"Before, I would not react to anything. I would do my duty on the battlefield. I would sleep and feed because my body demanded it. I would interact with others only when duty required it," he starts. "I did not care about anything or anyone. People... They do not like me, and they are not afraid to make their dislike known, even to my face. I would be insulted, but I did not mind it, nor did I punish them unless it was a sanctioned action."

Oh, God. The more he speaks, the bleaker a picture he paints. How is that a life? How can anyone live like that?

"After I recovered, everything changed. I became annoyed at every little thing. I am prone to anger unlike ever before. I can feel...hurt, even when there is no discernible wound on my body. It is entirely too strange," he marvels in a low voice.

"Oh, Ze," I whisper. "You must be so confused at everything. I can't imagine what you're going through," I say as I squeeze his hand. In hindsight, his past behavior makes sense. He wasn't rude—that was his default mode. If anything, his newfound feelings must have made him question everything he thought he knew about himself and the world.

I can't possibly imagine what it would be like to go through something like that—to have everything you thought you knew stripped away from you. Yet, still, he's handled everything much better than I think I would. For someone who's practically experiencing the world for the first time, he's shown an impressive amount of self-control—especially considering his destructive abilities.

"I do not want your pity, human," he rasps, his eyes flashing at me.

"I'm not pitying you." I shake my head. "It's called compassion. It means my heart hurts for your pain."

His frown deepens.

"I do not understand. How can you hurt for someone else's pain?" he asks, entirely confused.

"When you care about someone, their pain becomes your own. You want to see them happy all the time, and when they're not, their lack of happiness influences your own, too."

He nods to himself as he mulls over my words.

"You care for me?" he speaks slowly, hesitantly.

"Of course." I smile. "You're a good man, Ze. I don't care what others say or think of you. So what if people don't like you? They just don't know you because they never tried to know you. And that's their loss," I state with all the conviction I can muster.

He stills, staring at me with an odd glint in his eyes. The color of his irises, too, becomes a deeper purple that swirls into an infinity pool, specks of silver flashing brightly.