She confused him.
Raziel studied her, the expression in the ice blue of his eyes nearly unreadable. The lines of his expression looked hard, as always. His curiosity was not the bright-eyed, half-smile of his twin, but the calculated concentration that almost made him appear angry. It was only the fact that his ears were still pointed forward, trained on her, that were a sign he wasn’t
“Why?”
He asked, and it came out short. Hard. He heard the infliction and grimaced, pale lips pulling and tail flicking idly at his hind, stirring the air behind him.
“I just…” he blew a terse breath through his lips and moved his weight, shifting it as an excuse to move his legs and work a little of the energy that’d built up inside him. Why was talking to others so easy for Ramiel and so difficult for Raziel? They had shared the same womb, the same upbringing, and yet there were places Ramiel excelled that simply did not come as easy to Raziel. Sometimes he was thankful for it, understood it. But standing beneath the moonlight with Dahlia, Raziel found himself feeling frustrated, and maybe a little bitter.
He tried again.
“I’m not…” his throat tightened, and he swallowed and pushed through, “I’m not very pleasant to talk to.” He averted his eyes, then, not wanting to see the truth in hers when she agreed. He knew what he was and didn’t need pity. “I don’t understand why you’d want to remember this moment.”
He made himself look back at her. Searching her. Wondering.
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