𝐑𝐈𝐁𝐒, robby keene

chapter fourteen, traditions

— chapter fourteen, traditions!

BOWIE WASN'T MUCH feeling staying in the house, today of all days. His dad was home and drunk and miserable; Freddie, of course, wasn't home, and Bowie was just miserable. And Robby, he was at Miyagi-Do, as he had been most days that summer.

The house was a mess. He hadn't been feeling particularly up to cleaning up after his father the past week. Beer bottles littered the counter tops, lids cluttering in little piles along the floor. Cushions from the couches in the living room were displaced, pictures weren't hanging level on the walls, and despite the general ruckus, the house felt empty. But it could wait another day.

Bowie's car was gone. A woman with purple dreadlocks came to pick it up from Oregon last week. He hadn't even gotten to take it out for one last drive, just followed it for half a mile out on his skateboard before diverting to the dojo to work out his anger.

He desperately needed a summer job, too. Without any savings, things weren't looking too great for Bowie a couple months down the line, let alone for college. But it was nothing that couldn't be worked through in a couple of hours in the dojo, enough to get his focus back so he could go job hunting and get back on his feet, get the house back in order, and stop feeling so overwhelmed and astonishingly alone. But not today; today, Bowie needed to go buy some flowers.

Elodie Woods was buried in a catholic parish a twenty minute walk from where Bowie had grown up. They probably should have visited more than they did, but it was complicated, as were many things about Bowie's family. A bouquet of pink tulips already occupied the grass growing up towards the headstone, contrasting with the yellow ones he placed there with a gentle sigh, tracing over the letters of his own surname, etched into the rock. This part of the day, Bowie always did alone, but normally a text from Robby wasn't too far behind. He could wait it out at the dojo, work out for a couple of extra hours. It wouldn't cause any harm.

Red Tigers dojo was empty when he arrived, but it was early on a Saturday morning. The next class wasn't for another twenty four hours or so. Using the key Matt had given him when he was fourteen, Bowie let himself in, propping his skateboard up against the wall and flicking on the lights one by one. The kickpads were propped up by the shelf, the syllabuses pinned along the walls, and the office door was left open. Bowie stepped inside.

Sensei Blakeway's desk was piled with paperwork. Grading forms, updated syllabuses, insurance policies, and a sheet of paper Bowie hadn't seen before, lacking a signature. He was too nosy not to read it, stepping forwards and taking the letter between his fingers. It was a finalisation on raised rent, agreeing a price higher than Red Tigers was going to be able to afford, even with the new students that they didn't get following Bowie's defeat at the All Valley. His stomach sank further than he thought possible, fingertips clutching the paper hard enough for Sensei Blakeway to know that he had been there.

He jumped, peering around the door of the office as the letterbox clattered closed. A Cobra Kai leaflet fluttered to the floor. His phone rang in his back pocket, and he sprung to answer it.