It was torture being around Mateo all day and not being able to kiss him. He started wondering if maybe they could break the rules and sneak a kiss here and there, but as long as they were at rehearsal, there was always someone around. When the group paused for lunch, Archer and Mateo lingered in the greenroom. Mateo decided it was a good time to untangle the jumble of extra metal hangers in the closet, while Archer scrubbed the makeup mirror. When Caleb, the straggler, finally left, their eyes locked across the room. They each took three long strides, reached for the other … and Stewart came in, Judy trotting at his heels.

“Mateo, there you are!” he cried.

Archer and Mateo screeched to a halt, hands awkwardly falling to other tasks. Archer scratched his nose.

“I was thinking, do you suppose we ought to make a fuss for Breckon Galloway?” Stewart wondered. “Or do we pretend we don’t even know he’s there?”

“Ah…” Mateo cleared his throat, gaze drifting down Archer’s body. “Pretend we don’t know he’s there, I think. Don’t want to look like we’re trying too hard.”

Archer didn’t think he was imagining the emphasis Mateo put on the last word. He smirked back and thought about Mateo’s plump bottom lip between his, their bodies pressed together.

“That was my initial thought as well,” Stewart said, linking arms with Mateo and pulling him along to the exit. “But some of these theater types, you know, they love to be fussed over, don’t they? Not me or you, of course, but did I ever tell you about the time Dame Judi Dench came to watch my production of Don’t Stop Believin’, the Journey tribute? She sent me the most scathing letter afterward, complaining that I hadn’t put a reserved sign on her seat…”

Archer trailed after the two of them on the way to the dining hall, winking at Mateo when he cast a helpless look over his shoulder.

After the show that night, they walked back to the dorms together. When the coast was clear, Mateo took Archer’s hand and yanked him into a patch of hazelnut bushes.

“Fuck,” Mateo muttered before their lips met in a frantic, exhilarating kiss.

“Yes,” Archer whispered back when they came up for air. More, was all Archer could think. He wanted more.

“But we’re not doing this,” Mateo reminded him when they paused after the next kiss, resting their foreheads together. “We’re waiting.”

“It’s going to be so hard…” They laughed. “But you’re right,” Archer breathed. “No more.”

“Right.” Mateo sighed.

Archer’s stomach swirled at the thought of what they were waiting for. For now, the best he could hope for was a week of longing glances and accidental finger brushes.

And the dancing.

There was always the dancing.

25 Two as One