Page 30 of Call and Response

Progression I couldn’t truthfully give.

Ugh.

It was so much easier on the sidelines of it all.

At least until Noble Taylor and his goddamn butterflies came along.

I switched tabs, pulling his social page up on my screen.

Still fine as hell.

If I scrolled back a bit, you could kinda see the shift from when he and Josiah were stillThe Cure—lots of thirst traps and shit—to now, where it was more family, studio shots, an occasional fresh haircut pic, all with long stretches between.

His most recent post was interesting.

It was a shot of…us.

Well, mainly him, from the stage atHarmonies in the Heights, but I was in the background of the shot, looking pretty as fuck. I didn’t know what he was singing in the picture, but he was very emphatic about it, and from my smile, whatever he was doing… he was doing it well.

He could’ve chosenanyof Brooke’s shots she’d sent us.

Even the slightest shift in angle, a few images later, he wouldn’t have even needed to crop. I just wouldn’t have been in the frame.

So why this one?

Mug in hand, I clicked on the picture so I could see the caption.

Still reeling from this night, still processing how it came about, how it felt being on stage, the reception of it all. Most of all, I’m grateful. To y’all, and to @audballpointpen. It’s up from here.

Shit.

I didn’t even know someone had tagged me. I’d purposely shut off my notifications because I was overwhelmed with it. Against my better judgment, I took a quick dip down intohiscomment section.

There wasn’t any weird shit though.

People wanted to fuck him, obviously, but mostly they sandwiched it in compliments on the performance, excitement that he was out in public, and questions about new music.

He definitely still had fans, and if we did this right, they were going to love this new era.

Which I loved for him.

“You want a top up?”

Oh shit.

I flipped the lid on my laptop closed before I looked up to where Noble was standing, waiting expectantly for my answer.

“Uh…what are you doing here?” I asked. “I mean—shit, no, I don't need a top up. It's like eleven at night. I shouldn't,” I rambled, heart racing from the shock of his sudden appearance.

Instead of saying anything, a slow smirk spread over Noble's face, and it took me a few seconds to realize why.

Not only was he not dressed for working at the shop today, he didn't even actually have a coffee pot or anything in his hands.

“I was just fucking with you,” he told me, pushing his hands into the pockets of his sweats in a way that for just a moment, stretched the fabric across his dick.

Not that I wastryingto look.

But less than twenty-four hours ago he’d been balls deep inside me, so it was hard not to.

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