Page 45 of If the World Was Ending

Colby and Hunter talked every day, sometimes by text, sometimes by FaceTime, sometimes on an actual old-fashioned call. Colby’s show with Hannah Wolfe had gotten Tidal an opening gig on part of the American tour. Colby Keaton —his Colby— was on tour.

Hunter watched Colby’s social media following grow daily. He was up to almost 100,000 followers now. He was posting more and more. Clips mostly of just his hands playing guitar and his voice singing his own songs over video of the band backstage or a sunset reflected in their pool. But sometimes he posted stage shots that Hunter knew Briar or Ford had taken for him. Two weeks before Hunter got back to California, Colby posted his first Instagram story, which was a picture of a breakfast plate, filled with a breakfast burrito, tater tots smothered in cheddar, and a healthy smattering of Pico de Gallo over it all. It was an old pic of a breakfast Hunter had made for them. He could even see his own hand slicing up an avocado in the corner of the photo.

The caption Colby wrote was: Missing my burrito

It made Hunter laugh but also… caused a small, almost indiscernible nervous flip to happen in his chest.

Two days before Hunter wrapped the movie, Colby Facetimed. It was after midnight, but Hunter hadn’t even gone to set yet. It was a night shoot, and Hunter had to be on set at 2 a.m., so he was up and running lines after sleeping most of the afternoon and evening.

“Hey!” Hunter smiled into the camera, but as Colby’s face filled his screen, his smile dropped into a gaping O. “Holy shit!”

Colby rubbed his hand over his shorn hair. “Yeah. I know. Is it horrific?”

“No. Not at all. You look…” Hunter swallowed down the lump that was suddenly in his throat. He missed Colby so much it was ridiculous. “You look fucking hot.”

Colby’s cheeks immediately turned such an adorable shade of pink that Hunter grinned. “It feels weird, but I don’t hate it. I don’t think. The label wanted me to do it before we shoot the album cover.”

“The label? Your label? You have a label?”

Colby’s face bloomed into the biggest smile Hunter had ever seen on him. “Yes! I have a mother fucking label! We signed a contract today with Revolution. " Two-album deal,” Colby explained. “Two fucking albums!”

Hunter jumped up off his couch and nearly tripped over the cheap Ikea coffee table. “Oh my fucking god! Colby! Fuck, that’s so epic.”

He wanted to fly straight home and celebrate with Colby in person. It physically hurt that he wasn’t there to share this moment with him. “You’re amazing. It’s amazing. I’m so fucking happy for you.”

“You’re the first person I’ve told. I wanted you to know first.” Colby confessed, his smile wavering. “It’s surreal.”

“It’s deserved,” Hunter said, and he couldn’t stop smiling. “You’re gonna be so fucking famous, Colb.”

God, he wanted to hug him so fucking badly. And kiss him. Wait… what? Whoa.

“I heard them talking about your movie on an Instagram reel, Hunter!” Colby exclaimed, suddenly changing the subject. “It was some movie buff or movie influencer type shit, and he was talking about most anticipated upcoming releases. He said your fucking name, dude! He said your name, and he even had a pic from set. You were in a gray leather jacket, and someone painted your chest in red paint.”

“That’s a red T-shirt.” Hunter corrected.

“A child’s extra-small?” Colby winked and laughed at his own ribbing. Then his voice dropped an octave. “It looked so fucking hot, Hunter. And all the comments on the video were people saying exactly that. You looked hot.”

“Like you do now, Mr. Haircut.”

Colby’s smile slipped into something soft and deep. And warm. So warm Hunter could feel the heat through the phone. “You still coming home at the end of the week?”

“Yeah. I can’t wait to see you.” Hunter gushed, and then his breath hitched as he watched Colby’s smile disappear, taking the warmth Hunter was basking in with it. “What?”

“They want us working with the same producer who did Hannah’s first album,” Colby said. “He’s really good. I like him. He’s worked with a lot of my idols. But he’s a total New Yorker and won’t come west under any circumstances.”

Hunter’s brain tripped over the words, but it only took a couple of seconds for him to draw the conclusion. “So, you’re recording the album in New York?”

Colby nodded. “We leave the day after tomorrow.”

“And I don’t get back until the day after that,” Hunter concluded, and Colby looked as devastated as Hunter felt. The disappointment was intense, and Hunter was immediately hurled headfirst into a shitty mood. “I’m happy for you. Do what you gotta do for this because it’s amazing. But I… for me I wish...”

“I was thinking maybe you could fly to New York instead of home? We’ll be brainstorming, jamming, and shit for the first few days. We don’t start studio time until the end of next week,” Colby explained. “The label rented us an apartment in Chelsea. It’s only three bedrooms and obviously Kenner and Trevor are staying there too, but I’m sure it has a couch or, like, you could crash in my room.”

Hunter wished more than anything he could say yes, but he shook his head. “I can’t. The day after we get back, the streamer wants Mikayla and I to do some video sessions with a bunch of online magazines. Interviews, I think, and viral content.”

“What the fuck is viral content?”

“Silly shit like quizzes and games. Someone mentioned puppies.” Hunter shrugged, and Colby blinked and took a heavy breath. “Well, maybe later then. We’re there for a month. And then we’re touring, opening for Hannah on the East Coast.”