"I thought you didn't do karaoke?"

        Brendon watches as I finish connecting the machine to the TV. It takes considerable effort since I've drunk my weight in booze. Now that we've all eaten, most of us are lounging around, not in the mood to even move an inch. Naturally, I'm in the mood to sing even though no one has asked for this.

        I take a sip of Swamp Water. "I am a changed woman."

        "Drunk," Jun corrects. "She means drunk woman."

        Everleigh eyes my dwindling drink. "I don't think Stevie's ever been drunk in her life."

        Maverick stares. "You're one to talk."

        "I've never been drunk either."

        "You just made me walk you to the bathroom."

        "Women do that all the time," I say, turning around. "Doesn't mean we're drunk."

        Everleigh holds her drink in the air. I'm sure it's just juice. "Thank you, lovely."

        After checking to make sure everything is hooked up properly and working, I walk back to the couch with the mic. "We have the Shrek soundtrack on here."

        "Incredible," Maverick remarks.

        "Who wants to go first—" I spin back and forth, pretending like I am looking over my choices. There can only ever be one. "Oh, thanks for volunteering, Maverick!"

        He doesn't move from his spot next to Everleigh, arm thrown over the back of the sofa. "I'm on walk-to-the-bathroom duty, so sorry."

        "That's okay, Jun can take over for now."

        "Yeah, that's fine," Jun says.

        He might be preoccupied with playing with Lauren's hair while she hums, but it doesn't mean he won't jump up at a moment's notice for the friend that gave him a Capri Sun in the middle of the Grammys. If Everleigh thought she was getting away from any of us any time soon, she's mistaken. The gift was comparable to giving him her kidney.

        Maverick sighs before slowly sitting up. "Yeah, fine." He stands after swiping Everleigh's drink—met with a whimper from her because rude—before walking over to grab the mic. "What song are you picking?"

       "Hmmm...." I scroll through the options and quickly end up in the Disney songs section. It's a no-brainer from there. "Perfect."

        The screen turns blue with snowflakes and icicles around the border. The unmistakable piano intro of Do You Want to Build A Snowman from Frozen drifts into the air like a flurry in New York City.

        "Out of every song available to you."

        "Please give it everything you've got." I return to my spot between Brendon and Everleigh. "Phil Collins on the Tarzan soundtrack power level."

        Maverick gives an embellished bow. "As you wish."

        It should come as no surprise that even when we're completely shit-faced, Maverick still stuns the crowd His rendition of Do You Want to Build A Snowman damn near brings me tears, but that might also be because I can be an emotional drunk sometimes. By the time he walks back to his seat, we're all clapping wildly for him. Maverick takes a well-earned bow.

        "Incredible," I tell him. "You should be on Disney Channel."

        "I hope you voice a Disney princess one day," he replies.

        I scoff. "As if that'd ever happen."

        Even suffering the loss of the rest of her drink at the hands of sir Maverick, Everleigh is tipsy enough to almost fall over on the couch. "Stevie is a Disney princess!"

        "Everleigh, can you be my true love's kiss—"

        Maverick has to dodge her flailing arms as she rocks herself back and forth like she's dancing with her handsome prince (see: me, of course). "Sha-la-la-la-la-la my oh my—yes, always!"

        Jun shakes his head, having torn himself away from his wish upon a star for one moment. "Yes, they're both drunk."

        "Okay, Everleigh's turn!" I shove the mic in her direction.

        Brendon tries to save her. A moment of solidarity between the partners. "Shouldn't the person who went last choose who goes—"

        "I don't sing!" Everleigh shouts. "What a shame!"

        "You don't need to sing to do karaoke," I insist. "That's the whole point."

        Thinking it over, Brendon spares her another look. "I've heard you're a fan of Taylor Swift."

        "Bad news outlet," she protests.

        Unfortunately for her, Maverick and I share everything, including clips of partners singing drunk at karaoke, or the audio of a shower concert. "I did hear about blondie karaoke night."

        "Kingston did do a great cover of the ten-minute song."

        "Don't try to dodge this." I look to Maverick for assistance. "Help, please."

        Dewmaster in his arms, he looks down at his girlfriend who looks like she could be blown over by the smallest gust of wind. "I'll go get you another drink. Or two."

        She looks warily at me. "Is there a short one—"

        "Is All Too Well (10 Minute Version)(Taylor's Version) off the table or—"

        "You have me until I have to pee again."

        Maverick begins walking over to the drinks. "That's probably, like, two and a half minutes, Stev. Pick your poison."

        Not wanting to waste any of this opportunity, I panic and hit shuffle before tossing the mic at her so she doesn't have a choice but to take it from me. "Okay, here. Show Maverick who the real artist is."

        If Maverick thought he had a questionable song choice, it doesn't compare to the Ducktales song Everleigh has the pleasure of singing. Then again, she seems familiar enough with the lyrics and I already know that means Maverick has sung this song around her more than a fair few times. By the time he comes back carrying two drinks, his eyes have glazed over as he watches. I've never seen someone so in love. Getting turned on by him saying Scream 2 seems so tame now.

        Everleigh doesn't waste any time passing off the hot potato when she's done. "Boy wonder. Obviously, it's your turn. Spouse to spouse." It's hard to tell if she's mad we made her sing or because she's gone two and a half minutes without drinking something.

        Brendon cautiously takes the mic. "Um...sure What song?"

        She flips to a random song. "Here. This one." Unwritten. A classic but I would pay to see him sing Wild Horses. Everleigh taps his nose. "Boop. Enjoy."

        His eyes go wide. Probably malfunctioning because they're not both fighting for a MARS sneak peek. "Uh—"

        "She'll probably put Mav in a headlock for making her go out but she's fine," I tell him. "You're up—Mr. Natasha Bedingfield."

        He looks nervous. "I should have had another drink."

        "Not too late for me to—"

        "Something strong," he requests.

        I dart into the kitchen, jumping over Jun's legs, and grab the first drink I can find. Moonshine is a safe bet. Brendon knocks the entire thing back in one gulp right before the song starts.

        He sings to impress, even if he doesn't think he's that good. What Brendon doesn't realize is that everything he touches turns to gold, even if it's a song I've mentally suppressed because I had to sing it for my sixth-grade graduation. The horny fire sign comes out before he finishes his song.

        "I wasn't a huge fan of that song before but now—"

        Jun reads me like a book. "Keep it in your pants, Stev."

        "I didn't say anything—"

        "We all know what you were thinking."

        Brendon smirks and hands me the mic. "Looks like you're up next, babe."

        "I need time to breathe," I say, fanning myself. He rolls his eyes with a laugh. "And another drink."

        "You do not need another drink," Jun says.

        "Maverick!" I wave at him. "Drink, please!"

        "She can have my extra one," Everleigh offers.

        "You drank the extra one," Maverick deadpans.

        "Oopsies."

        He looks at me, exhausted. "Which one do you want?"

        "Surprise me." After a second, I add, "Not Waterboy or You Mean As Friends?"

        "Waterboy and You Mean As Friends? Perfect." He walks into the kitchen while Brendon picks my song. When he comes back, he has a red glass in his hand. "Here. Billy Loomis. Take your time with it, please—"

        I don't listen, but as soon as it hits my tongue, I know something is off. Playing a trick on me is a bold move considering I'm already drunk, and he may or may not suffer the consequences of that move when I spit the drink out. It sprays all over his face and my Christmas sweater, may it rest in peace.

        Maverick blinks.

        "This is not Billy Loomis, Maverick. What is this imposter?"

        "Maybe you've fried your tastebuds." He wipes his face. "Also, gross."

        Brendon moves quickly to hand me the mic so I can start my song and avoid any more spitting incidents. I make sure to hand Maverick the empty glass before he goes to sit down.

        Our national anthem is a perfect choice—Party in the USA by Miley Cyrus. Drunk Stevie loves karaoke, and I make a grand show of changing out Jay Z in the second verse for Maverick instead, flicking him on the nose as I dance past him. He dramatically tries to swat me away with a laugh while Everleigh, still drinking her "juice" mimics me with a giggle. As tempting as it is, I refrain from demanding Maverick pay me for the show since he never gets into mine for free.

        Brendon can pay later.

        "Hold the applause, please," I say as my friends clap and whistle. "Thank you. I know. Thank you."

        "Encore!" Maverick and Everleigh scream at the same time.

        I earn my own Oscar with my fake gasp if I do say so myself. "I mean if you insist." Brendon moves to pick me another song, bless his heart, but I snatch the remote from him, making sure to kiss his cheek because I'm not that rude. My next selection comes up quickly and I know what needs to happen.

        Reaching into the container, I grab the other mic and start swinging it around as You've Got a Friend in Me starts playing.

        "If only I had someone to sing this one with me—"

        Maverick eyes the second mic. If he was Ben Stiller in Zoolander, he'd call this look theater kid. Tempted by the musical gods to fulfill his destiny.

        "I mean—" He drifts off.

        Everleigh gives him an encouraging shove. Maybe it's because she's in love with him and wants to see him sing. Maybe it's to make it easier for her to scooch over to the drinks table for another round. "Get going."

        He doesn't need to be told twice. Maverick grabs the mic with enough conviction one would think he was bestowing upon himself the burden of taking the ring to Mordor.

        We blaze through the song as seriously as we sang on the Grammys stage and everyone gives us a round of applause. Brendon looks ready to stand up and grab the mic from me so I can sit down, but Maverick and I pick the next song to sing because asking a couple of theater kids to only sing together only once is like asking Jun to give up Capri Sun, or like asking Everleigh to never watch another horror movie in her life. Some things just simply cannot be done, and why would we want them to be?

        Jun groans as soon as a particular song starts. The familiar sound of someone who's been through this too many times before to count. "God, I knew this was coming."

        "What is this?" Brendon asks, concerned.

        "Defying Gravity."

        Everleigh sounds ready to go all Billy Loomis on herself. "Tell me this is a joke." This dismay is justified given the number of times I know she's heard us sing this song.

        Jun looks at her. "Ten bucks says they're going to sing it twice so they can both do Elphaba's part."

         Demonstrating why she has a Master's Degree unlike, say, Maverick, she refuses to take the bait. "I don't take losing bets."

        "Damn," Jun grumbles. "Maverick would've taken it and he's part of it."

        Everleigh laughs. "Sorry to disappoint."

        Their conversation drifts into the background as Maverick and I build up the song. Up first to bat, he hits every note perfectly, and I soon follow after when we replay the song. And look, maybe we do it a third time and sing Elphaba together because what else are we supposed to do? We bulldoze our way through several other songs, including a handful from our aptly titled 'maverick &stevie bi chaos' shared playlist. If you're not singing What Dreams Are Made Of from The Lizzie McGuire Movie then you're not doing it right. There are a lot of things Maverick and I definitively do not do right, but anything to do with music is not one of them, even if it's just karaoke. I don't remember much of it except that during our singing, we rock back and forth with our arms around each other's shoulders. I'm not even sure if anyone else is paying attention to us by this point.

        It doesn't matter. Whether it's introducing each other to the loves of our lives at a New Year's concert, slapping the other under New York snowfall, or winning a Grammy together, Maverick and I will always find our spotlight. And I've never been more honored to share it with him.

...

"One last Ka-chow! and Billy Loomis. How fitting."

        Maverick stares at the mostly bare table. "I'm shocked there's anything left."

        While he gets our drinks ready, I glance back at Everleigh and Brendon on the sofa, both laughing at something on her phone. "I assume everything is good after the whole Vegas thing. Yeah?"

        "Might've annoyed my managers a little but it wasn't anything too bad. Nothing they couldn't smooth over. Esmé was a little too willing to fake a kidney stone if I needed an excuse." He laughs.

        I've always imagined what it would be like to grow up with a sister. Whether we'd be the best of friends or the type who always fought as a way to show our love. Maybe we'd lean on each other during all those times when I was alone.

        "Eh, shit happens. Everything falls apart a hundred times before it comes together. I think they understand what our kind is like. You're better off doing what's best for yourself and mending things later. But I'm happy it all worked out. As long as you're happy with where you are, that's all that matters."

        "Very happy." He nods. "She's never been the wrong choice. And you? Album of the Year winner?"

        I smile down at the table. "I thought it was the thing I wanted to happen, you know? And then it did and I'm obviously very grateful for it, but it's just...another good thing alongside all the other good things in my life. So I'm happy now, but I was happy before too. I would've still been happy without it. If that makes sense."

        "You know, all of us spent a long time watching you avoid the truth," Maverick says after sparing a look at the two on the couch. "It's nice seeing you realize it was a good thing to put yourself first. Escape Velocity launch Stevie took a good leap of faith. I'm proud of you for it."

        I nudge his side. "Maybe seeing you take your own leap of faith helped me."

        "Hope you didn't sit outside a door for thirteen hours, Stev."

        "No," I laugh, "but I probably would have done that for him. He's worth a hundred hours of waiting." Now that we've sweated out some of the alcohol during karaoke, I can see a little more clarity. As clear as that moment on the stage while we accepted the award. "You're an inherently good person, Kingston. I hope you know that. Even if we sometimes do silly things in the most roundabout way possible, I look up to you. Even if it means sitting in her hallway for thirteen hours."

        Maverick can't take a compliment to save his life. It's either a rainstorm of tears or the perfect deflection. "You have to look up to me, I'm taller than you."

        I shake my head. "First of all, shut up, you wonky artichoke. You're barely two inches taller than me. I put on a pair of shoes and we're even. But I just—I just wanted you to know that, even though they're all who they are to me," I gesture vaguely at the rest of MARS, "you're my best friend. I don't say this enough, or as much as I feel it 'cause it's a lot, but I'm so proud of all you've accomplished. Seeing where you've come from and where you're going. I'm not exaggerating when I say you're my biggest inspiration. And I cannot thank you enough for all you've done for me. Thank you for always being you." Recalling something Brendon said the other day, I add, "And for making it so easy to be myself around you."

        For a long time after we moved to Los Angeles, I didn't see any concerts. Call it a wasted opportunity after spending my entire life in a place where we rarely get bigger shows, but I got too in my head about how that was going to be us one day. I couldn't help but think about how I'd spend too long analyzing every move and note sung, and whether or not I would be as good of a performer. Sure, we'd played live before, but being in the safety and comfort of Hawaii is different than sailing out away from our islands.

        Maverick's show was the first I'd attended after we moved; one of his earliest after he released his sophomore album, What I Never Said to You. 

        My introduction to Kingston John Maverick happened when I'd listened to est. 1994 too many times after it'd first dropped, often while riding in the back of a friend's lifted yota after our high school graduation. There's something inherently special about an artist's debut album and the way it sets the tone for the rest of their career, and est. 1994 will always go down as my favorite of all time. God, was it a special time. I barely understood who I was as a person or who I wanted to be—and sometimes I still don't and that's okay—but it all made sense. It was the kind of album that solidified my desire to be a performing artist. Not just someone who writes songs in my room, dreaming of them coming to life under the stars.

        I remember staring up at him from the crowd in awe; barely nineteen, still starry-eyed. Listening to him belt high notes, swoon the crowd with his perfect pitch, finding the spotlight right when his voice blends perfectly into the background instrumentals because he's made for it. Maverick has always been who I've wanted to be—honest, full of life, compassionate, so out of this world that handing him the universe isn't enough. He deserves everything and more, even if he's the first one to hand it right back because he is not who he is without the love he holds for those around him.

        Simply put: I am who I am, as a person and as an artist, because of people like Maverick.

        The tears begin to fall, and if I know anything about Maverick, they're not stopping any time soon. "I know that sometimes that damn little parsnip brain of yours goes a little awol and sometimes you need to be brought back to earth. But I need you to know that seeing you become even more you over the last year was...well. Pick your adjective. Legendary seems to be the one that's sticking out to me. Not many people could go through what you did and come out on the other end stronger. And it's the world's highest honor that you let me be there for that. So thank you. You damn...turnip or—or whatever. Thanks for being you and lighting up everyone's life the moment you step into it. There's not anyone quite like you, Kealoha. I love seeing you make history. Thanks for having me along for the ride."

        And, as exhibited at the Grammys, as soon as Maverick cries, I follow. As I'm sure I'll do for the rest of my life. Before I can stumble over my words, I lean forward and hug him. "God, we're a right bunch of wimps, aren't we?" I mumble into his shirt. "I love you so much."

        "I love you too." His arms come around me as he rests his head on my shoulder. "No one else I'd want to lose bets to and get stupid tattoos for."

        "You better get it touched up. I don't want my name looking like a blotchy mess."

        "I'll take good care of it. I promise."

        I don't pull away yet. I don't ever want to pull away. Maverick's arms will always be one of my safe places. "Don't ever break Everleigh's heart or I will hurt you. I don't care if we're soulmates. That's my girl."

        "Reckon she's stuck with me." He laughs. "You hurt Bash and I'm flying over to kick your ass. Soulmates off."

        "You have my full permission to slap me if I ever do." I rub my nose, sniffling. "And don't forget to call me if you ever need me. I'll fly across the Atlantic at any time."

        "Well. You gotta come visit your stepson anyway, right?" he asks. And then, sending me spiraling to my demise, he signs ohana at the end.

        I look up at him through tears—and not just because he's two inches taller than me. "You finally called him my stepson. And yes, I'm visiting whenever. Everleigh is giving me the key."

        "Good. I have some records for you to steal."

        I reach up and pinch his cheeks. "You've got a lifetime of me stealing your records, bub."

        "Wouldn't have it any other way." He smiles through his glassy gaze. "Wouldn't have it any other way. Better make London one of your first tour stops or I'll get Jenny to throw me off the face of the earth."

        "I specifically asked for London as the first stop in the European leg so we're good. No promises on her not still throwing us overboard. We'll probably get thrown into Brit jail. Everleigh is going to have to bail us out."

        "Hope she doesn't have the graveyard shift that night."

        "We'll just have to hope Brendon is back at the Windsor home base."

        Maverick tightens his arms around me again. "Can't wait to be cellmates."

        "I call bottom bunk."

        He laughs. "We'll have to get incarcerated after your show, of course."

        I pull back and smile up at him. "I'll even let you in for free."

...

He finds me on his roof.

        Brendon Ellis: Formula One's boy wonder and the love of my life. My favorite memories of our time together are that night in New York and sitting in the car at the lookout in Monaco.  For now. I know there will be many more to follow that I'll fall in love with more. But they're pretty good ones regardless.

        "Long time no see," he jokes. After the party started to wind down, I managed to sneak away for a breath of fresh air away from all the noise. Naturally, I walked over to his house. My house, I suppose. He insists I can call it that. I'm still getting used to the idea of it but I like the way it sounds.

        This time, we're not separated by some socially acceptable distance. I lean my head against his shoulder as he wraps his arm around my legs. "I feel so happy right now. Genuinely happy."

        "Good." He kisses the top of my head. "I like when you're happy."

        "Are you?"

        His grip tightens on me. "I'm always happy when I'm with you."

        Just like any other night in Los Angeles, I fill in the blanks in the sky with my own stars since I can't see the real ones from here. I've always thought of it as wishful thinking, but maybe it's just my way of seeing past all the noise. We all know they're there, even if we can't see them. Just like I know we love each other even if it's not something tangible.

        Then again, that's debatable too. Love is keeping a carton of apple juice in the fridge at all times. It's taking fifteen-hour flights to see him race even when I'm tired from a week of shows. It's the way he smooths his fingers over the angry lines on my forehead when I'm mad at myself for no reason, and the affirmations he tells me every night before we go to sleep.

        Maybe love is just a happy chance I've fallen into. And how lucky am I that it's him? That it'll always be him. Whether we're sitting on a roof in Los Angeles, at a lookout in Monaco, or racing across to every corner of the map. It all belongs to him. Us.

        When I turn to the side, he's looking at me. His brightest star in the sky.

        "Here's to endless nights of going to sleep happy."

        "Careful, Stevie," he laughs, pulling me closer. "They all might think you're in love with me."

        "Oh, they all know." I kiss him. Breathe him in until he's infused in my every thought. "They've always known."