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They’re making it.Making it in an extremely tiny micronation that’s somewhere between Yugoslavia and Bolivia that Ian says will be au currant with the European upper crust someday, but making it still, with full houses and somewhat enthusiastic audiences. They’ve signed more foreheads in the last week than they have in two years.And then, at the end of the last gig before they have to climb back on the bus and do it all over again, Nigel kisses David. Right on stage, in front of their promoter, after finishing the fifth encore of Tonight I Wanna Rock You Tonight.There’s a space, a pause, in which the haze in David’s blue eyes is muzzly and feverish, hungry look, where Nigel considers his options. He can lie about the lighting. The timing. The way David was looking at him. All of the options he might have explored fell away when David grabs his shoulder, and the audience drunkenly, supportively screams. But there’s no need to lie. Or even say anything. “Why the bloody hell did you wait so long?” David asks him, and kisses Nigel back.What the world wants Nigel could care less about. He has all of David’s attention, and life, suddenly, is perfect.