[ Robby wasn't quite expecting a full-blown hug. His side of the embrace had felt loose in its gesture, something kinder or more intimate than he's ever given the other man, but if Mister LaRusso's going to do it first...
He didn't mind giving it, didn't think too deeply about it before, but as the man pulls his arms better around him, and seems to be hugging him closer?
He does wonder if Mister LaRusso's still a little drunk. Maybe more than just a little, but the thought crosses Robby regardless. Should he feel bad? Embarrassed? His heart can't decide--he could go for both--but embarrassment does fit better, with the hand that's rubbing his back like his mom might've done when he was a kid. Fortunately for a drunk, not entirely coherent (and voiceless) Mister LaRusso, he can get away with a lot of things. Really, would Robby stop him?
Even gestures that Robby knows he doesn't deserve. But the real trouble is if Mister LaRusso will regret it once he gets more sleep, or whatever he needs. A shower, water. A shave, by the itching of the forming beard that's tickled at Robby's face.
But Robby isn't going to be the one to tell him what to do, or how to feel. His cheeks might feel a tad warm (is that because of their body heat? Or just the heat of Mister LaRusso's breath close to his skin?), but his heart feels soft, too--because he never imagined anything like this. Even if he got to see Mister LaRusso, where or whenever that was, it wouldn't involve them sitting on his bed (okay, very unlikely) or with the man's arms around him.
...still, Robby slips his other not used hand somewhere on the man's own back, to return the gesture. Unsure, hesitant for a good while; but if it's a hug that Mister LaRusso wants, Robby can give in, and bring his own arms a little tighter around the man to finally reciprocate it properly.
(It's okay, he won't tell anyone about this. He'll keep this to himself. Especially the funny, goofy feeling this is inspiring in him that he really can't explain. Something close to embarrassed, and yet--)
He doesn't rush them. He doesn't want to be the one who decides to pull back, and for the decision he makes that this is for Mister LaRusso, Robby still receives some enjoyment from it. The arms around him, that Mister LaRusso wants to be this close to him; the acceptance in the gesture, and having someone who at all. Someone he knows from back in the Valley, even with as much as he likes Mob, this is different. Knows it would be different the other way around.
There's the outdoor of a dojo he wishes he could see right now, when he closes his eyes; a time and place that's so far away, a reunion that hadn't ever needed to be. Tatami mats and sliding doors.
Mister LaRusso looks like a mess. He shouldn't be like this. ]
...you feeling okay? You need medicine or anything? [ They're not words meant to interrupt this moment, but just something to make sure; a concern that makes Robby rub his hand on Mister LaRusso's own back a little, copying his sentiment. ] I can make some toast if you wanna stay in bed. You eat toast for hangovers?
[ This might be too much to be asking a man who can't speak very well, but he's asking it slowly, thoughtfully. He can't help himself. It's a habit. ]
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He didn't mind giving it, didn't think too deeply about it before, but as the man pulls his arms better around him, and seems to be hugging him closer?
He does wonder if Mister LaRusso's still a little drunk. Maybe more than just a little, but the thought crosses Robby regardless. Should he feel bad? Embarrassed? His heart can't decide--he could go for both--but embarrassment does fit better, with the hand that's rubbing his back like his mom might've done when he was a kid. Fortunately for a drunk, not entirely coherent (and voiceless) Mister LaRusso, he can get away with a lot of things. Really, would Robby stop him?
Even gestures that Robby knows he doesn't deserve. But the real trouble is if Mister LaRusso will regret it once he gets more sleep, or whatever he needs. A shower, water. A shave, by the itching of the forming beard that's tickled at Robby's face.
But Robby isn't going to be the one to tell him what to do, or how to feel. His cheeks might feel a tad warm (is that because of their body heat? Or just the heat of Mister LaRusso's breath close to his skin?), but his heart feels soft, too--because he never imagined anything like this. Even if he got to see Mister LaRusso, where or whenever that was, it wouldn't involve them sitting on his bed (okay, very unlikely) or with the man's arms around him.
...still, Robby slips his other not used hand somewhere on the man's own back, to return the gesture. Unsure, hesitant for a good while; but if it's a hug that Mister LaRusso wants, Robby can give in, and bring his own arms a little tighter around the man to finally reciprocate it properly.
(It's okay, he won't tell anyone about this. He'll keep this to himself. Especially the funny, goofy feeling this is inspiring in him that he really can't explain. Something close to embarrassed, and yet--)
He doesn't rush them. He doesn't want to be the one who decides to pull back, and for the decision he makes that this is for Mister LaRusso, Robby still receives some enjoyment from it. The arms around him, that Mister LaRusso wants to be this close to him; the acceptance in the gesture, and having someone who at all. Someone he knows from back in the Valley, even with as much as he likes Mob, this is different. Knows it would be different the other way around.
There's the outdoor of a dojo he wishes he could see right now, when he closes his eyes; a time and place that's so far away, a reunion that hadn't ever needed to be. Tatami mats and sliding doors.
Mister LaRusso looks like a mess. He shouldn't be like this. ]
...you feeling okay? You need medicine or anything? [ They're not words meant to interrupt this moment, but just something to make sure; a concern that makes Robby rub his hand on Mister LaRusso's own back a little, copying his sentiment. ] I can make some toast if you wanna stay in bed. You eat toast for hangovers?
[ This might be too much to be asking a man who can't speak very well, but he's asking it slowly, thoughtfully. He can't help himself. It's a habit. ]