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“I’m too distracted by your picky ass eating to think about anything else.”
He glanced down at his bowl and laughed. “What’s wrong with my eating? Don’t you want me to eat all the green ones?”
“Why would I care what color of your Froot Loops you eat? You should eat all of them.” Maybe he was a little off his rocker.
He lifted a brow. “Green? You know, like green M&M’s?”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“They make you horny.” He shook his head, smiling into his bite of all green and purple little circles.
“That’s not a real thing.”
“It is. You are missing out.” He smirked, and I almost fucking believed him.
“Then what are the fucking purple ones for?” I asked, stealing a green one off the edge of the bowl.
“They taste like purple.” He smacked my fingers with his spoon, but I still popped it into my mouth.
“Purple? I think you mean toxic chemicals.” I stole another green one.
This time he met my eyes but let me steal it. “No, they taste like purple, and you are purple.”
“What are you talking about?” Maybe he had lost it. “Is this the beginning of the end? How am I purple?”
“Your creativity is purple.” Royal lifted his shoulders. “Do you not see colors when you hear people’s names or, like, music? All music has a color. Some music has shapes. Thoughts and ideas all have shapes.”
I stared at him. “Ideas have shapes?” I couldn’t grasp what he was talking about.
“Sure. Like each of our albums has a shape, and relationship dynamics have shapes.”
“I’m going to need examples.” I was really starting to believe he’d had a fucking stroke.
“Okay. You’re purple; Kingsley is blue. He’s similar to you but more electric while you’re more neon. Taylor is pink. I don’t know what’s up with that. There aren’t many pink people. I don’t really understand them.” The more he spoke, the more confused I was.
“How the fuck have I known you for two fucking decades, and I don’t know what you’re talking about?” I pushed my plate back and turned toward him.
“I don’t know. I say stuff all the time. Like that artist is giving off green vibes, or things taste like colors.” Royal lifted his shoulders, acting like it wasn’t a big deal. “I think it’s called synesthesia or something like that. I asked a doctor about it years ago. Just how the wires in my brain are crossed. It helps when I write music. I feel out the colors and patterns of the words once you and King do the words and melody.”
I felt a little like I didn’t know my best fucking friend. Was this me? Was I that bad a friend? “I guess I didn’t think it was anything like that. I’m sorry.”
He lifted his shoulders again. “It’s cool. I know everything about you, and you never pay attention to me.”
My mouth dropped open. “Wow.”
“Guess it shows who really was the one who cared more all along.” He wore a smug as fuck smile.
I held up my middle finger.
He grabbed my wrist and wrapped his lips around my finger, slowly sucking it.
“Are you just a full-blown queer now?” I asked through a moan that was way too loud for a communal breakfast.
“I don’t do anything halfway.” He swirled his tongue around the tip of my finger before releasing my hand to return to eating.
But what did that mean? Did it mean we’d go back to being how we were, sleeping around only now he was open to men and women? Were we going to just keep sleeping together occasionally? How would fame affect this? Would it be a relationship with an understanding like a lot of touring musicians had with their spouses? What happened on the road stayed on the road. Neither of us was very good at relationships. Royal hadn’t tried in a long time. He said they stressed him out too much, and my track record wasn’t good either.
He’d said so much last night and promised not to hurt me, but I couldn’t get out of my head, and it was hard to believe he could switch so completely. I hated my fucking anxious and intrusive thoughts that never let me have any peace.
