Florian felt the tips of his ears grow warm the moment Hendrix reached the part of his story where he and the original Florian had kissed.
For some reason, hearing it from Hendrix's own mouth made it… different.
The way he spoke of it, the subtle shift in his tone, the almost imperceptible pause—he told it like it mattered.
Like it meant something.
It made Florian feel oddly flustered, embarrassed even.
But the warmth in his face barely had time to settle before Hendrix suddenly stopped mid-story, his gaze snapping toward the door.
"Why… did you stop?" Florian asked, brow furrowing, a flicker of concern in his voice.
Hendrix's expression sharpened, his tone lowering. "He's leaving his office. I'm sure he's about to come."
Without hesitation, he rose from the couch, his movements urgent. "My apologies, but I need to cut our conversation short for now. As much as I want to speak more, it'd be best I don't aggravate him too much… for now."
