Jamie didn't realize he'd stopped breathing until his lungs started to burn.
The overhead light carved sharp shadows along Jett's jaw, across his shoulders. Mapping out the tense expression on his face.
Jamie felt cold, the kind of cold that felt suffocating. This wasn't supposed to happen. He didn't imagine the picture in Jett's hand would be anywhere in the picture so soon.
Jett looked from the picture to Jamie. Back to the picture, then back to Jamie again.
"What is this?" he asked quietly.
Jamie's throat went dry. "Why are you touching my things?"
Jett frowned slightly. "I wasn't. It fell when I tried to pick up my shirt and hit the table with my head, so I picked it up." he explained.
"You shouldn't have." Jamie snapped too quickly.
Jett's eyes narrowed just a fraction. "Jamie-"
"Why are you going through my stuff?" Jamie cut in, voice rising.
"I wasn't going through anything," Jett said, now irritated. "The damn thing was on the floor."
