Zane leaned forward. “Then what aboutRough Harmony?”
The room stilled. Even Theo’s mouth curled in a faint smile. He exhaled and nodded, already writing it down.
That one had bite.
By dessert—something Elliott had ordered “just because”—the table had dissolved into a blur of overlapping voices.
Finnley belted a pop riff with way too much vibrato. Julian harmonised badly on purpose until Milo almost threw a breadstick at him. Sebastian snorted into his drink. Liam clapped Finnley on the shoulder and offered to buy the next round. Oliver looked quietly amused, his smile small butreal. Zane glittered like champagne bubbles, leaning too close, sparking energy across the table.
And Max… Max said almost nothing, but Theo felt the gravity of him, a low note anchoring everything.
Theo realised he didn’t feel safe or relaxed.
But he did feel present, and that was new.
This could be so good.
Max hoped.
“Did we decide on a name?” Liam asked as he finished his last forkful of cheesecake. “Or are we still debating?”
All eyes were on Max and Theo.
Max shrugged. “I think we should go withRough Harmony.” He glanced at Theo. “What do you think?”
Theo said nothing for a moment, but then he smiled. “I like that.”
Max grinned. “Then that’s who we are.” A chorus of whoops and cheers filled the air, although Milo protested that the name wouldn’t match their sound.
“At least, Ihopeit doesn’t.”
“We don’t have a sound yet,” Julian said with a grin, his eyes sparkling. “Personally, I can’t wait until the first rehearsal. I want to hear us all together.”
The bill came, chaos ensued, and Theo ended it the way he always did. Spreadsheet app, a quick calculation, an even split, rounded up.
Ten phones buzzed.
Max smirked. “Of course you did.”
When they finally spilled out onto the Camden pavement, the air was damp with London night, their laughter clattering off brick and glass. None of them wanted to leave. They lingered too long, saying goodbyes, organising Ubers, the air thick with voices that hadn’t learned to blend yet.
Theo stood beside him, his posture too rigid.
“You think we’ll survive it?” he asked.
Max’s pause was deliberate. “That isn’t the question you should be asking.”
Theo turned, his expression wary. “Then what is?”
“Whether we’ll want to stay.”
Theo didn’t answer. His silence was answer enough.
The flat in Hammersmith smelled faintly of lavender polish and old books.
Theo set his laptop bag down inside the door and took it in. The place was new enough to still feel strange. Neat white walls, gleaming parquet floor complete with rug in front of the fireplace, a single bedroom where the morning sunlight would filter through both blinds and heavy curtains Aunt Danielle had imported from France.
It was neither big nor modern, but it was beautiful, in the way things with history always were.
