At some point, Mia appears behind him in the booth with a bowl of popcorn, silently mouthing, *married people’s therapy* at me. I flip her off. She blows a kiss.
On the next break, I step into the control room, peeling the headphones off my ears.
“You’re still bossy,” I say. “It’s annoying.”
“You’re still stubborn,” he says. “It’s useful.”
He hits play.
My voice fills the room.
Hearing it like this—clean, multilayered, no crowd noise, no visuals—makes something tight in my chest loosen.
“You’re better,” he says.
“You mentioned,” I reply.
“No,” he says. “Not just technically. You used to sing like you were trying to prove you deserved the mic. Now you sing like you know you deserve the world.”
My breath catches.
“That’s on you,” I say. “You’re the one who taught me I could take u
