#teachespain

The man has too many sons and sons-in-law to be that unspecific. "I'm doing all of your sons a favor, they can't be dads without some gray," he explains, attention still on his masterpiece. He found out not everyone in the dojo had a driver's license, so he created the perfect driving obstacle course to help people train, but before he could have other people try it out, he needed to try it for himself.

He'd paid a guy to rent a car for him using Ethan's credit card (no way is he using his hippie van for this). The guy is standing on the other end of the obstacle course, looking completely fine with today's activities, and he looked upstanding enough, surely, he'd say something if this was a bad idea.

he's leaning against the doorframe, taking in the scene before him, his dad's pink shirt and matching pink face. he already knows what happened. harper had told him about the kick, and he had just reminded her about color theory and pointed out that his dad was about to start a load of laundry. he never told her what to do, just pointed her in the right direction to deal with her frustration while reminding her not to do this to anyone else. the twins liked pranking their grandpa, and johnny didn't seem to take much offense to it. it's all fun and games, and so long as they don't involve other people or take it too far, robby doesn't see any harm in it.

johnny looks down at the shirt and robby has to resist grinning. he's the perfect picture of innocence. he perfected that display years ago, before he even turned to a life of crime. the ability to mask his emotions and twist his face to portray something else has served him well throughout the years.

his act doesn't falter, even when his dad points at him and pleads for him to stop. he's going to laugh at it later once he's out of earshot. johnny looks so out of place in a shirt like that. robby has a hard time imagining the man in front of him as a karate champion. he looks ridiculous.

it gets harder to hold it in when he suggests robby could've been the one to teach harper the laundry trick. it reminds him of one of his mom's many ex-boyfriends. he had been acting nice, too nice. nice, stuffy-looking men didn't go for unemployed addicts with kids. he had to have been hiding something. so when he started a load of laundry at the apartment, robby who'd been eleven at the time, had poured bleach down the hatch and ruined all his fancy shirts. the guy was fuming once he found out. a couple of more pranks, and he finally had enough and left them all alone.

he breaks when johnny crosses and then uncrosses his arms, laughing at the sigh in front of him. he only laughs harder when he's told to get it out of his system. it takes him a minute to get it all out, and even then he's still grinning.

Robby smiles, beaming with pride as @teachespain is taken down by the side tackle. A move that had benched him when he was Henry's age. Apparently, the U-9 division has a ban specifically against slide tackles. Not that it had stopped an eight-year-old Robby Keene from doing it. His dad had only watched a few of his games, but he remembers feeling proud whenever the old man would yell at the referee for him, and even if he was benched, it still kept the ball away from the other team. Well, except for the third time he did it. By then, people had started catching on, and instead of benching him, they gave the opposing team a free kick. Totally unfair.

As long as you're careful about it and do it on grass, it's not even that dangerous. Case in point: his dad getting up right after just now.

He watches the two interact before approaching. His dad is right, the kid needs to work on his stealth work, but for now, that honestly might be a good thing. Henry's wings flopping in the wind was kind of like a cat with a bell on it, only instead of putting it on to protect the neighboring birds, it was to prepare his dad to get his shit rocked.

He loves the old man, don't get him wrong, and he loves how much he tries these days, but it feels like he's destined to keep obsessing over his own thoughts before he tells them. Before, he would think through retorts, aiming to hurt him as hard as possible, to really drive home how much of a failure he was. Nowadays, it has more to do with making sure his dad doesn't panic or start acting like Robby's fragile. He's not.

"This isn't a thing," he finally reassures once his dad quiets down. "I don't care if you drink nonalcoholic beers, Dad." It feels a bit stupid to admit that the thing that got his dad so riled up was only supposed to be an innocent question. It wasn't supposed to be a thing, but Robby made it one because he didn't think things through, just opened his mouth and let the words blurt out.

He leans against the counter, watching Johnny fidget with the bottle label like it's about to give him the answers to life. Robby wants to laugh, but he doesn't, because it wouldn't come out right. It would sound mean, and this isn't one of those times where he wants to jab at him. "Look, I get why it feels weird sometimes. You've been drinking since… forever. You're not just gonna snap your fingers and feel normal overnight. So if this helps, even a little, then who cares if it looks dumb? I’d rather see you holding one of those than the real deal."

He pauses, running a hand over the back of his neck, because talking like this still doesn't come naturally. It feels like stepping out onto thin ice, waiting for it to crack under him. "And no, it doesn't mess with me. I don't see you drinking that and think, oh great, here we go again. I see you actually trying. Which… I didn’' think I’d ever see, honestly."

Robby glances down at the floor, then back at his dad, who's still doing that thing with his jaw, like every word is a fight to keep from spilling out. He knows that look. He's had it himself, more times than he can count. "You don't have to explain it to me, Dad. I know what it's like, trying to unlearn old habits. You're not an idiot for struggling with it. You're just… human."

The words hang heavier than he expected, but for once, he doesn't take them back. Doesn't soften them with sarcasm or hide them under something sharp. He lets them stand there, between them, and maybe for the first time in years, it doesn't feel like there’s a wall in the way.

This isn't about the O’Doul’s anymore, not really. It's about whether Johnny’s trying too hard or not hard enough, about whether Robby's supposed to treat him like glass or like the screw-up dad he used to be. Neither feels right, not anymore.

Robby shrugs, like it's not a big deal, because it isn't, at least not to him. "This isn't a thing," he says again, more certain this time. "I don't care if you drink them, Dad. It's not like… I don't look at you and think you're about to fall off the wagon or whatever. I just asked because I was curious."

He lets that sit for a second, then softens a little. "Honestly? I think it's kinda cool you can still do the whole beer-with-dinner thing without screwing up your sobriety. If it makes you feel normal, then… good. You deserve that."

He finds the note not long after he decides to move in with his dad. He's finally transferring his clothes from bags to drawers, and that's where it lies, stuck between the inner board and the sides. A piece of paper covered in dust. He's going to have to vacuum the shit out of the entire room at some point. Right now is not that point.

He doesn't recognize the handwriting at first, but when he starts reading, it becomes obvious who wrote it and that it was addressed to him.

Dear Robby, I know you refuse to answer my calls, and I refuse to text or email, so I'm going old school by writing this letter.

That's... one way to start things off. He's curious as to why his dad never sent it, why it was left in a drawer for him to find. How long had it been since he'd written it? Did he want to know?

I've done a lot of thinking lately and realized just how much I screwed up my life. My biggest screwup is my relationship with you. I know I can't change the past, but if you give me the chance

It starts getting good, he starts getting a new view into his dad's brain, and then it just ends. Why? Why write a letter and keep it if he wasn't going to give it to Robby or even finish it in the first place? He's left with so many unanswered questions, and he knows there's only one person who could answer them.

This time, a drawing wasn't going to cut it. He had to step up. Despite Johnny having been the one to abandon him, Robby still feels like he has years to make up for.

He eventually settled on a cassette player and a mixtape filled with some songs he knew his dad already liked, as well as some rock bands he liked. Maybe it could help bridge the gap between their music tastes. At the end, he ends up with a mix consisting mostly of Mötley Crüe, Ratt, The Smashing Pumpkins, and Tool. There's a small handwritten message on the back coupled with a small doodle of a lightning bolt, because he's nostalgic at heart.

Didn’t know what else to get you. Side A’s your stuff, side B’s mine. Figured we could meet in the middle. Happy birthday, Dad.

He knows his dad loves the '80s, but not if he still has a working player, so a Walkman seemed like a good idea. Hopefully, it won't all be too cheesy.

He'd left Ethan's side early that morning to go deliver his gift. He still technically lived with his dad, but he spent most of his time at his boyfriend's apartment. He used his key to gain access to his dad's place. He checks the kitchen, living room, and bathroom. Nothing. Before giving up, he finally opens his dad's bedroom door. Ugh. Robby didn't exactly plan on showing up at too fucking early to be awake o'clock, but his dad could at least be awake early enough to receive his gift.