Chapter 11: CatastropheLeo woke to repeated sounds, too early, from his phone; that wouldn’t’ve been enough to make him sit up, but he turned sleepily to find Sam, and encountered shocked tension, distance, a space in the bed. He shoved himself up instantly. “What’s wrong?”
Sam had sat up as well, maybe only seconds ago. His face was white. “I—I didn’t mean—I don’t know how I—” His hand shook; he was holding his phone. The morning was cold as winter, as bitterness, despite the plush attempts of their blankets.
Leo took Sam’s phone, cautiously. And then nearly dropped it. His hand shook. “Oh God.”
Photos. Colby’s photos. Not the red carpet ones, not the merrily domestic moving-in-together series.
No. Worse.
Colby in seafoam-blue underthings, shirtless, gazing out the window. Colby wear
