Page 53 of Unfinished Noise

Jamie didn’t answer right away. His pulse thudded in his throat, too fast, too loud. The word lover still echoed in his head, sharper than the guitar, brighter than the lights. He reached for his drink, not because he wanted it, but because his hands needed something to hold onto. The glass felt cold, grounding, but his fingers still trembled around it.

He let out a shaky breath. “I know.” His voice came out thin, almost a whisper. “I wasn’t ready for that.”

Alfie’s mouth twitched like he was fighting a grin. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“Maybe.” Jamie swallowed hard, eyes flicking toward the stage where Spencer was already moving on as if he hadn’t just detonated Jamie’s entire world. “I mean… he said it like it was nothing. Like it wasn’t a big deal.”

“It was a big deal,” Alfie whispered. “Half the crowd screamed.”

Jamie’s chest tightened—not in fear, not exactly. More like pride tangled with panic. “I don’t know if I’m terrified or… proud. Maybe both.”

Alfie nudged him with his shoulder. “You’re allowed to be both.”

Jamie kept staring at Spencer, unable to look away. “I… didn’t think he’d say it out loud. Not here. Not like that.”

Alfie smirked. “Rockstars don’t do subtle.”

“No. They don’t.”

And even with the noise, the lights, the crowd pressing closer, Jamie felt something warm settle under his ribs—steady, undeniable.

Spencer had claimed him in front of everyone. And Jamie wasn’t running from it.

Spencer was commanding the room, already shining under the lights. But Jamie couldn’t look away. Not for a second.

He stayed at the table with Alfie, still trying to steady himself after Spencer’s shout‑out. His pulse hadn’t settled yet; it thudded in his ears, loud enough that the crowd’s cheering blurred around the edges. He still held his drink mostly to give his hands something to do. The sugar on the rim stuck to his fingers, and the cold glass pressed against his palm like a reminder to breathe.

Alfie peered over his glass, his eyebrows lifting in a wordless “Are you alright?”

Jamie nodded, though his chest still buzzed with adrenaline. The fruity drink tasted sweeter than before—maybe from the melted ice, maybe because his mouth was still dry from the shock. He took another sip, letting the cold settle the warmth rushing through him.

The club lights washed over their table, bright and shifting, and the crowd pressed closer to the stage, buzzing with anticipation for the next song. Jamie leaned back in his chair, the drink resting against his knee, grounding him at the moment.

Spencer had called him his lover. Out loud. In front of everyone. And Jamie was still trying to catch up to the reality of that.

Then the music kicked in.

Spencer hit the stage like he’d been shot out of a cannon. The first chord cracked through the speakers, the bass thumping so hard Jamie felt it in his ribs. Stage lights swept across Spencer—deep red, then electric blue—catching the sweat already forming along his hairline. His voice came in rough, gritty at the edges, the kind of sound that made the crowd scream before the lyrics even landed.

Jamie’s breath caught when Spencer dragged the mic stand toward him with one sharp pull, leaning into it like he owned every inch of the stage. The lights flared behind him, outlining the curve of his shoulders and the confident tilt of his chin. Spencer didn’t move across the stage—he prowled it, boots hitting the floor in steady, deliberate beats that matched the drum line.

Spencer hit the stage like he’d been launched, all momentum and fire. Jamie felt the first chord crack through the speakers before he even saw Spencer—bass thumping so hard it rattled his ribs. Then the lights swept across the stage, deep red sliding into electric blue, catching the sweat already shining along Spencer’s hairline.

God, he looked alive up there.

Then Billy stepped up beside Spencer for the next song, bass slung low, eyeliner smudged as if he’d slept in it. The crowd roared when the two of them leaned into the same mic, sharing the verse like they used to, years ago. Their voices blended—Spencer’s grit, Billy’s smoother tone—and the room lit up.

Jamie didn’t mind it. Didn’t feel threatened. Spencer had told him a hundred times that the stage was a different world, and Jamie believed him.

But Billy… Billy kept glancing toward Jamie.

Not subtle glances. Stares. Long, deliberate looks between lyrics, like he was checking whether Jamie was watching. Like he wanted Jamie to see him standing shoulder‑to‑shoulder with Spencer.

Jamie didn’t look away. He wasn’t intimidated. He wasn’t jealous. He just watched, steady and calm, letting Billy see that he wasn’t shaken.

Spencer didn’t notice any of it. He was too locked in—voice soaring, body moving with the rhythm, hand brushing Billy’s shoulder as they hit the chorus together. The crowd screamed. Phones went up. Lights flashed.

Then Billy did something unexpected.