If only there wasn't--as small as it is--some resistance to that claim. Not from anything he's done in his past (he knows he's not good, but he's not going to mind being called it, usually), but everything about who he is, how he feels, in the present. A good kid. Is it being described as such that bothers him? When he a moment ago didn't mind Mister LaRusso calling him his kid, and now, briefly--
He wishes the man would see him as something more; or that he could take the stroking of his fingers and his gentle words under a different manner, even if it'd be a lie he's telling himself. But Robby isn't dumb, even if his body feels heavy, feverish still, if incomparable to what it was earlier: he's not going to pull off any protests, or admit to anything.
He won't even let himself think too deeply about this reluctance in him. He won't think about it coming right after brushing against this familial bond of theirs he's trying to let in.
Robby gives Mister LaRusso a pinched smile instead, before looking down, leaning ever gently his head against the man's chest. His eyes on the weathered skin of Mister LaRusso's hand.
no subject
If only there wasn't--as small as it is--some resistance to that claim. Not from anything he's done in his past (he knows he's not good, but he's not going to mind being called it, usually), but everything about who he is, how he feels, in the present. A good kid. Is it being described as such that bothers him? When he a moment ago didn't mind Mister LaRusso calling him his kid, and now, briefly--
He wishes the man would see him as something more; or that he could take the stroking of his fingers and his gentle words under a different manner, even if it'd be a lie he's telling himself. But Robby isn't dumb, even if his body feels heavy, feverish still, if incomparable to what it was earlier: he's not going to pull off any protests, or admit to anything.
He won't even let himself think too deeply about this reluctance in him. He won't think about it coming right after brushing against this familial bond of theirs he's trying to let in.
Robby gives Mister LaRusso a pinched smile instead, before looking down, leaning ever gently his head against the man's chest. His eyes on the weathered skin of Mister LaRusso's hand.
The wedding ring on it. ]
Is the medicine working?
[ He can swallow his own shame well. ]