“Dad voice,” Milo whispered, visibly impressed.
“Daddyvoice,” Zane corrected.
Julian clicked his tongue. “Gotta respect the Daddy voice.”
I silently counted to five. “From the top.”
We managed six bars before someone tripped over the word “thunderbolt.”
“Enunciate,” Sebastian said.
“Youenunciate,” Milo flung back.
“Gladly,” Sebastian snapped, and did, slicing each consonant.
Elliott flinched at the sharpness, and Liam bumped him with a friendly shoulder. “You sound great,” he whispered.
Elliott’s colour rose, staining his cheeks and neck. “I squeaked on ‘real.’”
“Everybody squeaks on their first day. Ask my first boyfriend.” He paused. “Actually? Don’t.”
Oliver seemed the most unflappable of all of them. He made a note on the song sheet with a tiny pencil, and I had to take a peek.
Watch cutoffs bar 8.
I had to smile.
Okay, maybe there’s hope for us yet.
We tried the “Mama, just killed a man” section. Milo insisted on lead. Julian rolled his eyes and harmonised with surgical precision anyway. Zane sang a line that sounded like a smirk.
Sebastian corrected Finnley’s vowel on “gun.”
Oliver asked if they wanted barbershop bright or choral round.
Liam smirked. “Whichever prevents Theo from having a stroke.”
“I’m not—” I began, then stopped.
Maybe Iwasoverdoing it. A little.
Max put an arm around my shoulders and spoke in a stage whisper to the room. “He’s fine. This is foreplay for him.”
“Kill me now,” I murmured.
“After we settle the sixteenth note runs,” Max said. “Priorities, right?”
I shoved him off and took centre again. “Let’s isolate. Baritones, give me your line on ‘life’ through ‘easy come, easy go.’ Tenors, hum quietly under it; falsetto, rest.”
We peeled the song apart. Oliver and Liam locked first, satisfying and solid. I permitted myself a nod. “Good. Tenors on top now, baris under. Elliott, take the melody, Julian a third above. Careful on the vibrato. Thinkspin, not shake.”
Elliott tried, cracked, then apologised.
I shook his head. “No need to be sorry. Just do it again.”
Elliott did, and it wasn’t perfect, but itwasbetter.
“Falsetto,” I said. “Give me the ‘little high, little low’ like you’re wind over glass.”