"Oh? In which sense?"
I raised a hand to my own eye, mirroring where Pascal wore his patch. "He covers an eye, but only this one."
Devereaux perked up. "Is that right? May I ask why?"
It wasn't really my story to tell, but I was the one who’d brought it up so I felt comfortable giving Devereaux the simplified version. "He had an injury when he was younger, so his eye doesn't work properly. He also doesn't like the way it looks, even though I'm sure it's fine. So he wears an eyepatch over it."
Devereaux let out a small sound of acknowledgement. "I did not know there were others like me."
I chuckled. "I mean, you're not similar at all except for your eyes being covered. He's the total opposite of you in every other way."
With a small moment of hesitation, Devereaux asked, "Do you wish I was more like your friend?"
Where did that question come from? I shook my head. "No, not at all. I like you the way you are. Pascal's my best friend, but you—" I stopped before my tongue let something slip. Trying to get the subject back on track, I said, "So why do you wear that blindfold?"
"Truth be told, I am not sure," Devereaux murmured. "There is a lot I do not know about myself. Forgive me, Florian."
There it was again, the oddly self-deprecating words. Why did Devereaux lack confidence in himself? He was a strong, healthy alpha whose presence commanded attention. At least it did to me. When he was around, I couldn't focus on anything else. He pulled me in with his innate magnetism, like he was the sun and I was a planet circling him.
Still, the topic clearly bothered him. I wanted to help.
I reached out and touched his forearm, trying to replicate the ease with which he touched me earlier, but my hand was trembling. My body was nearing its limit but I refused to lose this moment with Devereaux. I'd push through it.
"You are shaking," Devereaux remarked, noticing my hand. "Are you all right?"
"Just tired," I said. It was close enough to the truth. I didn't want him to worry. "I just wanted to say... it's okay not to know everything about your past, Devereaux. I don't know everything about mine. Who my parents were, how they died, how I ended up at the orphanage... It doesn't matter. I'm still here. I still push forward, no matter what life throws at me. It's the same with you. So don't be so hard on yourself, okay?"
Devereaux listened in silence. His expression shifted as he placed his hand on top of mine. "Thank you, Florian. I appreciate your kindness."
When he smiled at me, my heart swelled. Pulses of warmth seeped throughout my body, smothering the painful jolts of my pain. I felt my cheeks burning.
Then Devereaux turned his head. "But I am afraid I am not like you. I am... different."
"Well, sure. Everybody's different. Different doesn't mean bad."
A small ghost of a laugh left Devereaux's lips. "You do not relent, do you? So fixated you are in your attempt to lift my mood. Well, it is working."
I grinned as joy flooded me. It felt so good knowing I made him happy. "Good."
The blindfold blocked me from seeing Devereaux's eyes, but I got the sense they squinted contentedly as he smiled. Just like the rest of him, his smile was beautiful. It looked so good on him. I wished he'd do it more. Maybe I could make that happen.
"Um, I'd love to see your eyes without the blindfold, if you're comfortable taking it off," I said.
When Devereaux's smile faded, I was afraid I'd been too bold in my request. He removed his hand from on top of mine—to my dismay—and brought it up to his face.
"I... I do not know if I should remove it," Devereaux said. "I have never tried, so I do not know what lays beneath. Perhaps it is best to keep it in place. If it is something horrific, I do not want to frighten you."
Why was he so worried about scaring me when I felt safer around him than anybody else?
"Devereaux, whatever it is, it can't be horrific. It's just part of your body," I said mildly. "Do you think my legs are horrific?"
He was taken aback. "Perish the thought. Your legs are perfect just the way they are."
Perfect? I blushed harder. Nobody had ever called me perfect in any way, much less the source of my disability.
"They're far from perfect," I said with a weak chuckle.
"Show them to me."
