Ten edges.
He catalogued them the way he always did, like notes in a scale.
Julian: glitter wrapped around steel, daring the world to look away.
Sebastian: fragile fire, trying not to show how breakable he was.
Finnley: young and sparkling, plated with jokes and eyeliner.
Milo: quiet, layered, the kind of pain that turned into harmony.
Elliott: charisma sharp as glass, secrets buried under the smirk.
Zane: golden boy smile, shadows flickering underneath.
Oliver: restraint and hunger in one deep note.
Liam: calm gravity, a steady hand in the storm.
Theo—
Max’s gaze flickered across the table.
Theo Sinclair, all tight lines and clipped edges. Precision in a pressed shirt. Spreadsheet king. Control addict.
Their eyes met—one beat, two—before Theo inclined his head in acknowledgment. Max mirrored it, subtle, restrained.
Agreement unspoken:We’ll keep them in line.
Danger unspoken:What if we can’t?
Theo hadn’t wanted to come. He’d told himself twice he was too busy, too tired. But Max was relentless, and the WhatsApp thread guilt-tripped him into showing up. Now here he was, shoe-tips brushing Zane’s under the table, cataloguing everything despite his best intentions. Voices. Energy. The way Finnley’s laugh spiked the air. Milo and Elliott muttering about chords already. Oliver half-smiling into his drink. Liam grounded, Julian deliberately chaotic.
Ten men. One group. No name—yet.
Theo sipped his drink.
I hope we can make this work.
Max’s quiet gaze was unreadable, and Theo wondered if he felt the same hope.
“So,” Julian said, dragging the word out, his tone like silk, “are wereallystill calling ourselvesHot Leather Guys?Because that’s less like a choir and more like a PornHub channel.”
Max did his best not to laugh, but damn, Julian had nailed it.
Finnley snorted. “Accurate branding, though.”
Sebastian muttered, “I’d rather choke.”
“Careful,” Zane teased. “That could be our fan club slogan.”
Milo groaned. “What about something thatdoesn’tsound like a Grindr profile?”
Elliott smirked. “Don’t rule out smoke machines.”
Liam offered, deadpan, “Discipline.” Oliver’s smirk widened.
Theo tried not to laugh and failed.
