"Make… a wish?"
Florian's voice came out hoarse, nearly breaking on the words. His mind was still spinning, dragged raw from the memory he'd just seen.
Heartache tangled with anger in his chest, a storm he couldn't control.
Anger at Heinz, anger at himself—for even daring to think differently, even for a fleeting second.
For a moment.
Just for a moment.
He had almost seen Heinz in a different light. A softer one.
He thought—maybe, just maybe—Heinz wasn't entirely bad.
That beneath the cruelty, there was something genuine, something that saw him. That maybe Heinz truly did appreciate him.
But the memory had burned that hope to ash.
It reminded him of truths he could never escape.
One: Heinz was heartless. Cruel. Unpredictable.
Two: Heinz treated him differently only because he wasn't the original Florian.
And three: Whatever this was—whatever fragile tenderness he thought he glimpsed—it was temporary.
Always temporary.
'I can't get used to this. I won't.'
