11 | House Tour
The label wanted behind-the-scenes content.
Apparently, completing one rough track had convinced them Midnight Theory was functional enough to be shown to the public again.
They asked for casual footage of the lodge that could be saved for the album rollout. Nothing polished. Just the men showing fans where they had lived, worked, and supposedly rediscovered their creative bond.
It sounded easy.
I stood near the front door holding my phone horizontally while the three of them gathered in front of me with the restless energy of children who had been given one simple instruction and were already planning to violate it.
“Show them the house,” I said. “Talk about the album without revealing anything that hasn’t been approved. Act normal. Please.”
Leo glanced at Wesley.
Wesley looked at Kadir.
Kadir stared at me with the patience of someone waiting for me to realize what I had just asked.
I started recording.
Leo handled the introduction because he had spent years talking into cameras without appearing aware that anyone else existed. He welcomed the hypothetical fans to the lodge, gestured toward the high wooden ceilings, and explained that the band had been sent there to work on the new album.
For almost twenty seconds, he was professional.
Then he turned toward the wall beside the staircase.
“This is where Dasha tried to fire me.”
“I did not try to fire you.”
My voice came from behind the camera.
Wesley leaned into frame. “They resolved it.”
Leo looked toward me.
I stopped recording.
“We’re starting over.”
Wesley took the phone before I could reset the shot.
He moved backward through the entryway, filming Leo and me while I attempted to retrieve it. Leo stepped neatly between us, blocking me with the kind of smooth coordination the band had struggled to produce inside the studio.
“Keep going,” he told Wesley.
The moment Wesley turned the camera toward me, the video became unusable. My name could appear occasionally, but footage of their manager chasing them through the lodge while Leo implied we had made up against a wall would require more editing than the content was worth.
I reached around Leo. He caught my wrist and lifted it out of range.
The motion was casual enough for the camera. His thumb pressed briefly against my pulse, reminding me of exactly how our argument had ended in the same part of the house.
Wesley continued into the kitchen.
He introduced it as the only room where Midnight Theory had demonstrated consistent teamwork. Kadir stood near the island watching, apparently willing to participate as long as no one required him to move quickly.
Leo pointed toward the counter.
“This is where Dasha learned to follow instructions. Specifically opening her mouth for us and then swallowing.”
I threw my head into my hands and cursed.
The footage could never leave the house.
I knew that now.
I continued trying to take the phone anyway, mostly because admitting defeat would encourage them.
Wesley backed around the island while Leo remained between us. Kadir reached out when I passed and caught me at the waist, redirecting me away from the camera with only one hand.
“You’re helping them?”
“I’m protecting the equipment.”
“It’s my phone.”
The tour moved into the studio.
For several minutes, the footage became potentially usable again.
Wesley showed the drum kit and explained that the rhythm from the bar had become part of the completed rough track.
Kadir discussed the heavier bass line without reducing the explanation to a joke.
Leo admitted that the song had improved when they stopped trying to control every section before playing it.
I stood beside the console and listened.
They sounded proud.
More importantly, they sounded proud of one another.
The label had asked for footage because fans wanted to believe bands were families. They wanted arguments to be creative passion, long silences to be artistic intensity, and every near breakup to end in a stronger album.
Then Leo turned toward the camera.
“Our manager uses very aggressive motivational methods.”
The serious portion ended.
Wesley swung the phone toward me.
I folded my arms. “That section was finally usable and you ruined it.”
“None of this is usable,” Leo said.
The men were no longer pretending to complete the assignment. They were making something else. A private documentary about how effectively they could embarrass me in every room of the lodge.
I followed them into the gym.
Wesley announced that the room contained the site of my first athletic achievement. I had performed several squats with an empty bar. He described it as though I had qualified for the Olympics.
Kadir leaned against the doorframe and corrected the story by pointing out that Wesley had failed to make me stretch afterward.
Leo’s attention sharpened.
“What happened?”
“Her inner thigh tightened,” Kadir said.
The calm delivery made it sound medical.
Wesley turned the camera toward Kadir. “He handled the follow-up treatment.”
Kadir looked into the lens. “You handled it. I recommended it.”
Leo stared between them.
I lunged for the phone.
Wesley escaped into the hallway, laughing hard enough to ruin the footage. Leo followed, demanding details no one intended to provide while I chased all three of them toward the bedrooms.
Kadir came last. He watched my failed pursuit with the faintest smile.
Wesley reached his room first and turned the camera on himself.
“This is where we offer complimentary stress relief.”
Leo stopped in the doorway and looked around the room as though searching for evidence. His attention moved to the balcony doors.
Wesley pointed toward them. “The room has an excellent view.”
Kadir took the phone from him. He stood in the hallway, filming all three of us with the same steady concentration he brought to the studio.
“From both directions,” he added.
My face became hot.
Leo looked from the balcony to the bed, then toward Kadir.
“You stood outside?”
Kadir kept the camera focused on me. “She loved it.”
Wesley smiled. I tried to reach past him for the phone. He caught me around the waist and pulled me back against his chest, more interested in keeping me on camera than escaping.
His chin settled briefly against my shoulder.
“You did,” he said.
The sweetness in his voice made the accusation worse.
Leo looked personally offended that he had missed the entire event.
“You needed Kadir to tell you what to do?”
“Shut up. You got stopped.”
Leo stepped farther into the room. “She was overwhelmed.”
“Like I said… skill issue.”
Kadir laughed behind the camera.
The sound surprised all of us.
He usually smiled quietly or lowered his face when the other men amused him. This time the laugh escaped fully, low and warm, while Leo argued that the previous night’s ending reflected restraint rather than failure.
Wesley tightened his arm around me as his own laughter started again.
I stopped struggling long enough to laugh too. That was how they won. They continued until irritation became fun and I forgot I was supposed to remain outside it.
Kadir eventually handed the phone to Leo.
That was a mistake.
Leo walked into the larger guest bedroom and turned the camera toward the bed.
“And this is where we’re gonna fuck Dasha after she admits she’s in love with all of us.”
I stared at him in disbelief.
Wesley looked around the room. “Why this one? My bed is much better.”
Kadir leaned against the doorframe. “We already did that. This one’s bigger.”
Wesley made a choking sound beside me.
I finally managed to take the phone while Leo was distracted.
The video showed several seconds of the ceiling, part of my face, and Wesley laughing behind my shoulder before I found the stop button.
“The tour is over.”
Leo leaned against the bedpost. “You missed the bathroom.”
“I’m not filming the bathroom.”
Kadir left the doorway and brushed past me, his hand briefly touching the small of my back.
“The hot tub would have been useful.”
“For what?”
“Management meetings.”
Wesley agreed immediately.
Leo started explaining why swimwear would interfere with honest communication.
I walked away before the camera could be hijacked again.
The original assignment remained unfinished. I would need to film exterior footage, cut together the usable studio section, and possibly force them to record separate introductions under supervision.
The tour itself could never reach the label.
Nearly every room contained evidence of the arrangement I had made them promise to hide. Even without context, anyone watching would understand that their manager had become more involved in the retreat than standard industry practice recommended.
Later that night, I transferred the footage to my laptop.
I told myself I needed to review it for usable clips.
There were some.
Kadir speaking seriously about the bass arrangement. Wesley explaining the rhythm. Leo admitting the song improved when he listened.
I created a folder labeled:
LODGE B-ROLL — DO NOT USE
The full video went inside.
I watched the part in Wesley’s room once more. The camera shook when Kadir laughed, catching Leo’s offended expression, Wesley’s arm around my waist, and my own face as I gave up and laughed with them.
The footage could never reach the label.
That didn’t mean I wanted to lose it.