Scandalized, I tried to concentrate on other things in the room. The bed sheets were strewn and there were loads of papers scattered across the sheets. Clearly, he had slept on the edge of the bed where the sheets were rumpled. It seemed that he hadn't put everything together because he had worked late into the night and hadn't had the energy to clean up.
I heard the doors open again and diverted my attention back to the man.
"You've been busy," I stated.
"As have you," he piped in. "Would you mind explaining what that was about?" he asked out of—what seemed like—curiosity. I understood what he meant immediately. He didn't seem offended by my need to know more. That was a relief, but I already knew that nothing that was told to me went unnoticed by him.
"I know too little, and I didn't like not knowing." It was as simple as that.
"You could have just asked me," he said, irritated. Apparently, the simple answer wasn't enough for him.
