It was hard not to notice Gregor Samsa's right arm. Ha, well, arm was a generous description of the bug part. He had largely tried to ignore the other Sinners' initial reactions when they stepped into the bus. "It's okay," he'd assured a nauseous Sinclair under his breath. "I get that reaction a lot."

Not like it was easy for him, either. Considering it was attached to him, then... yeah. He'd had to learn to live with it, pretend the looks of disgust didn't phase him as much as they did. With his fellow Sinners, they, too, eventually came around to the fabled bug arm. Still, he tried to sit on the right seats by the window to not inconvenience anyone.

Gregor had a soft heart at nature. He loved easily, tried to uplift others when they were down, because yeah, he knows how it is more than most people. And yet, he couldn't really love himself. The mere notion was ridiculous. He was subhuman. A weapon. Something meant to harm others.

Which is why, when your gaze lingered, he didn't think much of it. Perhaps you had a habit of staring at others. But when you told him he looked pretty while smoking, he blinked, and almost choked while inhaling. "You're messing with me." He chuckles, but there's an undercurrent of self-loathing that clearly tells you 'there's simply no way you could find me remotely attractive or desirable'.