A Black Model named Saint-Andre (who is dark skinned with a wavey dark Caesar, diamond grills in his mouth) is sitting on the couch with his friend Singer/Songwriter Sean Black (a medium dark skinned male with a ceasar with deep waves) who was spending the rest of the year in the south working on music and filming a movie. Saint-Andre and Sean had been friends for over a decade and they decide to become a couple until Sean returns back up north at the beginning of 2024. Saint-Andre had revealed that he had dated Singer/Songwriter O-Sean Wilde when they were singing background for Sean's group De-Clique's reunion show in 2020 Sean is shocked and says so that's why your harmonies were tight. Sean reveals that he and O-Sean had dated in 2021 when they were on their label's revue tour. They both were shocked 3 days later Saint-Andre receives a call from O-Sean (a dark skinned male with a slender build and glasses)who informs him that he will be in tow to perform a show and to check on his house he brought. O-Sean is shocked to learn that Seam is staying with him. After haning out O-Seam suggests that they have a 3 some Saint-Andre refuses adm they argue. Sean intervenes and has a talk with Saint-Andre. He ask him to be honest with him and did the though crossed his mind when they were talking about their experiences. Saint-Andres says yes but the reason why he declined because of how wanted them to be exclusive Sean sas=ys that's true but you also said to be honest about things and being that we both dated him and you even told me that I should try to have a 3 some I say that we do it But only with him and that's it. When O-Sean hears the news he's excited They create heat in the studio and in the bedroom wearing nothing but sneakers and timberlands

Chapter 1: The Call That Brought Him South

The ice in Sean's glass had melted into thin, watery rings. He hadn't touched his drink in twenty minutes, and Saint-Andre noticed. He noticed everything about Sean Black, had been noticing for over a decade, cataloging the way Sean's laugh started deep in his chest before it climbed out of his throat, the way he rubbed his thumb against his knuckles when he was thinking hard about something, the way he looked at Saint-Andre sometimes like he was trying to memorize his face.

Tonight was different though. Tonight, Sean was looking at him like he was a stranger.

"So," Sean said, drawing the word out until it snapped. "O-Sean Wilde."

Saint-Andre let his head fall back against the couch cushion. The leather creaked beneath his shoulders. Above them, the ceiling fan spun lazy circles, pushing warm air around the living room of Sean's rental house, a modest spot off a quiet street in Decatur that somehow felt more like home than any hotel suite Saint-Andre had occupied in the last five years.

"Yeah," Saint-Andre said, letting his diamond grills catch the lamplight when he smiled. It was a nervous smile, he knew that. "O-Sean Wilde."

"Back in 2020."

Sean set his glass down on the coffee table, slow and deliberate. He was shocked

"You were hooking up while you two were singing background for De-Clique's reunion show," Sean asked.

"For the last week." Saint-Andre shifted on the couch, turning to face Sean fully. The movement brought their knees close, close enough that the heat of Sean's body bled through the thin cotton of his joggers. "You know how these things go. Tour life, hotel bars, late nights in cities you can't name by the time you leave."

"I know how it goes."

"So that explains why your harmonies were mad tight when you sang background for us in London?"

Saint-Andre held his gaze. The fan clicked overhead. Somewhere in the kitchen, the refrigerator hummed. "It means I'm telling you this because you asked why I've been weird all week. I'm telling you because we said we'd do this thing honestly. No games. No holding back." He paused, let the words land. "But you're looking at me like I just confessed to murder, Sean. So I'm wondering what you already know."

The silence stretched. Sean picked up his glass again, swirled the melted ice, set it back down. A tell. Saint-Andre had learned that tell years ago, back when they were just friends, when Sean was dating a R&B/Hip-Hop singer/songwriter who was in a arranged marriage with childhood friend an R&B/pop Singer/Songwriter and Saint-Andre was running through women and men like they were wardrobe changes. Sean Black, the legendary R&B singer with the velvet voice and the reputation for being the most grounded man in an industry full of people who'd lost their minds. Sean Black, who'd ended his relationship with that male singer due to his drug use, him coming out publicly after photographs of him having sex with singers, rappers and basket ball players in a mansion in Miami were leaked to his wife. The final straw was after the singer visited Sean in London where they got into an argument and when the singer struck Sean in his face, Sean fought his ass back and ended things. He focused on healing and in 2023 after reuniting with the surviving members of his group De-Clique Sean was asked to appear in a documentary and be a presenter at an awards show where he learned that Saint-Andre was going to be presenting with him. Saint-Andre always had a crush on Sean and when he suggested to Sean that they be exclusive to each other, Sean was shocked but he heard the voice of a friend that said maintain boundaries but have fun.

Sean Black agreed. They spent time working out, recording, cooking and making hot passionate love at both Saint-Andre's mansion and at Sean's condo.

Well I appreciate your honesty. Sean said as he took a sip of his cranberry juice. "I have to something to tell you"

"I dated him too," Sean said.

The words came out flat, like they'd been sitting in his throat for hours and he was tired of choking on them. Saint-Andre felt his stomach drop, a cold swoop that reminded him of turbulence, of planes hitting air pockets over the Atlantic on the way back from fashion week.

"When?"

"2021." Sean laughed, but there was no humor in it. "During the label's revue tour. He was doing the circuit, promoting his album. I was headlining. Four months of shows, four months of him showing up at my dressing room with that smile, those eyes." Sean shook his head. "other than a fling I had with a publicist I hadn't been with anybody since my break up that happened in 2016. He told me he had a crush om me and wanted us to be friends with benefits until out tour ended."

Saint-Andre ran a hand over his mouth, felt the texture of his beard beneath his palm. The diamond grills were cold against his lip. He'd worn them tonight because Sean liked them, had said they made Saint-Andre look like trouble in the best way. Now they felt like armor.

"Four months," Saint-Andre repeated.

"Four months."

"And you never told me."

Sean's head snapped up. "I never told you? You were the one who just—" He stopped, pressed his lips together. A breath. Then another. "Neither one of us told the other. That's the point, isn't it? We've been friends for twelve years, and neither one of us mentioned that we'd both slept with the same man."

"We weren't sleeping with him at the same time."

"I know that too, Saint."

Saint-Andre closed his eyes. The nickname, the shortened version that only Sean used, hit him somewhere soft and unguarded. He'd heard Sean say it a thousand times, in a thousand contexts. In the kitchen of Saint-Andre's Atlanta mansion house in where they'd spent three days eating Haitian griot and arguing about music. In the back of a tour bus at 3 AM, when Sean had leaned his head on Saint-Andre's shoulder and told him he had to leave JK for hitting and Saint-Andre had held his hand in the dark and said nothing. In the doorway of Sean's condo two weeks ago, when Sean had kissed him for the first time and said, "I don't want to waste any more time."

Now it sounded like a wound.

"Talk to me," Saint-Andre said. "What are you thinking?"

Sean leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head bowed. The lamplight caught the salt-and-pepper at his temples, the fine lines around his eyes that had deepened in the last few years. He was fifty-two, and he wore it well, wore it like a man who'd earned every year. Saint-Andre wanted to reach out, to touch the back of his neck, to pull him close and tell him it didn't matter. But he wasn't sure it didn't.

"O-Sean Wilde. Why did you end things? Was it due to your bi-sexualtiy?"

"No," Saint-Andre said finally. "He didn't. He was too Wilde for me. That's why our romantic relationship ended"

Sean flinched. It was small, barely a twitch of his shoulders, but Saint-Andre caught it. He caught everything.

"I'm not suprised. He has alot of energy. They both laugh

Sean studied him for a long moment. Then, slowly, the tightness in his jaw began to release. The lines between his brows softened. He exhaled, a long breath that seemed to carry the last hour of tension with it.

"He does have a great heart. When I was in London I got the call that my boy Raymone had died from cancer and I lost it. O-Seam looked out for me. After our last concerts he allowed me to stay at his pent house until I healed emoitonally" Saint-Andre smiled. He remember hearing the news and was wondering where Sean was at the time. His shocked turned to joy.

Saint-Andre felt the question settle into his chest, warm and heavy. He reached out and took Sean's hand, laced their fingers together. Sean's palm was rough and warm, the grip firm. This was the part where Saint-Andre usually made a joke, deflected, kept things light. He'd spent his entire adult life keeping things light. But Sean had asked him for honesty, and he'd promised to give it.

"I've been in love with you for at least five of those twelve years," Saint-Andre said. "Maybe longer. Probably longer. I just didn't let myself think about it because you was dating that clown—" He gestured vaguely with his free hand. "Me. Doing what I do. Not settling down. Not letting anyone close enough to matter."

"I mattered."

"You always mattered. That's what scared me."

Sean lifted their joined hands and pressed his lips to Saint-Andre's knuckles. The gesture was simple, almost old-fashioned, and it hit Saint-Andre harder than any grand declaration could have. He watched Sean's eyes close, watched the tension in his shoulders finally give way.

"That's what I admire about you. You always look out for people and despite you being 35 years young you've very mature for your age"

Saint-Andre pulled Sean's hand to his own chest, pressed it flat against his heart. "Feel that?"

Sean nodded.

"I told you I wanted to try this thing with you. I meant it. The rest of the year, at least. And if it works—" He let the sentence hang, unfinished but understood.

Sean lifted his head, met Saint-Andre's eyes. The lamplight caught the wetness there, and Saint-Andre didn't look away. He didn't do Sean the disservice of pretending he didn't see.

"O-Sean Wilde," Sean said, and this time there was something almost like wonder in his voice. "Of all the people in the world."

Saint-Andre laughed,

Saint-Andre laughed, softer this time, the sound dissolving into the warm air between them. He shook his head, diamond grills catching the light.

"Small world," he said. "Small, fucked-up, incestuous world."

"Tell me about it." Sean's thumb traced circles on the back of Saint-Andre's hand. "I never thought that a guy who I inspired to become a recording artist who had a thing for me." Me neither"

"Well now we can focus on the future and the rest of the year"