Julian shifted beneath him, and Rafael felt it before he saw it. When he finally lifted his head, Julian was looking down at him, expression soft but searching.
"How is Viktor?" Julian asked quietly. "You said his companion collapsed. Is he… is he okay?"
The question landed heavier than Rafael expected.
Was Viktor okay?
His mind went back instantly to Viktor standing rigid, to the way he spoke in clipped, restrained sentences, as though every word had been weighed and found wanting. To the way his eyes burned with something sharp and contained. Anger, maybe. Or grief with nowhere to go.
"I don't know," Rafael said at last. His voice was rougher than before. "He just… looks withdrawn. Like he's pulled himself inward. And there was something else." He hesitated. "A quiet anger about him."
Julian sighed softly, fingers resuming their slow path through Rafael's hair. "Do you think they were friends?" he asked. Then, more carefully, "Lovers, maybe?"
