And the cheers didn't just fill the room.
They burst through the roof. Physically, spiritually, acoustically through the roof.
Every single fellow trainee in the audience was on their feet. The coaches were on their feet. And the internet — watching from living rooms, bedrooms, commutes, and at least several locations where they absolutely should not have been watching anything —
Also on their feet.
Some in the metro. Some on buses, phone held up at an angle that could only be described as committed. And some, God bless them, in the middle of lectures — effectively, completely, and very publicly busted for not paying attention to a single word their professor had said.
Worth it. Unanimously worth it.
@LegalEagleKween: y'all I am in the middle of a client meeting right now. A PROFESSIONAL CLIENT MEETING. And neither myself nor my new client have said a single word to each other for the past four minutes because we are BOTH watching LEAVEN on our respective devices. And we both just simultaneously lost our entire minds at what I can only describe as the most legal — and yes I'm making legalest a word right now, it lives here, it has a home — the most legalest, fruitiest moment in LEAVEN history. I say this as a day one watcher. The Kweens set a very high bar for fruity. This one brought the entire fruit salad AND the charcuterie board. My client is a 60 year old man. He is ALSO on his feet. We don't talk about it.
↳ @404BrainNotFound: the 60 year old client being on his feet is the detail that healed me
↳ @LegalEagleKween: he said "is that legal" and I said "I don't know but I'm not stopping it"
@Malory: This is disgusting. Y'all really resorted to queer baiting now? 🤮🤮🤮
↳ @Rumi: consider me fully, enthusiastically, zero-regrets BAITED then. Jokes on you because I live for that shit and I would like more of it please.
↳ @somally_Aaa: why is this @Malory person back!! Who let them out!! Send them back to whatever corner of the internet they crawled out of IMMEDIATELY—
↳ @Malory: I have every right to be here—
↳ @Rumi: you really don't though 🙂
@Svn0one: not gonna lie I screamed so loud when that moment happened that my neighbours genuinely called the cops on me. The officer asked if I was being harmed. I said yes. Emotionally. By two wet men singing in the rain. He did not know how to file that report.
And while the audience was still processing the Jeremiah-Toma cinematic event of the century —
Louie looked at the room.
Looked at the energy.
Looked at the fact that everyone had just witnessed a whole romcom happen in real time during what was supposed to be his team's performance.
And decided — with full conviction and absolutely no hesitation —
Not on my watch. Y'all are not forgetting about me.
He marched forward. Gripped his head with both hands like a man preparing to pull something out from the deepest part of himself.
🎶 I want out of my, I want out of my hea↗️↘️↗️↗️↗️d— 🎶
Full vocal gymnastics. Nasty good. The kind of run that made the coaches pull the stank face — that specific, involuntary, deeply reverent stank face that only happens when something is genuinely, undeniably, offensively good.
And then Louie looked at what he'd just done.
And doubled down.
Because why not. Because the rain was still falling. Because the energy in the room was at a level that demanded it. Because Louie had a second chance and he was using every last molecule of it.
🎶 Can't seem to find, can't seem to find the path ahea↗️↗️↗️↗️↗️↗️d— 🎶
He belted it like it was the last note he would ever sing in his life.
He surprised himself. Genuinely, visibly, in real time — his own eyes going slightly wide at what had just come out of his own body.
The room absolutely detonated.
And while Louie was delivering his soul to the audience on a silver platter —
The leader, who has now been formally named, stepped forward.
Johanson Percival Philippe the Third.
Johnny, for short. Because he is, contrary to the absolute glory of his full name, fundamentally a Johnny. Basic in the most lovable, inexplicable way. The name was given to him by parents who had grand ambitions and a child who would go on to forget what to shout on three during a huddle.
Johanson Percival Philippe the Third, ladies and gentlemen.
Johnny did what Johnny does best — hyped the crowd with everything he had.
"LEAVEN — get ready to JUMP! 1 — 2 — 1-2-3 — LET'S GOOOO!"
Louie's high note. Johnny's hype. The artificial rain still falling like it had a stake in the outcome.
The perfect cocktail. The exact right ingredients at the exact right moment.
Every person in that amphitheater jumped. Hands in the air like they genuinely, physically could not locate a single care. It was giving desert music festival headliner energy — the kind of performance that makes people feel like they are somewhere important, witnessing something that matters, being part of something they will describe to people who weren't there for the rest of their lives.
It was giving.
And it kept giving.
Right until the very end —
🎶 OUT OF MY HEAD! 🎶
Six voices. One note. Perfect harmony.
Final pose.
****
Some performances demand a pause. That moment of stunned, collective silence before the reaction arrives — the breath before the wave.
This was not one of those performances.
There was no pause. Not even half a second of one. The cheers and applause came immediately, continuously, thunderously — the kind of roar that doesn't build because it never stopped, rolling forward like something that had been gathering force this whole time and had finally, completely, been let go.
And the artificial rain, having delivered the performance of its life, assessed the situation, checked its contract, confirmed that overtime pay was not included, and clocked out with quiet dignity — leaving behind nothing but a truly blinding water bill, a talent fee it absolutely deserved, and a stage that would be damp for the foreseeable future.
We thank it for its service.
The moment the final pose broke, the relief hit them all at once — the specific, overwhelming, full-body relief of people who had gone out there and genuinely, completely, with everything they had, delivered.
"FUCK YEAHHHHH!" Johnny's shout came from somewhere deep and genuine, arms going up, every syllable of Johanson Percival Philippe the Third's energy condensed into two words.
"Thank you — thank you — thank you—" Louie was already doing the sign of the cross, kissing his fist, lifting it toward the sky, the tears coming freely now and making absolutely no apology for it. The gratitude of someone who had been given a second chance and had used it completely.
Yen found Zen in the audience immediately.
Zen, who was — there was no other way to describe this — significantly more excited than Yen himself. Jumping. Double thumbs up firing in both directions. Fist pumping into the air repeatedly with the focused commitment of someone who had been holding this celebration in for the entire performance and was now releasing all of it at once. Small, soft, barely-there squeals escaping him with every jump.
Yen looked at his brother and felt something so warm and so specific that it didn't need a name.
Toma and Jeremiah found each other's eyes.
A beat.
Toma's expression said everything it needed to say without saying any of it. We're not done.
Jeremiah's smirk arrived — slow, certain, the smirk of a man who had never once in his life been anything other than exactly prepared for this. You know where to find me. He held it for exactly one more second, then sashayed away with the unhurried ease of someone who had already won and was simply allowing the situation to catch up.
Halfway across the stage he made eye contact with Johnny.
"I want my coffee by the end of this."
Johnny snapped to attention. "Yes ma'am."
No hesitation. No negotiation. The debt was acknowledged and would be honored. Johanson Percival Philippe the Third understood the terms.
Timmy, meanwhile, was simply hugging everyone within reach. No agenda. No subtext. Just pure, uncomplicated joy distributed freely and generously to whoever was nearby.
Timmy, this author would like to say, is a gift.
Cat stepped forward with the gentle but necessary energy of someone who loved what had just happened and also needed the program to continue existing.
The atmosphere was so high, so electric, still so gloriously unresolved in its excitement, that bringing it down even a notch felt almost criminal.
She did it anyway. Graciously. Professionally. With the talent of someone who had been born to hold rooms.
And the team settled into their line — arms around each other, shoulders touching, still damp from the rain, still warm from everything they'd just done — and faced the coaches.
Not with nerves this time.
With the quiet, grounded, fully inhabited sense of people who had gone out there and given everything they had, and knew it, and were standing in that knowledge without apology.
Whatever the coaches said next —
They had earned the right to hear it standing up straight.
****
"Y'ALL!" Dora started.
Then stopped.
Drew breath.
"Y'AAAAAAAALLLLLL—"
Which set off another full round of cheering because of course it did. Dora said two words and the room responded like she'd announced something life changing. Which, honestly, she kind of had.
"You boys stood on that stage," she said, vibrating with it, "and you did your THANG. Y'all did not come here to play. You came here to WIN and that is exactly what you did!"
"Thank you!" came back from the whole line, unified and warm.
"All of y'all walked out there and said — don't count us out. Not yet. Not today.Your first performance might've been less than ideal—" she waved a hand, "—but this performance? Made up for every single bit of it and then some. AND THEN SOME!"
"LOUIE." She turned to him with her whole chest. "The man that you ARE. You came in here and you SANG, baby. Period. Full stop. No further discussion. You saaaaang and that's on sight." The finger snaps came rapid and sharp. "And that body? Absolutely. The shirt coming off was a spiritual experience for everyone present and I will not be taking questions."
Louie's watery smile could've powered a small city. His teammates cheered for him on both sides and he stood in it, receiving it, letting himself have it this time.
"And MISS MA'AM JEREMIAH—" Dora was already standing. "You. ATE. THAT. YOU AAAAAAATE THAT AND LEFT NOTHING FOR NOBODY."
Jeremiah accepted this with a small, gracious, deeply unbothered curtsy.
As was his right.
"And don't even get me STARTED on that bridge moment—" Dora pressed a hand to her chest. "My wig. My carefully, specifically, very securely fastened wig, ALMOST came off. That is the level of moment we are talking about. That is the unit of measurement." She turned. "TOMA. Sir. Where did THAT come from?! Because I had you clocked as straight! I have been duped!"
Toma smiled — small and genuine and a little new, the smile of someone standing in unfamiliar territory and finding it less scary than expected.
"You didn't get duped," he said, with the quiet honesty of someone who was figuring this out in real time and had decided to just say it. "I thought I was straight too. But I guess Jeremiah has his ways of making a person reconsider their whole situation." His teammates patted his back, one after another, solid and warm. "I'm still figuring it out. Still new to all of it. But Jeremiah said he'd help me through."
He glanced at Jeremiah.
Jeremiah winked. Easy and certain. I got you.
"Toma," Dora said, with a warmth that came from somewhere real, "I am so proud of you for leaning into that instead of running from it. Explore it. Take your time. We are all here cheering you on, loudly and without reservation."
She turned to Yen.
"Sir." Her voice dropped into something softer. More specific. "You may have been the technical third wheel in that harmony—"
Laughter rippled through the room.
"—but you will always be number one at holding your team together." She shook her head slowly. "Did you think we didn't notice? The harmonies adlibs you kept weaving in through the background, making everything fuller, making everything bigger? Did you think we wouldn't clock that adlib toward the end?" She looked at Robin. "How did that go again?"
Robin, girls' girl, vocal coach, and woman who needed absolutely zero warm up for this —
🎶 Make me ↘️ blind ↗️*~* Keep me up at night ↗️↘️↗️↗️*~* Looosing controool~ 🎶
"YES MA'AM!" Dora hollered.
"That was almost exactly what you did, Yen — only in your own voice, your own color, your own signature. You were backing everybody up in that whole performance and you did it beautifully. Be proud of that."
"Thank you," Yen said, with a smile that was soft and full and real.
In the audience, Zen had grabbed Mikko by the arm and was shaking him with the focused intensity of a small natural disaster. Back and forth. Repeatedly. With escalating enthusiasm and zero signs of stopping.
Mikko was developing what medical professionals would classify as a Zen-induced whiplash situation.
His own personal magnitude Zen.
"TIMOTHY!" Dora's energy spiked back up immediately. "Baby, you were HUNGRY. You walked into this performance and said no more mister background character — not today, not ever — and you DEVOURED that rap section clean. Nothing left. Spotless."
"Thank you," Timmy said, with the small, soft, slightly bashful smile that existed in complete and total contrast to whatever his rapsona was doing thirty seconds ago on that stage.
The contradiction was somehow the most endearing thing.
"And YOU." Dora's eyes landed on Johnny. "Mister Johanson Percival Philippe the Third."
Johnny's head came up. The genuine surprise on his face visible — he hadn't expected his own moment. Not with this team, not after this performance. He knew the lineup. He knew where he ranked.
"We all know," Dora said, with the loving, completely unapologetic honesty of someone who respected him enough to be real, "that you are, by nature, a boy failure."
The laughter came from everywhere — the trainees, the room, the coaches themselves, the laugh of people who recognized the truth in something and loved it anyway.
"BUT." Dora held up a finger. "Today? You were a very successful boy failure. You held that team together from the very beginning all the way through. You kept the energy alive. You kept the crowd engaged. And you did it in the most Johnny way possible — which is to say, it was chaotic and it worked anyway." She looked at him straight. "Be proud of yourself. I mean it."
"THANK YOU, QUEEN!" Johnny hollered, with the full force of Johanson Percival Philippe the Third behind it.
His teammates descended on him from both sides — pats on the back, arms around shoulders, the warm chaos of a team that had gone through something together and come out the other side still standing.
Still together.
Still very, very wet.
****
PS- The song in this chapter is "Out of my Head" by Bini.