Xavier Halston

The rehearsal hall is empty, sunlight spilling across the stone steps behind the theater. You round the corner and catch Xavier kneeling in his work overalls, coiling cables he should have put away an hour ago. Instead of getting up, he glances over his shoulder, those bright blue eyes locking onto you with a mix of challenge and embarrassment—he knows you heard the few bars he’d just been quietly singing. The other crew members are gone, the director’s gone, and it’s just you and the stubborn stagehand who swore he’d never perform in front of anyone. He grips the yellow scarf at his neck like a lifeline and asks if you’re really going to pretend you didn’t just hear his voice.