[It's alright. He already told her as much—they belonged to separate worlds and pursued separate ideals. Friendship and love were too far from him to embrace any longer, outside that single light that burned inside him. Gilgamesh sought other things, darker things, the deaths of his enemies and monarchs turned inside out for their crimes, the rise and fall of the Master that caused this nightmare and ultimate reclaiming of what has been stolen.

Hermione really can't help with any of that. It's a lovely thought for her to express, and she's a lovely creature touching him the way that she does, but it's still a lie. It's still what drove them apart from each other, always would. He's charm and wickedness and a handsome face with an ugly smile and that would never change.

Hermione has only ever been herself in comparison. He envies her terribly for that.

He reddens from the intimacy of that kiss. It doesn't happen often, but that kindness invokes a memory of a child of the earth who once did the same. It softens him. It dulls his sharper edges. And briefly, they look the very same age, the girl who stood before the sun and the young man blinded by his own light.]

Did I mess it up again...?

[Gilgamesh glances back with distaste at their tea and treats, now gone cold. He seems frustrated with himself.]

Maybe I should've just left. Then you could've imagined I said something better, or that I tried a little harder. It's regrettable.