My jaw dropped. He was speaking to me. He looked right at me and said my name. He said I was perfect.
Was I dreaming? Was this a fantasy so vivid it felt real? The only other explanation was that Devereaux had actually said those words to me. And that was ridiculous...
"What bothers you, Florian?" Devereaux asked when I didn't respond.
So it was true. Hedidsay those words to me. My cheeks burned as hot as the fire between my thighs.
"N-nothing. I've never been called perfect before is all." I laughed weakly. "I don't think the term applies to me, really. I'm far from perfect."
"Are you calling me a liar?" Devereaux countered.
"No!" I blurted out, suddenly afraid I'd offended him.
But Devereaux didn't look upset. "Then accept it."
I huffed in amusement. He was one to talk, always speaking badly about himself. "Only if you do the same. I don't like hearing the things you say about yourself."
He frowned. "But it is the truth."
I shook my head. "I don't think so. How about this, then? Nobody's perfect."
Devereaux let out a one-note laugh. "Fine. But if anybody was close, it would be you."
I blushed furiously. He had to stop with the compliments before I truly fell head over heels for him. Though I was beginning to suspect it was already too late.
I tried to disguise the small giggle coming out of me as a cough. With Devereaux's compliments and his warming touch, I felt like I was in another world. My daily worries disappeared to the furthest corners of my mind and I was left only with the sweet, fluffy sensation that Devereaux made me feel.
"Getting late, isn't it?"
The sudden unfamiliar voice startled me and I choked back a squeak of surprise. Devereaux was instantly on his feet, turning towards the stranger. I hadn't even seen or heard them approach, but then again, I'd been distinctly distracted. Devereaux's lightning-quick reaction made me feel safe.
"Who are you?" Devereaux asked.
So he didn't know either? I cast a closer look at the stranger, who was tall—about Devereaux's height—and wearing a hood that shadowed their face. Something about the clothes reminded me of Devereaux's garb, the silky way it flowed in the breeze and the same pitch-black darkness of the fabric. From appearances and mysterious auras alone, I would have assumed they knew each other but Devereaux didn't seem to know the stranger's identity either.
"My name is Argon," the hooded man said in a cool voice. "You don't know me, Devereaux, but I know you."
Devereaux frowned. "How is that possible?"
Argon smiled and shook his head. "Don't worry about that. As I was saying, it's late for your friend. Florian, is it?"
"Yes," I replied, awed that he knew. Who was this person?
"Devereaux, it's a long way for him to get home," Argon said. "You wouldn't want him to be late."
Devereaux stiffened. I had the feeling he was battling internally with his desire for me to be safe with his confusion at Argon's sudden all-knowing appearance.
Finally, his care for me won out. Devereaux faced me. "Is that true?"
I let out a long sigh through my nose. When I was with Devereaux, it was easy to forget my normal life, and in many ways, I wanted to. But now that he brought it up, I knew it would be irresponsible of me to shirk my duties—and ignore my health.
"Yes," I murmured, looking at the ground. "It's not because Iwantto leave, but..."
"Who is forcing you?"
I blinked, lifting my head to look at Devereaux. "Pardon?"
"I said, who is forcing you to return? You said earlier your home is the orphanage, did you not?"
