking into Demetri’s bedroom.
“Kettle cooked potato chips?” Demetri asks hopefully, eyes not leaving his computer screen. He’s clearly in the middle of an online match.
“Who do you think I am?” Hawk says, dumping the snacks at the foot of the bed.
“You are the best, is who you are,” Demetri says. “Thanks, beautiful.”
What Hawk does, he’s not sure, but it must be sufficiently loud or distracting enough that Demetri drops the game like it’s on fire, spinning in the desk chair and ripping his single ear bud out.
“Hey, what’s wrong? Talk to me,” he says, face open and concerned.
“Your K:D is gonna be shit,” Hawk says, voice brittle.
“I’m serious. C’mon, beautiful, please.”
This time for sure Hawk flinches, elbow striking the wall next to the headboard. When did he back up?
“Fuck! Shit,” he swears. Demetri’s hands come up to hold his forearms and Hawk flinches away again. He hadn’t heard him come over.
“Beautiful-”
“Don’t call me that!” Hawk says, far, far too loud for their shared space.
Demetri freezes, regarding him. “Let’s sit down,” he says after a moment, and guides Hawk over to the bed with a fleeting touch.
They sit next to each other, Hawk facing stubbornly forward while Demetri’s angled toward him, their closest knees touching. “Why can’t I call you that?” he asks.
“All that other BS is- it's whatever, okay, do whatever you want, it's fine,” Hawk says. “But don’t fuck with me like that, okay?”
Demetri makes a protesting noise but Hawk talks over him. “I get it, I deserve it, just not...that. Just don’t fuck with me like that.”
“I don’t think you get it at all,” Demetri says. “I’m not fucking with you.”
His voice is low and even, and Hawk looks up into his sober expression.
“Yeah, right,” he says, hoarse.
“I’m not,” Demetri says. “I called you beautiful because you are beautiful.”
“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” His hand comes up unconsciously to thumb at his lip.
“Do you think this matters to me?” Demetri demands, grabbing Hawk’s hand and forcing it back down. “Do you think this matters to anyone with half a brain? Because it doesn’t. You’re beautiful, okay, and that makes it beautiful too. And I do mean that physically, but also, like, figuratively.”
Hawk can’t look at him anymore, so he looks back down at his feet. He took his shoes off at the door, like always, and his plain black socks are suddenly fascinating. The skin around his eyes feels tight. The hinge of his jaw hurts from how his teeth are clenched.
“And all that ‘other BS,’ as you called it.” Demetri twists his hand around to interlock their fingers. “None of it is bullshit.” He squeezes once, before letting go, slipping his hand out of the hold and standing up.
“I’m gonna go get us something to drink,” he says, voice softer. “Be back in a minute.”
Hawk lets him go, not looking up. After a few minutes, way longer than even a klutz like Demetri needs to pour a couple of glasses of iced tea, he sniffs, scrubbing his eyes to make the itchy feeling go away.
When Demetri comes back in, Hawk’s going to crack a joke about his PUBG rankings. Demetri will get dramatic and huffy and they’ll continue their hangout without acknowledgment, completely in lockstep. Hawk knows one of the warm, heavy feelings in his chest is gratitude. He’ll deal with the others later.
It comes to an end exactly where it started: in the Miyagi-Do back garden, in full view of everyone.
Sensei Lawrence had finally won his argument with Sensei LaRusso regarding making them spar, tournament bracket style, and Sensei LaRusso reluctantly gave in after even his daughter insisted that she wanted practice with fighting back-to-back matches and scoring points.
So they’ve dedicated a Friday afternoon to it, each of them fighting a few practice matches before they break for critique from their sensei. A bracket is drawn up for elimination matches, and after a quick water break they're off again.
Demetri stayed in it for a while, finally losing to Sam in quarter-finals, which he’s more than content with. Then Sam loses to Miguel in a match that’s more playful than competitive, and Hawk handily beats Mitch, which leaves Miguel and Hawk at last for the final.
It’s an exciting fight and could honestly have gone either way, but in the end Miguel’s still hesitating slightly where before he would’ve thrown himself into a turn, and Hawk is probably still the quickest, of everyone, to exploit a mistake. A missed opportunity to follow through on a kick leaves Hawk lunging past Miguel’s blocking arm for a firm strike to his abdomen, scoring his third point and winning the match.
Sam claps, calling “nice fight, Miguel!” over Sensei Lawrence’s boos. Demetri cheers, making him the only one to do so. Hawk slaps his hand in a high five when he hops off the platform.
“Nice work,” Sensei LaRusso says, nodding to him.
“Good stuff, Hawk,” Sensei Lawrence calls. They both then pause, directing their attention slightly over his shoulder. Hawk turns and finds Demetri, looking pleased, and realizes they’re all waiting for Demetri to comment.
“...Well?” Miguel says expectantly.
Demetri smiles smugly. “What can I say?” he says, spreading his hands. “My boy’s a knockout.” His smile stretches to a grin at the renewed round of boos. Hawk just tips his head back with a groan.
The sensei give them some last tips to think about and dismiss them to cool down. They circle up loosely in the grass, everyone breaking off to chat. Hawk grabs a spot next to Demetri and leans over to bump his shoulder.
“Laaame,” he pronounces.
“What?” Demetri says. “Too good for puns?”
Hawk has a kind of out of body moment, where he’s looking at himself looking at Demetri. Demetri, who’s looking at him with laughter in his eyes. Demetri who he still doesn’t understand how he can look at Hawk at all, who called him beautiful five days ago and held his hand while Hawk pretended not to cry. It makes him feel weirdly brave, all of a sudden, the way the name and the hair and the sneer were supposed to.
“Oh, the pun was unquestionably lame,” he says. “But I actually meant the other thing.”
Demetri tilts his head.
“’My boy?’” Hawk repeats. “Kind of weak compared to the stuff you’ve been saying lately.”
“Oh?” Demetri says, and Hawk is abruptly aware once again that they are surrounded by their peers. He then forgets them entirely when Demetri straightens up to his full height, half a head taller than Hawk, and leans forward. “Not good enough for you? You don’t wanna be my boy?”
“Dem,” Hawk tries, taking an involuntary step back.
Demetri follows him, staying in his space.
“Weak, huh? That’s okay. How about...liubimyj?” Hawk’s eyes go wide.
“That’s not-”
“You sure? Liubimyj. My love."
Hawk’s back hits the fence. Demetri ducks in close, brushing lips against his temple. He pulls back, examining Hawk’s red face.
“Etogo nedostatochno?”
“Ya ne veryu tebe,” Hawk says weakly.
Demetri’s wobbly smile is the most genuine thing Hawk’s seen in his life. “Zhizn moja,” Demetri says, and that’s it.
Zhizn moja. My life. Hawk knows exactly where Demetri learned it, because they learned it at the same time. Hawk’s grandmother would use it when talking about his grandfather. She explained it to them slowly, in her halting English, coached them on their pronunciation, then told them to never say it again. Not until they were sure. Not until it was true. He hasn’t heard it aloud since before his grandfather passed.
He kisses Demetri.
Demetri’s arms wrap around his back immediately, nearly lifting him off his feet, and Eli pulls his head back enough to laugh-sob against his mouth. “You fucker,” he rasps. “Just call me Eli.”
“Thank god,” Demetri gasps. “That was the best I had, I’m tapped out.” He kisses Eli twice more, close-mouthed, nearly missing due to Eli’s renewed laughter. He settles for skimming the tear tracks off his face instead, thumbs gentle under Eli’s eyes.
Eli cracks his eyes back open, catching sight of their stupefied friends.
“We should probably...” He trails off, nudging Demetri backwards and nodding to the others. Demetri sighs mournfully and steps back. Before he can get more than a step away, Eli snags his hand, slotting their fingers together. The smile he gets back lights up his chest.
“So I guess you two have, uh. Worked things out?” Sensei LaRusso asks.
“Oh, yeah,” Demetri says. “Sensei Lawrence, you’re spilling your water on Sensei LaRusso’s phone.”
Sensei Lawrence jerks, looking down, and Sensei LaRusso squawks indignantly. “Johnny!” he yells, smacking at his hand, immediately sparking an argument.
Eli retakes his place in the circle, settling next to Demetri. Their eyes catch every few seconds or so, and it makes him smile helplessly every time. Across the circle, Miguel is excitedly jostling Sam’s arm, and he knows they’re about to get interrogated by a dozen overly-aggressive karate freaks.
Thin fingers flex between his own, and none of the rest of it matters.
Eli waits a week. Striking first is great and all, but Demetri already struck first about, oh, thirty or so consecutive times. Instead, he’s going for the element of surprise.
He picks his moment carefully.
Demetri’s on the balance wheel, shifting his feet cautiously in the center, waiting for further instruction.
“Hey,” Eli says, reveling in the immediate attention it earns him, and smiles. “Dimochka.”
Demetri falls off the board.