"Digest," he says. He laughs, a soft, rolling rumble that comes from a dark place at the base of his spine. "Digest."

And then the anger is complete, it's here, it belongs and his toes curl up as he imagines stomping down on the boy's face, again and again, first with all of his strength, then softer so that R's brain could register every blow, every last blow, every fucking --

He steps backward, allowing his shoe to graze R's hand one last time as it went. Like a goodbye.

"I had been so happy to see you," he says, his voice somewhere between a hiss and a whisper.