#jurenace

"Hey you." 

So it was him. Jure thought he'd recognised him but couldn't be sure. They'd matched on tinder weeks ago but had never been in the same city long enough to meet up and the conversation had fizzled out. But now here the guy was in his messages, having shared a questioning, lingering glance at the venue at soundcheck. Nace was his name, the app reminded him. Tattooed, fat, long hair, a bit wild. And a bassist to boot. Jure always did find bassists the most fun. 

They were each patching in as temp musicians in their respective metal bands, by chance performing at the same venue on the same night. Nace's band boasted the bigger stage but they shared the backrooms. 

And Jure wasn't afraid of escalating things, meeting Nace's flirtatious texts with some risqué snaps of himself. He saved the best for right at the last moment - glistening hole and high-definition ballsack with a background of gold chains and eyeliner, just as Nace was headed out onto stage with his band. 

After the set, Jure was waiting for him. 

Nace was sweating from his show and headed straight to find Jure as soon as they got backstage.