[ His patience is immediately tested again as irritation flares up sharp and insistent. Harold realizes that Carver had found a place with them, so to speak, largely out of a need for structure and community, and in that sense he likely finds hierarchy at least somewhat reassuring. But Harold does not. And if there is a hierarchy, he resents being at the top of it now of all times, when he sorely wants to be nothing more than a grieving, normal man.

He holds his tongue as he puts three tea bags and then hot water into the tea pot. He wouldn't necessarily bother with the whole ceremony normally, but Carver's right about one thing: the air of ritual implies something, Harold's own attempt at a tacit peace offering. ]

Nonetheless, [ he says finally, taking a seat. ] I do apologize. My losses are very recent to me. [ They're incredibly raw still, though Harold is calm at the moment, a still surface of water. ]

It's made me... indelicate, and I found your lack of reaction... perversely comforting.