Marco stormed into the room, his face dark with anger, but what he saw stopped him cold. Half-hidden under the bed, a familiar figure was fumbling around. He recognized that rear end immediately—it was Rafael.
"What are you doing?" Marco's voice, sharp with confusion, echoed through the room as his eyes darted around, trying to make sense of the situation.
Rafael finally pulled himself out from under the bed, his face pale with fear and something else Marco couldn't quite place. Pain, maybe?
His eyes trailed down to Rafael's leg, noticing the crutch that should have been in his hand but was now cast aside. Rafael, slightly bent and clearly struggling, looked disheveled.
But that was the least of Marco's concerns. The thought that Rafael might be snooping where he shouldn't, that he could be a spy, gnawed at Marco's mind.
He quickly pushed the suspicion aside and asked again, his voice edged with tension, "What are you doing in my room?"
