Page 43 of If the World Was Ending

There was nothing but silence for so long that Colby had no choice but to stop staring at the ridiculous tiger-print duvet cover Hunter had and find his best friend’s face. Hunter’s cheeks were pink. His bottom lip was jutting out more than normal. His eyes were narrowed. Colby wasn’t sure if he was pissed off or offended, but it was definitely something like that. “You want to bail on this?”

Hunter turned and walked out of the bedroom. He disappeared into the bathroom and closed the door. Colby was frozen in shock. Did he just blow up their friendship twelve hours before Hunter was leaving? Yeah. He fucking did, and regret filled every crevice in his body with such a force that Colby felt dizzy. He stood up. “Hunter?”

There was no response, so with panic streaming through his veins, Colby got up and walked into the hall. He put a hand on the handle of the bathroom door, but he didn’t open it. He leaned his forehead against the cheap wood. “Please don’t be pissed at me. It was just a suggestion, so you don’t waste money.”

Silence. And just when Colby’s heart started to beat even faster, Hunter opened the door. Colby almost fell into him but caught himself on the frame. Hunter’s face was still pink with anger, and his eyes were… watering? He blinked before Colby could completely register what he saw. “I’m not going forever. It’s like a little over two months, and then what? I come back and have nothing? No best friend? No apartment?”

“I’ll still be your best friend,” Colby argued softly.

Hunter brushed by him and stormed back into the bedroom. He ran a hand into his thick, dark hair and tugged on the ends. He did that when he was freaking out. Colby knew all his tics. He studied Hunter as if it were Colby’s favorite school subject. “I know this apartment kinda sucks, but it’s rent controlled, and you can totally have the bedroom. You don’t have to sleep on the couch. Not just while I’m gone. We can rotate or something when I’m back. And we can get a real sofa bed for the living room. I can swing that financially after this job.”

He sounded so earnest and… wounded. He was bartering for what he wanted. Colby swallowed. “I just feel like I… you’re going to hit it big off this role, Hunter. I know it, man. I don’t know why, but I do, and I’ll still be scrambling for local gigs and like… You don’t need that.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Hunter spat out, but it wasn’t anger, now it was disbelief. Like Colby just recounted some unbelievable urban legend. “It’s a glorified indie flick. Canadian indie. It doesn’t even have a streamer attached. It might just end up at film festivals. And you are so talented. Half your problem is not actually believing that. By the time I get back, Tidal could be the next BTS.”

“We’re so not the next Asian boy band.”

“Okay, then Kings of Leon or some shit. You’re halfway there for fuck’s sake. Look at your Instagram.”

Colby’s only two posts—the one Briar posted after the gig and one he posted yesterday, just playing guitar by the pool in the courtyard—had garnered tens of thousands of views, likes, and reposts. He was also up to 11,000 followers. It was nothing compared to real musicians, but it was something.

“Stay.” Hunter stared at Colby. Colby stared at Hunter. “Don’t move out. Don’t even think about it. Just stay.”

This was a very stupid fight, and Colby knew it. He had nowhere to go, and even if he had a hundred different options, he wanted to be here when Hunter came back. So Colby nodded.

Hunter’s shoulders visibly sagged in relief. He gave Colby a tentative smile and reached up and hooked another wayward wave of hair off Colby’s cheek. “I like your hair, but if you wanna cut it, cut it. But because you want to, not because fucking Ford thinks you need to.”

He pushed back the lock of hair, his fingers brushing by Colby’s ear, and for some stupid, utterly ridiculous reason, Colby leaned into Hunter’s palm before he could pull his hand away. Before his eyes closed, he watched Hunter’s flare slightly. Hunter didn’t move his hand. He stepped closer to Colby. His other hand landed on Colby’s hip. “I’m really gonna fucking miss you.”

Colby’s body flooded with a bittersweet feeling because oh, how he wanted to hear that. But fuck, he didn’t want there to be a reason to say it. “I already miss you.”

“I’m right here.” Hunter’s lip brushed his cheek. His breath tickled Colby’s ear.

Colby’s whole body was radiating with one clear, concise need—the need to kiss Hunter. But that felt like a line they shouldn’t cross. It wasn’t just horny, stupid, fucking around. Kissing was intimate. It was more than lust. More than hormones. They couldn’t be more than just horny… right?

“Are you…” Hunter began, his hand tightening on Colby’s hip. Colby wasn’t sure why Hunter wasn’t finishing the sentence, and he didn’t care. He lifted a hand and pressed it to Hunter’s left pec, on top of his thin old T-shirt, and brushed his thumb over Hunter’s nipple. He watched Hunter’s Adam's apple bob. “Are you high?”

“Not high, not drunk,” Colby confirmed, and then he brushed Hunter’s nipple again. Hunter inhaled sharply and stepped into Colby.

Their bodies were pressed together so close Colby could feel Hunter’s heartbeat against his own sternum, and it was wild. “Just so fucking turned on I could die.”

“Me too,” Hunter confessed.

Colby’s hand slipped down Hunter’s body and cupped the front of his sweats. Hunter was utterly and completely hard. “What do we do about it?”

“I mean… I have an idea.”

“Me too.” Kissing Hunter on the mouth felt like too much of a confirmation of something they probably weren’t ready to face, but… his neck… Colby’s lips grazed it. His neck was warm, and he smelled like the almond sugar body wash in the shower. Hunter sighed. His hand cupped the back of Colby’s head, tangling his fingers in his hair. “Suck it. Hard. Leave a mark. I want you to.”

Colby opened his mouth and pressed it to Hunter’s skin. Hunter held Colby’s head to keep his lips on his neck, just above his collarbone. There were a million reasons why giving Hunter a hickey was a terrible idea, but the thought of him back in Canada, staring in the mirror at that mark and thinking of Colby… or makeup artists seeing it and thinking “this man belongs to someone” that was too powerful a dream to resist. So, Colby palmed Hunter’s dick with one hand and cradled his head with the other and sucked on that sensitive flesh like it was a career. Hunter responded by whimpering and rubbing the front of his pants, rock hard cock and all, into Colby’s palm.

When Colby pulled back, Hunter’s flesh was angry and turning purple, but Hunter’s eyes were hooded and dark—so fucking gloriously dark. He grabbed the edges of Colby’s ratty Stevie Nicks T-shirt and yanked it over his head, tossing it to the ground. Hunter ran his fingers down Colby’s bare sides and turned him, so they were chest to chest, and Colby’s back was to the bed. His hands went to the waistband of Colby’s sweats and hesitated, fingertips dipping under the elastic. “I wanna touch you.”

“Do it.”

Colby held his breath as Hunter’s hand fully breached his waistband and slid over his hard cock. Oh God, why did this make him feel so alive? Why hadn’t it felt like this with women yet? Everything in him warmed, came to life. He wrapped his arms around Hunter’s neck and sighed, tipping his head back as Hunter wrapped his long fingers around Colby’s shaft. “I wanna… It’s fucking nuts, but I… can I blow you?”

“You can do anything you want,” Colby said, his voice shaky but not his desire. That was strong. He’d honestly never let himself entertain the possibility of wanting this, not in real life. Only in the secrecy of his mind. Where he could convince himself, it was a harmless fantasy. But now… God, now, he was fucking dying for that fantasy to come to life. With Hunter.