Florian was silent.
Not for seconds—minutes.
Heinz's arms remained around him, steady and firm, but his heart was beginning to stir with unease.
He had expected the usual—stammering, flustered apologies, the way Florian would fidget or accidentally pull away, too shy to even hold eye contact. But now…
Florian just trembled in his arms.
Still crying. Still shaking. Still trying to breathe through the weight of everything that had returned to him.
'What's going through your mind right now, Florian…?'
Heinz didn't speak. He didn't dare. He had a feeling that pushing even a little might shatter whatever fragile hold Florian had on himself.
So he waited. He gave him time.
Because he understood—Florian was still adjusting. The flood of memories, most of them painful, must have been unbearable.
He hadn't even asked about Alexandria yet… or the man who kidnapped him.
'He's not ready. I'll wait.'
In a way, Heinz was grateful. Grateful that Florian was still letting him hold him.
