"Wait, so explain it to me again so I understand." Leaning back on his hands, Demetri stretched out his long legs so they hung off the edge of his bed. His dark eyebrows were knitted to the bridge of his nose, trying to make sense of everything his friend had told him.

Across from him at the desk, Hawk was slumped in Demetri's gaming chair, picking at a fingernail in absent-minded distraction.

"Do you have any reason to think Miguel might be into guys, too?" asked Demetri point-blank.

Hawk could have told him about when he and Miguel were joking with each other, how Miguel said he'd looked at dudes before. He wanted to tell Demetri, because he still wasn't sure how serious Miguel had been about it. But it wasn't his place to repeat it, was it? Because what if Miguel wasn't joking but he wasn't out and didn't want others to know? They'd never brought it up among the three of them before.

He settled on saying, "I was giving him shit about his bad luck with chicks lately and told him maybe he should stick to guys from now on. Y'know, I was just messing around. But he didn't freak out or anything. He seemed cool about it."

Demetri raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Sounds like you were testing the waters with him. Checking to see how he'd react, huh?"

Why was Demetri so good at reading him?

When Hawk didn't answer, Demetri added, "No, that was a pretty good way to go about it, if you ask me. I'm not judging you. I mean, you can't really just go up to someone and be like, 'By the way, are you bi, too?' Now, if you'd sent him a text or something, you could've softened it by making the obvious pun, but—"

"Can we please stay on topic?" remarked Hawk, letting out a frustrated sigh. "My point is, I should go ahead and make a move, right?"

"What about Sam?" asked Demetri.

"What about Sam?" Hawk parried back. "They broke up."

Demetri gave him a cynical look, one that said he knew perfectly well what sort of mess was going on between Miguel and Sam and that it wasn't as simple as them making a clean break. "I'm just sayin', I like all three of you and I don't want to see this get weird."

"So you don't think I should do anything," concluded Hawk. He didn't know what else he should have expected from Demetri, even after all this time. That had always been Demetri's philosophy: better to never try so you can say you never failed.

But Demetri surprised him when he retorted, "I'm not saying that. I mean, if there's one thing I've learned perfectly clear over the last few months is that if you're committed to doing something, I sure as hell can't stop you anymore. And it sounds like you've already made up your mind, haven't you? I don't even know why you're asking for my opinion."

"Because you offered to talk about it before," Hawk pointed out, crossing his arms, slouching even more in the chair.

Demetri's eyebrows rose on his forehead and he rubbed his thumb over his chin. "You got me there. But since you bring that up, tell me something. After you told me you've had a crush on Miguel, I've been thinking, this has been going on for a while, right?"

Hawk shrugged. "Yeah, I guess," he answered vaguely.

"I was right before, wasn't I?" asked Demetri. "It started this summer? Or even sooner?"

Rolling his shoulders again, practically sinking into his hoodie the way he used to sink into oversized sweaters, Hawk retorted, "What difference does it make when it started?"

Demetri rolled his eyes at his dismissiveness but then said, "Well, it would make a difference, I guess, whether or not you've been dealing with this from before or after Miguel went to the hospital." He spent the next few seconds simply staring at Hawk, who once more hated how good his friend was at reading him. "You could've reached out to me at the time," explained Demetri when it became clear Hawk wasn't going to explain himself. "After the school fight, I mean. Sure, I wasn't part of your Cobra Kai cult, but Miguel's my friend, too, y'know."

Hawk believed his sincerity but knew there was no way Demetri would have wanted to have him for company in the immediate aftermath of the fight. And not just because they'd been enemies at the time.

Would Demetri have wanted to see the meltdown he'd had over it? To hear how he couldn't even sleep the first few nights after Miguel's fall without jolting awake, screaming from nightmares that left his sheets drenched in sweat and other, more embarrassing fluids? Did he want to know how many objects he'd broken in his room in impotent rage, knowing what happened to Miguel wasn't fair but there being nothing at the time he could do about it?

Would Demetri want to learn how many hours he'd spent concocting revenge fantasies in his head, daydreaming about what he'd do to Miyagi-Do in order to make things right again when he had his chance?

If Demetri had been there with him so shortly after Miguel's fall, Hawk knew chances were that he would've broken his arm much sooner than he did. It wasn't something he was proud of knowing, sitting there in that room as he was now, but he couldn't deny it was the truth.

"I was really mad at all you guys in Miyagi-Do for what happened to Miguel," Hawk admitted, staring blankly past Demetri at his poster-covered wall.

"But we had nothing to do with that," argued Demetri. "That was Robby. And I still don't know why he did it. We never talked after he got out of juvie. I wish I did know because nothing Mr. L has ever taught us would make what he did make sense, and I still can't wrap my head around it."

Hawk clenched his jaw. Sam could have broken Tory's neck when she kicked her down. Mitch had gotten a light concussion when Chris slammed that textbook against his head. And Hawk remembered a nurse dug out bits of glass from his hands when his parents had taken him to get patched up; the nurse said he'd been lucky he didn't knick a vein getting kicked into a trophy case like that.

Robby wasn't the exception to Miyagi-Do.

Hawk beat that thought down. He took a moment to remind himself he needed to stop viewing all of Miyagi-Do as his enemy. Demetri wasn't his enemy. And at least Demetri agreed with him that Robby was to blame for what happened to Miguel.

"I wish I'd broken Robby's arm instead of yours," he muttered, fidgeting with his fingers in his lap.

Demetri's eyes widened, and his mouth slackened in shock. He looked hurt. "Eli, you shouldn't have wanted to break anyone's arm!"

Hawk's hands balled into fists now. "Maybe not, but I did want to, alright!" he snapped. It was no use lying to himself and pretending he didn't. Sam told him he was horrible. Mr. LaRusso said he'd been a monster. Neither of them was wrong.

"Eli—"

But Hawk cut Demetri off, his eyes darting as words started rambling out of his mouth. "I couldn't stop thinking about what would've happened if Miguel didn't show mercy, if he'd just snapped Robby's arm when he had him down. All I wanted to do was fix his mistake because it wasn't fair! It wasn't his fault! And then when we had our fight at Golf 'N Stuff, I took my chance. I know you said you'd just leave if I let you go, but all I could think about was that Robby didn't! And I-I thought if I went through with it, it would finally make things right. It would be like Miguel never fell at all, that things would go back to normal. But obviously they didn't…."

Even as he sat there and caught his breath, Hawk had to admit it felt strangely good to let that out, to talk about it and get it off his chest. That good feeling dissipated, however, when he looked at Demetri. His friend's mouth hung open and his whole body seemed to droop in sadness. His left hand had made its way over to lay on his right arm. And Hawk realized it had been stupid to unload that on Demetri, of all people. He didn't need to hear it, even if he'd offered to listen.

Demetri's striped feet rubbed themselves together again as he stared down the edge of the bed at them. "You know, when I was in the hospital getting that cast on my arm, I kept wondering how you could go through with it, even after I begged you to let me go. I couldn't understand why, no matter how hard I tried. And the only conclusion I could come up with was it must've been because you really hated me. Combined with everything else, I started to get worried that maybe, deep down, you always hated me."

How could Hawk begin to explain that it was never Demetri he'd truly hated? Just the things about Demetri that reminded him of the things he hated in himself. Fuck that self-pity shit, thought Hawk, clenching his fists on his lap again. It wouldn't make any difference, especially now. What was done was done.

"I don't hate you," Hawk assured him, feeling like a clown for saying that to someone whose arm he snapped in two.

Demetri remained on the bed, and it was obvious from the way his face was contorted that he was processing everything; he probably would be for a while. But when he spoke next, he told Hawk, "I'm glad you told me." The two of them stared at each other for a long, quiet moment, and with that nonverbal agreement they both knew they were done talking for the night. It would be a lot for the two of them to sleep on anyway. No use adding anything more for now.

"It's getting late, I should head home," Hawk announced, standing from his chair.

Demetri gave a small nod as Hawk headed to the door. "I can imagine your parents probably don't like you driving that deathtrap nearer to eleven at night, do they? For as long as I've known them, I can't even believe they got you a motorcycle."

Hawk paused when his hand touched the knob. Glancing over his shoulder at his friend again, he said, "Chris told me you're gonna be at Golf 'N Stuff with him on Thursday."

Demetri affirmed, "Yeah, figured I might try beating the skeeball record while I'm there. Maybe I'll earn enough tickets to get Yasmine a stuffed pegasus or something."

"I told him I'll be there, too…." Hawk paused an awkward moment, shifting uncomfortably on his feet again, letting his eyes fall from Demetri over to his desk. He looked at the top drawer, and he remembered again that night forever ago, the night they'd agreed they would try out Cobra Kai. He considered asking if Demetri wanted to bring their Magic the Gathering decks, but at the last second what came out was, "I'll help you beat the skeeball record, if you want."

He glanced back at Demetri to watch as his expression evolved from perplexed uncertainty to one of surprised pleasure. "Yeah!"

Miguel's Trig textbook laid open on the living room table that Thursday night, along with the half-finished homework he'd been chipping away at before his phone distracted him. The group chat had been going off, one text after another. He scrolled through the conversation, hoping a diversion might help clear his mind.

Nate: need to stop by the store after practice tmw can one of u take me?

Mitch: u cool w/ riding on a motorcycle? I need to pickup a new charger and bottle of miralax anyway

Nate: literally nobody wants to hear about ur diarrhea probs penis breath

Mitch: 1st it's for my dad, 2nd u take it to clean the pipes dipshit, 3rd u can't call me that

Sam: omg can we pls change topic? Nate I'll take u

Setting his phone on the table, Miguel picked up his pencil and tried concentrating on his homework again. But the ridiculous turn the conversation had taken couldn't help but send his thoughts spiraling back to that night when Kyler dumped Pepto-Bismol on his head, christening him with the nickname Rhea. The fact that Kyler still had the audacity to call him that after two beatdowns made him fume.

It also made it difficult to work on his Trigonometry.

Miguel lifted his head when he heard the door open and peeked over the back of the couch to see his mother coming in. Judging by her messy nurse scrubs and how disheveled her hair looked in its ponytail, it must've been a rough day at work. "Hey, Mom," he said as she walked past him towards the hallway.

"Hey, Miggy," she replied before heading to her room. He then heard her call out, "Where's your Ya-Ya?"

"Over at Camila's," answered Miguel, tapping his pencil against his notebook. His brow creased deeper as he forced himself to stare harder at the math problem. Only to then toss his pencil down a minute later. Deciding the homework was going to have to wait a little longer, Miguel grabbed his phone again and pulled up Instagram to check his feed.

Bert had posted a pic of a hamster his parents had gotten him, announcing to everyone he'd named his new pet Clarence II. In the comments, Sam had left a heart-eyes emoji, telling Bert she thought the hamster was cute. Mitch had responded, "RIP in Peace, Clarence the First." Hawk had replied to that post with emojis of prayer hands, a peace sign, a snake, and a skull head. Miguel figured there was some story there he'd have to ask details on later.

His eyes flew open wide at the next picture: Tory and Robby hanging out at a skatepark. His heart practically jumped into his throat before Miguel remembered he'd never unfollowed Tory. But it had been so long since she'd posted anything, he'd forgotten all about it.

Tory hadn't blocked him yet. He couldn't imagine why. She considered him a traitor to Cobra Kai. Miguel figured he should make the first move then and block her, just in case, but it didn't feel right. A needling feeling tugged at his insides, even as his thumb hovered over the button to block her.

He moved that thumb away. Maybe she would see the pictures he'd taken of everyone at the dojo, he thought. Perhaps she would see them and realize there could be a place for her there, too. Yes, things between them had ended all sorts of ugly, but that didn't mean he didn't care about her at all.

Those pics of him and Sam together from earlier in the month probably weren't helping, though.

But seeing her standing there with Robby, remembering that Robby was Cobra Kai now….

Miguel looked up again when his mother came back into the living room, dressed in a fresh change of clothes. "I'm feeling up for some ice-cream," she said, resting her elbows on the back of the couch as she leaned over to give him a tired smile. "How does that sound to you?"

"Um, sounds great," answered Miguel. That was an unexpected treat. And it would be a better distraction from his homework than Instagram turned out to be. He furrowed his brows as he stood up, slipping his phone in his back pocket. "What's the occasion?"

Carmen walked with him towards the door, grabbing her purse and keys off the kitchen table where she'd placed them. "The occasion is work was long, I'm exhausted, and ice-cream is delicious," she explained, wrapping her arm over his shoulders.

Those were all the reasons Miguel needed.

They drove down a few blocks down to the local creamery. Carmen got a single scoop cup of strawberry while Miguel licked on a cone of chocolate ice-cream. While they sat down to enjoy their desserts, his mother began with small talk, asking how he'd done in school that week, whether or not he was still struggling with burnout.

Then the conversation turned to his extracurricular activity. "How have things been in karate?" she asked. It didn't take much detection behind that question to hear the concern in her voice.

Miguel answered on reflex, "Things are good." He took a big bite of his cone, hoping it would put an end to that line of questioning. He ought to have known better that it wouldn't work.

"Explain 'good'," said Carmen before eating another spoonful.

Miguel shrugged. "Things were kinda touch-and-go for a while, but they're starting to pick up now. Tomorrow, Sensei and Mr. LaRusso are gonna have us do a fighting circle."

A wrinkle creased between Carmen's brows. "Fighting circle, what's that?"

"Oh, don't worry," replied Miguel, swallowing another lick of chocolate ice-cream, "it's just where you stand in the middle of a circle and others come at you. It's to test your reflexes and defense. It's not like I'm being ganged up on. Although, honestly, I kinda wish they'd stop being so timid around me. But Sensei's leading the students this class so I know they at least shouldn't hold back this time." At least he hoped so. Sometimes even Sensei still didn't act like he could handle it.

He didn't miss the expression on his mother's face when he mentioned Sensei Lawrence. But he couldn't place what that sudden somber contort in her features, the way her eyes looked down, meant. And since she said nothing about it, neither did he, choosing instead to take another bite of his cone.

Setting her empty cup to the side, Carmen rested her hands together on the table in front of her, giving Miguel an exhorted stare. "I know you're impatient to get back to normal. I understand you're frustrated. These last few months have been so difficult for you, but please be sure not to be too hard on yourself."

Miguel was tired of hearing people tell him that. They all still saw him as he was in the hospital, completely debilitated. They refused to see how much stronger he had gotten, even when it was happening right in front of their own eyes. They would sooner keep treating him with kid gloves forever on rather than give him a legitimate chance to prove himself, wouldn't they? But of course he couldn't say that to his mother. "I need to be ready in time for the Tournament," he tried explaining instead.

"You know that even if you don't win the championship this year, things will be okay," Carmen promised her son.

Her words still sent Miguel's insides sinking. She had that same look on her face Sensei Lawrence did after that day in the park, when he said he couldn't risk him getting hurt after he fell to the ground after a single kick. Did his mother not believe he had it in him to win? Didn't she understand the stakes? He had to win. To get Sensei Kreese out of the Valley, to get his trophy back, to get some closure with Robby after what he did to him. In order for all that to come to fruition, Miguel had to win. He had to show everyone he could do it.

He crunched the last couple bites of his cone. The ice-cream now sat in his stomach like a cold stone, weighing him down. And he knew there was no use arguing with his mother about it. "Yeah, sure."

Carmen gave Miguel a sad smile, reaching across the table to put her hand over his. "Okay. As long as you understand that."

But Miguel's breath picked up when he started thinking about how the next morning would mark the beginning of February. The All-Valley Tournament was in May. Four months away. January had flown by and so much time had been lost to the fighting between Sensei Lawrence and Mr. LaRusso. He should've been further along now than he was.

He would have to work twice as hard now. Power forward. Take matters into his own hands, if necessary.

Tomorrow was a new month. And it was time to get super serious. No more letting the guys hold back. No more taking their apologies for landing a hit on him. No more tolerating their expressions of pity if he didn't land a move himself. All of Eagle Fang still looked to him as their leader and he was going to show them he took their confidence seriously.

Having finished their dessert, they stood up to leave and tossed their trash into the garbage can. Exiting the establishment, Carmen wrapped her arm around Miguel's shoulders while they walked back to the car and affectionately kissed the top of his head. "You know I love you, Miggy," she said, rubbing his arm warmly.

His cheeks burned in embarrassment, and the adolescent chagrin he felt made him glad there wasn't anyone else in the parking lot there at night to see such open maternal sentiment on display. But, with that being the case, he smiled back, and some of his previous frustrations dissipated as he remembered what his mom had been going through the last few months, too.

She'd been there through it all: his fall, his surgery, his physical therapy, his recovery, watching him get back in the game. Through all his struggles, his ups and downs, his highs and lows, she'd been his constant. Sometimes it was too easy for him to lose sight of that and take it for granted that his mother must have been going through unimaginable hurt as much as he had.

Leaning into her embrace a little, Miguel told her, "Love you, too, Mom."