"What's taking them so long?" Fedora leaned against one of the building's gigantic, cold pillars, arms folded tightly over his chest.
He muttered the words in sharp exasperation, his lip twitching in a rhythmic twist that mirrored his growing impatience. He loathed the stagnation of it all; he was wasting precious minutes in a house that felt like a vacuum.
Meanwhile all He just wanted was a quick, final conversation with his father, to secure some semblance of closure, before he escaped back to college.That was the goal. Not the heavy, watchful eyes that seemed to track his every breath here.
It was sickening.
Servants waltzed past at three-minute intervals, their footsteps muffled by the expensive rugs, yet they never failed to shower him with those clichéd "young master" greetings. Each syllable made Fedora's skin crawl; it was a suffocating brand of respect he hadn't asked for.
