Perhaps it was a little late to be standing barefoot on Cliff’s front porch, but the idea of spending another night alone made his insides weep. Pax needed Cliff drooling in bed next to him.

Wearing nothing more than navy boxers and singlet, Pax clasped his hand on the cool bell chain. A breeze rushed through the Pohutakawa tree at the front of the lawn and the leaves rustled, like maybe they were cheering him on. He’d take it.

He licked his bottom lip, tasting the juice of the apple he’d munched on his way over here, and jerked the chain. A high-pitched ringing quaked through the house. Pax’s pulse spiked, and he was sure his shiver had nothing to do with the dark, damp night.

He thought he heard footsteps shifting on the other side of the door. He jiggled the bell again.

The door opened. Floral shampoo whooshed over him, and Cliff filled the doorway.

Cliff took in Pax’s bed-ready attire, and Pax took in Cliff’s banana-print boxers, holey shirt, blow-dried hair, and tortoiseshell glasses that framed cautious green eyes.

“So,” Cliff said calmly, waiting.

“I take it all back,” Pax said, stepping forward and plucking Cliff’s boxers. “You do have a fun side.”

“Under all the layers.”

“Are you going to let me in?”

Cliff hesitated, then shook his head and shut the door.

Pax scowled at the wall of wood in his face. He rattled the bell again. “Cliff, let me in.”

“Your balls are prohibited,” came Cliff’s muffled reply.

“I promise I won’t turn into a sex machine. Tonight.”

Groaned laughter.

Pax capitalized on the moment and cheekily rang the doorbell again.

The door opened an inch. More than enough for Pax to work with. He winced and dramatically rubbed his lower back. “My back. It aches. I cannot sleep on that waterbed one more night.”

Wood clapped in front of his face once more. Strike two.

Pax thought he heard the groan of a floorboard, and he yelped out, “I ate an apple on the way over here.”

The floorboard creaked again, and the door opened all the way. Pax wobbled on the threshold.

“What on earth are you talking about?” Cliff said.

Pax winked. “I ate an apple and didn’t throw the core into your garden.”

Cliff blinked blandly at him.

“Growth, Clifford.”

Cliff cast his gaze heavenward. “Really? This is the guy I . . .?”

Pax leaned against the doorframe and arched a cocky brow. “The guy you what?”

A hand shot out and hauled him inside by the T-shirt. “Just sleeping,” Cliff said.

“Just sleeping.”

There was no sex, but Pax woke with Cliff’s arms wrapped around him.

There was very little “just” about it.

Breakfast had the whole gang at Cliff’s dining table.

Luca and Henry were fighting over the last honey puffs. Cliff rolled his eyes and told Pax to focus on the food on his plate, to which Pax rubbed his foot up Cliff’s naked legs to his base of his shorts. Bianca was whining to someone on the spiral cord telephone mounted in the kitchen.

Cliff squeezed his thighs on Pax’s foot, but otherwise ignored him.

Bianca yelled at her boys to shush.

Everyone looked at her.

“That was our director on the phone,” she said. “We have a problem with the play.”

“What’s the matter?” they all asked in a tangle of voices.

“You know our one-man band?”

Pax nodded.

“It just turned into a none-man band.”

Well, shit.

Cliff picked up his knife and spread butter on his toast. “Is there a piano I can use at the church?”

Bianca hurtled into him, wrapping her arms around his chest. Toast skittered out of Cliff’s pinched fingers to the floor. “You’ll do it?”

“You’re my sister. Of course.”

Bianca glanced at Pax without a shred of subtlety. “Guitar would make the music even more dynamic.”

Pax shifted on his chair. “I . . .”

Cliff swept in. “You know he’s busy with his show.”

Pax shoved a hand through his hair and stared at his mushy Weet-Bix. “Those guys were absolute dicks to both of us, I suppose . . .”

Cliff’s breath hitched. Whatever Cliff was thinking, Pax couldn’t see it. Cliff’s face buried in Bianca’s hug. When he pulled back, his expression was frustratingly schooled. “I thought jamming alongside Lone Whistle and the Deserted was your biggest chance?”

“I mean. It is. It’s what I’ve always dreamed of.”

Cliff busied himself in buttering another piece of toast. “You should do what would fulfill you. What would make you happy.” He spoke to Bianca. “I’ve got this.”

Pax returned home with Luca, unable to shake off the feeling his apology still hadn’t sunk in.

Luca’s laugh trailed down the hall from his bedroom into Pax’s, where Pax was changing into fresh clothes. A burst of excited Italian followed. Chatting to his family, then.

If Pax were ever to adopt an optimist’s personality, he’d want Luca’s. Shot down by his girl, Luca still saw the beauty in her decision. Still treated her like a princess over breakfast. Still spoke with such animation to his parents and sisters.

That nineteen-year-old would soar in life. Pax would root for him for as long as Luca let him.

Pax hopped around, slipping on a sock. At his nightstand, the Troll-doll pencil poked out from between pages of his notepad. He stared at the curling red hair. Oh, hell yes.

He’d promised something cool for Luca’s sister. Something special.

He grabbed his guitar, his notepad of lyrics, and slicked on a smile.

Time to deliver.

After singing his Luca-inspired song to his sister—earning him a hug that was sure to bruise—Pax spent the rest of the day preparing Cliff for Bianca’s performance. It wasn’t necessary for him to be involved, but Pax wanted to. Needed to. He hoped spending time with Cliff, no matter how much they bickered over tempo and key changes, would make him see how much he liked him. Nothing faked about it.

Bianca dragged them to the church for rehearsal.

Half the stage was set up with a table, basket, wine glasses, and a suitcase, and the other half with puffed out sails of the shipwrecked boat. A lone grandma piano sat at the wall behind the farthest sail.

Two teen actors dueled with swords in the middle of the stage, clashing metal and rehashing their lines. Another actor strung up silver tinsel around the stage, giving it a festive look.

Pax dragged Cliff to the piano stool and sat next to him as he played.

“Any closer, Apollo, and you’d be on my lap.”

“As much as I’d like that, we should probably hold back.” Pax winked at him as he sidled off the stool. “Teenage minds are very impressionable. Or so I’ve been told.”

Instead of sitting on Cliff’s lap, he acted out lines with Bianca; he bought coffee for Cliff after the first couple of relentless hours; and after lunch, for shits and giggles, he strummed along to the score he’d found in the backroom.

Every minute felt like he and Cliff were teetering on the precipice of something new, each hinting at what this friending had become.

They slept together again that night, Pax curled against Cliff, nose pressed against Cliff’s warm armpit.

The bedroom was dark, and a sticky summer breeze funneled through the open balcony door, washing over their naked torsos to the bunched sheets at their hips. Silver moonlight subtly outlined Cliff’s torso, and Pax fingered the silky hairs of his pecs.

Cliff stared toward the ceiling, fingers tickling the small of Pax’s back.

Just sleeping, Cliff had said.

Just sleeping, Pax had agreed.

Pax settled his ear over Cliff’s chest, listening to the drumroll of his heart. It sounded faster than it had last night. Pax rolled onto his side and hooked Cliff’s gaze. His mouth dried, his pulse pounded. “Cliff, I . . .”

“Yes?” Cliff’s piercingly hopeful yet uncertain gaze robbed Pax of words.

He swooped down and poured his feelings into a soft kiss.

Arms snuck around him and Cliff steered Pax atop him. Their clammy skin kissed from chest to thigh to calf. Pax dipped for another tender kiss.

Cliff lifted his head and met him halfway.

Their lips brushed.

“G-goodnight,” Pax whispered.

Cliff kissed the corner of Pax’s lips. “Goodnight.”

Christmas Eve morning, they returned to the church for more practice. They kept exchanging looks that said Is this happening? Is this what I think it is?

Pax nodded through the music, frustrated at himself for not being clearer. For being so fucking nervous to say it.

“Remember, the cast will cue you,” Pax assured Cliff when they set up for the show that evening. “You’re going to kill this play.”

Cliff shuffled the papers on the music stand. “You’ve been running around helping us the last two days. What about practicing for your gig?”

Pax shrugged. The truth was, he didn’t care to practice with the guys. When they’d called after his run with Cliff yesterday, his stomach had solidified to lead. He was supposed to meet them at five-thirty today to run through their set once more before hauling ass to the stadium for their nine o’clock timeslot.

All Pax had to do was show up and play his heart out.

“Um. I’m heading there later.”

Cliff twisted on his piano stool and eyed him. He rubbed his palms over his thighs. “Come here, Apollo.”

Pax shuffled in front of him. “Yes, Clifford?”

“I know I’ve been acting off these last couple of days.”

“Sad, you mean. Uncertain.”

“Afraid.”

“Of this?”

“Of losing this.”

Pax knelt on the plush cushion between Cliff’s parted thighs and dropped a quivering kiss on his lips.

Cliff chuckled against his lips and pulled back. “I’ll see you after your performance.” Not a question, thank God. But still, it was abrupt. Like it took everything for Cliff to make it sound like a fact. Like he still didn’t know.

“We’ll have words.”

“I’d like that.” They shared a hopeful smile. “You’ll wow your audience tonight.”

“How do you know?”

“You wowed me, and I set a high bar.”

“I’m nervous.” Pax bit the inside of his lips. “This is the last show I’ll perform with Serenity Free. I have no idea what I’m going to do next.”

The director interrupted, calling out for a quick run-through of the opening scene. Actors spilled over the stage to their places, and Cliff had to turn to his music.

He murmured something that Pax didn’t catch, and before he could ask Cliff to say it again, he was ushered into the back room.

He sighed.

Kiss tingling on his lips, he exited the church, made his way home, and got ready the performance of his dreams.