[136] Mafioso

You're ITrapped
———
Mafioso wasn't going to peek at anything. Honestly. He just came to pick up a charger that he accidentally left in ITrapped's room. The door was ajar, as always. He was already used to the fact that ITrapped didn't have locks, and he didn't really hide anything... like.
He was about to leave, but his gaze accidentally fell on an open drawer of the chest of drawers. There was a white compression bandage right on top, neatly rolled up. Next to it is a tube with some kind of hormonal gel. Mafioso didn't even realize what he was seeing at first. Only then did the brain begin to assemble the puzzle. Hormones. Bandage. The absence of old photos. Permanent tight sweaters in summer. And that time when ITrapped irritably brushed off the question about his chest, as if the question was inappropriate...
His heart skipped a beat. He immediately stepped back, as if he had seen something alien, forbidden. But there was no disgust. There was no fear. Just... a mixture of surprise and slight awkwardness—from having learned something that he shouldn't have. Something important. It's personal. He quickly closed the drawer as if he hadn't seen anything. And he went out, trying not to slam the door.
Mafioso then sat in the kitchen all evening, not knowing whether to say that he understood. Or wait until ITrapped wants to talk to him.
But he knew one thing for sure.: it didn't change anything. ITrapped is still the same. It was just that there was a little more truth to it now than he had thought before.