In retrospect he really should have seen that something was up. While he could hold a social conversation now and again and be pleasant, most of his interactions with people really centered around what he was in some fashion. The comment about him making more sense to her should have been a dead giveaway, but it really wasn't, perhaps because it had been a while since he'd had a conversation that really felt, natural, philosophical, something deeper than the chit chat that was easy to get into, especially these days. It seemed that the world had become something that dwelled so much on the superficial that it had lost sight of what lay beneath unless it was forced to look. And it also seemed these days that often what lay beneath was something dirty, horrible, something that was hidden away for a reason. Desmond was certain that was not all there was to it, but the media of the time seemed obsessed with it.
When Raina asked him about whether or not he thought 'it' was out there, he chuckled a little, looking out towards the stars. "I think that it has a lot to do with who you are, rather than an act of fate. I would say that there are always people who are capable of finding real love if they can find the right person. When two of those people fall for each other, the result is something... beyond words." Desmond said softly, and gave a quiet rueful smile. "Whether that means you or I could achieve such a thing however, is not something that really you know until you're in that moment. That is really what is so wonderful and terrifying about love. You don't really know what it is until you are in that moment when you are in it, and then it is something that is held together by your faith in its existence. When you start to doubt it, like a bubble, it pops."
"I think though, that you should not give up waiting for it. For if you do, you might miss it when it comes by and stares you right in the eyes." Desmond said softly, looking, ironically, into her eyes as he spoke the words, though it was not something he did intentionally.
She might as well have driven a dagger into his chest when she whispered that he could break her heart. All of the little clues suddenly added up in his mind suddenly added up to a single solitary clarity, a puzzle finally assembled to a great tragedy. A part of him had, for the briefest moment, hoped for someone that was simply immune to the way that he looked. He had met mermaids who had seemed not to care about his appearance, but had always flirted. Was it possible that they had, behind the scenes, simply been sighing and looking at him lustfully, hoping that he would come and sweep them up in his arms and whisper sweet things to them and make love to them?