Something fucking stupid just happened on my dash.
“This is how I know we’re siblings.”
“Look, the good and evil theory is flawed, but when I’m not toying with logic, I’d like to think I’m a pretty decent human being,” and Naminé is leaned over the counter beside the cash register, watching one of her customers read the label on a glass bottle. They’re not going to buy anything, and she knows it, so technically they’re not a customer. They’re loitering. “Not the best because my ego isn’t that big, but there’s a separation between you and me. That’s not an insult, sugar, but you’ve got some stains on your hands I’ll never relate to.”
“Does it bother you,” he asked her. “That we’re so different?”
“But you’re as human as me, half-pint. We’re not different. You don’t understand that, but I want you to. You’re not as disconnected from your species as you claim to be. Your blood is my blood is my blood or something like that.”