Max’s lips curved. “You’ve got five seconds to tell me you’re not bluffing.”
“Not bluffing.” Finnley squared his shoulders. “I’m a tenor. Falsetto’s my secret weapon.”
Theo gave a small nod. “What will you sing?”
Finnley licked his gloss-slick lips. He’d debated for days, but in the end, there was only one choice. He closed his eyes, pulled in a breath, and let it out in the opening line of “Chandelier.”
Not the party-girl anthem everyone knew, but slowed down, stripped bare. Each note floated high, aching, fragile but unbroken. His falsetto shimmered, cracked once on purpose, then soared again, brighter.
I’m gonna swing from the chandelier…
When he reached the chorus, he stepped back from the mic, singing into the open air, as if the whole room was his lungs.
This washim, glitter eyeliner, trembling hands, a voice raw with too much history.
The last note hung there, ringing, before dissolving into silence.
Finnley’s chest heaved. He wanted to laugh, to wink, to make some glittery quip, but for once, he didn’t. He just stood there, shaking, the song still burning through him.
Theo’s pen was motionless above the page. His gaze was unreadable, but not cold, more like someone who’d heard something he couldn’t easily file away.
Max exhaled, slow and deliberate. His eyes sparkled with delight. “Okay. Damn.”
Finnley finally let his grin loose, though it felt thin. “Told you. Falsetto magic.” But inside, he was already spiralling.
Do they think I’m too much? Not enough? Both?
Theo cleared his throat, setting the pen down with deliberate care. “You’ve got range, control, and a falsetto that cuts straight through. Honestly… that’s exactly what we need.”
Finnley blinked.Wait—did he just?—
Max leaned back, his eyes gleaming as if he’d discovered a favourite new toy. “What he’stryingto say is—welcome to the madhouse. You’re in.”
Finnley’s knees nearly buckled with relief. He pasted on a cocky grin to hide it. “I mean, obviously. Who else can hit notes that high in boots this tall?”
Theo almost smiled. “Rehearsals are twice a week, usually evenings. We’ll send you the schedule. There’s a WhatsApp group. So far, it’s mostly logistics, banter, and Max being inappropriate. He’ll add you to it.”
“Rude,” Max muttered, but he didn’t deny it.
Theo’s gaze sharpened again, assessing. “Let’s get practical for a sec. Where are you based, Finnley?”
“York.” A pause. “I live with my mum.”
“Do you have a job?”
Finnley pulled a face. “I have a few, all part-time, and all less than minimum wage. And if I told them I was quitting, not one of them would even blink while they looked for someone to replace me.”
“And how would you feel about leaving home?” Max asked.
I got this far. No going back now.
He pushed out a sigh. “Look, I know I’m young, but I’m more than ready to move out into the big bad world. Sure, London is huge, but I’m assuming there are others in the group who are doing the same thing.”
Max smiled. “And you’d be right. Some of them are already talking about sharing accommodation, so that’s definitely a possibility. I think I’ll add you to the WhatsApp group so you can work something out.”
Theo nodded. “Because the only way you get to join us is if this gets sorted. It’s important you feel safe and supported here.”
The kindness in his tone was somehow worse than criticism. Finnley’s chest squeezed, his throat prickling. He couldn’t remember the last time someone apart from his mum had sounded that practical, that steady about him.
