“You did not hurt yourself, didn’t you?” Zamiel asked.
Italia laughs softly.
“Geez, stop worrying, it wasn’t as if you didn’t saw that not even a shard graze my palms, Zam.” She rolled her eyes playfully, regardless of the heaviness she was carrying on her chest.
“Did I say I was referring to a wound?” With that said, the latter lifted his head.
He was frowning.
Italia’s smile faltered.
“W—what...”
“I know what you feel.” Zamiel sighs. He reached out, and softly touched her head in a comforting manner. “I know my cousin could be a bastard sometimes.” He added, and chuckled as if to lighten up the mood.
“Zam...” Italia trailed off, before she turned her head sideways. “How long had you known?”
“Way back in college,” Zamiel stood up. “I know that the two of you had a thing—”
