Finding My Voice

~32~

//A/N//: what's shakin' bacon? i am a wee bit over this story and so pardon me if it feels rushed, because it low-key was. rahhhhh well we live and learn, i quite literally came up and/or started this story almost TWO YEARS AGO. i wish to be released from it so i may just update it really really fast so i can move on with my life. 

anyways that does not mean to hate on my shit, but if your heart so desires, feel free i give no fucks. mwah!   x   -   s

...

Being a finalist on The Voice should've felt like floating. Like confetti and champagne and living in a dream.
Instead, it felt like living on caffeine, two hours of sleep, and back-to-back rehearsals until your voice gave out.

But that was the price of making it this far. Almighty—our band—was officially one of the finalists. Anthony, Claire, Alex, Jamie, and me. From a thrown-together Battle round group to the finals. Nobody saw it coming.

And honestly? Some days, neither did I.

"Alright, my champions," Niall said, strolling into the rehearsal room with a guitar and his ever-present iced coffee. "We've got two songs to nail down today. One's with me—Through the Dark—and the other's your showstopper—Teeth. You ready? Both are absolute bangers, by the way. I wouldn't let you sing rubbish."

Jamie leaned against the wall, "You're so excited to sing a One Direction song so you can relive your glory days."

Niall gasped, mock offended. "Excuse me, we are still very much glorious. But yes, I did write this one so maybe I'm a little biased." We laugh before he continues, "Anyways, are you all ready?"

Anthony gave him a grin. "We were born ready."

Claire rolled her eyes, adjusting her ponytail. "Translation: we had too much coffee and not enough sleep."

Alex gave a small chuckle—quieter than the rest of us, but every day he was opening up a little more. Being on stage did that to you.

And Jamie? Jamie just smirked at me from across the room like we had some secret no one else knew. Which, I guess, we kind of did.

Niall strummed the opening chords of Through the Dark. "Okay. Let's run it. Alex, you're taking the first verse, yeah?"

Alex nodded, stepping up. His voice was soft at first, then stronger, more confident as he eased into the melody. Anthony joined him on harmony, their sibling blend warm and natural. Claire slipped in on the second verse, her voice bright and clear.

And then it was Jamie and me.

We came in together on the chorus, our voices locking in like puzzle pieces. I didn't even have to look at him to find the harmony, but of course I did—and of course he was already looking at me, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"YES!" Niall called, stopping mid-strum. "That's the moment! You two sound like you've been singing together for years. Keep that. And when the bridge hits, all five of you—don't hold back. It's the big lift, the emotional punch. Give the audience that light-at-the-end-of-the-tunnel feeling."

We ran it again, louder, fuller, like we were already standing under the blinding stage lights. And when the final chord hit, Niall jumped up, clapping.

"Bloody brilliant. Gave me goosebumps." He leaned his guitar against the chair. "Now... let's talk Teeth."

Claire groaned dramatically. "This is going to kill us."

Anthony grinned. "Worth it."

Jamie cracked his knuckles. "I call the scary part."

"Every part's the scary part," I muttered, but inside, I was buzzing. Teeth wasn't safe. It was dark, electric, intense. Exactly the kind of thing that would make us stand out in the finals.

The track started, heavy and pulsing through the speakers. Anthony and Alex took the first verse, their voices layering into something eerie and hypnotic. Claire came in sharp on the pre-chorus, her tone slicing clean through.

Then the chorus hit, and all of us exploded together.

"Fight so dirty, but your love's so sweet—"

Jamie and I split the lead, our voices grinding together in perfect contrast. His was strong and smooth, mine raw and fierce, and it worked better than I could've imagined. Claire powered in beside us, Anthony belting over top, Alex adding that low grit that made the sound whole.

By the end of the first run, we were sweating.

"YESSSS!" Niall yelled, fist pumping like a fanboy. "That's the one! That's fire! Pyper, don't be afraid to go absolutely mad on that chorus. Jamie, you're the anchor—keep it steady so she can let loose. Anthony, Claire, Alex—you three are the glue. Without you, it falls apart. But together? It's chaos in the best way."

We laughed, but Niall wasn't wrong. Running it again, I let myself go. I stomped across the floor, hair whipping, voice shredding in the best way. Jamie met me halfway through, singing right in my face like it was a battle, like we were daring each other to go harder. The energy between us crackled like electricity.

When the song ended, the room was silent for a beat. Then Claire whooped. "Okay, that was insane."

Anthony grinned, slinging his arm around her shoulders. "That's the finals performance right there."

Alex just nodded, a little breathless, but his smile said everything.

Jamie dropped onto the floor beside me, sweat dampening his shirt. "Remind me not to mess with you when you're in performance mode," he said, grinning. "Terrifying."

"Good," I shot back, but I was smiling too.

Niall clapped his hands, pulling us back to reality. "One more run-through, then you're free. But seriously—Almighty, you've got something special. I've seen bands get thrown together for this show and fall apart within a week. But you lot? You've become a family. That's why this works."

His words hit something in my chest. Because he was right. Anthony's leadership, Claire's fire, Alex's quiet strength, Jamie's relentless energy... and me, somehow at the center of it all. We weren't just contestants anymore. We were a band.

We ran the songs until our throats were raw, until the harmonies stuck like muscle memory.

By the time Niall finally let us go, Anthony and Claire were already bickering over snack choices, Alex had slipped his headphones back on, and Jamie... Jamie lingered, walking with me toward the door.

"You know," he said, bumping my shoulder, "if we actually win this thing, you're buying me dinner."

I laughed. "Pretty sure you owe me dinner for dragging me center stage every other performance."

"Fine," he said, smirking. "We'll call it even. But I'm still buying you dinner. Win or lose."

He said it so casually, but the way his eyes caught mine made it feel like more. Like a promise.

And maybe it was.

That night, as I collapsed into bed, my voice sore and my body aching, one thought kept circling in my head:

We weren't just finalists.
We were Almighty.
And we weren't done yet.

...