Robby tips his head as if in acceptance, though he's sucking on the inside of his lip, the cogs of his brain still at work.

"Messy and out of order counts as family too, my experience. If you want it to." Because hey, cut out people from your life if you need to (even if it's easier said than done). "Screws up what I wanted to ask. If you're family by default--Miyagi-do looks out for each other, but we don't go that far."

In a non-judgmental way. He'd been called family once, but it hadn't--Robby thinks--been under the context of schools. It's not something he really thinks about now. And what he is thinking about, well.

He wishes he had his own cup to fiddle with right now. Instead, Robby looks out to the rest of the party, taps the back of his heel against the floor. Shrugs.

"Mister LaRusso told me he sees me like a son. Weird to get your head around after watching your actual dad pick up new guys to play family with when he hasn't been around you most your life."

Maybe it's an unfair way of phrasing it, but Robby can't think of anything better right now. It's not sourly said, but any means.