Page 51 of Unfinished Noise

Spencer reached for his hand, threading their fingers together for a moment before letting go so he could finish getting ready. But even when Spencer turned away, Jamie could feel the echo of that touch—steady, grounding, full of meaning.

Standing fully dressed in the matching outfit, Jamie’s heartbeat kicked up, steady and strong, not from nerves but from a new confidence settling into him. The mirror didn’t show someone tagging along to a show—it showed someone who looked like he belonged on Spencer’s arm. The boots grounded him, the shirt fit as if it were made for him, and the whole look carried a silent boldness he hadn’t expected. He wasn’t going with Spencer; he looked ready to stand beside him, visible, present, part of the night in a way he’d never been before.

He was part of Spencer, and that was everything.

A sharp knock rattled the hotel door—too loud, too impatient to be anyone but Billy. Jamie’s stomach tightened. He set down his sketchbook, crossed the room, and pulled the door open.

Billy stood there in the hallway, eyeliner smudged, shirt wrinkled, looking like trouble wrapped in denim.

Jamie didn’t hide his reaction.

His lip curled. “What do you want now?”

Billy’s eyes flicked over him, annoyed. “I need to talk to Spencer.”

Of course he did. Billy always needed something from Spencer—attention, validation, drama. Jamie stepped back just enough to keep the doorway blocked.

“Why?” Jamie asked, voice flat.

Billy huffed. “Just get him.”

Jamie didn’t move. He let the silence stretch, let Billy feel it. Then he called over his shoulder, “Spence? Billy’s here.”

Within seconds Spencer appeared behind him, still toweling his hair dry from the shower. His expression shifted the moment he saw Billy—concern, irritation, something protective flickering underneath.

“What’s wrong?” Spencer asked.

Billy lifted the hem of his shirt, revealing a smear of black paint across the band logo. “I messed up my shirt. Do you have an extra for me?”

Jamie stared at him. That was it? That was the emergency?

Spencer exhaled through his nose. “Wait outside.”

Billy stepped back, and Jamie shut the door just enough to make the point.

Spencer crossed the room, opened his suitcase, and rummaged through neatly folded clothes. Jamie watched him—watched the way Spencer’s jaw tightened, the way he muttered under his breath.

He shouldn’t have to deal with this. Not tonight. Not ever.

Spencer found a spare band tee and headed back to the door. Jamie followed, leaning against the wall, arms crossed.

Spencer opened the door and handed Billy the shirt. “Here.”

Billy took it, looking smug for half a second. “Thanks, Spence.”

Jamie rolled his eyes so hard it almost hurt.

Before Billy could say anything else, another voice echoed down the hallway. “Billy!” Farlan stormed toward them, holding a clean shirt in his hand—clearly the one Billy was supposed to wear. His expression was sharp enough to cut glass.

“What the hell are you doing over here?” Farlan snapped.

Billy froze.

Farlan reached them, yanked the shirt from Billy. “You bothered Spencer for this? Seriously?”

Billy sputtered, “I—my shirt—”

“I bought you extra ones,” Farlan said, shaking the extra shirt in his fist. “You didn’t need to drag him into it.”