As I studied him, I got the sense that this was not about a weird savior complex, but I couldn’t figure it out. All I saw was intensity. There was no mockery, but something softer beneath it.
“You don’t get anything out of this,” I said.
He almost scoffed. “That is inaccurate.”
I blinked. “What do you mean?”
He didn’t look away.
“I dislike people," he said.
That caught me off guard. “What?”
“Yet, I find you tolerable.”
The admission felt dragged out of him by force.
“Wow. Thank you so much for finding metolerable.”
I watched him, expecting him to bristle at my sarcasm, but that didn’t happen. In fact, I could be mistaken, but I think he may have smiled at me.
“So this is all because you're lonely?” I asked.
His expression shuttered for half a second. Then steadied.
“I’m accustomed to solitude,” he said.
“That’s not what I asked.”
Silence. Then— “Perhaps I am.”
The words were quiet. Barely there. My heart did something uncomfortable in response.
“This isn’t about saving me,” I said slowly.
“No.”
“And it’s not about owning me.”
“Not even a little.”
“And it’s not about proving you can fix things.”
He considered that. “ . . . It may be partially about that.”
I laughed despite myself. “Honest.”
“I am attempting to be.”
The smile that had been a mere hint grew. That felt new. It was less Beast, more Raphael. There was something about it that felt right. I leaned back in my chair.
“This is insane,” I said again.
“Perhaps,” he agreed. “But it’s also practical.”
“And a little unhinged.”
“You may be correct there, too.”
