"Your awkwardness," Malachi gave his hands a gentle squeeze, "is endearing. You are awkward because you care about the people around you."

Unlike the awkwardness that stemmed from somewhere else, like the kind that clung to the long limbs and spindly fingers of a man that had not been raised with others. Unlike the awkwardness that served only to disturb, to show how little he knew about being a person just like them; Crane's unveiled his need to please, to not disrupt. As if he would rather let his voice fade into nothing at all than risk bothering someone else with it.

Malachi released one of his hands, and raised his own to gently wipe away the constable's tears. What could have been an affectionate gesture, perhaps, had Malachi not already firmly cemented Crane in his mind as yet another child for him to take care of.

It was the honesty that endeared him. Even with all of his doubts and counter-points, Crane was letting himself be truly seen, and that meant more to Malachi than whatever he could use against him.

"Don't concern yourself with that now. When you meet them--" because he was sure that he would, "--it will come to you. And it will not matter that you are awkward, or clueless, because love is not about being perfect."

He kept one of his hands holding Crane's, but let the other fall to rest upon his own knee. Didn't want to overwhelm the poor thing any more than he likely already had.

"It's about being..." his eyes strayed for a moment as he thought it through. "Perfect for them. Do you understand?"