strongroots | [meme, psls, etc]

There was a time when Robby liked coming to the dojo--back when, if he's honest, he saw some tinsy part of it as his.

That's what you do, when you don't own anything to begin with: you lie to yourself, and about a lot of things. Now, there's just a frustration in his stomach when he has to concede to his circumstances and stay over at night so he isn't sleeping with the stars. He isn't so stubborn as to pick the streets over a roof; he's had enough of that kind of roughing it out, and maybe the begrudging taste in the back of his throat over coming to the dojo has soured less, with a night or two. There's still plenty he's angry over, there's plenty he wants to chew out Mister LaRusso over.

...And then there's the sides of himself, warring over one another: the part of him that doesn't want to think the last few months were all a mistake, and the one that's telling him to see it for what it was. Mister LaRusso never really trusted you; Sam's gone back with Miguel. You were just a handy distraction.

He doesn't want to believe in either. He especially doesn't want to think about Sam.

At least it's easier to be mad over what you know for certain.

And coming to Miyagi-do once the night hits, Robby's thoughts usually go to Mister LaRusso before Sam. That anger in his gut, the tension in his shoulders; he carries it most of the day, nothing to do but sort out his parole, and think, like he didn't spend all his time in juvie doing that. A sensei who betrayed him, a dad who couldn't give a shit about him long enough to be one.

Yeah, he's got a lot to be sour over. Only, there's a night that's different when Robby goes to the dojo, once the sky's littered with stars: there's another car. One outside of the classic collection, and it's a car Robby knows--of course he knows that car. It drops the building apprehension from his gut when he sees it, stopping him, wondering if he's sure it's hers, or maybe it could be Mister LaRusso; and he worries about going ahead into the dojo to find out, a creeping fear in him for what he hasn't wanted to confront.

(What if she's moved on? What if she blames him? What if he's too broken for her to want to deal with? He put Miguel in a coma, he didn't e-mail her. Why would she want to be with him?)

But even if that worry is there, stops him outside the front of the dojo, it's not just fear he feels. He hasn't seen her in months, he never got to her e-mails; he wants to see her, and he knows he can't keep putting it off. Even if that longing in him is buried with every other bad thing running through his mind, the knowledge he could be psyching himself up when it isn't her at all--Robby walks into the dojo, careful with each of the doors. Careful to wipe his shoes outside before he enters, and he finds the door leading out into the garden open, the lantern lights on.

He pauses while still inside, just so he can try and glimpse her; make sure it is her, before he approaches the threshold. His heart in his throat, every part of him expecting the worst.

"...Sam."

It doesn't stop him from calling out to her with that a longing, hesitant as it is. His eyes on her, hoping there's still one person who believes in him.

Who still cares.

Edited 2023-07-11 22:47 (UTC)

It's an utterly mundane day in the Valley.

Which, considering what it is on most days when you're mixed up in karate wars, is actually a pretty good day. It means Robby gets to do some training, catch up on his katas, and then spend a good few hours just enjoying himself in the skate park. The skate park? Karate drama free, and he'll never lose the appeal of moving fast and controlling the board with the right push and lift. Helps him unwind, so long as he doesn't do it too closely after anything karate. His legs never appreciate that.

He's not late back to his dad's place, by any means. The day's still pretty young, and he could do with resting up, putting on the headphones and chilling. So is the plan when he tries the front door, finds that it's open--no need to fish out for his spare key from his pocket. He walks in, board in one hand and a "Hey dad" leaving his mouth as he turns, closes the door behind him. Maybe he should have checked to see if his dad's ride was actually in the car park, but it has to be, right?

Except when he turns back around with the door closed behind him, it's not his dad's blond hair he sees--there's some guy. A "Who..." starts and dies in his mouth, as his eyes adjust.

No matter what that other guys says, does, he might just get the "What the fuck?" out, once he realises what...who...he's looking at.

What the fuck indeed.

The days are normal. They're not coming apart, unravelling with each new one that starts.

It was the fear that settled in once Robby's body started to stay more together. To be more; that some awful news would turn up, to do with what he did, to do with the world itself, and he wouldn't be able to do anything. But people came to visit--faces that were difficult to sit with, conversations hard to swallow--and keeping up text conversations made it easier to settle at the times his nerves got the best of him. Mister LaRusos was there, too.

Mister LaRusso was always there.

Robby's not been sure if to call him that. A new term came out from all that mess, one that was maybe selfish, but still stick with him now, after everything. Dad. He clung onto it in the worst of his moments, though it stung to accept, too. Did he deserve to use it? Even if the question of what he deserved was one that he rolled around in his mind, hurt himself as some form of penance.

It always came down to what Mister LaRusso wanted. Would want, trying not to put his own guilt before Mister LaRusso's honesty, and when Robby was honest with himself, their desires weren't always completely different. Robby liked the idea of being a son to Mister LaRusso, too--he liked the closer proximity their relationship had developed over the months. He liked the idea of keeping it around.

But his feelings weren't always as clean as that. He was the one who backed off. He had reasons he never wanted to share.

He was the one always separating them, keeping a step back. Out of fear, from dishonesty; pretending to forget about conversations, refusing to commit. From his feelings not entirely pure, from his uncertainty if he wasn't a replacement for a family not around.

It always came down to the same fear: What if Mister LaRusso wouldn't want him, really?

The possibility might still exist. Even after all this, Mister LaRusso's sleepless nights spent with him, helping him to come together again, be a person; with the pain that Robby caused him before, how his refusal to listen to his concerns led to him becoming so distant from his father figure to begin with--he might give up. He might decide this isn't worth it. He might deny him if he knew reasons Robby hesitated over their relationship in the first place.

...but Robby wants to face it, if he does. He wants to be honest with Mister LaRusso, he wants to cross the bridge he's been avoiding in their relationship. The final few steps.

It happens on a day, not particularly spectacular. One where Mister LaRusso's come in from being out--maybe he's gone into the kitchen, maybe he's in the living room. But he'll get a visitor of two: shisa making his way in first (a good boy, alerting Robby of his sleeper's arrival back home), and of Robby within the doorway; skin pale, but looking less lanky than he has as of late with the actual change of clothes he's put on, if not really overly inspired.

But he's dressed in a flannel shirt, black jeans--as if he were a boy from America than one stuck in the city of Trench. His hair's been combed, slightly crowning his face from the length of it long ago received by Mob.

"Hi," he says, in way of greeting. A start. It's not the first time he's been out of his room, but he knows Mister LaRusso might fuss, anyway. Do that thing with his voice that he does. That's okay.

Robby likes those things about him.

( for senseisam )

( for skilledfighter )

for my beautiful 😌