Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Sebastian Hayes walked through the market, still feeling bruised.
Not just emotionally—though God knows Brandon had seen to that—but deeper than that, as if his chest had been hollowed out and left echoing.
A week wasn’t long enough to recover from watching a situationship collapse in flames. Then again, when you weren’t talking to most of your family either, there wasn’t exactly a safety net to catch you.
Thank God for Nate.
His older brother had swooped in with one of his “solutions,” which translated to: you’re moving in with Devon. Nate’s best friend, thirty-three, boot-wearer, child psychologist, and soft-spoken rescuer. Devon hadn’t even blinked before saying yes.
Sebastian had shown up two nights ago with a battered suitcase and a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. The smile was a shield. It usually was.
The trouble with shields was how heavy they got.
Camden Market was a distraction. He trailed his fingers over rows of leather jackets—too expensive, too daring, too everything.
A busker started singing Fast Car, and before he could stop himself, Sebastian was humming harmony.
Instinctive, easy, sliding out of him before he realised, like breath fogging a mirror.
Focus. Coffee, not memories, remember?
Devon had mentioned a queer café near his place, and Sebastian had decided to check it out. A morning spent pretending to job-hunt sounded better than replaying Brandon’s last text on a loop.
And why the hell are you still torturing yourself like that?
Inside, the café was warm and buzzing, a safe space. He bought a latte and sat with his back to the wall. It was an old habit. Better to watch people than risk them watching you.
His phone burned in his pocket, begging him to check it. Begging him to reach for Brandon. He didn’t. Instead, he stared at a crooked poster pinned to the opposite wall.
Hot Leather Guys: Gay Male A Cappella. Leather. Lust. Lungs. Auditions open.
Sebastian huffed a laugh. “That is so ridiculous.”
Which made it perfect.
The word leather snagged at something deep in him, half a scoff, half a want. He stood, snapped a photo, and nearly deleted it a heartbeat later. He wasn’t the type to be chosen for something bold.
Not anymore.
“You’d destroy that audition.”
Devon’s voice made him jump, and he covered the flinch with a smirk. “Jesus, do you practise sneaking up on people?”
Devon looked apologetic. “Force of habit. With Elias, I like to keep an eye without him knowing.”
Sebastian hadn’t met Elias yet—Devon’s six-year-old son—but already the idea of being liked by him knotted Sebastian’s stomach.
What if kids can smell the cracks adults ignore?
Devon nodded toward the poster. “You’ll do it, won’t you?”
Sebastian bit his lip. “You think I should?” His voice came out lighter than he meant, the kind of false-casual that always betrayed him.
Devon smiled. “I heard you singing in the shower this morning. You’ll rock it.”
Sebastian rolled his eyes, hiding the flush creeping into his cheeks. “Everyone sounds good in the shower.”
Except it was a boost to his ego to know he still had it.
Do it. You need something to focus on.
Then he remembered his latte.
“I’ll grab some tea and join you, if that’s okay.”
Sebastian smiled. “That sounds good.” He waited until Devon was at the counter before doing a search on his phone. The audition was the following week, in a studio in Soho.
His heart hammered as he added his details.
Devon sat facing him. “So what will you wear? Do you own any leather?”
Fuck.
“Who says I’m going to audition?”
Devon rolled his eyes. “Don’t kid me. You’re just like Nate—impulsive.” He grinned. “You have applied, haven’t you?”
Sebastian let out an exaggerated sigh. “Fine. Yes. I’ve applied. Happy now?”
“Then I return your attention to my previous question. Got any leather?”
“I’ve never had the money to buy a leather jacket, but it’s something I’ve thought about.”
A lot.
It was also something he’d never dared to do.
“Leave that to me.” Devon’s voice rang with confidence. “I’ll have you looking fabulous.” He sipped his tea.
Sebastian tried not to stare, but Devon’s neat dark beard and round, black-rimmed glasses drew his attention.
You are one gorgeous guy.
And totally oblivious of the effect he had on Sebastian. Not that Sebastian was about to make a move on him.
How does that saying go? Don’t shit where you eat? Devon was the only thing standing between Sebastian and homelessness.
Don’t mess this up.
Holy fuck.
Sebastian stared into the mirror, tugging at the faux-leather shirt Devon had lent him. Tight black jeans. Eyeliner smudged just so. Hair tipped toward wild. He looked like someone who had their shit together.
I just don’t look like me, that’s all.
“Just enough edge,” Devon remarked from behind him.
His reflection disagreed. His mouth was tense, his eyes a little too wide.
Fake it. You’ve survived worse.
“Let’s hope so.”
Devon smiled. “You’ll slay ’em.”
Right then, Sebastian would take surviving the audition as a win.
The studio felt too bright, too polished, as though it might spotlight every fracture in him.
The introductions had taken all of sixty seconds. Theo sat at the table, his posture impeccable, his eyes sharp but calm. The guy exuded professionalism, the epitome of safe.
Max sprawled beside him, his long legs crossed at the ankle, boots scuffed, leather jacket open. He twirled a pen between his fingers, that smirk seemingly permanent.
Theo was gravity.
Max was temptation.
Sebastian’s nerves prickled, so he masked it with sarcasm. “Your flyer said lust and lungs. I’ve got both, just not at the same time.”
Theo didn’t flinch. “We’ll see.”
Max gave a low chuckle, his eyes glinting. “You’re twenty-three?”
Sebastian’s smile tilted. “I know, I look younger. I get that a lot.”
Theo’s voice was all business. “Ready when you are.”
Sebastian drew one deep breath, let the air steady him, and stepped into The Smiths ‘I Know It’s Over’, a fragile falsetto threaded with ache, phrasing sharp as glass, each note edging toward collapse but never quite falling. When the final line hung in the air, silence swallowed the room.
Max’s smirk had vanished. He looked unsettled, as though someone had hit a bruise he hadn’t shown anyone. Theo’s jaw flexed once, his expression tight.
“Do you compose?” Theo asked at last, his voice clipped but steady.
Sebastian nodded.
“Done any arrangements for groups?”
“Some,” Sebastian said, forcing casual to the surface. “I did a version of ‘Creep’ once. Someone cried and left a party.”
Max barked out a laugh. “That’s either terrible or brilliant.”
Sebastian flashed him a grin, sharp and brief. “Both.”
When they offered compliments, he shrugged them off, as if praise stung more than criticism. Theo noticed: the little tightening around his eyes gave it away. Max simply kept staring, his interest dark and obvious, as though he’d caught Sebastian out without even trying.
By the time Sebastian stumbled back outside, he was trembling, adrenaline still spiking through him. He thumbed a text to Devon:
Audition done. Think I overshared with my vocal cords.
Devon: It’s done now. All you can do is wait—and hope. I’m sure it went better than you think it did.
Impulse tugged hard. Sebastian scrolled to Brandon’s number, then deleted it. A small, sharp exhale left him lighter. He pulled up Instagram, posted a story with too much bite to be casual:
Auditioned for a gay leather a cappella group today. Definitely not projecting, you are.
He didn’t expect to be chosen. But the part of him that still ached refused to stop hoping.
Max waited until Sebastian’s footsteps had died away before speaking. “I said we’d find talent in London.” He glanced at Theo. “What did you make of him?”
Theo tapped his notes, his expression thoughtful. “Musicality: strong. Emotional intelligence: striking. He pours all of him into every note. That… fascinates me.”
Max leaned back, his eyes narrowed. “He’s holding himself together by threads. Touch him too hard, and he’ll break.” Then he smiled. “And you know what? The crowd will eat it alive.”
Theo’s brows knitted. “Fragile performers can pull focus. Worse, they can collapse when we need them most.”
Max couldn’t contain his grin. “Fragility’s a kink. People love to watch someone on the edge.”
Theo sighed. “This isn’t Obsidian, Max. This is supposed to be music.”
“Doesn’t matter. It’s still performance. It’s still control and release. You, of all people, should get that.” Theo was the most controlled person Max had ever encountered.
Not surprising, though, considering his past.
Theo’s frown softened into speculation. “He could be dangerous. Too much emotion, not enough structure. But…” His lips curved slightly. “He’s a hook.”
Max’s grin widened, triumphant. “Exactly. He’s the one who’ll make them cry before we hit the chorus.”
Theo nodded once, and Max took it as a concession. “Fine. He’s on the list. But we keep an eye on him.”
Max twirled his pen. “Oh, I’ll keep an eye on him.” His phone buzzed. He glanced down and let out a low whistle. “Next up’s a baritone. He’s sent a photo of himself.”
Theo chuckled. “Let me guess. You’d sign him based on looks alone?”
Max angled the phone toward him, grinning. “With those chocolate-brown eyes? Hell yes.”
Theo smirked. “Then let’s hope the voice matches the eyes.”