After Lancelot told Florian everything, the room fell into a tense, fragile silence. Florian's face was lowered, his curly bangs casting shadows over his eyes, obscuring his expression entirely.
Lancelot shifted uneasily, studying him.'Is he… crying?' he wondered, his brows pulling together. The idea alone made his chest ache.
But then—
Florian exhaled, long and heavy, like he was holding back a storm."That..." he began, voice low.
And when he finally looked up, Lancelot was startled.
Not tears.Rage.
Florian's eyes burned—not with grief, but with fury. His lips curled, and his fists trembled slightly at his sides.
"That bastard!" he snarled, his voice raw and rising. It jolted Lancelot to hear such venom in that usually soft voice.
'He's angry,' Lancelot thought, blinking in surprise. 'He's not even crying… he's furious.'
