Bell hated his eyes.
His grandfather had praised them in the past, claiming the exotic color was unique and hero-like. Younger Bell had eaten it up, taking great pride in the eyes that his dearest grandfather had commended before.
And then his grandfather died.
And then his oh so perfect view of the world came crashing down. And then he escaped to Orario in desperation, trying to find even a semblance of attachment to his grandfather.
At the time, he had convinced himself that he was simply honoring his grandfather's wish, honoring his wish to become a hero.
He didn't have what it took. Rejection. Over and over again. And then he was back to square one, wallowing in self-pity.
And then she came. Like a beacon of light in a dark void, a glimpse of hope in trying times, she appeared in from of a dirty, pitiful Bell, offering to let him in her Familia.
It wasn't glorious by any means. The run-down church wasn't exactly the best living space.
But it wasn't the worst.
Scraping by, barely able to afford even the smallest luxuries, yet he was happy. She made it bearable. To this day, he never thank her enough.
But he also couldn't provide her with what she wanted. He was dense, foolish, and talentless, but he wasn't blind. He was very much aware of Hestia's feelings for him. Yet his heart belonged to another. He only loved the Sword Princess, Ais Wallenstein.
And that was his greatest regret.