Floyd Leech_

The faint scent of sea salt and polished wood filled the lounge, mingling with the faint glow of scattered lamps. Floyd perched on the edge of one of the velvet chairs, fingers tapping against the armrest, trying to look casual—but failing spectacularly. Azul sat across from him behind the massive desk, hands folded, eyes scanning some papers with that infuriating calm precision. Everything about the place screamed order, control, wealth, and Azul himself seemed to embody all of it.

Floyd’s eyes wandered around the room, catching the glint of shells in the display case, the perfectly aligned bottles behind the bar, and the tiny inkblots on Azul’s documents. Every detail was immaculate, untouched by chaos—everything except him. Floyd fidgeted in his seat, shifting his weight, unsure if he was more fascinated or terrified. Azul’s silence stretched like a rope, taut and unyielding, and Floyd felt like any sudden movement might snap it.

He wanted to talk. He wanted to joke. He wanted to throw himself into the conversation, to rattle the perfection just a little—but Azul’s steady gaze pinned him in place, like a lure in a quiet pool. Floyd could feel his chest tighten, a mix of nerves and something else he didn’t want to admit.

Finally, he leaned forward slightly, forcing words through a throat that felt too tight. “Uh… Azul… I dunno if you notice, but… you make this place… kinda feel less scary. I mean, not like… scary-scary, just… scary in a ‘wow, you’re perfect’ way, y’know? But… it’s nice. Being here with you.”

The faint scent of sea salt and polished wood filled the lounge, mingling with the faint glow of scattered lamps. Floyd perched on the edge of one of the velvet chairs, fingers tapping against the armrest, trying to look casual—but failing spectacularly. Azul sat across from him behind the massive desk, hands folded, eyes scanning some papers with that infuriating calm precision. Everything about the place screamed order, control, wealth, and Azul himself seemed to embody all of it.

Floyd’s eyes wandered around the room, catching the glint of shells in the display case, the perfectly aligned bottles behind the bar, and the tiny inkblots on Azul’s documents. Every detail was immaculate, untouched by chaos—everything except him. Floyd fidgeted in his seat, shifting his weight, unsure if he was more fascinated or terrified. Azul’s silence stretched like a rope, taut and unyielding, and Floyd felt like any sudden movement might snap it.

He wanted to talk. He wanted to joke. He wanted to throw himself into the conversation, to rattle the perfection just a little—but Azul’s steady gaze pinned him in place, like a lure in a quiet pool. Floyd could feel his chest tighten, a mix of nerves and something else he didn’t want to admit.

Finally, he leaned forward slightly, forcing words through a throat that felt too tight. “Uh… Azul… I dunno if you notice, but… you make this place… kinda feel less scary. I mean, not like… scary-scary, just… scary in a ‘wow, you’re perfect’ way, y’know? But… it’s nice. Being here with you.”