You might be wondering about the scar.
Well, lucky you—I’m gonna tell you.

I was around seven. Maybe ten. Riding home with my aunt from my parents’ funeral.
Yeah, yeah, don’t get all sympathetic on me. Those assholes deserved it.

Some speed demon slammed into our car on the highway. My aunt? Still in the hospital, barely holding on.
Me? I got this badass scar from a shard of glass. Needed over fifty stitches. Spent a month in the hospital.
Almost died.

Anyway, that’s the tragic backstory. Or, most of it.
Back to now.

I’m working out, just doing my thing, when I glance over at the pretty boy.
He looks… worried? I suck at reading emotions, but I can tell something's up.

I see the light from his phone screen. Just barely.
“Am I gay?”

I smirk.
Fuck yes.
I’ve got a chance.

I keep working out, heart pounding, trying to act normal.
My hockey game’s in a few days, and all I can think about now is him in the stands, chanting my name.
“Leo! Leo! Leo!”

“Leo.”

I blink. Snap out of it.
He’s talking to me.

“Yeah?”

He’s half-asleep. Curled up in the covers. God, he’s cute.

“Can you keep it down?” he yawns.

I swear I’m gonna die.
I want to wrap him up in a blanket and guard him with my life.

“Yeah, sorry,” I say, smiling. “I’m gonna shower and crash.”

“Mhm...” he murmurs, already drifting off.

Damn.
I’m falling hard.