[ Robby hobbles from where he is and over to the kitchen counters, placing a hand on the island that first pokes out. It turns his back to Johnny, but it's what he wants as he hears him go on, as his shoulders hunch as he just feels--a fucking mess. He's stuck in Hell, and he can't get out, but he can get over to the far counter, a shaky, wet sigh as he plants his hands firmly on the countertop.
This wasn't what he planned for today, but he guesses this is where he is: finding out about his dad dying, and unable to properly give a shit because of everything else his dad wants them to focus on.
He doesn't speak immediately. He can't. Instead, Robby lets his head hang and tells himself he's refusing to breathe and focus and all that shit right now, but it's almost automatic. Doesn't stop it from being difficult, with a throat that's aching and the upset in every part of him, and Robby digs his fingers into the hard surface under them, enough to turn them white.
Eventually: ]
What are you going to do. To change.
[ It's a note faking at being flat, held shakily together. ]
no subject
This wasn't what he planned for today, but he guesses this is where he is: finding out about his dad dying, and unable to properly give a shit because of everything else his dad wants them to focus on.
He doesn't speak immediately. He can't. Instead, Robby lets his head hang and tells himself he's refusing to breathe and focus and all that shit right now, but it's almost automatic. Doesn't stop it from being difficult, with a throat that's aching and the upset in every part of him, and Robby digs his fingers into the hard surface under them, enough to turn them white.
Eventually: ]
What are you going to do. To change.
[ It's a note faking at being flat, held shakily together. ]