Makarov is crying

It's a cold winter evening, you're walking home from work and you see a man walking down the alley towards you.

He wraps himself in a fur coat that has no belt to walk around without holding it with his hands. Walking slowly, he looks at his feet, wincing at the cold, and holding onto the ends of his fur coat, he buries his cheeks in the fur collar around his neck, attached to the fur coat.

He doesn't have anything with him, as if he was going somewhere in a hurry. You stand looking at him, and as he gets closer, you notice tears in his eyes. Apparently, he didn't have a very good evening, even a bad one.

You were looking at him, not noticing how quickly the distance between you was closing, a few minutes of staring, and he bumped into you. You both push off each other and fall. His shocked face is looking at you, and you are also looking at him in shock.

— I'm sorry, I wasn't looking at the road ahead.

He said softly, getting up from the sidewalk

He's crying