But it's worth it, huh. His heart is undecided, less for the moral good, and how well it works out. How well all of his choices have worked out, but he's also working on that, too.
He chose to be the good guy - or the guy who didn't risk getting caught doing bad. Robby looks at Paul on that end, not with confidence, but with acceptances as he concedes (with the argument in himself), "--The LaRusso's had a nice house."
A fact, brushing over the difficulties of that nice house, the doors he doesn't want to touch, much less open. At least he doesn't need to linger on it, as instead, he's focused on Paul; his eyes assessing him under a soft scrutiny than anything sharper, thinking, evaluating. This is the first time they've spoken to each other since their phone call, is what he's able to recognise now. Or more important: this is the first time he's had to confront Paul's existence since the accidental apologies put online.
That is, the real him. Not the him that's a name and somewhere to direct his feelings towards, without ever thinking about the individual himself. Paul the person has never mattered; just Paul the favourite, who was Miguel before him.
--it would've been different, had they met sooner. Even now in his chest something stirs, signalled in the way that Robby's gaze drops, his jaw tightening before a breath. But he can dismiss it here, now, doing as he did with a slightly younger frame as he tilts his head back, sees a ceiling that doesn't look quite right. Faded.
Everything is faded, scent and presence. This memory was a long time gone.
"Could be worse," Robby speaks out loud. "Could be getting chased by a monster, thrown naked in the woods, getting tortured."
It could've chosen a better spot, Robby thinks. Which leads to another thought, Robby tilting his head with a knitted brow.
"--Think we can leave here and head to the skate park?"
Very, very important question and realisation. Shit--what if they could?
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He chose to be the good guy - or the guy who didn't risk getting caught doing bad. Robby looks at Paul on that end, not with confidence, but with acceptances as he concedes (with the argument in himself), "--The LaRusso's had a nice house."
A fact, brushing over the difficulties of that nice house, the doors he doesn't want to touch, much less open. At least he doesn't need to linger on it, as instead, he's focused on Paul; his eyes assessing him under a soft scrutiny than anything sharper, thinking, evaluating. This is the first time they've spoken to each other since their phone call, is what he's able to recognise now. Or more important: this is the first time he's had to confront Paul's existence since the accidental apologies put online.
That is, the real him. Not the him that's a name and somewhere to direct his feelings towards, without ever thinking about the individual himself. Paul the person has never mattered; just Paul the favourite, who was Miguel before him.
--it would've been different, had they met sooner. Even now in his chest something stirs, signalled in the way that Robby's gaze drops, his jaw tightening before a breath. But he can dismiss it here, now, doing as he did with a slightly younger frame as he tilts his head back, sees a ceiling that doesn't look quite right. Faded.
Everything is faded, scent and presence. This memory was a long time gone.
"Could be worse," Robby speaks out loud. "Could be getting chased by a monster, thrown naked in the woods, getting tortured."
It could've chosen a better spot, Robby thinks. Which leads to another thought, Robby tilting his head with a knitted brow.
"--Think we can leave here and head to the skate park?"
Very, very important question and realisation. Shit--what if they could?