— chapter twelve, presage!
THE TWO BOYS had hardly seen each other over the last two weeks, due to Robby's busy training schedule with Mr LaRusso and Bowie's non-stop attendance at Red Tigers, both to make up for his loss at the All Valley and to try make up the dues that were missing from the lack of new students, so they were both excited to spend the evening together in Robby's apartment. Shannon hadn't been home for days, Robby informed his best friend, so it was just the two of them, one upping each other at video games and reading shitty horror stories.
For the first time in as long as Bowie could remember, which left a hollow feeling in his chest that he couldn't quite place, the two fell asleep on opposite couches, crashing pretty soon into the night out of sheer exhaustion. Robby passed out first, leaving Bowie to chase the sound of his breathing, his eyes running over and over the boy's hand, dangling over the side of the couch.
The clattering of drawers and cupboards woke the two, who locked eyes in the light let in by the open door, before Robby swung his legs to the floor.
A voice came from the doorway: "Come on, get the stuff and let's get out of here."
Still not entirely awake, Bowie's heart was in his throat, though the irony of robbing two teenage boys in a practically deserted flat didn't escape them. Eyes widening, Bowie watched Robby creep forwards, encroaching on the stranger who was eager to flee from the apartment. They bit back the urge to hiss at Robby to pull back, but before they could reach for him, Robby had swung himself forward, propelling himself over the countertop and kicking the man into the one opposite.
"Robby!" Bowie was by his side in a second, fists balled and chest heaving as the man coughed, clutching his chest. The lights were flicked on, and Shannon rushed forwards to help the man from the floor, causing Bowie's face to pinch in confusion.
"Robby, what is wrong with you?" Shannon snapped.
"What's wrong with me? You haven't been here in days. I thought someone broke in!"
"Okay." The woman took a deep breath as the man steadied himself, looking between Robby and Bowie angrily. "Okay, okay. I'm sorry. I just came to grab a few things, uhm, 'cause, uh, Rick is flying me to Cabo."
"Cabo-adjacent," Rick corrected, somewhat proudly, causing Bowie to snort.
"Wait, you're going to Mexico?" Robby's eyebrows furrowed. "With this guy? For how long? I mean, we have rent to pay, and I don't have-"
"Don't worry about that because, Rick, you're paying this month, right?"
Rick didn't look so convinced, despite his statement: "I got you, pal."
Bowie's eyes caught the bottles of pills Shannon filtered into her bag.
"When are you coming back?" Robby's chin shook.
"A few days?" Shannon tried.
"Um, week and a half, tops," Rick assured.
"So, you and Bowie have the whole place to yourselves. Don't party too hard. I'll call you tomorrow, okay, sweetie?"
Shannon cupped Robby's face, kissing his forehead, and Bowie watched the way he closed his eyes, breathing out for a long moment.
"I love you." Shannon smiled as though nothing was wrong before disappearing out the door.
"Hey," Robby called, after Rick rather than his mother. "You hurt her, next time you won't get up."
"Ooh," Rick mocked, not even bothering to close the door behind him, leaving Robby to gaze at Bowie dejectedly.
"Rob..."
"I don't want to talk about it."
"You never want to talk about it."
Robby sighed, taking a seat on the couch where he had previously slept. Bowie waited for a nod of approval before sitting next to him, and Robby was quick to lean his head into their shoulder.
"I don't know what I'm gonna do, Bowe. I don't have a job anymore. I can't afford rent, let alone electricity and utility and all that other shit."
"Come stay with me," Bowie didn't hesitate to suggest, this time finally allowing his hand to reach for the boy's and lacing their fingers together, which Robby settled into comfortably. "We can find summer jobs to keep on top of your rent until your mom is back."
"Maybe." Robby shrugged. "But what about when your dad comes back? And I can't get a summer job. I- I'm training with Mr LaRusso everyday and funnily enough, when you have warnings on your record for identity fraud and stealing from previous employers, it's a little hard."
He inhaled sharply, lifting his head to look at Bowie but not unlocking their hands.
"Don't look at me like that. I know what you're gonna say: sleep on it."
"It's a foolproof plan." Bowie smiled smally, feeling how tense his best friend still was. He went to stand, to tuck himself into the blanket under the couch opposite, but Robby didn't let him go. Instead, he nestled himself back into their shoulder, lying back and exhaling heavily.
"When I said 'sleep on it', this isn't what I meant," Bowie joked, but his free arm snuck around Robby's shoulder all the same, his eyes closing.
"You didn't say it." Robby's response was muffled. "I said it. And this was exactly what I meant."
"Okay." Bowie's cheeks flushed red, particularly as Robby's thumb swiped over the knuckles of their interlocked hands.
☼
There was a car in his driveway as Bowie kicked his skateboard up from under his feet the next morning, and the front window was cracked open on its hinges in a way the boy knew they didn't leave it. He cursed under his breath, his arm closing around the board as he reached the door. Even from opening it, the stench of cigarette smoke and whiskey curled around the frame and through the hinges. Despite that, Patrick seemed sober enough when he came face to face with his son.
"Hi, dad," Bowie propped his board up against the wall by the door. "Did you win big?"
Patrick was quiet for a moment, wetting his lips and looking the boy up and down.
"At first. It was all going well until Vegas."
"That's how it usually goes," Bowie muttered, not meeting his eyes.
"Don't get mouthy." The man scowled. "Went into Vegas having made bank and came out with nothing but debt, which means I'm selling your car."
Bowie's stomach turned to ice.
"What?"
"Don't pretend like you paid for that thing. It's a relic from your mother. I should've sold it years ago."
"Dad-" Bowie's voice was higher than they intended. "You can't sell my car. I learnt to drive in that. I paid for so many lessons. Mom left it to me. I don't have anything else left of her, Dad."
"Bowden, I'm selling the fucking car. Get over it. It's already done."
"What do you mean it's already done?" His face was hot. "Dad, you can't sell my car."
"It's sold, Bowie!" They could now see the alcohol burning away behind their dad's eyes, and the clench of his fists, and when they realised their own hands mirrored his, they felt sick. He forced his fingers to unfold.
"It's sold. I'm taking the fucking money and I'm paying off the fucking debt."
"Why couldn't you have just taken a couple grand out my savings, huh?" Bowie cocked an eyebrow angrily. "I have time to make that back before college."
Patrick laughed hollowly, taking the packet of nicotine from his pocket and beginning to roll himself a cigarette.
"You and your savings, you and your savings. There haven't been savings since you were fifteen, Bowie."
"Yes there has." His voice was indignant, cheeks flushed. "Yes there has, Dad. That's how I afford food when you're not here. That's how I afford training. I use the savings, and then I make it all back every summer when I get a job. That's how I'm affording college."
The card Patrick took from his back pocket clattered across the room and to the floor.
"Check the account. You have a couple hundred in there, tops."
Bowie's throat filled with bile.
"That'll do you til I'm back. Maybe in the meanwhile, start charging that kid you have over all the time rent. We don't take in goddamn strays."
"I'm leaving." Bowie picked his board back up by the trucks, not looking his father in the eyes for fear of shedding a tear.
"Good. I want you out of my sight." Patrick lit up the cigarette as he spoke. "Don't even think of taking the car with you, or I'll rent out your room so fast it'll make your head spin." It was an empty threat; he had threatened to rent out Freddie's room a million times those years ago, but even now, with Freddie having moved out nearing four years ago, it still lay empty. Freddie, unlike Bowie, however, at least had some place to go.
Bowie didn't think his balance would withstand him skating, so he carried his board under his arm as he stormed down the driveway, hot tears of frustration prickling in his eyes. The car, the savings, everything; he didn't know what he was going to do. Those savings had been supposed to get him through college, and now, if his dad was being truthful, there was nothing. It would have all been dwindled away on drinking and gambling; of course it was. Bowie was a fool to think otherwise.
Robby's number was already on speed dial, however the call rang out slowly, so Bowie pocketed his phone with a sigh. Leaving was probably the wrong move; he needed a shower and a change of clothes and someplace to go that wasn't under the sweltering summer sun in the Valley, but no one other than Robby came to mind.
The dojo would have to do. At least there, they could shower and train to take their mind off things, and break it to Sensei Blakeway that their money for dues the club so desperately needed had been burnt up by his alcoholic father and his gambling habits.
The bus ride was long and tedious, and Bowie's music failed to break it up. Their phone lit up with a text from Robby, saying he'd call after training, but from the tone of the message, they sensed his day was going about as well as theirs was. When the bell above the door of the dojo chimed, Matt was stood, eyes closed, in the centre of the mats.
"Bowie." His eyes didn't open. "What brings you here at this time?"
"I just needed to work some things through. I wasn't sure you'd be here," they sighed, propping their board up gently. "What are you doing here?"
"Working through some things," Matt repeated, stepping sideways slightly. "Kata?"
Bowie nodded, tight lipped, before taking his place beside the man.
"Kata Chinto," Sensei Blakeway announced, and Bowie allowed himself to follow his lead, working his body through the moves his muscles had memorised, breathing in on the stances, out on the strikes, until his heart was steadier. Standing in the final stance, Matt looked at him for a long moment: "Again."
☼
When Bowie arrived home again a few hours later, his dad's car was gone. He was exhausted and sweaty from training for so long, showering quickly before throwing himself down on his bed to return Robby's call. He'd been home a good few hours; the sun had long since set, and answered his best friend's call on the first ring.
"Hey, Bowe. I'm sorry I missed your call earlier. I had a really lousy day, and then Mr LaRusso made us get in his pond– it was interesting. Are you okay?"
"So, I would like to be the first to point out that Mr LaRusso terrifies me," Bowie observed. "He had you sanding decks with a dislocated shoulder and then he put you in a pond?"
"Technically he had us on a balance board on the pond," Robby pointed out. "We just weren't very good at it."
"We?"
"Me and Sam. She trains with me now. Anyway, what's going on?"
Bowie was too tired to make a mental note on how Robby brushed over the topic of Sam.
"My dad came home," Bowie started with, hearing how the other boy cursed softly over the phone. "He's been out in Vegas, and he lost a lot of money. Like a lot of money, I guess, because not only is he selling my car, all my college savings are gone. All my mom's savings."
"Shit. Bowe, he can't sell your car. Your mom gave you that. And all your savings? That asshole had no right. You were supposed to get out of here on all that."
"I know," Bowie sighed softly. "Do you think I could stay at yours tonight? I don't know when he's gonna be home."
There was a long pause.
"Shit, I- I should've text. Uh, Mr LaRusso came by. My mom missed some bills while she's been gone, and they shut the power off. I guess I mentioned something about it to Sam, and he came by, and I'm staying with them tonight. I'm really sorry, Bowe. I'm sure if I asked Mr LaRusso, you could crash here, too."
"Oh." The catch in Bowie's breath betrayed the optimism he was going for. "That's great, Robby. It's no worries, I'm okay here. I'm just glad you have somewhere decent to stay. Mr LaRusso seems pretty great for that."
"Yeah." Robby's voice was soft. "Are you okay, Bowie?"
"Yeah, I'm okay," they played off with a nod Robby couldn't see. "Does this mean I can come visit his dojo sometime? I'd love to check out this balance board on the pond."
"For sure." The excitement returned to Robby's voice. "It would be so awesome if you joined Miyagi-Do. Like, I know you have Red Tigers, but we could train together, and the dues are free, and you could totally help us take down Cobra Kai."
Bowie scoffed, shifting so he was curled around his pillow.
"Oh, but when I used to gush about martial arts, I was a loser."
"You're always a loser." Being practically able to hear Robby's grin through the phone cleared Bowie's mind of anything else, as it often did. "I should go. Sam's making me watch some 2000s movie with her. I'm not sure what I'm in for."
Bowie cocked an eyebrow.
"Wow, okay. Have fun."
"Call me if you need me, Woods."
"As if," they scoffed playfully, earning an insult down the phone before Robby hung up, and Bowie was left with the silence of his house once again.