— chapter one, twelve !
BOWIE WOODS remembered Robby Keene's twelfth birthday. It wasn't as though it was destined to be a big and memorable birthday; it was supposed to be the same as every other one, really. As per tradition, Robby and Bowie would come home from a long and boring day at middle school to be greeted by Shannon and plates of store bought microwave pizza and a stack of movies for them to work their way through.
Midway through movie number two, Robby would become fidgety and eager, waiting for a knock on the door. Midway through the fourth movie, the knock would finally come, and Robby would jump upwards eagerly to answer it, nearly knocking his dad to the floor due to the combination of his enthusiastically forceful lithe body and the alcohol that Johnny Lawrence had spent the last two movies consuming whilst Robby waited. Johnny would stick around for half an hour or so, asking absentmindedly about Robby's school and his hobbies that he knew nothing of before switching his attention to Bowie and asking the other boy about his father, recalling the old times the two had spent together. As much as Bowie hated it, that tended to be how Robby's birthdays went, and even when Johnny would leave after only twenty minutes, Robby still considered it the best birthday present he could ask for.
Bowie remembered Robby's twelfth birthday in particular because it was different. It started off the same; the two boys had finished off their Tuesday at school and hopped on the bus eagerly, running up the many flights of stairs to Robby's apartment and opening the door to be greeted by store bought microwave pizzas being sliced up by Shannon and placed on the coffee table beside the stack of movies. Bowie won the game of rock, paper, scissors so the two started off with Back to the Future, despite knowing full well they wouldn't get round to watching the two sequels.
As per usual, half way through the second film— The Amazing Spider Man— Robby began to get antsy, squirming beside Bowie and constantly glancing at the door. Even after Bowie placed his hand over Robby's gently in an attempt to calm him, the boy only became more and more impatient. Sure enough, half way into the fourth film, Robby was basically lurching towards the door, with both Shannon and Bowie's eyes on him sadly. What made Robby's twelfth birthday so different was that it was the year the knock never came.
It was midnight before Robby gave up his wait. Both Shannon and Bowie had figured out far earlier into the night that the chances were that Johnny Lawrence was probably too hammered in a bar or passed out on a park bench to remember he had a son, let alone that it was his birthday.
Shannon tried to pry her son from where he was perched on the arm of the chair, waiting for the door to go at any moment, but she was unsuccessful. Robby was firmly fixed in his position, waiting for his dad no matter how tired he got or how his body drooped with defeat. Even Bowie tried to entice him with the rest of the movies they had laid out, but Robby was adamant in waiting for Johnny to show. When midnight came, Bowie watched as Robby's eyes travelled to the clock on the TV as the numbers changed, and saw them well with tears. Standing up, Bowie walked to the foot of the couch and wrapped his arms around his best friend, feeling as Robby cried into the side of his neck, holding on tight.
Johnny Lawrence never showed up for a birthday after that night. Each year, Robby's facade that he didn't care would strengthen until even Shannon couldn't see through it, only Bowie could. Robby's twelfth birthday wasn't the first time that Johnny had let his son down, but it was the one that stuck with Bowie the most. Robby had cried into his best friend's arms many times before that night and would do so many times after, but his twelfth birthday was the first time Bowie remembered feeling floating butterflies in his chest, juxtaposing the boiling rage in there that he felt for Johnny Lawrence. As the years went by, neither of those feelings ever really seemed to go away.
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It was about nine at night when the knock came on Bowie's bedroom window, five minutes after he had arrived home from a long evening of training. Robby didn't know his dad wasn't home— he hadn't been home when Bowie arrived, leaving the boy to clear away the mess of beer bottles and pizza boxes in the kitchen and pull together whatever scraps of food were left in the fridge for something to eat— so as per protocol Robby would tap lightly at his best friend's ground floor window until they would lift the latch and let him in.
Although he wasn't changed or showered yet, the curly haired boy rolled off where they were lying on their bed with a thud and welcomed Robby in. The boy looked distressed; he didn't show it in his face— he never did— but he kept running his hands through his long hair, tapping his fingers on the glass pane impatiently before Bowie slid the latch. Robby crawled through the window before glancing up at Bowie, his mouth twitching into the pout he did when he tried to hide that he was upset.
"Hi, Bowe," the green eyed boy breathed gently, standing for a moment and just looking at Bowie. The two weren't the same height; Bowie stood a few inches taller, and normally they would give Robby shit about it playfully, but he could tell that tonight wasn't the night for it.
"Hi, Rob," Bowie tried for a smile as he pulled his sweaty shirt over his head. "My dad isn't in."
"That's good," Robby nodded, exhaling deeply before taking a seat at the foot of Bowie's bed and waiting for them to sit beside him. Bowie's silence was welcoming; it welcomed Robby to talk about what was on his mind.
"School called my dad today," Robby started, his mouth twitching as he tried not to get agitated or emotional. "They caught me with Molly and he tried to lecture me on doing drugs, as though he can talk at all."
"You got caught with Molly at school?" Bowie's eyes widened. "I thought Trey wasn't gonna make you do drops at school anymore so you don't get fucking expelled or sent to juvie or some shit."
"I needed the money. Mom's been slack on the bills this month," the shorter boy explained, causing Bowie to shift closer to him in comfort.
None of this was new information to Bowie; being friends with Robby for ten years meant he was more than used to Shannon falling behind on the bills, and even though it was more recent, used to Trey and Cruz using Robby for whatever illegal shit they were getting involved with.
"You know," Bowie mused, leaning backwards so he was lying flat on his back with his hands bent behind his head; "If you get expelled that gives you a reason to transfer to West Valley."
"What, with the rest of you rich assholes?" Robby retorted, and Bowie could see his mind beginning to fade from Johnny Lawrence and even the drug incident as his mouth twitched into a small smile.
"Who are you calling an asshole, Keene?" Bowie cocked an eyebrow, looking down the bed at Robby.
"Pretty sure I'm calling you one, Woods," he snarked back, a cocky grin back on his face. Reaching behind themself, Bowie snatched one of the pillows from his bed, bringing it down on Robby's back with a thud.
"Oh, it's like that?" Robby questioned, grabbing the pillow from his best friend's grasp and climbing over his legs to bring the pillow down firmly on his face.
Lifting it back up, Robby glanced down at Bowie's now-flattened curls falling over their face and the look of shock that painted their features.
"You wanna fight, Keene? Really?" Bowie cocked an eyebrow, reaching to tug at Robby's shoulder only for the boy to shake his head.
"Hard pass, you are disgustingly sweaty. Go shower."
"Choose a movie, then," the curly haired boy instructed, tipping Robby off his legs and getting up, throwing his discarded sweaty shirt at him for good measure, causing him to splutter unhappily.
After showering quickly, Bowie re-entered his room towel drying his curls. Robby watched him as he took a t-shirt from his drawer that had definitely belonged to Robby at one point and came up a little short on his torso, showing a sliver of skin. Noticing him staring, Bowie scoffed, chucking the damp towel at him to distract him from the pink coating their cheeks.
"What film did you choose?" they asked, flopping down beside Robby after shutting off the main light and drawing the curtains.
"The Winter Soldier," Robby answered, pressing play and leaning back against the headrest of the bed, his shoulder just gently brushing Bowie's.
"Nothing says daddy issues like thinking Bucky Barnes is hot," the taller said with a smirk, earning himself a punch in the shoulder.
"You'd know all about daddy issues, wouldn't you?" Robby snorted, causing Bowie to cock his eyebrow once again with a smug smile.
"You'd expect so, I've been best friends with you for ten years."