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“See you all after New Year’s!” Daniel calls to the last of the kids straggling outside the dojo. “Everyone be safe! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“Jesus LaRusso, that’s like making them take a vow of abstinence or some shit,” Johnny snorts. “I better hear one badass story from each of you when you come back. That means you too, Alexopoulos,” he adds, at Demetri’s signature skeptical glare.
Daniel sighs. “Johnny—”
“Besides, don’t let the stuffy tracksuits fool you. I’ve seen LaRusso take on an entire hockey team by himself. Dude’s more badass than he thinks.”
“Johnny, you…” Daniel sputters, pinching the bridge of his nose. He opens his mouth to argue, but upon looking Johnny over, he softens—or at least resigns—snapping his jaw shut in some kind of holiday miracle. Johnny tries not to feel too smug about it. “Never mind. Happy holidays, everyone. Be safe, badass or not,” he emphasizes, with a not-so-subtle look in Johnny’s direction.
The kids mumble a chorus of affirmations and goodbyes as they scatter toward their rides, some cheerful, some wary, like they’re still afraid Daniel and Johnny being together in close proximity for any extended period of time will result in flames. Not that Johnny blames them. Merging the dojos at first was like trying to mix oil and water—or so Daniel says, with all his Italian know-it-all cooking expertise. But now that they’ve settled into a routine and discovered they have more in common than not, it looks like they’ve finally got something boiling.
Once the kids are gone, Johnny heads back into the garden to help Daniel clean up. Clean up duty had been one of their major sources of conflict when they first teamed up, but now they’ve got it down to a science: Johnny collects discarded water bottles, Daniel gets hair ties and headbands. They move around each other with a practiced ease, the air between them oddly familiar after years of hostility.
It's weird—Johnny’s found that the more he works with Daniel, the less he minds being around him. He always thought it’d be the opposite. Hell, if you told his teenage self he had to spend the better part of his weekdays with Daniel LaRusso and his smarmy grin and cocky attitude, he’d punch the lights out of you. And don’t get him wrong, Daniel still gets on his last nerve a good portion of the time. But somehow, he’s come to almost…enjoy his presence. Not that he’d ever admit it.
“So, you got any plans?” Daniel asks, breaking the quiet hum of Johnny’s thoughts, because he can never let silence linger for longer than thirty seconds before the words spill out of his mouth like a dam bursting. Johnny doesn’t find it nearly as annoying as he should.
“Plans?”
“For the holidays,” Daniel elaborates, turning to glance at him, eyes sparkling with genuine interest. “You doing anything?”
Johnny shrugs. Truth be told, he hasn’t thought much about it. His mom died right before Christmas, and ever since, the holidays have been kind of marred for him, a reminder of loss that sends him spiraling if he views them as anything more than a changing of the seasons. Honestly, he can’t remember the last time he did celebrate—Rosa sent over some food last year, but after he and Carmen called it quits, he doesn’t feel like infringing on their family time.
Although, things with Robby have been looking up lately, so he’s sure he’ll see him eventually—he should probably talk to Shannon to figure that out—but other than that, he hasn’t really thought about it. Festive isn’t really his speed.
“Not really,” he admits. “Probably gonna see Robby at some point, but he’s still staying with Shannon, so.”
Daniel’s expression drops. “Oh. That’s too bad.”
“It’s whatever,” Johnny says, though the hollowness in his chest twinges beneath Daniel’s gaze, an itch he can’t begin to understand. “What about you? Sure you’ve got a calendar full of country club parties and shit.”
“Nah. Those were really more Amanda’s thing—you know my history with country clubs,” Daniel says, lip quirking into a small smile. “Honestly? Not much. The kids are going to Ohio with Amanda to visit her mom, so I’m not gonna see them until Christmas Day. And my ma’s not flying out ‘til New Year’s this year,” he explains. “Louie invited me to some party he’s hosting, but to be honest, I think I’d rather stay home than subject myself to all…that.”
“What, afraid he might drink a few too many and take a lighter to your Audi?” Johnny asks, smirking at Daniel’s exasperated expression.
“Sorry to tell you, but I’m pretty sure arson is specially reserved for you,” he chuffs, amused. He leans against the fence with a sigh. “But yeah, I actually don’t have many plans. I guess it’ll be nice to have a quiet Christmas for once.”
Johnny feels that same strange tug deep in his chest. “Yeah. I guess.”
He meets Daniel’s gaze for a second, eyes soft, tired. Silence settles between them, uncomfortable but not unusual. Daniel hasn’t talked much about the divorce, and Johnny hasn’t talked much about Robby or Carmen; as close as they’ve gotten, they haven’t really delved into the deep stuff yet. But there’s a bond there, a shared understanding that the year hasn’t been easy for either of them. As different as they are, when Daniel looks at him, Johnny feels like he really sees him—like even though their situations are different, there’s someone out there who understands just a bit of what he’s going through. And he’s never really felt that before.
Johnny feels like he understands Daniel pretty well too—he’s gotten pretty good at reading him. Still, he’s lost as to what’s going through his mind half the time; more than once, he’s found himself wondering whether or not his thoughts are as sporadic and annoyingly cheerful as the things that come out of his mouth.
“Hey, Amanda and I had this tradition,” Daniel says out of nowhere. His face lights up, enthusiastic but in an almost shy way: a budding hope restrained out of caution. “Weekend before Christmas, my ma would take the kids and we’d cook dinner, then stay up all night wrapping the kids’ presents. Sometimes we’d watch a movie or something afterward.”
Johnny blinks, mind struggling to connect the dots. Sometimes it takes him a bit to catch up to Daniel’s rapid thoughts. “What’s this all got to do with me?”
Johnny expects Daniel’s usual huff of exasperation at having to explain himself, but it doesn’t come. If he was shy before, now he turns downright bashful, so uncharacteristic it’s almost amusing. There’s a redness in his cheeks that Johnny swears wasn’t there before.
“Do you wanna come over for dinner this weekend? Maybe wrap a couple presents?” He asks, the words tumbling from his lips fast but precise, like he’s burning to get them out but wants to make sure he gets them right. “Since we’re both gonna be alone and everything.”
Johnny mulls it over. It’s been a long time since he saw the holidays as anything other than a necessary evil to endure. Spending them with Daniel LaRusso of all people, when this strange civility between them is still so new, could end in disaster. Part of him wonders if the offer is even genuine, but he knows that regardless, it took a lot for Daniel to even ask. Besides, it’s not like he has any other plans—part of him actually thinks it’d be nice to do something other than mope on his couch and fight the urge to rip the stereo out of his car if they play “Sleigh Ride” one more fucking time. Maybe he needs a change.
And when he takes in the tired gleam in Daniel’s eyes, the stubble that seems to be becoming a permanent fixture on his face, Johnny thinks that maybe he needs it too.
He shrugs. “Fine. But just so you know, I don’t know shit about wrapping presents.”
Daniel grins. “Believe me, I know.”
Two days later, Johnny finds himself hovering on the doorstep of Daniel’s new apartment, six-pack of Coors in hand and regretting all his life choices. He almost turns on his heel and retreats back to the van. This—spending Christmas weekend with Daniel, wrapping presents and doing whatever other holiday bullshit he’s got up his sleeve—feels almost too personal. Too intimate. Too much like a date, the unhelpful part of his mind supplies, though he’s found that voice to be a lot louder lately. Not to mention his decades-old disquiet with the holidays as a whole.
But as the door swings open, Johnny finds that his discomfort is more than worth it.
“Hey, you made it,” Daniel says, beaming, voice so full of genuine excitement that it almost gives Johnny pause, but his attention is diverted by Daniel’s current state of dress. He snorts.
“What’re you wearing?” He quips, reaching out a hand to poke at the frilly fabric near Daniel’s hip. “Is that an apron?”
“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” Daniel placates, not amused; a little tired, almost like he expected it. “My ma sent me this sweater and she’ll kill me if I get it dirty.”
“So take it off?” Johnny questions, smirking when Daniel huffs in indignation; all these years, and still so easy to provoke. “Don’t tell me you’re still scared of your mommy, LaRusso.”
“Right, like you wouldn’t be scared of her,” Daniel retorts, nonplussed. “Besides, I can’t—it’s the only red thing I have. Wanted to be festive,” he explains. It’s then that Johnny notices how the color stands out against his skin, such a departure from his endless rotation of blues and grays that it’s even more striking. It makes him feel…something. “A memo you clearly didn’t get,” Daniel continues, amused. “Should’ve known you’re not the festive type.”
Johnny frowns, never one for being called unprepared. “Hey, there’s red in this,” he insists, tugging at the hem of his worn flannel. “Thing was covered in bloodstains before I finally bleached most of them out.”
Daniel’s face contorts into something equal parts stunned and horrified. “Please tell me the blood was yours,” he starts, then sighs, resigned. Johnny’s lip twitches. Point, Lawrence. “Actually, you know what? Don’t answer that. I don’t even wanna know.”
“Fine.” Johnny shrugs. He steps inside when Daniel opens the door wider. “Hey, what gives? It’s not even Christmas Eve yet, Newark. You’ve got plenty of time to get all your hyper ‘festive’ energy out. Preferably when I’m not around.”
Daniel narrows his eyes. “It’s Christmas Eve Eve,” he drawls, one hand on his hip like some kind of patronizing mother. Johnny represses a groan; God, he’s one of those. “And you can be a Scrooge all you want, but just…can we try not to kill each other? For the holidays?”
Johnny starts to fire back a retort, to fan the flames of their bickering even further, but there’s something in Daniel’s tired gaze—a tentative hope—that makes him pause. And something, buried further still, but just on the brink of surfacing, that makes him want to enjoy this. So maybe he can.
“Where’s the fun in that?” He teases, but he can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips. Daniel smiles back and shuts the door behind them.
Inside, they hover in awkward silence around the small kitchen table while they wait for dinner to finish cooking. Johnny’s got no clue what it is, but it smells fucking delicious—figures. LaRusso’s always been infuriatingly good at everything.
Johnny cracks open a beer and, after only a moment’s hesitation that seems to be more performative than spiteful, Daniel takes one as well. Johnny flicks the cap at him in retaliation, but Daniel catches it without so much as a blink, a smug little grin on his face that makes Johnny’s eyes roll but cuts clean through the tension in the room. The familiar air of competition between them fades into something warm and fond in a weird, domestic sort of way Johnny’s never felt before.
“I like the new place,” he says, eyeing the space around them. It’s nice, a lot smaller than what he’s sure Daniel’s used to but a hell of a lot nicer than anything he’d ever be able to afford. And it’s…neat. Not quite finished yet, a couple of empty spaces likely reserved for some overpriced, special-ordered furniture, but it’s tidy. Homey, he recalls from one of those design shows Chozen talked him into watching last time he was in town—he could only take so many episodes of 90 Day Fiancé.
The apartment is open, organized, but full of unmistakable signs that Daniel lives there: bonsai on the coffee table, photos of the kids on the walls, expensive-looking trinkets he’s sure are souvenirs from Okinawa and wherever else Daniel ended up after high school. The place suits him. Johnny’s not sure why that’s his biggest takeaway from it all, and even more unsure why it has him fighting back a blush.
“Thanks,” Daniel says, a hint of something bashful in his tone. “It’s weird living alone after so long. I mean, I’m not alone—the kids stay over pretty often. But it’s been a while since I’ve had so much space to myself.” He huffs out a small laugh. “To be honest, I don’t even know what to do with it. Haven’t even bought furniture yet, except for a bed. Everything else is stuff I already had in storage.”
Johnny smirks. “You mean you couldn’t talk the Furniture King into cutting you a deal?”
“After all the shit I dragged him into?” Daniel laughs. “Pretty sure I’m permanently banned, truce or not.”
“Right, like that’d stop you.” Johnny raises an eyebrow, takes a sip of beer. “One thing about you, LaRusso—you don’t back down. Pretty badass if you ask me.”
Daniel’s gaze turns shy and fond. He bites his bottom lip. “Thanks, John,” he says quietly. His expression shifts, the joking atmosphere between them settling into something more serious. “For everything. All the stuff with Silver, and Cobra Kai, I just…thanks for putting up with me. I know I wasn’t the easiest to deal with.”
The words are so genuine, so sincere, that something deep in Johnny’s chest shakes loose. Part of him is honestly stunned: like Daniel even needs to apologize. Like any of it would’ve happened if Johnny had just left Pandora in her fucking box in the first place. If anyone should be apologizing, it’s him, but something tells him that Daniel needs this. So he steps closer, letting himself meet Daniel’s gaze, and his breath catches at the intensity there. He swallows.
“It’s no big deal, man,” he assures. When Daniel still looks wary, he adds: “Besides, you’ve never been the easiest to deal with. It’s nothing new.”
“Oh shut up, will you?” Daniel grouses, swatting his arm playfully. His eyes crinkle, gleaming all warm and affectionate, and Johnny’s throat goes dry. “You’re not the easiest to work with either, you know? Maybe that’s why we make such a good team.”
Johnny smiles, feeling a pang deep in his chest. Tension simmers in the air between them, different than the kind that’s marked their relationship for so long: none of that frenzied fire and frantic competition, but low-burning and fervent in its intensity. Daniel’s dark eyes hold his own. “Maybe.”
In the warm glow of the kitchen, Daniel’s skin gleams tan and soft. His breath is warm against Johnny’s cheek, brown eyes wide and endless, lashes so damn long Johnny thinks he could count them if he stared long enough. His lips are soft, plush, as he toys at them with his teeth. Johnny can’t help but stare. Close—they’re so close. It’d be so easy to just…
The timer on the oven dings behind them, wrenching them from the strange, tense atmosphere that’s settled over them. Daniel steps back, but the lack of closeness doesn’t ease the strange feeling beginning to build in Johnny’s stomach; if anything, it escalates as the distance stretches between them. He wants to be closer. He wants to…
What the fuck?
“Hungry?” Daniel quips, eyes still trained on Johnny’s.
Johnny almost chokes on his own breath. He blinks, hopelessly confused but trying not to show it as Daniel studies him. “What?”
“Food’s ready,” Daniel says, head cocked toward the oven. His gaze is amused, curious. “You hungry?”
Right. That makes sense. He wrenches himself from his daze, grounding himself in the present. They’re here, at Daniel’s apartment, having dinner. That’s all. No need for his brain to get all weird on him.
Besides, it’s probably nothing. Just his mind playing tricks on him. Or, more likely, he just needs to get laid. Daniel just happens to be…here. That’s gotta be it. Still, he takes another sip of beer just to be safe.
He nods. “Yeah.” He swallows, throat working weakly, ignoring the strange look Daniel gives him. “Yeah, let’s eat.”
Dinner passes mostly without incident, save for the weird, warm, fuzzy feeling brewing in Johnny’s chest whenever Daniel smiles at him. He tries not to linger on it too much. They chat about random shit as they eat, settling into a comfortable rhythm of conversation.
“You mean you’ve never had chicken cacciatore before?” Daniel questions afterward, almost sympathetic.
“You kidding?” Johnny shakes his head. “Never had anything this good. I tried chicken…something from Domino’s once. Wasn’t too bad.”
Daniel’s expression turns scandalized. “Don’t ever let my ma hear you say that. She takes it as a personal offense.”
“Right, like she’s the only one,” Johnny laughs. “You need to work on hiding your facial expressions, LaRusso.”
“Hey, leave me alone. I’m Italian. Pasta’s our love language,” Daniel chides. His cheeks go red and he bites his lip, and Johnny feels his own face burn as he tries not to dwell on the word love.
God, he really needs to get laid.
“C’mon,” Daniel says, providing a break in the awkward silence for which Johnny is eternally grateful. He smiles, bright and impish, as he stands from the table and claps him on the shoulder. “Let’s wrap some presents.”
When Johnny agreed to come over, he hadn’t understood the depth of what he was committing to. But as he watches Daniel haul in a box full of wrapping paper and bags and ribbon and God knows what else, he can’t help but feel that he’s in way over his head. He stares blankly as Daniel starts spreading stuff out on the now-cleared kitchen table, hands useless at his sides.
“Hey, don’t give me that look,” Daniel chides, eyes narrowing. “What is it?”
“Nothing. Just…can’t buy furniture, but you somehow have all this?” Johnny gestures vaguely. “Where’d you even get all this shit?”
“I have my ways,” Daniel grins, clearly amused at Johnny’s befuddlement. “Most of it I’ve been saving for years. Wrapping gifts is kind of my thing.”
Of course it is, Johnny thinks wryly. Like the guy needs another thing to be good at—like he isn’t already better than Johnny on so many levels. He wants to be bitter, but mostly he just feels inadequate—not to mention out of place. He hasn’t even figured out what he’s doing with his own kid for the holidays, yet here’s Daniel asking him to help wrap gifts for his. It feels weird, and not in a badass way. More of a tiptoeing-around-something-domestic-and-intimate-with-your-childhood-karate-rival-while-pointedly-ignoring-it kind of way.
“You’re sure you want me to help you with this?” He asks, anxiety bubbling low in his stomach, all the while Daniel flips through a book of nametags and fucking hums like Snow White sorting through a pile of laundry or some shit. “It’s not really my…thing. Plus isn’t it weird, me wrapping stuff for your kids?”
Daniel huffs, waving a hand: a nonchalant yeah, yeah, clear through the gesture. “It’s only weird if you make it weird,” he insists. The knot in Johnny’s chest loosens. “I really don’t mind. Now help me out, will you? There’s a box in the hall closet—should have most of the kids’ gifts in it.”
Reassured by Daniel’s confidence, Johnny wanders down the hall to retrieve said box. Maybe he’s right—maybe Johnny’s the one making it weird. It wouldn’t be the first time. Still, he can’t shake the feeling that he and Daniel are growing closer, reaching into untapped territory and venturing into something…new. But maybe it’s just his stomach—he did eat a lot of that pasta.
After fetching the box, crammed more full of gadgets and gifts than Johnny thinks he’s ever owned in his life, he gets a closer look at the living room. Not only is the apartment sparsely furnished, but there’s not much in the way of Christmas decorations, especially given Daniel’s obvious affinity for the holidays. Aside from a small tree tucked into the corner with a few scattered ornaments, there’s nothing to give the place the festive energy that Daniel so desperately craves. Johnny frowns, a strange sinking feeling settling in his stomach.
“Good, you found it.” Daniel beams, sidling up next to him to slip the box from his hands. He catches Johnny staring at the tree and squints. “What is it?”
He shrugs. “Nothing. Just figured it’d be more festive in here, LaRusso.”
Daniel smiles, small and bashful. “Yeah? You and me both. Just haven’t had much time for decorating lately,” he says, sitting the box on the kitchen table. He tries to deflect, but there’s a heaviness in his shoulders that makes Johnny realize there’s more troubling him than he lets on. He sounds…somber. Numb. Too down for someone normally so full of sunshine and positivity. Johnny doesn’t know why it bothers him so much.
“Can’t have that, can we?” He quips, smirking at Daniel’s bemused expression. He rifles through Daniel’s hodge podge of wrapping supplies, a familiar satisfaction washing over him when Daniel chastises him for making a mess, until he finds a bow and plucks it from the box. Crossing back into the living room, he carefully places it atop the bonsai in the center of the coffee table, moving with more gentleness than normal.
He looks back at Daniel and grins, smug, satisfied. “There. Festive.”
Daniel’s expression softens, eyes gentle and almost tender as they fixate on Johnny. He smiles, crooked and genuine, and something deep in his chest flip-flops. “Didn’t know you had it in you, Lawrence.”
Johnny flicks him on the shoulder and heads back toward the kitchen, Daniel in tow. “Maybe you just underestimate me.”
Daniel grins. “You? Never.”
“Okay, this isn’t working,” Johnny huffs, glaring at the excessive tape wrapped around his hands like a Chinese finger trap. So far Daniel’s wrapped three things and he’s barely started on one, and though he doesn’t say anything, Johnny knows the guy is feeling way too damn smug about it.
Daniel takes one look at him and bursts into hysterical laughter. “How’d you even do that?”
“Told you this isn’t my thing,” Johnny grouses, flicking a scrap of paper at him when he manages to free himself. “What ever happened to bags? Good, old-fashioned, All-American gift bags.”
“Aww, is someone scared of the big bad wrapping paper?” Daniel teases. He lays another gift to the side, pristinely wrapped and topped with perfectly curled ribbon. Johnny groans. How does the little fucker make it look so easy?
“I’m not scared, Newark.” Johnny glares at him, taking a sip of beer. “I’m annoyed. I think this stuff is out to get me. Can’t get it to lay flat. And why does it keep tearing?”
“C’mon, it can’t be that bad,” Daniel says. He stands and walks around to Johnny’s side of the table to get a closer look, peering over his shoulder. “Okay, yeah, that’s um…that’s pretty bad,” he concedes, an apologetic smile on his face. “It’s okay. You can’t be a black belt at everything right away.”
Johnny glares at him. “Don’t you dare call me a white belt, LaRusso.”
“I’m not!” Daniel assures. He smiles, all gentle and fond, eyes crinkling at the corners. “You just need practice. It’s all about the technique. Let me help you.”
Johnny’s eyes narrow in suspicion. “Technique? Sure you’re not just tricking me into doing your chores again?”
“Please. If I was, you wouldn’t even know it. That’s how good I am.” Daniel smirks.
“Right,” Johnny drawls. Before he can argue further, Daniel moves forward to stand close behind him, his body a warm presence against his back. He leans in to grasp Johnny’s hands in his, smooth against the calloused pads of Johnny’s fingertips.
“Hey, what the—” Johnny starts, but he cranes his neck to meet Daniel’s eyes and the words die in his throat. His gaze is sharp, intent, cheeks tinged the faintest shade of red Johnny would never notice if they weren’t so close. Johnny feels that weird feeling that’s been simmering low in his belly all evening start to rise to a boil.
“Shh. It’s simple, really.” Johnny’s hands still in his, he lifts the package—some book Sam wanted—and frees it of Johnny’s pathetic attempts at wrapping. Then he rolls out a stretch of paper across the table and sits the book on top. Johnny watches, useless, hands practically limp as Daniel maneuvers him around like a puppet: a feeling he should hate. So why does it have his breaths coming in quick, labored spurts?
“Lay it face down, then cut off just enough paper so you can fold it across both sides evenly. The right kind of scissors should slide right through.” He demonstrates, the woosh of the scissors slicing through paper loud in the charged atmosphere of the kitchen.
“Good.” Daniel hums in satisfaction. The validation makes Johnny’s chest feel strangely…warm? “Now, fold the paper across both sides so that they meet in the middle and tape it shut.”
He does so with ease, so fast and lacking issue that it makes Johnny’s earlier measly attempts look pathetic. “There we go. Good. Now we just need to do the ends.”
He continues to walk Johnny through the steps, an endless stream of commentary and advice spilling from his lips. He’s so much like his teenage self in this moment—so cocksure, so chatty, so eager. But unlike back then, Daniel’s chatter doesn’t make Johnny’s skin crawl with the urge to punch the breath out of him. On the contrary, Johnny finds himself overwhelmed with a fondness and affection that he's finally beginning to see clearly. All the strange things he’s been feeling all night—really, since Daniel came back into his life that fateful day at the dealership—slot into place like puzzle pieces, and he finds himself unable to ignore them any longer.
And as the pieces fall into place, he can’t help but wonder if this fondness, this…tenderness, is what he was feeling all along.
“Some people try to be all strict about it and say you’re only supposed to use three pieces of tape or whatever, but that’s a bunch of bullshit if you ask me. You don’t want it to fall apart. And besides, it’s pretty fun watching them struggle to open it,” Daniel rambles, but Johnny finds his attention diverted by the heat of Daniel’s breath on his neck and the smile lines in the corners of his eyes and the tiny flecks of amber in his brown eyes that he’s never noticed before but now can’t not notice, some forbidden knowledge finally granted him that he can never again forget, but will never want to, not when it’s so sweet. Daniel’s lips are soft, slightly parted, and Johnny wants to taste them. He wants to know that softness more deeply than anything he’s ever known.
Distantly, he hears something, like the muffled sound of his mom calling his name when he’d blast REO Speedwagon on his Walkman and try to drown out the world. But unlike then, this sound sharpens, becoming more defined as time goes on, until finally it registers: “Johnny?”
He blinks from his daze to find Daniel watching him, curious and intent. “Huh?”
Daniel’s eyes flicker, amused. “All done. Want to try one on your own now?”
Johnny looks down at the table. The gift is done, wrapping paper tucked around it neater and more pristine than he could ever manage on his own. He perks up. “Hey, it looks…good.”
“It does,” Daniel agrees with a grin. He nudges his elbow, careful, familiar. “Not too bad, Lawrence.”
Daniel’s face does that crinkly thing again, eyes all fond and soft and proud as they meet Johnny’s, and for a heartbeat, Johnny almost feels like he’s not in this alone. That this weird, warm, unstoppable force brewing in him is requited—that Daniel feels it just as much as he does.
Daniel lets go of his hands, turning to grab another gift from the pile, and Johnny’s stomach drops at the absence of his touch. But the warmth lingers, the heat, and Johnny finds his body thrumming with a terrifying, euphoric charge as Daniel passes him another box to wrap.
He tries, but he can’t quite recreate Daniel’s expert craftsmanship—not that he ever stood a chance. But instead of gloating or giving him one of those disapproving looks he’s come to know so well, Daniel just smiles and passes him a stack of bags, tissue paper, and odd-shaped things that have no hope of being wrapped in paper.
“Okay, so maybe ‘All-American’ gift bags are more your speed,” Daniel says lightly, eyeing Johnny’s attempted wrapping job with something fond and tender. “Though I will say, I admire the effort. It’s…charming.”
Johnny stares at the table and very pointedly ignores the heat rising to his cheeks. “Shut it, LaRusso.”
Daniel laughs, light, genuine, and they settle into a comfortable silence.
So apparently Johnny maybe, possibly, definitely has a thing for Daniel LaRusso. He thinks maybe a part of him has all along. But that knowledge is too powerful, too earth-shattering, so he just…tries not to think about it. Even though it’s getting harder and harder to ignore.
They spend hours wrapping Daniel’s pile of gifts for the kids, sipping beer and chatting idly to pass the time as the sun fades behind the horizon through the apartment’s small windows. And it’s…nice. Johnny’s never been one for this kind of mundane, domestic shit, but passing the time with Daniel by his side doesn’t feel mundane at all. On the contrary, Johnny would give anything to slow down time so that he could savor these soft, easy moments, this hazy space in which nothing exists but him and Daniel.
But it feels all too soon that Daniel ties a bow around the last package and places it to the side, settling on top of the pile with a note of finality.
“Well, I guess that’s it,” Daniel says brightly, though there’s something hollow in his tone that Johnny can’t place. “Thanks for helping, John. Don’t know how long it would’ve taken me on my own.”
“Please. ‘S not like I was much help.”
“Oh c’mon, you were tons of help,” he insists, nudging his arm. The silence lingers a bit while Johnny eyes the door, knowing that he should probably get going but dreading it with every fiber of his being. The reluctance must be evident on his face—or maybe Daniel feels it too—because he lightens up and smiles at Johnny. “Hey, do you wanna watch a Christmas movie or something?”
Johnny blinks. “What?”
Daniel’s gaze turns almost bashful. He shakes his head. “It’s fine if not. I’m sure you’ve got stuff to do.” Any hope that had crept into his tone dwindles, and Johnny can’t stand it. Besides, it’s not like he has anything better to do—and if he did, he thinks he’d still pick staying with Daniel over all of it.
God, how did he just now realize how fucking gone he is for this guy?
“Hell yeah,” he says, Daniel’s responding smile lighting him up from the inside out. “You got Die Hard?”
“I still don’t think this is a Christmas movie,” Daniel grouses for the fifth time as he fiddles with his fancy remote, the Die Hard opening credits playing across the screen.
Johnny passes him another Banquet as he settles next to him on the threadbare couch, flicking his own bottle cap at him. “C’mon, don’t give me that shit. It takes place on Christmas Eve. Nakatomi Plaza Christmas Eve Party. Learn your facts, LaRusso.”
“I know my facts, Johnny,” Daniel insists, somehow catching the cap without so much as a glance in Johnny’s direction. Johnny huffs in annoyance; Daniel grins smugly. “Just cause it takes place on Christmas doesn’t make it a Christmas movie.”
“Fine. You got any better suggestions? Those cartoons with the creepy ass clay people more your speed?”
“Jesus,” Daniel sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine. It’s a Christmas movie. Will you shut up now?”
“Nah.”
Daniel groans and turns his attention back to the movie, but Johnny swears there’s a smile on his lips.
Later, on screen, Hans Gruber examines the writing on Tony’s sweater, drawling: “Now I have a machine gun. Ho ho ho.” Johnny gives Daniel a pointed look.
Daniel flounders. “Okay, yeah, yeah, it’s Christmasy, I get it now. You don’t have to point it out every time,” he huffs, cheeks flushed and eyes slightly more dilated than normal. They’re both on just this side of tipsy, not quite drunk but not sober either: that weird in-between where everything’s a little hazy but none of your normal hang-ups and inhibitions seem to matter. For Johnny, that usually manifests in an elevated recklessness. Daniel, on the other hand, just seems to lose his filter. Johnny doesn’t think he’s heard the guy talk this much since high school.
“Man, I remember when this movie came out,” he says, wistful. “I went back to Jersey for the summer to visit family, and Louie dragged me and some of our other cousins to see it. It was all he talked about for the next month. Dude was convinced he was gonna become some badass cop who got to blow up stuff.”
Johnny snorts. “You know, that…explains a lot about him, actually.”
“You’re tellin’ me.” Daniel grins. He takes a sip of beer and fidgets with the bottle.
“I saw it with the guys—most of them, anyway,” Johnny starts. “I think Bobby was off doing some missionary crap to get into priest school.”
Daniel’s brow furrows. “You mean seminary?”
“Yeah, whatever,” Johnny concedes. “It was fun. Pretty sure it gave Dutch some of the wrong ideas though. Guy always took violence too far.”
Daniel frowns. “Yeah, he always seemed…extreme. Even by Cobra Kai standards.” He pauses, glancing back at the TV. “You know, before this movie came out, they had to take Bruce Willis’ picture off the posters to sell tickets cause people thought he was too scrawny to be an action hero?”
Johnny frowns. He waits for Daniel to call bullshit, but he doesn’t. He blinks at him, stunned. “Seriously?"
“Yeah.” Daniel shrugs. “They tried to put all the marketing focus onto the building instead. Said that he didn’t fit the image people were used to.”
“Bullshit,” Johnny huffs. “Proved them all wrong, right? I mean yeah, he’s pretty wimpy looking, but he’s a badass cop.” He’s quiet for a minute, but then the words spill out before he can stop them; funny, his filter seems to be faltering too. “Always reminded me of you.”
Daniel’s wide eyes soften, cheeks seeming to flush even redder in the dim glow of the TV. “Really?”
“Yeah,” Johnny admits—may as well run with it now. “The whole underdog thing. No one expected him to come out on top, but he did.” To lighten the tension, Johnny smirks: “Plus running around barefoot in all that broken glass and shit is definitely your speed.”
“Oh no way, that’s all you, Mr. Abandoned-Warehouse-Karate-Dojo,” Daniel protests. “Still think I need a tetanus shot from that place.”
“Relax, you survived,” Johnny laughs. “Be glad I didn’t throw you in a cement truck. The kids loved that.”
“You did what?!” Daniel exclaims, but Johnny just shushes him and watches as the movie plays on.
After the movie ends, they watch Die Hard 2, followed somewhat reluctantly on Johnny’s part by Die Hard With a Vengeance, which is decent but pushing the line. He downright refuses to watch the most recent ones, deeming anything made after the turn of the millennia as irrelevant. Daniel doesn’t seem to have much objection; he yawns, and upon glancing at the clock, Johnny realizes it’s almost 4 AM. Funny how so many hours can pass, but with Daniel it feels like no time at all.
“Jesus, I didn’t realize it was so late,” Daniel says, rubbing at his eyes.
“Me neither.” Johnny sits up from his slumped-over spot on the couch, looking around half-heartedly for his keys. “Guess I should get going.”
Daniel shoots him a look so confused and objectionable it’s almost adorable. “But it’s late?” He frowns, stating it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Besides, we’ve been drinking. You don’t need to drive.”
“I’m not that drunk, LaRusso,” he insists, though his mind’s a little fuzzier than before and he feels like he could sleep for a week and it still wouldn’t be enough. “I’ve driven through worse.”
Daniel’s expression turns into something equal parts crestfallen and patronizing. “And if you get into a fiery car crash, I’m going to have to live with the fact that I let you leave,” he contends, brooking no argument. His tired eyes gleam with intense emotion. “You’re not driving. End of story.”
“What are you, my mom?” Johnny huffs, though deep down a part of him is touched by Daniel’s overbearing concern. Few people have ever cared that much about him before, definitely not in recent years. The fact that Daniel cares so deeply warms him to the core, making him feel less alone in this thing building between them. Maybe Daniel cares more than he thought. Maybe he feels the same way.
Still, Johnny can’t bring himself to ask—or to broach the subject in the first place. Not when he barely understands his feelings himself.
“Fine, I’ll get an Uber then,” he tries weakly, though he can tell by Daniel’s steely expression that that’s a no go too. God, is he always this insufferable?
“No offense, but I really don’t trust you to Uber alone and make it there in one piece.”
Johnny scoffs. “I’ll have you know I used to drive an Uber—”
“And as glowing as your driver ratings were, I’m sure your rider ones would be even better,” Daniel says pointedly, raising an eyebrow. When Johnny scowls, Daniel softens, reaching over to squeeze his arm. “Stay. Just for the night. It’s no big deal, I promise.”
His voice is so soft, laced with sincerity, and Johnny feels a tug deep in his chest compelling him to listen, to stay, to do anything in the whole damn world Daniel asks of him. He sighs, resigning himself. It’s just one night. It doesn’t have to mean anything—even if part of him wants it to.
“Fine. But only because I hear you make some mean pancakes for breakfast.” Daniel laughs, and Johnny feels himself loosen up, a smile tugging at his lips. He glances around and pauses, remembering their earlier conversation. “Wait, do you even have a spare bedroom set up yet?”
Daniel blanches. “Shit.” He scratches the back of his neck, tired eyes flitting around the room like an extra bed will materialize if he wills it to. “Didn’t even think about that. The kids have been using air mattresses when they stay over, but…” He wanders over to the hall closet to inspect its contents, frowning. “Yeah, they didn’t leave them. Took them home for some kind of sleepover.”
“It’s fine, man,” Johnny interjects. “I can just sleep on the couch.”
Daniel frowns. “I’m not making you sleep on the couch on Christmas Eve.”
“Thought it was Christmas Eve Eve?” Johnny says pointedly.
Daniel rolls his eyes. “Same difference.” He frowns, glaring at the couch like it killed his best friend. “Besides, that thing’s old as the hills. I’m only using it til I can get something new, but—”
“You pissed off the Furniture King,” Johnny teases, trying to diffuse the tension.
Daniel’s gaze flattens. “Would you quit saying it like that? He’s not actual royalty.”
“Nah, I liked that guy. Made me feel validated for all those years I spent kicking your scrawny ass.” Johnny nudges his elbow.
“Yeah, yeah,” Daniel drawls, unimpressed. “Look, I’m not letting you sleep on that couch. I just…” He looks down, mulling it over as Johnny watches in wary silence. Finally, his eyes flicker, that dangerous, eager expression that’s haunted Johnny for the better part of thirty years. He hesitates, tentative, hopeful. “I mean, my bed’s plenty big enough—”
“Uh uh. No fucking way. Not gonna happen, Newark.”
“Would you hear me out?” Daniel sighs impatiently, like he hasn’t just sent Johnny reeling with one little suggestion. “C’mon, it’s just one night. It won’t be weird,” he insists, but Johnny’s not hearing it. Spending the night is one thing, but sleeping in the same bed is too much, especially given the…revelations Johnny’s had about himself tonight. It’s too personal. Too intimate. Too…real. Daniel has to understand that.
“It’s really fucking weird. I can just sleep on the couch.”
“Don’t tell me your back doesn’t hurt from sitting on that couch all night. Sleeping on it’s even worse.” Daniel frowns, stepping closer, eyes warm and tender. Johnny shoves the flurry of emotions in his chest down, down, down. “Please? I promise it won’t be weird. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”
And that’s just it—maybe Johnny wants it to. Maybe he wants it to mean everything. But Daniel can’t possibly understand that, not when Johnny barely understands it himself. So maybe he’ll just have to take what he can get.
And maybe he’s a little too tired, or a little too drunk, although his mind is remarkably clear as Daniel watches him, expectant, but it doesn’t seem like the worst idea. That couch was uncomfortable. And if Daniel’s offering…
He swallows thickly, willing his nerves not to show. “Not a fucking word about this, okay? To anyone.”
Daniel smiles, but for a second, Johnny swears he sees a flicker of regret in his eyes. “Not a word. Promise.”
When Johnny wakes sometime late the next morning, the first thing he registers is warmth: firm, unyielding, slightly sweltering warmth.
He blinks awake slowly, the details of the night before sharpening into focus as he takes in his surroundings. Daniel’s room is small but cozy, the bed so comfortable that what should be a pounding headache from one too many beers is lessened to a dull throb. He sighs and sinks back against the pillows, shifting just so that he can glance over at Daniel without disturbing him. It’s then that he realizes the warmth for what it is, and something deep in his chest trembles.
Truth be told, going to bed hadn’t been much of an event. After their initial debate and the slight hesitance on Johnny’s part, they’d both fallen asleep pretty much as as soon as their heads hit the pillows, each clinging so far to the opposite side of the mattress in a manner that’d be almost comical if Johnny wasn’t actively suffering with every hot puff of Daniel’s breath in his ear.
But sometime in the night, Daniel must have shifted, because his body is a hard line against Johnny’s, pressed tight to his side, one arm slung over his waist protectively—an unintentional reflex or something subconscious, Johnny doesn’t know. But it has his heart pounding all the same.
In this hazy, uninterrupted space, Johnny lets his gaze linger for once, tracing over the smooth planes of Daniel’s body. His face is lax, easy, so soft in the dim morning light that he looks even younger than he already does. So damn soft. He’s always been so goddamn soft. Johnny’s the polar opposite: all rough edges and fierce opposition, none of the things about Daniel that drive him wild. He doesn’t know how they could ever work.
But then again, he’d thought that when they merged the dojos, hadn’t he? Yet despite their rocky start, they’ve always had a way of dancing around each other, complementing each other’s strengths and supplementing each other’s weaknesses. Maybe there’s something to all Daniel’s balance bullshit—not that wheel thing in the pond, Johnny’s still pissed about that. But maybe being so different from one another is the reason they could work—if Daniel even wants them to, that is.
His thoughts are interrupted by the fluttering of Daniel’s eyelashes as he stirs. His eyes flicker open, slow, sleepy, like a newborn deer, gazing around in muddled confusion before they settle on Johnny and widen.
Johnny drops his gaze, trying not to make it obvious that he’s been staring, but he doesn’t think he’s entirely successful. He swallows. “Um, hey.”
“Hey.” Daniel blinks, glancing down. Realizing his arm is still wrapped tight around Johnny, he wrenches it away like he’s been burned, expression cataloging through a dozen unreadable emotions. Johnny tries not to flinch as the warmth of Daniel’s touch is ripped away from him. “Shit, I’m sorry.”
Johnny frowns. “It’s no big deal, man.”
“No, it’s…” In the dim light of the bedroom, Johnny almost misses the way Daniel’s cheeks flush scarlet, teeth worrying his lower lip. “I promised it wouldn’t be weird, and…here I am, making it weird.”
“Damn, do you tense up this fast every morning? No wonder you’re so uptight.”
Daniel sputters. “I’m not uptight—”
“Could’ve fooled me,” Johnny says dryly. He softens upon seeing real tension and uncertainty on Daniel’s face, something in his chest squeezing—maybe he’s not the only one who’s been feeling things this weekend. “And look, to me you’re weird regardless, so it doesn’t really make a difference.”
At that, Daniel finally cracks a smile, tentative, bashful. Just the sight of it warms him to the core. “You’re sure?”
“Real sure.”
“Thanks, John,” Daniel says quietly. Something about the way he says his name sends a thrill running through Johnny. Daniel’s eyes flicker, gaze dropping before returning to meet Johnny’s eyes, sincere and fond. “For everything—coming over, helping me out. Don’t know if I could’ve made it by myself.”
Johnny doubts that—Daniel’s always been stronger than he gives himself credit for. Still, the words carry a lot of weight. And while the holidays have never meant much to Johnny, he knows they do to Daniel. He can understand the sentiment of not wanting to spend that time alone. If he’s honest, after this weekend, it’s a feeling he’s come to share.
The pressure in his chest tugs tighter. “Anytime.”
Daniel smiles and sits up then, bright-eyed and awake—of fucking course he’s a morning person. Johnny groans and buries his face in the pillow, wanting to savor this soft, easy space a little longer. Daniel laughs, nudging his arm. “Alright, now enough sleeping. Unless you don’t want pancakes…?”
Johnny lifts his head to peek up at him. “Hell yeah. Long as I don’t have to cook them.”
He pretends to consider it. “I’ll give you a pass this time. I think wrapping presents was enough lessons for now,” he says with a grin, heading to the kitchen.
Johnny drags himself upright and watches him go, hair sleep-ruffled and sticking up every which way, wearing stupid red and green flannel pajamas even though it’s ridiculously humid because they’re festive, and feels a pang deep in his chest.
He wants this. He wants to wake up next to Daniel every morning and eat dinner with him and bicker over movies until his lungs give out. He wants Daniel to teach him things and pretend he’s getting the hang of it even though he’s no good anyways. He wants every holiday to be like this, just like this, not some outlier because neither of them had other plans; he wants their plans to be each other. He wants this every damn day of his life, and it may have taken him until now to realize it, but he’s not waiting anymore.
“Hey, um. Daniel?”
Daniel peeks his head back into the bedroom, brow raised in question. “Yeah?”
He swallows, steeling himself. Strike first. “Last night, you um. You said that this,” he gestures between them, “didn’t have to mean anything.”
Daniel frowns. “Yeah?”
Johnny sucks in a deep breath, searching for the words—they never seem to come when he wants them to. “I was just wondering, what if it did? Mean something.”
Daniel blinks, realization dawning slow and stunned on his face. “Like what?” He asks, a ghost of a smile on his face, because of course he’s gonna make him say it—God, he’s such a little shit sometimes. He steps closer, eyes soft and tender.
Johnny sputters, all too aware of the flush creeping onto his cheeks. “I don’t know, do you…do you want to…” He starts, but they’re already close, so close he can feel the heat of Daniel’s breath on his cheeks. And you know, fuck words—Johnny’s always been an action-first kinda guy.
Heart racing, he steps forward, body moving of its own accord as he cups Daniel’s cheek, featherlight and careful, like the slightest wrong move will send him shattering. Daniel meets him halfway, ever dauntless, and Johnny’s lips finally touch his, soft and sweet and everything he’s ever needed.
It feels like the ending of every cheesy romance movie Johnny’s ever suffered through tinged with their own brand of tenderness. He settles a hand on Daniel’s waist and holds him close, so close that when they part at last, he can almost count his soft lashes and the smile lines in the corners of his eyes.
They stand together for a long moment, holding each other and smiling like idiots, cheeks flushed and breathing labored as the thrill of finally having each other rushes through them. And while there’s no mistletoe or machine guns or any of Daniel’s festive bullshit, it’s the best Christmas Johnny’s ever had.
“Yeah.” Daniel grins, brilliant and beautiful, leaning up to coil an arm around Johnny’s neck as he drags him in for another kiss. “Yeah, I think it can mean something.”