Laura schedules rehearsal for 9 a.m.
Which means Axel and I are there at 8:45.
And Zane walks in at 9:17.
"Relax," he says, shrugging off his jacket. "I signed yesterday. What's the rush?"
Laura doesn't look up from the piano.
"The rush," she says calmly, "is that we have four tracks to finalize, four videos to prepare, and a live studio performance at Crescent Sound in five weeks."
Crescent Sound.
The name alone carries weight.
It's intimate, professional, recorded.
Zane raises an eyebrow. "Five weeks is plenty."
"For you," Laura replies evenly. "Sunny needs time for production."
He glances at me.
"Production?"
I look up from my laptop. "I edit."
"Just edit?" he asks casually.
My throat tightens. "Music videos. Visual direction. Timing. Release formatting."
He studies me differently now.
Not sunshine.
Not cute.
Assessing.
"And the rest?" he asks, gesturing toward Axel and Laura.
"Axel composes and arranges," I say quickly. "Guitar, structure. Laura oversees everything. Piano. Direction."
"Breathes music," Axel mutters.
Laura ignores him.
Zane leans back against the desk. "And singing?"
Silence.
I immediately pretend to be very invested in my screen.
Laura answers smoothly. "We're primarily instrumental. But we incorporate vocals occasionally."
"Oh?" Zane says lightly. "Who sings?"
My stomach drops.
Laura doesn't hesitate.
"Sunny does."
My head snaps up. "What?"
Axel does the same. "What?"
Zane looks between us, amused.
"Wait," I say quickly. "That's not— I mean— sometimes. Not—"
Laura's voice remains composed. "The fourth track is a duet cover."
My heart stops.
"The original requires two vocalists."
I stare at her.
"You didn't say that."
"I assumed you would be willing."
Assumed.
Zane pushes off the desk slowly.
"So you sing," he says, turning to me fully now.
There's curiosity in it.
"I— not like— not professionally," I stammer.
Axel steps in slightly. "We can adjust the arrangement."
Laura's gaze sharpens slightly at him.
"We don't adjust for fear."
That lands.
Hard.
Zane smiles faintly. "Let's hear it then."
My brain short-circuits.
"You mean— now?"
"Why not?"
Because I will combust, that's why.
Because you're standing there like the stage bends around you.
Because I don't sing in front of people who headline tours.
Because I wasn't asked.
I was volunteered.
"No," I say quickly. "Not today."
Laura doesn't push.
She simply nods once.
"Very well. We proceed with instrumentals."
But I feel it.
The slight disappointment.
The quiet expectation.
Rehearsal starts.
Axel finds the melody easily.
Laura anchors it.
Zane sings through his parts, testing keys, adjusting phrasing.
He's good.
Effortlessly.
Annoyingly.
I keep my eyes on my screen.
Searching for visual references.
Color palettes.
Avoiding looking up.
Avoiding his voice wrapping around the room.
Avoiding the way he glances at me during harmonies.
Hours pass.
Eventually Laura closes the piano lid.
"We'll reconvene tomorrow."
Axel stretches. "You coming?"
I shake my head. "I'll finish draft visuals."
Laura hesitates.
Axel hesitates longer.
Then they leave.
Bright afternoon light spills through the studio windows.
It feels strange without them.
Quieter.
I exhale.
Finally alone.
I close my eyes briefly.
Then—
"You're not."
I nearly fall off the couch.
Zane is still there.
Leaning against the wall.
Watching.
"You didn't leave," I accuse.
He shrugs. "Didn't feel done."
My heart starts acting stupid again.
He steps closer.
Not too close.
But closer than necessary.
"You don't want to sing in front of them."
It's not a question.
"I just—"
"Sing for me."
My brain shuts down completely.
"What?"
"You heard the melody. You know the lyrics. Let's try it."
This is a bad idea.
This is a terrible idea.
This is—
How bad could it be?
They're not here.
He's just one person.
A very talented, very confident, very overwhelming person.
But just one.
I slowly pull up the shared document.
My hands tremble slightly.
I stand.
He doesn't interrupt.
Doesn't tease.
Just watches.
I start softly.
Barely above a whisper.
The first line wavers.
I almost stop.
He doesn't react.
So I continue.
The melody wraps around the room gently.
It feels different without the others.
More exposed.
More raw.
I hit the chorus.
And this time—
I don't miss.
Silence.
I don't look up.
I can't.
"Sing that again."
The words are quiet.
But firm.
I look up.
He's not smirking.
He's not amused.
He's stunned.
I swallow. "It wasn't—"
"It was," he interrupts softly.
Something in his voice changes.
Respect.
I sing again.
Stronger.
He steps forward this time and joins on his harmony line.
Their voices blend.
His confident and textured.
Hers bright and steady beneath it.
It clicks.
Like something sliding into place.
The missing note.
My heart drops.
Then races.
We finish the chorus together.
The last note lingers.
And neither of us moves.
Eye contact.
Longer than before.
He breaks it first.
Steps back slightly.
"Well," he says, recovering his tone. "Guess we found the fourth note."
My chest feels too tight.
He watches me like he's just discovered something rare.
And for the first time—
I don't feel small.