"Space? You're not making any sense."
Florian finally let go of Lancelot's hand and took a quick step back, as if the sudden contact had burned him. His heart was still racing—why had he even done that?
Lancelot didn't complain about the distance but instead looked down at him, his expression unreadable.
Then, to Florian's surprise, he actually answered him.
"You... are uncomfortable when I'm flirty, so I... tried to be much more proper, like... Lucius."
The words were slow, hesitant, like Lancelot himself couldn't believe he was saying them. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking uncharacteristically shy.
'Huh? Like Lucius?' Florian's eyebrows furrowed as he processed those words. 'Lancelot would never do such a thing in the novel. He's way too proud of who he is.'
His confusion slipped into his voice before he could stop it.
"Why would you do such a thing?"
More importantly—why is he doing it now?
