"You think," he said, "that I dressed for you?"
"Do I look like a person who cares why you did it?" Dean said, tilting his head, a strand of blond hair catching in the movement and making him look, for one brief and terrible second, like something divine and cold. "You think too highly of yourself, Andrea. I only care that you did it. And I told you because you would have been punished for that."
Andrea seemed like he lost all his words; Dean was nothing of what he expected, heard, or met until now.
His eyes narrowed slightly. "Punished."
Dean smiled.
It was small, beautiful, and entirely without kindness. "Yes."
Sylvia had gone very quiet beside him, already preparing for blood, emergency, and the explanation she would offer to Arion for Dean losing his mind in an academic hallway.
