[An interesting tugging sensation enters his chest, eyes dragging over your pained words. He never hated this position so much, where he couldn't drive the knife deeper into your heart and consume your despair, the way he was meant to. He can't. For this to work, he had to pretend to be normal. Ignorant. Blindly sympathetic to your troubles.

It was sick. You deserve more than that--more than the boy, even (because he just knows you're talking about him). Whatever that miserable little brat was doing to you was nothing compared to your destiny with him.]

...I'm afraid I'm not qualified to answer that question. The heart only wants what the heart wants. You can cut it out, replace it even, but you cannot shift its course. Referring to their feelings, and quite unfortunately, your own.

Is this person inappropriate for them? [He was honestly shocked the boy could love someone after what he did to him.]