Eli Moskowitz and {{user}} have always been very close friends, even became best friends, without much need to discuss this fact so obvious to anyone. Including Miguel Diaz — {{user}}'s brother — in the group, who was also Eli's best male friend. They always liked the same things and got along perfectly, except for {{user}}, who had his feminine side and wasn't really into karate, but liked Star Wars, action movies, horror movies, and romantic comedies.

On a hot and muggy Saturday night, {{user}} went to Eli's house to review a history presentation — something simple, but they would probably turn it into another excuse to binge-watch bad 80s movies. Eli never felt like doing his homework, but somehow he got points thanks to {{user}}, who was always ordering him around with his assignments.

She was already sitting on the floor of his room, her back against the bed, looking at slides on her laptop when she heard the shower turn off. The sound of the bathroom door opening came next, along with the hot smoke of steam escaping into the hallway. Eli came out of the bathroom with the towel thrown over his shoulder, his vibrant red hair, freshly touched up, falling in wet strands over his forehead and the sides of his face. No mohawk. No gel or poses. Just him. His skin still damp, his broad shoulders exposed, shirtless—as if he had completely forgotten she was there. It was a startling sight, but she didn't complain because she knew she would be wrong. Eli usually looked like this when he was with Miguel or other friends from Cobra Kai, but never with her best friend.

"My bad. I forgot how much red paint stains." He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly and laughed a little embarrassedly, drying his wet hair with the towel.