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“Tell him that they’re a gift from all of us at the agency,” instructed the President as he passed Dazai a stack of clothes. “He shouldn’t be made to feel indebted.”
“Of course,” murmured Dazai, though he suspected that none of them would ever think twice about Atsushi’s new clothes or wonder at their source. And Atsushi had too little self worth to inquire at all.
“They’re a welcome gift,” added the President.
“Do you mean to welcome him then?” asked Dazai idly, even though the question was anything but. In his chest, his heart was a wild, fluttering thing.
Keeping the weretiger would be almost as much trouble as keeping him.
The President inclined his head.
Sternly, he added, “If it can be proven that he’s equal the work,” as if he didn’t specifically want Atsushi to stay, and in his chest, Dazai’s heart grew heavier as it began to slow to a more even rhythm. At the same time, it felt lighter.
The President of the Armed Detective Agency was a kind man, though his kindness was often a quiet thing hidden behind taciturn silences and a strict façade.
For awhile, the façade had fooled even Dazai.
Now, the President’s little kindnesses meant more than the big ones. They meant more than they ought to, even when they weren’t directed at Dazai himself; perhaps especially when they weren’t directed at Dazai himself. Kindness, real or false, could blind a man more thoroughly than sand thrown in the eyes. It was easier to see and evaluate when it was directed at other targets.
“I’ll prove it!” offered Dazai, now nearly giddy.
“Not to me,” said the President. “Whatever your decision regarding the weretiger, I will abide by it.”
Four words, all unspoken, set Dazai’s foolish heart to fluttering again.