"I can't believe I've grown two zits since we started recording," Stevie said.

"I feel like I have to shave again." Maverick ran a hand on his cheek. There wasn't a hint that he'd actually shaved that morning. "Ridiculous. I should just grow a beard."

"Honestly, same."

"We can grow beards together. Cute."

"We should shave some cute designs into them too."

"Adorable."

Stevie ran her hand along her chin while using her phone as a mirror. "Where are your Hero patches? I can't continue working in these conditions without a pimple patch."

"I think I threw them on the bathroom counter," Maverick said. "Do you want to go get them or do you want me to?"

Stevie sighed and laid out on the piano bench. "I might be getting my period today but if I must get them myself..."

Let it be said Maverick had sympathy for anyone experiencing a period. He had sympathy for his mom when he was old enough to understand what it was. Esmé wasn't long after that. Maverick made many runs to the corner store when the two of them synced up for whatever they needed. Chocolate, ice cream, pads, tampons, whatever was necessary. There was one time his sister had insisted on a copy of Notting Hill, and when he'd returned hours later because finding that DVD was insane, she didn't want to watch it anymore.

There had been a couple times Stevie needed something random but hadn't disclosed her period. But she'd never turned away the random chocolate bars that appeared in the bag of whatever else Maverick had gone to grab for her.

He'd done the same when Rhylan was on hers. She was a bigger fan of heating packs paired with ice cream which never made sense to him but he wouldn't critique it.

And he did the same with Everleigh, who preferred a box of chocolate, specifically Lindor, and to be left alone. One time she threatened to teach him on the fly how to give her a hysterectomy with one of their kitchen knives and some orajel because it was the only thing they had in the house to numb her. That was a bad one.

All that was to say: "I'm assuming I'm getting them when you're on your period, so go ahead."

"Fine," Stevie said, pushing herself up from the bench seat. "I might stop and get some cookies then."

"Enjoy," Maverick said. "I'm going to write a song about being in love with Bash at Christmas while you're gone."

He opened his notebook to a clean page. Bookmarked with his boarding pass from his Toronto to Calgary flight. He'd scribbled some version of the song he'd threatened on another page but it wasn't quite right, so a clean page was the way to go. He'd never been in the parody business before but there was some kind of pride he took in wanting to be the one to sing any version of Santa Baby on the collection.

Although he was well-aware of the colonial ways that Canada became as such, there was a certain pride he took being one of few musicians from the country, too. Which meant that when fellow Canadian Michael Bublé released an album that dubbed him the Christmas king, Maverick was quick to run to the store to grab a copy and listen to it. The astronomical amount of disappointment he felt at the tender age of 15 when he realized that the jazz singer's version of Santa Baby was incredibly not queer nor sexy was worse than when he'd lost two Grammys as an adult earlier that year. Shouldn't have been the end of the world either time, but it felt that way. And Maverick needed to set Santa Baby back on track with the horniness it deserved for the singer to want to fuck Santa Claus.

Even if his version was about Brendon Ellis. Minor details; the writing came—heh—easily.

Santa baby, forget about the guys you outrank / give thanks

To the hometown pit crew / Santa baby, lubed and ready to fill up this tank

The parody was worth it just to see the look on Stevie's face when he was done writing and editing it. Especially when Think of all the fellas that I haven't kissed was a perfect line the way it was.

Maverick scribbled down most of a song while Stevie was gone. He'd written some of the songs on Curtain Call as fast, but this was less emotional breakdown and more already knowing the melody he wanted to follow. Much more relaxing than the deluxe version of Curtain Call had been to write.

Santa baby, slide it into a lower gear / All clear

No bad bottoming here / Santa baby, so hurry down the raceway tonight

"I've got another song we're gonna use," Stevie said as she walked back into the room. A plate full of cookies in hand and a half eaten one in the other.

"Is it making the yuletide gay—" Maverick started hypocritically.

"Consider it Evergay."

"Do you want to solo it or do you think going back and forth is the way to go?"

"You think I want to share this song with you?" Stevie asked. Looking at him like he'd asked her to eat something that came out of either end of Dewey.

"Fair enough."

"Where's this Bash song?" Stevie asked. "I know you already wrote most of it before we got here."

"Don't worry about it." Maverick was almost done. But not quite. He might've been nominated for songwriter of the year at the next Grammy awards but that didn't mean he was ready to share his draft with anyone even if they were named Stevie Kealoha and they shared a brain.

"No," Stevie said. "I want to see it."

"It's not done."

"I didn't ask if it was done. I said show it to me."

"Why don't you share your Evergay song?"

Stevie shoved the rest of the cookie in her mouth and practically frisbeed her notebook at him. A lot less stubborn than he thought she'd be. "Here. I have nothing to hide."

Maverick blinked. "That was easier than I thought it was gonna be."

"Now hand over the Bash song."

"You need to promise me you won't read anything other than the bookmarked page—" Maverick said while he slowly handed over his journal. And flipped through Stevie's. Shut up.

"As if I'll ever make that promise." Stevie started reading—and he couldn't tell if the narrowed eyes were because his handwriting had improved or Stevie simply knew exactly what he'd written. "Maverick... Did you just rewrite Santa Baby but for Bash?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. Santa Baby objectifies Santa and I would never do that to—" Maverick shouldn't have been flipping slowly.

Home Alone stared him in the face. He read it quickly even when after every single line he told himself he needed to stop reading. It was beautiful, of course it was beautiful, but it made his chest ache in only the way something written from the depths of Stevie's worst nightmares could've been. Fuck.

Woke up on Christmas day with nowhere else to go

Dreamt of throwing myself into a pile of snow

Fallen angels scream there's no place like home

But this place ain't home / It'll never be home

Danced with a broken wing inside a cracked snow globe

Whole world watched and laughed as I ran for the phone

Dial tone / Dad's gone / Mom's lost / I'm alone

This place still ain't home / It'll never be home

They said I'm a star born knowing best to shine bright

Then let me burn out / ash and smoke in plain sight

On top of the world ready to fall back to ground zero

'Cause this place ain't home / I want to go home

Too bad there's no such thing as Christmas miracles

Hell's a flurry / nightmare's blurry / blizzards by the pocketful

Millions scream my name every night yet I've never felt more alone

Too bad this place ain't home / It'll never be home

Traded sun and sand and everything I have ever known

Dreams came true I suppose / ran empty on my dried-up soul

Could've used one or two of those fuckin' Christmas miracles

I don't remember what's home / Maybe there is no home

Maverick wasn't sure what was worse: the fact he'd kept her in the cabin overnight or the fact he could hear the exact melody she was going for in his head. Like only the two of them could do.

"You literally printed yourself a shirt of his abs and 'All I Want For Christmas,'" Stevie said.

Maverick wiped his cheek with his thumb quickly. Hoping she hadn't noticed his snooping. He flipped the page. "Um. Yeah. I did. Sure."

"Can't believe you made it through an entire song for him without mentioning—" Stevie stopped. "—oh, never mind. There's the abs mention."

(Santa baby, forgot to say my newest headache / My brakes

ABS aren't working, need yours)

(Seemed clever at the time.)

"Do you—" Maverick stumbled. "I can take it out. Sorry."

Stevie whipped around to look at him. "What the hell's up with you? Since when do you apologize for objectifying Brendon?"

Maverick flipped another page in her journal. "Must be a Christmas miracle."

"There's no such thing as Christmas miracles."

"I—" Maverick could've thrown up on the spot. He looked up at her from his spot on the floor. "Yup. Okay. Sorry. I'll keep the line then."

"Would you stop looking at me like this?" Stevie mimicked his face and he looked away from her. "Geez, if you hate the Evergay song so much you can just say it. I'm not gonna be offended. Mostly 'cause I'll still record it, but you know."

"No, it's great." Maverick had finally found the page and stared at it so he wouldn't look at her. "These are all... great. I wouldn't expect anything less from you, Stev."

"I'm actually going to leave if you don't stop being weird."

"Sorry." Maverick scrambled to his feet and abandoned Stevie's journal—something in any other circumstance he'd guard with his life and afterlife. He walked over to the window in the room if only to distance himself from her and stared at the world outside. Blanketed in white. "Does it look like the snow's lightening up at all? I can't tell."

Yes he could.

And no, it didn't.

"Any amount of snow looks like a blizzard to me."

Maverick cringed and felt his shoulders rise up to his ears. He hoped Stevie was looking somewhere else—he'd even take her snooping through his journal and seeing the stupid Santa in a racing suit he'd doodled on the margin of his previous version of Santa Baby while riding the plane.

"Right. I guess it would. Sorry." Maverick turned back to face her and forced his shoulders downward. "You can... If you wanted, you could go. I can try to drive to the airport—"

Maybe they'd get lucky and the Calgarians all boarded up so the streets and highway would be clear. Some kind of Christmas miracle.

"Why would I want to leave in the middle of a blizzard—"

"To be home, Stev—I don't—I'm sorry I brought you here—"

"What the fuck are you talking about you turnip—"

"I—You—The fucking song, Stev—I didn't—" That was a bad time for Maverick's panic disorder to set in. He tried to force himself to breathe but that didn't feel right. "—Can we talk about it, or do you want to go—Because that's okay—"

The momentary silence Stevie met him with felt like an eternity. Maverick wanted to swallow his tongue and never speak or sing a single word ever again.

"You mean... Evergay or—"

"You know I don't mean Evergay," Maverick said.

"Evergay is the only song worth a damn in there so it must be," Stevie said.

Maverick knew this game. He knew it too well. "Don't do that."

"You don't do that," Stevie said defensively. Might've been more convincing if she hadn't turned white as a ghost. "I'm not doing anything."

"You—It was the home song, Stev." Maverick couldn't even get himself to say Home Alone because it felt like an invasion of privacy—which he'd already done. "Come on. Please."

Stevie looked like she wanted to vomit across the grand piano and Maverick would've offered to have a professional come clean it up if she did. "I think we should talk about your retirement instead."

Maybe they could both puke on the piano and only pay one cleaning fee. If the women in his life didn't stop bringing up his retirement, he was going to be sick all across the cabin, actually.

"Plenty of time for that after my tour," Maverick deflected. "Yours is more present. Your turn."

"Well, next album is dropping next year so maybe we should wait until after."

"I don't think that's how this works."

"Maybe I don't want to talk about it. Should've stayed on the right page." Stevie should've just punched him in the stomach instead.

"You didn't set those rules." A piss-poor attempt to shift the blame that was entirely his fault. Stupid. "You've never set those rules."

"Do as I say," Stevie said. "Not as I do."

"You never said—" Maverick took a breath. He was mad at himself more than he'd ever be mad at her. "Why can't we talk about it?"

"I don't know." Stevie threw up her arms and sat back down on the piano bench. Faced him, back to the keys. "Maybe because it's a pathetic thing to talk about? And we have an entire other half of an album to record before this weekend is over?"

"It's not pathetic." Maverick would throw the entire album on the cutting room floor if it meant he could help Stevie even a little bit.

"Put a picture of me right next to the definition of first world problems," Stevie said. "Pathetic."

"It's okay to want to go home—" Fuck it if Maverick didn't miss Windsor every single day of his life. It wasn't easy being, at the closest, at his literal home four hours away from the home he'd grown up in. Being in England was even worse, most of the time. If it weren't for Everleigh, he'd already have driven himself insane. Or jumped off Tower Bridge.

"It's not like I have anyone waiting there for me—" Stevie looked surprised at her own words. He supposed that was progress in its own way. "I don't even know what home is anymore."

Maverick didn't know what to say. He got it and yet he'd never get it. That's how things worked. But if he didn't say anything, he was afraid she was going to shove everything back in again. "I—Stev."

"Somebody should probably warn us that the more people know your name, the less human you feel," she said. "Maybe we'll stop pretending we can ever live up to their expectations."

"It's... hard," Maverick managed. "To exist sometimes. Even without the flashing lights. You only have to meet your own expectations."

"I think it was easier knowing what those were when I didn't feel like such a... puppet," Stevie said. "Some toy everyone can pay for and then demand anything and everything from me, you know? And I can't even just go home and make everything feel better because the longer I'm away, the less familiar everywhere feels. How I feel."

Maverick chose his words carefully. "Sometimes it's easier to keep running around so that it never comes up that at some point, you've gotta face yourself. It's not easy—Life's not easy. It's just... shitty to feel like you're not your own person. And I'm sorry that's where it's at right now."

"I know it's... shitty to feel like the only life you've ever known is slipping away from you faster than you're ready for," Stevie said. "And that prepping for your next tour is easier than facing what the future means for you."

Did that one ever feel shitty to hear in person and not from his own brain.

"It's nice to have future plans," Maverick said. "Makes the world less scary. Means you have somewhere to be. It's hard to think about outside of music as much as you deserve the break to be human. To be Stevie and not... Stevie!."

"And what does it mean to you to be Maverick? Not Maverick!."

He wasn't sure he had the answer to that. He hadn't been Maverick in too long and the idea of just being Maverick, even when it was his decision, scared him. "We're talking about you."

"We're talking about you now."

"We don't have to."

"Well, I'm not really Stevie without my Maverick so I think we gotta."

And how the hell could he argue with that? He wasn't in the business of forcing her to talk longer than she wanted to—he considered it a privilege he even scraped the surface of what was bothering her.

"It's... I guess after the tour, there's a little more separation," Maverick said. "Might be Maverick! and... Kingston? Maverick seems like a person who wouldn't leave this behind. Maybe I'm not really him. Maybe I was faking it. I don't know, Stev. I'm also finishing a tour plan so I don't have to think about it."

Said plan was to hit everywhere he could before he gave up his career. Nearly two years straight of weekends, no break for holidays, booked around the world at reasonable prices so that people could come see him, if they even wanted to, one last time.

Curtain Call broke more records than he could've ever dreamed of but that didn't mean he'd let himself think anything other than the worst about the tour he was planning. It gave him brain rot just thinking about it. The worries about the tour succeeding and failing had kept him up every night since Curtain Call's conception and release. It was its own vomit-inducing cocktail that he couldn't stop drinking.

"I don't think you have to leave anything behind," Stevie said. "I don't think you—Maverick or Maverick! or Kingston—are capable of leaving anything behind. It's just... who you are. Who you always have been and who you always will be no matter what. It'll change, sure, become something new, but it doesn't mean letting go of something."

"Music... doesn't sound the same. Since the..." Maverick motioned in the general area of his cochlear implants. Because hell if he was going to say the words. He hadn't even said these words to Everleigh. "It doesn't sound bad. But it's not quite... It's like playing the right chords but the guitar is slightly out of tune. It's off. Just a little bit. And I... I can't do it. So, I am. Leaving it behind. They tried to warn me, I didn't listen, and it's... my own fault. So. I don't know, Maverick made a bad decision. I think. I'm pretty sure."

Maybe living with Everleigh had made him fall back into okay territory with Kingston, but Maverick's decisions as of late made him definitely feel more separation from Maverick than he ever had before. Even when he'd spent most of his life as Maverick and Maverick!. Like he was in a body that wasn't his own. Any other time he felt like that, he got to listen to music and find himself again. He wasn't sure that was an option this time around.

"You're not at fault for trying something that can help you, Kingston," Stevie said. And he tried not to wince. "The success of this procedure varies so much person to person that it's not fair to say don't bother trying it won't work because it does for a lot of people, just like it doesn't for a lot of other people. And you making a choice that feels best for you should never be discouraged. Nor is it bad. It's... It'll be hard. You don't need me to tell you that. But this is something constantly evolving and I don't—I don't think it's the end. Maybe I'm speaking out of turn or whatever but I really don't."

Stevie and Maverick wouldn't be Stevie and Maverick if they hadn't made each other cry. Jesus.

"You're not speaking out of turn," Maverick said. "It's just us. You can say whatever you want to me. It's just... life's hard. That's okay. What would we be doing if it wasn't hard?"

"For what it's worth, you make all of the hard days a hell of a lot easier."

"I wouldn't be here without you. I hope you know that."

"And I... I know I just wrote all that depressing shit but... you'll always be home for me," Stevie said. God, even them snorting up snot was synchronized. They were disgusting but at least they were disgusting together. "Even when I threaten to throw shitty chili oil in your eyes."

"But you didn't—"

"I was thinking about it," Stevie said. "Sorry."

"That's... interesting." If Maverick hadn't wanted to be sick before, he did after saying that. "But fine. I guess."

"I think we need a refill on our cookies," Stevie said. "I just cried out all my energy on this damn conversation."

"Cookies do make everything better."

Stevie and Maverick didn't hug but when they did, it healed something in him every time. That hug felt like they both needed and deserved it. Quick but not too quick. Comforting in a way only Stevie could manage.

Walking into the kitchen was the opposite of whatever that hug was. Timed it well enough to see the love of his life throw a fist full of flour into Formula One driving champion Brendon Ellis' face.

"Real mature, Leigh," said the snow angel.

"Fuckin' deserved."

Now. Maverick had said from the moment he started dating Everleigh that he would do anything for her. She needed an alibi? He'd give her one. She needed help hiding the body? He'd dig the hole. But he had sincere doubts that Brendon deserved a face of a baking ingredient. And it was not for any reason he'd listed in his version of Santa Baby. It was more because Brendon Ellis was the glue that held their entire quartet of friendship together and Everleigh was, well, Everleigh. As much as he loved her in every single universe there was.

"These shits appear to not be getting along," Stevie said.

"Wow, I can't believe them," Maverick said, crossing his arms. "We'd never act like this."

"We did not sign up to babysit y'all this weekend," Stevie said.

Everleigh turned to look at both of them. "Tell Brendon he needs to behave—"

"Tell Everleigh to stop trying to run away—" (Point to Brendon being in the right. He didn't usually call her Everleigh unless she'd challenged him to a bet.)

"What are you running away from—" Maverick started.

"A cooki—" Brendon said. If that was going where he dreaded it was, Maverick and Everleigh were going to have a terrible conversation later.

"Him—" Everleigh yelled over him.

"We actually came to re-up on our cookies so we can take that off your hands," Stevie said.

Everleigh happily handed over all the cookies.

Brendon took one that earned him a glare from his fellow baker. "Made this one special for Everleigh. You can take the rest."

"Ew, don't get your Marmite fingers on our cookies—" Stevie complained.

"Seriously, I don't want poop spread in my mouth—" Maverick added.

Everleigh looked over it and Maverick couldn't imagine how much worse that expression was going to look when they were forced to talk. She tried her best to change the subject. "How's—"

A singular vowel sound was enough room for Brendon to shove an entire cookie in Everleigh's mouth. Far enough down that it definitely had hit the back of her throat. He made no comment on the loud gagging sound she made. (Stevie hit him in the arm like he had.) (Maybe Santa Baby had been too much.) Everleigh doubled over the sink and heaved. Hard.

"Brendon Ellis—" Stevie looked sick for Everleigh.

"She asked me to help her," Brendon said. "Can't get her hands dirty."

"She is the only one here who can do the heimlich if she chokes—" Maverick said. He walked over to the sink at the very least to pull her bangs away from her forehead.

Everleigh looked like she wanted to throw an elbow at him for touching her before she realized it was him and not Brendon. She gave him a small thumbs up—not choking, then. Point still stood.

Brendon didn't look too concerned. "I specifically learned how to do the heimlich for my Halloween costume. Don't be absurd."

"Did you learn CPR too?" Maverick asked. "Just curious."

"Yes," Brendon said. "And I can tell you that outside of a hospital, the CPR survival rate is less than 50 percent."

Maverick blinked. "I'm okay with that."

Everleigh did elbow him in the stomach for that one. And he supposed he deserved it. A little.

"I think we'll leave you two to..." Stevie trailed off. "Whatever it was you're doing now."

Maverick could hear the sound of the splat of the cookie into the sink and made a face. Let her bangs go when he heard her take a deep breath.

She stood up properly and turned on her heel. Promptly punched the reigning Formula One driving champion in the shoulder—no one in the room wanted to tell her that it probably didn't hurt him that much. In her defense, she managed a very pointed, "Fucking knob head."

Maverick gave her a rub on the small of her back. Tried to ignore how easily he could feel her spine.