"I am never going back in there."
Florian's voice came out in a tired huff as he dragged his feet down the corridor. His back ached, his head was pounding, and there was a hollow sort of ache in his chest that only ever came from too much talking.
He was exhausted.
The moment he'd given Drizelous the green light to ask whatever he wanted, it was as if he had unleashed something uncontrollable. The man lit up like he'd been struck by lightning—rapid-fire questions spilling from his mouth before Florian could even finish one answer. Questions about feelings, posture, favorite colors, worst memories, fleeting dreams. At some point, Florian wasn't even sure if it was about fashion anymore.
And Drizelous had enjoyed every second of it.
Too much.
Florian rubbed at his temple, letting out another sigh as he turned the corner toward his wing. His mind was still buzzing.
'He didn't even give me a moment to breathe.'
