Zach is beyond grateful that Kiel takes the time to talk to the interrupted lovers as he composes himself. He's been careless, letting himself get too comfortable with his assignment and now he was paying for that. He knows the priest can see something's up with him, and it is essential for the success of his assignment that the priest doesn't start suspecting that he is not the 'lost child of god' he is pretending to be. Sure, he won't get offed for failing a mission, but blowing this chance will ensure he is negated to grunt work for at least a century.  

He manages not to roll his eyes at 'love is a wonderful thing' and even schools his face in just the right mix between closed-off and vulnerable by the time Kiel turns his attention back to him. The hand in his neck was unexpected, and he stiffens to keep from leaning into the touch. No matter. It'll fit with his story anyway.

"Yeah, shock," he mumbles, avoiding the priest's eyes with a practised air of 'obstinate youth'. "Though I don't understand why you were so nice to them. I mean, you're a priest right? Shouldn't you have told them to 'wait for marriage' or some shit?" He lets a hint of anger leak through before shrugging off his hand and taking a step back. It will mean a small step back in his plan, but it's important to play this right.

"Isn't that what you religious types get off on? [i]Judging people[/i]?" He puts enough venom in his tone to make it seem genuine, but a bit of a wobble at the end to make sure the priest knows this isn't so much directed at him as it is a part of his 'fractured soul'. He catches Kiel's eyes again, making sure his own are shining with just a hint of unshed tears. "Telling them what they do is wrong and that they are [i]sinful[/i]?" He lets the last bit hang in the air for a few moments before visibly deflating. 

"I... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to lash out. It's just... Some people can have everything, you know?" He lets his voice catch slightly. "It's not that simple for all of us..." He trails off for a bit before composing himself again, sheepishly plucking some imaginary lint off his sleeves as if he's trying to cover for accidentally letting slip too much. 

"I think I'm done," he says as he slings the bag holding his art supplies over his shoulder. "I'm tired anyway, can we just go ho-" he catches himself, embarrassed, letting the silence go on just long enough that is was clear he was going to say 'home' but short enough that it is plausible he's trying to cover it up. "- to your place. Let's get back to your place."