A sudden jerk to the side was unappreciated. It risked him losing his bearings, and if he ever did, it would be so easy for him to never find them again. He doesn’t wear those ludicrous glasses, dead eyes that glazed at all who looked now set with an irritated frown. He had the itch to bring the thin cane in his hand hard and down across his brother’s shins.
“ Don’t touch me, Richard, or you’ll end up like Daddy.”
Perhaps that hadn’t been the preferred approach - nor the practical one as Richard himself staggers to the side. It was irony’s jest, to make him lose his footing when he needs it most. A guiding hand losing its main purpose. To his good fortune, reflexes bolt into motion and instantly, his touch leaves the brother’s arm, no crinkle or damage in its wake.
’———I should have paid more attention! I’m sorry.’