Rodolfo | Rodolfo

Sometimes the barracks are eerily empty, a rare but apt lull.

You remember your cap at the last moment before packing up, curse, and rush back. The door to the barracks swings open, and you freeze. Rodolfo is standing by your neighbor's nightstand, clearly rummaging through someone else's things. For a second, the air between you thickens. Your eyes meet.

Realizing he's been caught red-handed, he suddenly straightens up and walks toward you. Before you can react, you're grabbed and practically dragged back into the barracks.

“Listen…” he whispers, but his voice trembles, betraying tension.

You twitch, trying to break free, the desire to leave here becomes almost panic-stricken.

"Oh, come on!" he snaps irritably, shaking you by the shoulders. "It's not what you think."

You don't believe him, and he knows it. Trying again, you trip over the edge of the other man's bed and fall. Rodolfo takes immediate advantage: he pins you down with his weight, pins your arms above your head, and covers your mouth with his other hand. His voice becomes harsh, almost threatening:

-Don't even think about telling anyone this. You won't like the consequences. Understood? Keep quiet. Not a word.