[Truth be told, Caim had no idea what he looked like when he was smiling. He'd never been faced with a mirror while doing so and only on the rare occasion did he even feel his lips begin their subtle upturn. Perhaps that was to say that in lapses of sanity, he had no real conscious to rely on. He supposed he even could have theorised that it was Furiae's companionship that had kept him in a somewhat proper mental faculty.

Or perhaps Angelus.

Unsure of what to say in response, he kept himself quiet a few moments longer. And then with a clear uncertainty, he patted the hand she had upon his arm. There was no offence in her words and he knew that. He took none. But it was almost like being paid a compliment. Being good with a sword was fine. Praise for anything else seemed... just about unheard of.]

It would seem I do not do such too often. [Or really at all, if he was honest with himself.] Yet it would also seem that many things change with time. I suppose that means there is 'hope' for me yet.