Work Text:
Robby Keene is exactly the kind of boy Eli Moskowitz would have a crush on. Back when he was still “Lip” and didn’t know karate and didn’t dye his hair, but had a secret affinity for scruffy skater types in Converse high tops with an aura of bad news. (It’s why he’d taken a look at scrappy-as-hell Miguel Diaz holding a lunch tray in one hand, looking like trouble in a hoodie, and fallen, like, a quarter in love.)
Robby Keene is exactly the kind of boy who would’ve been too cool for Eli Moskowitz. Who wouldn’t have known his name. Who Demetri would’ve warned him off because “he looks like a PSA for juvenile delinquency.” Who he might’ve only seen heading into the principal’s office as he headed out, both of them there for very different reasons.
Robby Keene is exactly the boy Hawk has a crush on.
It’s more than a little mortifying, considering how much time Hawk invested into hating Robby’s guts.
Demetri, as always, is first to call him out. He’d walked into the Moskowitz home’s exercise room—originally just Mrs. Moskowitz’s yoga room pre-script flipping—to the sight of Eli working out way too much aggression on an innocent training dummy and, after a moment of pensive watching, surmised (correctly) that, “This is a Robby thing, isn’t it?”
Eli whirls around, quick enough to make Demetri take half a step back. “Why would you say that?”
The other boy snorts. He walks over to the bench where Eli’s water bottle and shirt lay to toss him a rag. Eli catches it with one hand. “I haven’t seen you this worked up since the Game of Thrones finale. So either this country is facing a sudden hairspray shortage or this has something to do with Robby Keene.”
Face scrunched into a frown, Eli drags the rag across his sweat soaked skin. He struggles for words. “Why– Why Keene ?”
Demetri shrugs. “Don’t ask me. You’ve always been kind of weird about him. It’s almost worse now that you’re friends because you end up like this—” He gestures up and down at Eli’s whole being and then over at the dummy which somehow manages to have a disapproving look on its synthetic features. “—after we hang out and I gotta redirect your attention with memes or bad TV show takes, lest you try to get me to fist-fight you to death in the parking lot.”
“I don’t do that,” Eli says weakly.
Demetri graces him with a look and a, “Sure.”
“Ugh." Defeat, as a matter of fact, does exist in the Moskowitz home exercise room. "I just don’t know what the hell I’m doing with him. Sometimes I think I do and it’s awesome, but then I ruin it by thinking about the past and I get into my own head and I just don’t know how to fucking act.” He collapses onto the bench, hands coming up to cover his face. “It was easier to hate him. I was really fucking good at hating him.”
“I don’t know, you spent a lot of time thinking about him for a guy who hated his guts.”
“Not helping.”
Demetri places a halting hand over his shoulder. “There, there, my little avian friend, Good Ol’ Demetri’s here to help you through your big, messy bisexual panic.”
Shrugging the hand off, Eli shoots him a withering look. “Already did that. You were there, remember?”
“Bisexual Panic Part Two,” Demetri amends.
Eli nods, miserable. “Too Bisexual Too Panicked.”
“Look, we’re seeing him today for the skateboard practice thing—something I still maintain is a terrible idea, but have only refrained from saying so for Robby’s sake—just go with the flow. Follow your instincts.” At Eli’s dubious expression, he holds up a hand. “I know that hasn’t historically gone well with you, but your instincts take cue from your heart and I have some pretty solid evidence that your heart is completely infatuated with Robby Keene like a fair Victorian maiden. So, don’t overthink, don’t break any arms on his behalf, and just… be chill.”
“Be chill,” Eli repeats.
“I know it’s not your natural state, but some of Moon’s energy must have rubbed off on you in all that time you were dating.”
In a show of characteristic maturity, Eli chucks the soiled rag at his friend.
“Ew!” Demetri flings it towards the corner, rubbing his hand on his shorts. ”You hooligan! You heathen! You bitch! Here I am, trying to give your lonely, blackened soul some love advice out of the goodness of my heart and you treat me like this?”
Eli waves him off. “Yeah, yeah, nerd.” A smile flickers across his face, shy and sweet like a split-second projection of that boy who was 90% sweater and 10% blue eyes. “Thanks, I guess.”
“You’re welcome,” Demetri says, gracious with an answering smile.
Eli springs off the bench. “Well, I’m gonna go rinse off. The boards are in the garage.” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “We can leave for the skatepark in 15.”
Clicking his fingers, Demetri says, “Right, right, gotta make sure you smell all nice and pretty for Robby-eo.”
That earns him a feigned punch which he doesn’t fall for and raised middle finger which he returns in kind.
Eli narrows his eyes at him. He turns to leave, kicking his mom’s yoga ball for emphasis.
As Eli crosses the doorway, Demetri hums happily and mutters under his breath, “Hawkliet.”
Contrary to Demetri’s predictions of ill-fate, the training exercise goes off without a hitch. Robby’s a natural instructor and each Miyagi-Fang member is well-practiced in dealing with teachers of every modality and style. There were some skeptics at first, yeah, but once Robby showed off a flashy trick that ended with him in a one-handed handstand on the edge of the skating bowl, everyone was on board and then boards pretty quickly.
Robby walked them through some of the basics of skateboarding along with a few exercises he came up with to improve balance and other techniques more relevant to karate. Hawk would like to say he was a model student, but he spent enough time ogling the teacher that Sam slid a surreptitious elbow in his gut and hissed, pull it together, lover boy.
The tumble Sam took down the four foot wall of the bowl after that was purely a coincidence.
Apparently he's obvious now.
Mortifying.
Hawk cycles through the exercises, perfecting every shaky move, but spends most of the session hovering behind the more unstable Miyagi-Fangers (Mostly Demetri. His best friend was cursed with gangly, disproportionate limbs that really don't do him any favors here.) and stopping the younger kids (Bert, Nathaniel, Devon, Anthony, every single one of those little shits) from breaking their faces with kickflips they're not at all ready for. He'd already gotten a bit of a crash course in Robby's lesson plan from that time Miguel had spontaneously decided to relearn another one of his pre-injury skills, and dragged Hawk and Robby to a skatepark at some ungodly hour of the morning to practice with him. It clearly paid off though, because Miguel's the one leading Samantha around the park in a sickeningly cute display of teen love.
With energy flagging and the few other occupants of the skatepark beginning to clear out—Robby chose this spot for its lack of popularity with the intent to minimize the odds of one of their group enacting harm upon the public—the practice ends late into the afternoon.
Hawk elected to stay behind. For more practice.
Demetri and Miguel gave him looks about it and Bert shot off a little comment about him being a teacher’s pet, but in all honesty, the Robby factor is only a part of it. Hawk takes karate seriously and if stuff like this can help him improve, then he wants to be the best at it he can be.
He learned that from Miyagi-Do, with its painting and waxing and painstaking meditation routines. He's learning it from Robby.
The other boy also hung back, watching Hawk weave lines around the bowl again and again, carving tighter and tighter curves, faster and higher each time. He’d taken to shouting out pointers, demonstrating on his own board, and even once stepped close to correct Hawk’s positioning, guiding him through the movement with soft touches on his waist and arm.
“Got it?” Robby had asked, breathing air centimeters from Hawk.
He nodded, silent.
Eventually, he’d even graduated Hawk to some more trickier moves that he’d chosen to omit from the dojo’s lesson, something which made Hawk duck his head and smirk proudly.
They’re taking a break now. Well, actually it's just Hawk taking a break, sitting with his sneakers dangling over the edge of the bowl, sipping on a soda can as he watches Robby glide across the cement.
It isn’t fair, really. Because Robby’s stupidly hot when he’s just sitting on the Diazs’ couch, bugging Miguel to make him a sandwich as he studies a Quizlet with Hawk. He’s fucking breathtaking when he’s in the Miyagi-Do yard, face molded into pure concentration as he and Sam work their way through a balance exercise.
But here, he’s art in motion.
He must have been holding back earlier, not wanting to make the others feel bad, because now he’s sailing around the bowl. Launching himself into the air. Twisting around. Feet leaving the board before he makes contact and lands, cutting into trick after trick after trick.
Hawk swallows cold soda.
Robby must decide to take mercy on him—how Miyagi-Do of him—because the sound of approaching wheels signals to Hawk to scooch over to make space as the other boy dismounts and flops down onto the ledge next to him.
“Man, I love that,” Robby says, flicking sweat-damp hair out of his eyes. He's close. Not close enough to cross any lines of plausible heterosexuality, but close enough for Hawk to be hyper-aware of his body. He lifts his shirt to wipe his forehead and Hawk very intentionally does not peek at his abs.
Without speaking, Hawk hands his extra can of soda to the other boy, willing himself to not react when their fingers brush or when a droplet rolls down Robby's neck as he leans back to take a sip. He just takes Robby's thanks with a small nod. The vending machine doesn’t give change and Hawk only had a five. The fact that it's Robby's choice of drink has no relevance. He rubs his hand, sticky with sweat and Coca-Cola, on his shorts. His fingers play with the material.
Finally, he hears himself say, “You look good out there.” What the fuck, he thinks.
It's Moon's fault he's like this. She was his first girlfriend and didn't do him the favor of making him go through the whole flirting mating dance—she just decided she liked him, what a bitch—so now he's the asshole who says you look good.
Robby just smiles at him. “I look good? You’re a natural at this.” He adds, inordinately delighted, “Tony Hawk.”
Hawk’s eye roll is immediate and scathing. “You’ve been waiting for that all day haven’t you?”
“Oh, it’s been killing me.”
He huffs out a laugh. “It’s not like it’s easy for me. I practice a lot. I put a lot of work in to get to where I am.”
“It’s worth it though, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Hawk says, softer than he means to, but just as much as he means it. “If you told Eli of freshman year that he’d be out here, doing shit like this, with a whole group of friends, he wouldn’t know how to believe you. Probably start crying too, fucking loser.” It isn’t even resentment leading his words anymore, just wry humor and the surefire knowledge that things get better.
Robby raises his can in agreement. “Robby of freshman year would’ve laughed in your face if you told him these were the kind of people he was running with now. Especially you.”
Hawk gives him a weird look. “You didn’t know me freshman year.”
“Imagine if I did.” Robby releases a breath that’s almost a chuckle. “If I went to West Valley back then and managed to stay for longer than a day before getting expelled.”
He shakes his head. “You still wouldn’t have noticed me.”
“I would,” Robby says.
“I wasn’t really anyone worth noticing.”
“You were. I know it.” The finality in his tone makes Eli’s breath catch, makes his head jerk to the side to stare into earnest green eyes. He swallows, mouth suddenly dry. Grasping for his drink, he lets that sit for a minute between them. It’s a nice thought.
Hawk gathers his guts from where they’re lying somewhere on the concrete below their feet. “What did you mean by especially me?” he asks. “Is it because I was so…” He can’t bring himself to say it. He can take that shit from Kyler and Yasmine, from Demetri, but not from Robby. Robby Keene who didn’t even know Eli Moskowitz, who never would have known Eli Moskowitz and never will.
“No!” Robby’s quick denial soothes something in his soul, “No. It’s just ‘cause, um, I used to see you. Around. Sometimes,” Robby says, making absolutely no sense. His eyes squeeze shut in a wince before he continues, “I actually did notice.”
“Huh?” Hawk says. Absentmindedly, he lifts his soda to his lips, hoping the cool liquid might help him think clearer.
“Yeah, I—” And it could just be the light, but Hawk could swear Robby was blushing. “I used to see you when I was running this dumb scam with my friends at Tech Town.” Then, sounding terribly brave, “I thought you were so cute.”
Hawk splutters on a mouthful of Coke. He hunches over, hacking as he feels the heat from one of Robby’s hands hovering uncertainty over his back. He gathers himself. “You what?” he rasps.
Robby laughs, a little honest, a little nervous. “I thought you were cute. I always hoped you’d stop by the service counter, but you never did. Probably for the best, I either would’ve had to steal your shit or get my ass busted for crushing out of my tax bracket.”
His mind is racing. Those free period trips to Tech Town, always before the comic store, but after the food court. He rifles through his memories for surely even a hint of brown hair, a glimpse of green eyes, that smile, but he can't remember ever glancing towards the service counter. Demetri handled all the things in Eli's life that needed fixing. He wonders about another world where that wasn't the case. He shakes it off.
“But I was—” Weak, weird, ugly, a freak “—such a nerd.”
“Hawk, I was ditching school to steal iPads from innocent, unsuspecting mall-goers. You think you being a little too into Lord of the Rings would’ve mattered to me?”
Hawk takes a moment to digest this information along with the drink which is now making his stomach feel all fizzy and light.
“I was so bummed at the All-Valley when I realized what a dick you were. Serves me right for projecting fantasies onto complete strangers at a tech store, but… ” Robby’s face drops into his hands and he groans. “Why’d you have to be such a dick?”
Despite himself, a smile tugs across Hawk’s lips. He reaches out, slowly placing a hand on Robby’s shoulder, all sun-warmed and strong beneath his palm. “Sorry, I was suffering from a terrible affliction at the time known as your dad.”
“Gonna tell him he ruined my life again, make him buy me a car or something in reparation,” Robby mumbles.
Hawk draws his hand back, retreating into his own space, and makes an offering, "Demetri thinks I'm weird about you."
Robby's laugh is muffled. "I don't know if you noticed, but I'm kind of weird about you too."
"Really?"
He looks up. "What, you think grabbing a snake with my bare hands to impress you was normal behavior?"
With this new light, Hawk thinks back to that day. Robby with a hissing bag in his hand, pleased and proud and with a grin that lit up his entire face directed straight across the circle of Cobras to Hawk. At the time, he’d taken it as a fuck you kind of smile, but now he wonders if it was just a smile kind of smile. "I thought you were trying to impress Tory. And outdo me."
"Maybe it was all of the above." Robby shrugs. "Again, weird about you. Cutting off your mohawk definitely wasn't proportional to you spilling Kenny's popcorn on the ground." He sighs. "You made me feel a lot of emotions, strong ones too, I just—"
"Didn't always know what they were," Hawk finishes for him.
And yeah, Hawk gets that.
He thinks about hating Robby because it was natural, because he hurt Miguel. He thinks about wanting to hate Robby more than he actually did, hating himself for that and then choosing to hate Robby more in turn. He thinks about how bowing to Robby at the All-Valley felt right, but snapping at him at practice felt easy.
He thinks about watching Robby lead their friends, Robby's eyes meeting his, and the complete absence of hate that came with it. He likes that the best.
When Hawk looks up, it’s to golden hour sinking low over the city, setting everything in burnished sepia tones—the wire fences, the railings, the tiles shining at the rim of the bowl. He glances back down at Robby, his chin resting in the palm of his hand. He’s not looking at the line of sun, he’s looking above it at the stretch of solid blue sky, headstrong and endless.
Be chill, he thinks.
“Hey, um, Keene. Robby. I don’t really have any of those dorky grandpa sweaters left and I think most reliable people would tell you that I’m still kind of a dick—” He blows out a breath. Perhaps because I am afraid, and he gives me courage. “—but I’ve never stolen an iPad and I’m always gonna be a little too into Lord of the Rings, so, um, if you’re still into that—me—I’m also kind of really into you. Too.”
That’s Demetri’s voice in his head right now saying, a five on your AP Lang exam and “I’m kind of really into you” is the best you could do?
That’s Kyler’s voice in his head saying, Look at this freak.
That’s his own voice in his head, sniveling and small, saying, I’m never gonna be anything other than a kid with a weird lip.
It’s Robby’s voice saying his name, gentle and full of wonder, like no one’s ever thought he deserved. “I am. I do,” Robby says. “I mean.” He lets out a little laugh. “The sweaters were adorable, don't get me wrong, but the mohawk and the athleisure and the colors, that’s all pretty cute too.”
Hawk breathes. “Awesome.”
The grin Robby gifts him is stunning. Before that moment, Hawk could never have imagined that Robby could look that happy, much less because of him. He’s sure the look on his own face is just as besotted, bordering on manic, but he can’t bring himself to care. He spent so long feeling worthless and angry, he gets to be as happy as he wants right now.
“You noticed me,” Hawk says, quiet and pleased.
Robby nods. “I did." In one burst of air, in one swift strike, he says, "I did and you were beautiful.”
Hawk twists his head away as he fights a blush, but he can’t help it, he’s fucking beaming. Beautiful. You’re sitting in a skatepark next to a boy you wanted to kill and he’s calling you beautiful. He wants to laugh, a bit giddy, a bit hysterical. What a big, gay rom-com moment. If Eli Moskowitz of freshman year caught wind of this, he’d spontaneously erupt on the spot. Freshman year Demetri would be so sad.
He looks over again. “Beautiful.” He doesn’t think the mock-mocking tone he’s pulling is fooling Robby, especially because he can hear his smile even in a single word. He wouldn’t want it to anyways. “Where do you get these lines, Keene? You treat all the babes like this?”
Robby’s lips quirk. “Only the special ones.” He leans in closer, impossibly closer, to stage whisper, “That just means you.”
“Sam will be offended. Tory’s gonna be pissed.”
“Please don’t talk about my ex-girlfriends when I’m trying to pull it together and kiss you.”
That gets Hawk to shut the fuck up.
It’s not just his imagination, then, the way Robby seems to sway forward, into his space. It’s definitely a conscious move for him, when he shifts his weight to press his thigh all the way against Robby’s, a line of burning contact that sends shivers up his body. He dips his head, swooping in for the kill.
An electronic chime rings out, shattering the moment like a soccer ball into a house of Legos. Hawk jerks back as Robby reaches into his pocket to silence the damned, insistent noise. When he meets Hawk’s eyes again, there’s regret.
“It’s Miguel. He and Sam are passing this way and wanted to know if I needed a ride home.”
“Oh.”
Hawk’s got his bike parked alone at the edge of the parking lot—his mom’s car being unavailable, hence Demetri bringing their skateboards in his—but he remembers then that Sensei Lawrence dropped Robby and Miguel off earlier in the afternoon. Robby’s gonna need that ride with Sam unless he wants to be walking back home in LA in the dark. Of course, he could ride with Hawk, but not a lot of their friends are even comfortable with that and who says that Robby would want to? That’s probably why he brought up Miguel’s offer, so Hawk wouldn’t make a fool out of himself asking Robby if he wants to ride back with him only for Robby to say no thanks in a kind, but guaranteed-to-be-awkward manner.
“I can tell him no,” Robby says, “Unless you wanna call it a day."
The words are out of his mouth before he knows he’s saying them. “No, I— I don’t wanna go home yet.”
That must’ve been the right answer because Robby smiles and God, Hawk used to covet every one of Robby’s happy little twists of his lips, but it’s even better now when it’s just for him and Robby’s giving them so freely.
“I don’t either.” He holds up his phone. “I gotta call my dad though because he’ll worry if I don’t.” He makes a face like this is weird and embarrassing to him, but he’s secretly pleased. “When I’m done I expect to see perfect backside carving.” He turns, phone already raised and Hawk grins dopily at his back as he grabs for his board.
He skates a few more lines as he listens to Robby’s voice bounce around the empty park. He’s so consumed by skating—feeling every little movement of the board under his feet, slicing through those last few patches of golden sunlight among the evening shadows—that he doesn’t even notice when the call ends, only knows it when he looks up to see Robby standing right at the edge of the bowl, watching him. He’s got a look in his eye that makes Hawk nearly eat it as he pumps around a corner. He’s smirking. Hawk steels himself and redirects his line. Robby sees him coming and his mouth curves to say bring it. The wheels grind against the cement as Hawk gets closer and closer and closer, up the side, bracing himself until he pops, but never lands.
Robby plucks him from the air, using Hawk’s momentum to spin them and press him back towards the fence. The skateboard clatters to the bottom of the concrete bowl. Neither of them notice. Strike first.
The fence rattles from the jolt, but Hawk doesn’t even feel it with Robby’s hands firm on his waist and back. He looks down into green eyes. The air leaves his chest in one heated breath. Strike hard.
Robby’s lips close over his. No mercy.