[ Robby watches Mister LaRusso as he speaks, his heart sinking a little further, until his gaze is what lowers next. Onto the hand he's got held, and he feels--frustrated, if a little. Disappointed, unsure; because he didn't figure Mister LaRusso was still carrying this, and even if he can understand where the man is coming from, it doesn't make it easy to accept. He doesn't want to be the reason there's guilt being carried.

He lets his thumb brush over the man's knuckles once as he looks back up at him. ]

You think you drove me to do what I did, but those were my choices. I hurt you back. You didn't ruin my life. [ There's a urge in them, a plea for reasoning. Because what were the 'lot of really bad things'? When he forgave, accepted his actions inside the rehab, and in the apartment, he's always been willing to put that aside.

After all: ] You got heated once because you care about Sam. You wanted to help me. [ Two separate occasions. There's the tiniest shift of a shoulder like a shrug, a pinched smile on his lips. ]

If you want to make it up to me, let it go. That's what I want.