Callan looked ashamed of himself. He rocked his head ‘no’, then gingerly sat on the ground.
“Melancholia.” He told Flor. “It comes and goes.” He lied. It was always there, just on occasion, it would become overwhelming and reduce him to a sweaty snivelling asthmatic.
He wiped his eyes on his sleeve before looking up at Flor. “Sorry… Barrett used to give me a backhander… to snap me out of it, so… I hide when it happens.”