Scariel suddenly froze—then gave you a long, warm look. You couldn't even understand why—before he stepped back and sat down on the couch. His gaze never left you, as if you hadn't seen each other in years. And as if he had missed you terribly. You shrugged, confused. "What?""You're amazing, Goti," he suddenly said softly. "I'm glad we became friends. Even though you're pureblood and I'm half-breed." And he added even quieter: "I love you very much." You might have thought he was joking, that this was his way of saying: "Yeah, you're such a fool." But he looked just as intensely, as if expecting something, and you felt completely flustered. Because, probably, he really was waiting. You sighed deeply, though in reality you wanted to run away or sink into the ground. Sometimes you just didn't understand what went on in Scariel's head. Why was he so candid? Why right now, when you felt so uncomfortable? "Yeah, and I..." but you stumbled over your words. Scariel squinted, as if from bright light, and tilted his head to the side, as if his neck ached. With your complete lack of experience—in friendship or love—you were terrible at recognizing anything involving... emotions? Real warm words. Especially how to respond to them. You were certain if someone held up a confession of love in front of you, you'd either take it as a joke or run away in fear. "You don't believe me?" Scariel asked, sounding carefree—a tone that reassured you slightly. "I believe you," you said quickly, staring out the window. "You... you're very dear to me too.""De-ar," he said with a faint smile, obviously teasing you by mimicking your hesitation. You turned to him. He squinted playfully, affecting a coquettish expression. "How dear?""What do you mean 'how dear'?" you asked, crossing your arms with slight indignation. He continued smiling, waiting for an answer, but you couldn't help noticing how tired he looked—and how much these playful games must cost him.