“Have you had a chance to look for an apartment yet?”

“I took a quick look at some roommate-wanted ads yesterday.” Archer pulled a face. “It was scary.”

“You know…” Mateo said slowly. “I have an extra room in my apartment. You could stay with me. While you look for something.”

“Really? Even though we’re…”

“Yeah, I know the timing is a little weird but … you need a room and I have a room. It doesn’t have to be anything more significant.”

A thousand-pound weight lifted off Archer’s shoulders. “If you’re sure…”

“If I’m sure?” Mateo said, eyes crinkling. “This is basically me begging.”

Archer wanted to throw his arms around Mateo, but he remembered just in time they were in the greenroom with fourteen other people. “Yes. Thank you. That would be … perfect.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

Archer stepped onto the darkened stage. Mateo’s shadow waited for him. The audience hushed as the first strains of music filled the theater. Archer took his position, in third, arms extended. He exhaled. The spotlight turned on and illuminated them both.

Their eyes met.

Mateo’s beauty took his breath away.

Archer’s heart crashed into his rib cage, a bird that refused to be contained, that needed to fly.

So, he flew.

He pirouetted and reached for Mateo. Their hands met, firm and yet gentle. Mateo grasped his waist, then his thigh as Archer dove toward the worn boards. Then his waist again, his shoulders, as the music took them. Their arms and legs threaded together, weaving a story, a spell that captured them both. Mateo lifted Archer to the swell of the music, held him. They breathed at the same time, their sweat mingling on flushed skin. The thump of Mateo’s pounding heart vibrated through Archer’s hand when he rested it on Mateo’s chest. His fingers brushed Mateo’s face, and then they turned and came back together once again. Archer fell, Mateo caught him, safe and secure in those arms.

The audience vanished; it was only the two of them as one. As Archer stretched and turned and leaped, he knew Mateo was there, right where he was supposed to be, perfectly in sync, never a hand misplaced, never a missed beat. Archer lost himself in the dance, let the emotions take over, put every grain of every feeling into his legs and toes and arms and fingers, neck, torso—his body as fluid as the flame that burned inside him.

When the music faded and the roar from the audience rushed back, they held hands and bowed, then exited the stage while the others went on.

They stood in silence in the shadows, watching each other, chests heaving. Every hair on Archer’s body stood on end. His every cell, alive and wanting.

“Mateo,” he breathed.

Their lips met, bodies wound together again, slotting together perfectly. Archer dissolved into an ocean of bliss.