Where would their lives be right now, if they weren't here? Would Mister LaRusso be speaking these things to him--would he be able to, would it be right? There's a life out there where this isn't happening, though it's a life where everything before it hasn't happened, either: the corruption, the pain, the way their lives seemed to continuously try to slip from their fingers. The farm, Mob's accident. Mister LaRusso's broken back.

There's a life where this isn't happening right now, and Robby doesn't want to imagine it. A man who wants to be his father--his eyes on him, the warmth of his smile. Robby listens as the hand slips around his wrist, and a warmth blossoms there, too; after the chill first makes itself known, but then it leaves, as if a father's touch can take away a temperature too much for his son.

The weight of his dad's words makes Robby dip his head, needing a moment for the emotion that rises in his throat. But he looks back at him with a smile expressive, just soaking in the sight of him before--right. Turning to the bowl, and the mixture that he still needs to mark his own palm in.

He dips it in, rubbing the mixture on with his fingers, and then takes a hold of Mister LaRusso's own wrist, threading their limbs.

"I'll be there for you, too, dad. I promise."

It's a promise he intends to do his utmost to keep.