[ Robby doesn't want to be misunderstood. And yet--he does, it's safer if he is. That not everything if he's brushing up against is seen, that some feelings--or some possibilities--should take time. When you're put in a box like son, it's fine if other boxes aren't considered. But it's--fine too, right, if they are? Like they were never seen, or maybe...
(Or maybe you're exactly like the outcast in normal society you've always felt, destined to be the lower dredges. He doesn't even feel that guilty about the idea. Why should he feel guilty if he can make Mister LaRusso happy?)
But he doesn't want to dishearten the man, is the thing. Like he's someone lesser, just the safer option between him and his dad. Robby watches Mister LaRusso, his eyes on him, and hopes--for now--he doesn't see any deeper. His gaze ducks a few sheepish times (yeah, maybe the dad thing is complicated to a guy like him, and putting Mister LaRusso on the same level as Mister Miyagi feels...wrong), and though Mister LaRusso seems to understand, it doesn't feel like enough.
No, just seeing himself as safer isn't enough. ]
You don't have to be jealous of my dad. [ Robby chuckles on a breath, rocking on his feet. He could say so much more, how good it is living here, how he's never felt as close to someone as Mister LaRusso in a long time; go on a few more spiels to make the man break, face beaming with his smile. The wrinkles, the weathering skin, and Robby's taking in that face now as he considers what it is he should say. Do.
He acts quickly, once he knows. A single step, his body leaning in, and his hand rests on the older man's arm gingerly, just for support--so he can set a kiss on Mister LaRusso's cheek, lingering no longer than a second before he pulls back. His insides are frantic, his skin heating, and he wants to look at Mister LaRusso and his reaction, but his own embarrassment sinks his head.
...which might be a good thing, though he would have felt it: the way there's ice forming on his right hand, expanding around his palm and sneaking up his fingertips. A small 'Ah' escapes him, and Robby fiddles to brush it off, but now the ice just wants to cling to his other hand.
Hold on, let him take the bracelet off entirely, hands fumbling at the work. Oh no, this is so uncool.......!! ]
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(Or maybe you're exactly like the outcast in normal society you've always felt, destined to be the lower dredges. He doesn't even feel that guilty about the idea. Why should he feel guilty if he can make Mister LaRusso happy?)
But he doesn't want to dishearten the man, is the thing. Like he's someone lesser, just the safer option between him and his dad. Robby watches Mister LaRusso, his eyes on him, and hopes--for now--he doesn't see any deeper. His gaze ducks a few sheepish times (yeah, maybe the dad thing is complicated to a guy like him, and putting Mister LaRusso on the same level as Mister Miyagi feels...wrong), and though Mister LaRusso seems to understand, it doesn't feel like enough.
No, just seeing himself as safer isn't enough. ]
You don't have to be jealous of my dad. [ Robby chuckles on a breath, rocking on his feet. He could say so much more, how good it is living here, how he's never felt as close to someone as Mister LaRusso in a long time; go on a few more spiels to make the man break, face beaming with his smile. The wrinkles, the weathering skin, and Robby's taking in that face now as he considers what it is he should say. Do.
He acts quickly, once he knows. A single step, his body leaning in, and his hand rests on the older man's arm gingerly, just for support--so he can set a kiss on Mister LaRusso's cheek, lingering no longer than a second before he pulls back. His insides are frantic, his skin heating, and he wants to look at Mister LaRusso and his reaction, but his own embarrassment sinks his head.
...which might be a good thing, though he would have felt it: the way there's ice forming on his right hand, expanding around his palm and sneaking up his fingertips. A small 'Ah' escapes him, and Robby fiddles to brush it off, but now the ice just wants to cling to his other hand.
Hold on, let him take the bracelet off entirely, hands fumbling at the work. Oh no, this is so uncool.......!! ]