A half laugh, almost incredulous, escaped her lips as she looked at him, her expression stuck between vulnerability and skepticism. But she knew this man. She knew he didn't idly flatter or say things he didn't mean. Why then, was it so hard for her to believe him when he said nice things to her? Part of her believed she truly didn't deserve them. Her soul was battered and torn and no one in their right mind would look at it and call it a thing of beauty. But an angel had cared for her. The one creature in all of existence that should have found her the most repulsive, had looked at her and called her beautiful. And he was even in his right mind this time. She brought her other hand up slowly, running her fingers lightly across his cheeks, his forehead, wanting, somehow, to ease that confused and frustrated expression he wore.
"You're not so bad yourself," she said at last, refusing to comment on his assertion. She couldn't, somehow. Admitting the insecurity she had suddenly felt left her feeling a touch too vulnerable. Too open. Instead, she rose up to kiss him, moving to him this time instead of bringing him down, and hoped he would take that as her attempt to smooth things over. Her kiss was soft, almost hesitant, and suddenly unsure. She found herself frustratingly afraid that she had crossed some line and offended him. She was more worried about that than the sudden cooling of passion between them. Passion could be rekindled. But she didn't want him angry with her. She didn't like the way it ate at her.