"Do you even care about how I feel?"
Peter Hale lived in shades of grey. Nothing was set in s t o n e. The world didn't work that way; naive would be he to ever think so, and the luxury of being naive long since had been taken from him.
Whatever feelings he had for Lydia fell under that spectrum. Once, he had controlled her, toyed with her mind for purposes that were entirely selfish. Then, regard for her personal impressions were none of his concern; the girl was nothing but means to an end. Now, the wolf had a hard time classifying what Lydia was to him. He recognized her strength, cherished her potential, and surprisingly, would rather reccur to methods of persuasion other than brainwash to get her to help him.
––– But did he care of how it could affect her? He was not so heartless, was he? Well, perhaps not entirely so.
Only the hint of guilt showed itself in his eyes, for an instant it seemed like he was ashamed to admit the truth; whatever it could be. Tentatively does his gaze find hers, an answer that hardly could be what she hoped for leaving his lips.
"––– Sometimes." As vague as it was, at least he wasn't lying.
