[ Way to embarrass him, Daniel. He teases him about that too, and Robby knows what he's doing, but it still tickles at him anyway. As if they haven't exchanged these words before (in a heavier, more emotional time), nor is he clueless that there's love in their relationship. What being lucky means, can peel it away and see what the man feels.
He would get him back, but Robby misses the chance to before the man speaks on, the final words that sizzle out the need for any jokes. That would be enough alone, but Mister LaRusso gives, and he gives, and what he gives is a touch that may be brief, but is more than recognisable to Robby. Familiar, as long as it's been, and it works swiftly to lift his heart into his throat as his brain processes it. Cheeks already coloured from the heat of his emotions, and now--
And now he feels the pinprick of tears that can't escape as Robby presses his head against Mister LaRusso's shoulder, eyes tightly shut, rubbing his head against it in slow shake. It's a good kind of tears, an acceptable bittersweet sensation in his chest. He just needs a moment, the thought of the woman inspired, before he can tilt his head to face Mister LaRusso; one of his hands moving to rest near the crook of his neck, his body leaning comfortably against his. ]
My mom always did that. [ His voice sounds damp around the edges, but he isn't crying, and his tone isn't outright sad in sharing that fact. Just somehow, Mister LaRusso knew, hit the right mark, and it's so embarrassing to be seen.
(But there is a little part of him thinking of her. Missing her.) ]
Do all parents do that?
[ You know, parents who aren't...absent. Just ignore that for now, and enjoy the implication in the question. ]
no subject
He would get him back, but Robby misses the chance to before the man speaks on, the final words that sizzle out the need for any jokes. That would be enough alone, but Mister LaRusso gives, and he gives, and what he gives is a touch that may be brief, but is more than recognisable to Robby. Familiar, as long as it's been, and it works swiftly to lift his heart into his throat as his brain processes it. Cheeks already coloured from the heat of his emotions, and now--
And now he feels the pinprick of tears that can't escape as Robby presses his head against Mister LaRusso's shoulder, eyes tightly shut, rubbing his head against it in slow shake. It's a good kind of tears, an acceptable bittersweet sensation in his chest. He just needs a moment, the thought of the woman inspired, before he can tilt his head to face Mister LaRusso; one of his hands moving to rest near the crook of his neck, his body leaning comfortably against his. ]
My mom always did that. [ His voice sounds damp around the edges, but he isn't crying, and his tone isn't outright sad in sharing that fact. Just somehow, Mister LaRusso knew, hit the right mark, and it's so embarrassing to be seen.
(But there is a little part of him thinking of her. Missing her.) ]
Do all parents do that?
[ You know, parents who aren't...absent. Just ignore that for now, and enjoy the implication in the question. ]