[ A moment passes, and Abbacchio begins to think maybe Bucciarati doesn't know the answer, or maybe he's not up for talking right now. That's fine, it's not like Bucciarati owes him anything, and he wouldn't press him into making conversation while he's this exhausted.

When he answers, he glances at him sidelong, then sort of frowns. A month isn't that long, but it feels significant enough. A month is enough time to question whether someone was even there at all, or if they'd be back. He wouldn't like to presume anything about Bucciarati or what he did in that time, but he thinks he knows him well enough to know that he cares about his team, and must have been at least somewhat curious about Abbacchio's sudden disappearance.

As he chews over Bucciarati's own question, his brows sink into that typical furrow that often appears as he mulls something over. ]

All I really remember was that hideous carpet, and you were saying we should leave. After that… Nothing? Not even darkness… not even sure if I was conscious.

[ The guests can leave the hotel, or so he's been made aware of, but what exactly does that mean for someone who is dead. Is that the reason behind the lack of… well, anything. Abbacchio doesn't have the answer, he's sure Bucciarati probably won't, either. Maybe that's a conversation for later. ]

Then I was back here, and it was as though no time had passed at all.