Page 24 of Unfinished Noise

He sat up, pulling his knees to his chest. “I didn’t mean it like—” He sighed. “I’m just tired.”

Spencer set his coffee down, expression softening. “Yeah. I figured.” He hesitated, then added, “You seem… off.”

Jamie winced. “I’m not off.”

“Jamie.” Spencer’s voice was gentle, not pushing. “You don’t have to pretend.”

Jamie looked down at the blanket, picking at a loose thread. His gut clenched hard enough to steal his focus. “It hit me wrong, okay? I know you weren’t trying to be mean.”

Spencer nodded slowly. “Got it. Thanks for telling me.”

Jamie swallowed, the motion thick and slow, like his throat didn’t want to cooperate. His shoulders pulled in a little, a reflex he hated—this small, stupid collapse inward whenever his brain tripped him up. A faint buzzing settled under his skin, the kind that made him want to pace or shake out his hands to get rid of it.

He kept his eyes on Spencer’s face, trying to steady himself on something familiar. “I don’t want you to think I’m mad at you,” he said, voice low, careful. He couldn’t quite get the words out right, as if he were fumbling to explain something he didn’t quite grasp. His chest tightened again, not painful, more the annoying squeeze that showed up whenever things overwhelmed him and he didn’t know how to name it.

“I didn’t,” Spencer said. “I didn’t want to step on something without realizing it.”

Jamie’s throat became warm. That was the thing about Spencer—he didn’t get defensive, didn’t make Jamie feel dramatic. He just… cared. Even when Jamie didn’t know how to explain himself.

Jamie pulled the blanket around his shoulders like a cape, trying to shake off the fog clinging to him. His thoughts were slow, not broken—just tangled, as if they’d woken up in the wrong order. “I think I’m still tired from yesterday,” he said, rubbing at the corner of his eye with the heel of his hand. “And maybe I woke up too fast.” A beat passed, and something heavier settled behind the words. “And maybe my brain is overloaded.”

He didn’t mean it as an insult this time. More like an admission. Yesterday had been a lot—travel, people, noise, the constant push to keep up. His mind hadn’t caught up yet, still sorting through leftover scraps of emotion he hadn’t dealt with.

Spencer’s mouth twitched, softening. “Your brain’s not stupid. It’s just tired.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” Jamie let the words sit, but his thoughts kept moving. The tiredness wasn’t from a lack of sleep—it was the kind that came from too many feelings crammed into too little space. His chest still carried the leftover weight of yesterday’s stress, and waking up fast had shaken it loose again. He tugged the blanket tighter, grounding himself in the warmth, trying to ease the jittery hum under his skin.

It wasn’t stupidity. It was exhaustion. And admitting that was a little easier than blaming his brain for everything.

Spencer stood and crossed the room, sitting on the edge of the bed. He didn’t touch Jamie right away, but sat close enough that Jamie could lean in if he wanted. He did, resting his head against Spencer’s shoulder.

Spencer let out a breath, slow and warm. “We’re okay, right?”

Jamie nodded. “Yeah. We’re okay.”

“Good,” Spencer murmured. “Because I like calling you sunshine. But I like you more.”

Jamie’s cheeks grew warm, a rising heat spreading across his face. “You can call me it later. Not first thing in the morning.”

“Deal.”

Jamie closed his eyes, letting himself sink into the moment. The spark had been small, stupid, fleeting, but it opened something soft between them. Something honest.

Jamie couldn’t help grinning as they stepped out of the diner, the smell of coffee still clinging to his clothes. Spencer had been in one of those moods all morning—quiet, but with that spark in his eyes that meant he was up to something. Jamie didn’t push. He liked the surprise of it.

When Spencer announced they were heading to a music store, Jamie thought he meant to browse, maybe pick up strings or something for himself. But the second they walked in, Spencer turned to him with this ridiculously serious expression and said, “Alright. Time to pick out the guitar you want.”

Jamie blinked at him, halfway convinced he’d misheard. “For me?”

“Yeah, for you.” Spencer nudged him toward the wall of guitars as if he were presenting treasure. “I’m gonna teach you how to play. But you’ve gotta promise to practice. No slacking.”

Jamie’s chest warmed at that—Spencer believing he could do something, wanting to teach him. “I’ll practice,” he said, and he meant it.

Spencer added, “And if you play well, I’ll add you to the band.” He said it casually, but Jamie knew it wasn’t a joke. Spencer didn’t joke about the band.

After Jamie picked out a guitar—one that sat against his palm like it already knew him—they grabbed a cab to a quiet patch of woods Spencer liked. The place opened up behind a row of old oaks, their trunks wide and scarred, roots pushing through the ground like knuckles. The earth was soft and dark, still holding last night’s rain, and every step released a faint, cool smell that clung to Jamie’s shoes.

Sunlight slipped through the canopy in broken pieces, landing across Spencer’s shoulders and the glossy finish of Jamie’s new guitar. The light scattered in little gold patches over the strings, making them almost too pretty to touch. A breeze moved through the leaves overhead, not loud, a steady whisper that made the whole place feel tucked away from everything else, like the world had paused for them.