Page 54 of Unfinished Noise

He stepped forward and started a song Jamie recognized—one Spencer usually sang alone. Billy took the first verse, voice low and smoky, and Spencer shot him a surprised grin before joining in. They sang together, harmonizing as if they’d rehearsed it, even though Jamie knew they hadn’t.

Billy’s eyes found Jamie again during the chorus

Held.

Measured.

Almost challenging.

Jamie just breathed out slowly, letting the music wash over him. He didn’t feel threatened. He didn’t feel insecure. He felt… grounded. Spencer’s voice was the anchor in the room, and Jamie knew exactly where he stood with him.

When Spencer hit the high note, Jamie felt it in his chest—felt the pride, the ache, the love. Spencer looked out over the crowd, searching for him, and when he found Jamie near the side rail, his entire face lit up.

Billy saw that too.

And for the first time all night, Billy looked away.

Jamie smiled—small, private—and let the music carry him the rest of the song.

The guitar riff vibrated through the floor, up Jamie’s legs, settling in the warm buzz under his skin. When Spencer threw his head back during a high note, the spotlight caught the line of his throat, the shine of sweat, the sheer force of his voice—and a wave of lightheaded awe rolled through Jamie so fast he had to grip the edge of the table.

The crowd screamed Spencer’s name, hands reaching toward him like he was the only thing in the room worth touching. Spencer grinned—wide, wild—and pointed into the audience before snapping back into the next verse. Every gesture was sharp, intentional: the flick of his wrist, the way he pushed his hair back between lines, the quick glance toward Jamie that hit harder than the bass drop.

Warmth spread through Jamie’s arms and fingertips, a slow glow that made him feel as if he were lit from the inside. Spencer wasn’t just performing. He was burning. Jamie couldn’t look away. And Spencer kept looking at him.

Not constantly, not in a way that broke the performance—but in quick glances that landed like sparks. A flick of his eyes toward the front tables. A half‑smile aimed directly at Jamie before he turned back to the mic. A small tilt of his head that said, I see you.

Every time it happened, Jamie’s breath caught. His heartbeat picked up. His fingers tightened around his drink. It was overwhelming in the best way—watching Spencer command a room and still make him feel like the most important person in it.

Jamie stood, heart still racing from the performance, and followed him down a narrow hallway to the break room. The door shut behind them, muffling the crowd.

Spencer didn’t say anything at first. He reached for Jamie’s waist, pulled him in, and kissed him—quick, warm, a little breathless from the stage. Jamie’s hands landed on Spencer’s shoulders automatically, steadying himself as the leftover adrenaline from the show mixed with the closeness of the moment.

Spencer’s forehead pressed gently against Jamie’s for a moment, their breaths mixing in the small space between them. His breathing still ran fast from performing, each inhale warm against Jamie’s skin. A faint tremble moved through his hands where they held Jamie’s waist, the kind of subtle shake that came from adrenaline and emotion colliding. Jamie stayed close, steadying both of them without saying a word.

“You’re here,” Spencer murmured, almost like he needed to say it out loud.

Jamie nodded, chest full, throat tight. “I’m here.”

Spencer kissed him again—still soft, still careful, but with that intensity he only had when he’d come offstage and found Jamie waiting for him.

Jamie melted into it, the noise of the club fading behind the door, the warmth of Spencer’s hands grounding him completely.

For a moment, it was the two of them. Jamie got a bottle of water out of the machine and handed it to Spencer.

The music, the crowd, the lights—everything else could wait.

Chapter Twenty-One

Jamie

Jamie and Alfie slipped back into their seats as the second half of the show kicked off, the lights pulsing across the crowd. Their fresh drinks arrived—still fruity, still silly, but the ice had already begun melting, turning the colors softer and the flavors sweeter. Jamie took a sip, the sugar on the rim dissolving against his tongue, mixing with the leftover adrenaline from Spencer’s kiss backstage. Alfie tapped his umbrella against Jamie’s glass like a toast, and Jamie felt the warmth settle deeper in his chest, steadier now, less jittery and more sure.

Jamie leaned closer. “Those two prepared a syllabus for us while we were away.”

Alfie laughed into his drink. “It feels like they did. They’re like twins.”

“They are.”