Ollie's face was pure shock, like he couldn't believe his ears. "No… tell me you're not serious."
But Ronan seemed to catch the disbelief in Ollie's voice and doubled down, steady as ever. "You heard me right. I'm dead serious. That's what I think."
"No, no, no, no—that's not how it should be! The first verse needs the piano…"
"Nope, the piano should kick in at the chorus. That's when we can use the keyboard's texture to layer it up and give it some depth."
"Ronan, the guitar strings are way too thin! Forget that their vibe fits folk better—structurally, it just doesn't work. We need the piano keys right from the start to set the whole framework. That's the way to do it!"
"I don't agree, Ollie. I'm sticking with…"
"Goddammit, Ronan!"
Their back-and-forth was fast and furious, like a storm crashing in—no room to breathe. Words flew tight and relentless, locking them in a standoff. Neither budged an inch, arguing their points with fire, faces flushed like they might swing at each other any second. 😤
By the end, they were gasping, words still bubbling in their throats but too winded to get them out. Opinions clogged up with nowhere to go. Ollie glared at Ronan, eyes bulging like they might pop out, looking like a puffed-up rooster.
Still, he couldn't sway Ronan.
Ollie was on his feet now, sweating buckets, veins popping, panting hard. His red face looked ready to explode. Meanwhile, Ronan? Cool as a cucumber—calm, peaceful, unflappable.
From the start, Ronan hadn't raised his voice or sped up. He stayed steady, logical, clear-headed, even when Ollie's temper kept cutting him off. He'd circle back, holding his ground without getting rattled.
No matter how worked up Ollie got, he couldn't dent Ronan's stance. Those eyes, with a faint smile, held a quiet, unshakable resolve. Ollie might've owned the conversation's energy, but somehow it felt like he was losing grip.
The more fired up Ollie got, the more he floundered, retreating under Ronan's calm. It was frustrating—like yelling at a brick wall that just wouldn't crack.
Glaring hard, Ollie met Ronan's steady gaze. That unshaken confidence radiating from Ronan made Ollie waver for a split second. Wait, what am I even fighting for?
"No! Snap out of it, Ollie!" He slapped his own cheeks—hard. The sudden move startled Ronan, the sharp smack ringing out. Ollie's face even reddened a bit. Before Ronan could react, Ollie stormed off, a whirlwind tearing out of the room.
Ronan blinked, stunned. What just happened?
Then he got his answer. Heavy knocks echoed from next door, Ollie's voice booming down the hall. "Maxim! Maxim! Cliff!"
Thirty seconds later, Ollie marched back, dragging his reinforcements. Words spilled out in a chaotic rush as he tried to rope Maxim and Cliff into the debate. The room filled with a hot, restless summer-night buzz—like a swarm of flies—but the jumble of voices didn't clarify a thing. Maxim and Cliff just stood there, totally lost.
Maxim shot Ronan a questioning look.
Cliff chuckled, tossing out a tease. "Last night was a show, and now tonight's another. The other guests must be wondering what's up with this band—never a dull moment, huh?"
A little self-mockery aimed at the whole crew.
"Cliff, no, it's not like that!" Ollie wasn't in the mood for jokes. He thought Cliff assumed they were fighting and jumped to explain.
But Ollie was too flustered, dripping sweat, stumbling over his words. He threw a desperate glance at Ronan, like, This isn't just on me—say something!
Ronan's eyes crinkled with a smile as he stepped in. "I got some inspiration earlier and wrote a song. But Ollie and I can't agree on the arrangement. And… here you guys are."
Maxim's grin eased up, and he swapped a playful look with Cliff.
Truth was, the four of them in the band had always pushed each other to create, to experiment—hoping for sparks. But Ronan and Cliff hadn't made much headway. Ronan at least kept trying; Cliff seemed half-checked-out already.
Talent? Who could say for sure?
Ronan, though, always lacked confidence. He hid it well, only bouncing ideas off Ollie now and then, but even Ollie didn't know much. Tonight was a little surprise—Ollie hauling in Maxim and Cliff, and Ronan not saying no.
Maxim didn't expect much, but he flashed Ronan an encouraging look anyway, ready to pitch in. Cliff leaned against the wall, tilting his head to listen.
Skipping the messy details, they jumped straight into it. Ronan felt a flicker of nerves—still worried. What if Alice liked it, but the guys didn't? What if her praise was just family comfort, and the team hit him with harsh truth?
"Hoo…"
Ronan let out a quiet breath, easing his jitters. Maxim caught it and grinned, teasing, "No need to be shy with us. It's not your first rodeo. Relax—we know how to roast you properly without missing the mark." 😂
The jab loosened Ronan up. No more overthinking. His fingers brushed the guitar strings lightly, and he started singing a cappella.
Ronan's voice was clear and bright. At first listen, it lacked a standout edge—no smoky grit or deep storytelling bass to hook you instantly. But its clean purity had a piercing power, sneaking up on your ears.
How to describe it?
Clear as water.
That's what popped into Maxim's head first.
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