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Johnny doesn’t even know why he does it. Normally he doesn’t give a second thought to actually using the arena showers. They’re undeniably gross, with mildew covered stalls, grimy tile, and hair covered drains. A hundred other boys have been through, sweating and dirty. He usually toughs it out, waits till he can get home to use his own perfectly good private shower.
But.
But- no one is going to follow him in here. No one with self respect is going to try and corner him in the showers. Even if he can hear the whispers and the not-so-well-hidden conversations as he pushes his way through the locker room.
Cheat- The guy was injured and he swept the leg- His Sensei- Two time champion and he-
But it’s quiet now. Here, under the spray. Even if the water pressure is shit. It’s hot, cranked as far as it can go. His skin is red under the stream. It is quiet, and no one is going to come bother him here.
Except he knows that at any moment he is going to have to step out from the small, tiled cubicle and back into reality. The reality where his Sensei is waiting, expecting an answer for the loss. A reality where even with the underhanded moves he wasn’t good enough. A reality he doesn’t know how to move forward in.
He lets it go another five minutes.
The tap turns off and he’s barely aware of the fact it’s his hand that’d turned it. He watches, detached as a drop of water siphons itself from a lock of water darkened hair. He takes a breath. The bead of water falls.
He dries himself slowly, methodically. He takes his time with it. His skin is still red. He scrubs harder with the towel.
He’s reminded suddenly, as he watches dead skin pill and fall off his arms, of a book he half read his sophomore year in English. Well alright so it was a play they’d read, and he really only remembered the movie with Brando, but the point was- the blond chick in it, she had this weird obsession with taking long hot baths. All the fucking time.
Something to do with washing away more than dirt. Something to do with shame.
Johnny knots his towel at his waist, tight, glaring down at nothing. No way was he letting himself be as melodramatic as some lady in a black and white movie about a train car. He just needed time to clear his head.
He shoves his still damp hair out of his eyes with one hand, and lets out a harsh breath through his nose. Steam rises around him, like a protective shroud. An illusory one, but it would have to do as a motivator to get his legs moving in the right direction.
He was clean. He was clean and there was nowhere to go but out.
There’s a nice weight to the door as he unlocks it and pushes it open. It makes him feel grounded, less like water swirling down the drain. He listens carefully, as he eases the door open, but there’s no more whispering, no more shuffling of feet or rustling of clothes. All he has to do is change and get the Hell out of dodge.
He slips through the door, rounds the first row of lockers, and stops dead in his tracks.
The squeak of his flip flops stopping suddenly echoes through the room, like some sort of ill timed comic sound effect. A record scratch before an anvil falls on his head. Or maybe this is the moment right before Johnny looks down and notices he’s standing off the cliff ledge.
He keeps his eyes firmly ahead. Nowhere else to look really when Daniel LaRusso is right in front of you.
Daniel LaRusso, arms crossed, sitting quietly. What a fucking misnomer. Sitting quietly and Daniel didn’t match.
He’s wearing a pair of shorts now, a rumpled t-shirt, and a loose flannel. There’s a wrap on his knee, it looks like it was done quickly, like Daniel shouldn’t be here right now but at the hospital getting it examined for real. He’s sitting and injured, and obviously in pain and Johnny feels like the one exposed and vulnerable. It would probably help if he were wearing clothes.
It’s then that Johnny realizes he’s being spoken to.
“What?”
“It’s over, right? This is over,” It seems to take effort for Daniel not to roll his eyes as he waves a hand between them, a crease forming between his brow like he’s concentrating. Probably just trying not to pass out from the pain. How come Johnny never realized this guy’s insane?
Johnny looks at him, tight lipped. He slowly lets his head dip into a nod. It feels a little subservient, under the other boy's gaze. Like it wasn’t obvious as soon as they left the mat that this was over. The spark was gone. Johnny wasn’t— Johnny just wasn’t.
Daniel’s eyes burn as he lets out a disbelieving scoff that makes Johnny want to cringe back. It’s not the same at all, nothing about Daniel is like Kreese but- scorn was a favorite emotion of his Sensei’s.
“No man. I want you to say it,” Daniel snaps, like he’s commanding a dog to heel. Roll over and bare your stomach. Johnny’s fists clench automatically. He’s already bared enough of himself tonight.
“What’s there to say?” he asks, and forces himself to move past to his locker. He at least needs a pair of underwear on for this conversation.
“Plenty. You think I trust your Sensei’s word? I want to hear you say that this is over,” Daniel twists around as he talks, sweat beading at his temple as he’s forced to move his injured leg. Johnny focuses on his locker combination, and not at the purpling, swelling skin of Daniel’s knee.
“He’s not,” he bites out, can’t get much else than that past his lips. He quickly grabs for his underwear and turns his back.
“What?”
“I quit. He’s not my Sensei,” he doesn’t face Daniel as he says it, carefully maneuvering his briefs under the towel, so it’s his back that gets the full brunt of the glare shot his way.
“Well your timing’s impeccable, could’ve used that resolve before you cheated,” Daniel says, voiced laced with bitterness, and Johnny catches sight of an eye roll so intense it tips Daniel’s head backwards. Like the kid couldn’t conceive of doing anything halfway. It had to be all of him or nothing.
At least Johnny could understand that.
“You don’t get it,” he says, shoving his hand into his locker without looking, as Daniel’s eyes go wide in disbelief. Or wider than they normally were- on anyone else Johnny would have called it bug eyed, but there was something softer about it on Daniel. Like some Disney princess type shit.
Johnny’s hand finds his shirt, and he grabs it by the collar to quickly loop it over his head, blocking his vision.
“So enlighten me,” Daniel says, muffled through the rustling of fabric in Johnny’s ears. He tugs the shirt down harshly, feeling spite, like acid reflux, lurch up in his throat.
“I don’t owe you an explanation, LaRusso. If I say it’s over, it’s over, alright? You won, I leave you alone. Those were the rules,” he bites out, and maybe with anyone else that would be enough, enough heat to make the offending party back off. You piss someone off in just the right way, act bull headed and stubborn enough that most people just give up. Like any of his teachers, or his Mom, or Ali.
But of course Daniel’s never been most people.
“You said you liked it, back at school, that’s what you said- what part of the rules was that?” and then Daniel is standing, with what Johnny can only assume is left of the adrenaline from the fight. He isn’t shaking, but he has sweat beading at his temples, and there’s a quiver to his lip. They’re now almost toe to toe in the cramped locker bay.
“I didn’t— that’s not what I meant,” Johnny stumbles over his words, feels the back of his neck burning, taken off guard, and for a second he can’t look anywhere but at Daniel’s eyes. Such a dark brown.
“You expect me to just believe you’d give up your favorite chew toy?” Daniel asks and there’s almost a smile on his lips as he says it, and it makes Johnny want to deck him and cringe away at the same time. Instead he just freezes.
“You’re not-” Johnny can’t finish. What’s he even denying here? What could he deny? How often had the other Cobras prodded him about just forgetting the Ali situation, as if it had been about that since Halloween. Daniel was a twerp, anyone could see that, and he was just there all the time, and even if he wasn’t, he was still pressing in on the walls of Johnny’s mind. And so maybe… maybe Johnny had liked it, had liked it but-
Fighting makes more sense than this. The feeling in the pit of his stomach.
But the fight’s fucking over, and he can’t have Daniel here anymore.
“Hello, Earth to Lawrence, I’m talking to-”
“I lost,” Johnny cuts him off abruptly, and his voice registers so flat, so careful that Daniel’s mouth falls open in surprise.
“I lost. Nothing’s more important than that,” Johnny says, turning his face away, not flushing but pale with a sick, weak feeling. “So we’re through, got it? Just stay out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours.”
There’s silence for a solid beat. Longer than Johnny would have guessed Daniel could go for. And then with effort Daniel steps back.
“Fine,” Daniel shrugs, deflated, “you’ve got it.”
Daniel turns his back, and it’s like the air’s been sucked out of the room. Johnny just has to watch Daniel begin the slow process through the line of lockers, insides churning. There’s a ringing, absence in Johnny’s ears and his lungs burn, and his eyes sting and- He still doesn’t have any pants on.
He forces himself to finish changing. Shimmying into his jeans, skin still too damp for it to be seamless. And then he wrestles his jacket out, and shuts the locker with quiet snick. He hasn’t looked up in about 40 seconds.
LaRusso is still trying to manage his way to the door, he’s close but he’s got an arm out holding himself up against one locker bay and it’s clear the process of opening one of the heavy exit doors is going to be a chore. His breath is hitching ever so slightly.
Clenching his jaw, Johnny shoves his feet into his tennis shoes, not bothering to adjust them, before closed mouth stalking up to the other boy. He brushes past, hears Daniel take in a sharp breath, something mean ready to spring out of his mouth as soon as he’s got his heart rate under control, but Johnny doesn’t give him the chance.
He holds the door open wide. There are too many people still milling around. Families, other contestants, classmates with nothing better to do on the weekend. And it may just be paranoia but he’s almost certain he can hear whispers.
He did it- Cobra Kai- What. A Jerk .
He steps out of the way of the peering eyes and looks back at Daniel, who’s watching him closely. He can’t speak, doesn’t want something vicious to come out, so he just motions towards the exit. There’s a pause, and then Daniel hobbles out past him, head held high.
They step out at almost the same time, shoulders touching, both framed by the doorway. Johnny glances to his side, in time to watch Daniel’s gaze turn his way. There isn’t anymore to say, after tonight they won’t speak, they won’t look in the same direction, they won’t touch. Although maybe- maybe fist against cheek wasn’t ever enough anyway.
Daniel’s mouth opens to say something-
“Daniel over here!” Johnny’s eyes get drawn up, startled, to see the smiling, frazzled face of Mrs. LaRusso. He tries to look back at Daniel but whatever had been hanging between them breaks. Daniel moves forward, and his mother goes to meet him halfway, and their shoulders are no longer touching.
Johnny watches him go. Sees Daniel’s mom loop an arm under his, pull him close, press a kiss to his temple. Daniel’s Sensei is standing there too, big grin, holding the first place trophy. A perfect picture.
And then a hand clamps down on his shoulder and Johnny only just manages not to jump as he turns to see Tommy and the rest of the Cobras.
“What was that about, Danielle want any more pity apologies?” Tommy asks, shaking Johnny’s shoulder slightly before letting go. Despite the lack of heat to Tommy’s words, there’s still the hint of a smirk on his lips. Johnny shakes his head hard once, and hopes his expression makes it clear enough he wants the subject dropped.
“Doesn’t matter, what are you guys waiting around for?” he asks gruffly, adjusting the collar of his jacket just to keep his hands moving.
“Kreese said to meet him outside, but Bobby’s too chick-” Dutch begins snidely, when Bobby cuts him off with a harsh elbow to the gut. With Dutch hunched over, Bobby’s eyes latch onto his, and for once in their many years of friendship Johnny sees genuine doubt.
Funny how one bad night can so dislodge certainty that you can barely recognize the look on your best friend's face.
“I already quit once, what else do I need to say to the psycho? Johnny we don’t have to, we could dip and forget about the whole thing,” Bobby says, and maybe Johnny’s the only one to know him well enough to hear it, but there’s a plea there. Just like when Johnny took it too far with the Halloween fight. Which probably means someone is about to get hurt.
“No way, just… let's just get this over with,” Johnny mutters, and somehow over Bobby’s shoulder manages to catch sight of a figure standing like a dark specter in the parking lot. As imposing and frightening as Brando in that English class film.
And suddenly, clearly, Johnny remembers a line from the movie, said by the same chick who took all those hot baths. A line that will stick with him for the next several hours. Days. Weeks. Maybe even years. Deliberate cruelty is unforgivable.
He looks at Bobby, sees the tense line of his shoulders, sees the guilt he feels pooling in his own stomach mirrored in the soft boyish lines of his face. Johnny bites the inside of his cheek hard, and shuffles past Bobby towards the glass exit doors.
Deliberate cruelty is unforgivable.
Well then maybe he deserves whatever's coming next.