a deliberate man

Tatsumi is used to the sound of weeping. He learned it long ago, in a hundred different variations, and he learned his own helplessness every time he tried to stop those tears.

He could burn in rage against the sorrow, against the thick, gulping sobs of hopelessness and despair, but it does no good. Instead he freezes, he adjusts his glasses, and he steps away.

Better for everyone that way, really.

He keeps his kindnesses deliberate and polite, within the bounds of courtesy. He keeps his judgments and his cruelties the same way.

Much safer for everyone that way.

Really.

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