[ Bruno's admission takes Alberto off-guard, and it draws a meaningful, silent, sympathetic stare from him. He's not really sure what to say to that. He's not tripped up by not having a mom — it's always been normal to him, and he's scarcely had any other children in his life to compare his family to. It's sincerely just him and his dad. So while he recognizes Bruno's trying to — what — relate...? It's a little confusing, because it's also clear Bruno's worried about Alberto, which translates as pity, which he doesn't want, and Alberto feels pity that Bruno lost a parent, since... Alberto doesn't feel he can relate to that. Ironically enough.
His dad didn't die. He left. He left because Alberto was old enough to take care of himself, which Alberto has internalized as the truth ever since, because that's what he did; after years without his dad, he's rationalized it as the reasonable thing that was supposed to happen... even if he had wished his dad would change his mind. And so, really, deep down, Alberto doesn't have a hatred for his father — doesn't think he's a horrible person, or even a horrible father — because that was his normal, with no other point of reference until long after his father had already left. And besides— who would wait around for someone horrible...?
Bruno's question gives Alberto pause to consider, eyeing the man empathetically when he mentions his own parents. He doesn't give a verbal response, but the look he gives is enough to convey his apologies without words. He's fourteen — what's he supposed to say? But after a moment, he takes a breath, picks up the wooden half-rat and knife again, and leans back in his bed against the wall casually, as he starts to idly whittle while answering Bruno's question, not making eye contact with him anymore. He crosses one leg over the other and fidgets by bouncing his foot in the air, even while fidgeting by whittling, like just one bit of stimming isn't enough. But despite this shift in energy, the nonchalance is both seemingly affected and yet... strangely genuine. He isn't lying, that much is clear, maybe; but he's speaking with noticeably less excitement and fondness than he'd spoken about Massimo, something more airy in his voice, yet barely pointed, almost rehearsed — something more general in the way he describes his dad, rather than endeared specifics like with his boss... But still he wears a half-hearted smile and there's a distant fondness in his eyes as he chips away at the rat's face and ears. Just the tender look on his face evokes this odd contrast between his words and his tone. It tells a story quite between the lines, indeed. ]
...Heh. Yeah. Of course. My dad's great — he's the coolest. He knows everything about everything~ And he's been pretty much everywhere! My dad tells the best stories about all the places he's been. He's super funny, too — and super smart. He's taught me all kinds of cool stuff! He can do, like, anything, hah. He doesn't need anyone else...
[ He trails off on that odd closing note, like this is the most admirable trait, but something in his wistful smile twitches. Notable that he speaks about his father in the present tense, so clearly not dead, but... something still seems subtly incongruent somehow. ]
no subject
His dad didn't die. He left. He left because Alberto was old enough to take care of himself, which Alberto has internalized as the truth ever since, because that's what he did; after years without his dad, he's rationalized it as the reasonable thing that was supposed to happen... even if he had wished his dad would change his mind. And so, really, deep down, Alberto doesn't have a hatred for his father — doesn't think he's a horrible person, or even a horrible father — because that was his normal, with no other point of reference until long after his father had already left. And besides— who would wait around for someone horrible...?
Bruno's question gives Alberto pause to consider, eyeing the man empathetically when he mentions his own parents. He doesn't give a verbal response, but the look he gives is enough to convey his apologies without words. He's fourteen — what's he supposed to say? But after a moment, he takes a breath, picks up the wooden half-rat and knife again, and leans back in his bed against the wall casually, as he starts to idly whittle while answering Bruno's question, not making eye contact with him anymore. He crosses one leg over the other and fidgets by bouncing his foot in the air, even while fidgeting by whittling, like just one bit of stimming isn't enough. But despite this shift in energy, the nonchalance is both seemingly affected and yet... strangely genuine. He isn't lying, that much is clear, maybe; but he's speaking with noticeably less excitement and fondness than he'd spoken about Massimo, something more airy in his voice, yet barely pointed, almost rehearsed — something more general in the way he describes his dad, rather than endeared specifics like with his boss... But still he wears a half-hearted smile and there's a distant fondness in his eyes as he chips away at the rat's face and ears. Just the tender look on his face evokes this odd contrast between his words and his tone. It tells a story quite between the lines, indeed. ]
...Heh. Yeah. Of course. My dad's great — he's the coolest. He knows everything about everything~ And he's been pretty much everywhere! My dad tells the best stories about all the places he's been. He's super funny, too — and super smart. He's taught me all kinds of cool stuff! He can do, like, anything, hah. He doesn't need anyone else...
[ He trails off on that odd closing note, like this is the most admirable trait, but something in his wistful smile twitches. Notable that he speaks about his father in the present tense, so clearly not dead, but... something still seems subtly incongruent somehow. ]