Sure. [ There's a chirp to the word, and Robby leaves the kitchen without any more to say, his bag in his hands to take with him to the room he's been occupying while staying with Mister LaRusso. He sits it somewhere near the end of the bed as his feet lead him to the drawer beside it, and then doubles around when he decides to sit himself down too on said bed.
And maybe, you know, think about what happened before the talk of minestrone and soup cups. Something about Mister LaRusso seeing him as a son, and what that actually means.
(He talked to his dad about it, too? What do the two of them talk about, even?)
What does it mean, when a man sees you like a son? Says he sees you like one, no different from his own children--because that seems hard to believe, that anyone ever could. It's the comfortable lie you tell those younger than you to make them feel included, surely.
(Mister LaRusso called him part of the family once before, and Robby knows he shouldn't hold the past against him; but it's not him he holds it against, but himself. Because didn't it sound so nice? Didn't it feel it? Living in that spare room turned bedroom, hanging out with Sam and eating family meals.)
What does he do about the parts of himself that Mister LaRusso doesn't know about? The same as he should everything else, Robby concludes, staring off at every other wall. Twitching the coldblood bracelet around his wrist, as if it and his heart don't complicate his feelings enough.
Take Mister LaRusso's word that this doesn't change anything, and see how far that gets him.
no subject
And maybe, you know, think about what happened before the talk of minestrone and soup cups. Something about Mister LaRusso seeing him as a son, and what that actually means.
(He talked to his dad about it, too? What do the two of them talk about, even?)
What does it mean, when a man sees you like a son? Says he sees you like one, no different from his own children--because that seems hard to believe, that anyone ever could. It's the comfortable lie you tell those younger than you to make them feel included, surely.
(Mister LaRusso called him part of the family once before, and Robby knows he shouldn't hold the past against him; but it's not him he holds it against, but himself. Because didn't it sound so nice? Didn't it feel it? Living in that spare room turned bedroom, hanging out with Sam and eating family meals.)
What does he do about the parts of himself that Mister LaRusso doesn't know about? The same as he should everything else, Robby concludes, staring off at every other wall. Twitching the coldblood bracelet around his wrist, as if it and his heart don't complicate his feelings enough.
Take Mister LaRusso's word that this doesn't change anything, and see how far that gets him.
Because that's sure going to work. ]