The curtains were closing after the curtain call and all the actors on stage were grinning like madmen as the audience clapped and cheered for them and their months and months of hard work, of reading lines and late-night rehearsals, and every single actor was feeling the sort of euphoria that only comes from being on stage, an almost overwhelming happiness that was making them feel lightheaded—

Every actor, that is, but Alfred, who instead felt as if he was going to throw up at any given moment. The strange combination of relief after a successful show and nerves for what he was planning to do next congested in the pit of his stomach and made him want to simultaneously do a cartwheel off the edge of the stage and just get on with it already and seize the boy standing next to him and kiss the grin right off his face.

The curtains were closing inch by inch, so painfully slowly, and as the seconds ticked by Alfred could feel his heart pounding like he had just run a marathon. He snuck a look to the side—Arthur was grinning, looking so happy and so relieved and so proud of the show that it was making Alfred's chest ache. Under the stage lighting Arthur looked like he was practically glowing; his hair shone golden and what Alfred could see of his green eyes were glittering like precious stones, and all thoughts of the show had left Alfred's head—all he could think of was Arthur and how perfect he was and how close Arthur's hand was to his and how he would like very much to grasp that hand with his sweaty palms and tell him just how wonderful he was in every single possible way.

Alfred's gaze returned to the curtain in front of him, and it was as if time had been slowed down. He watched, as if in slow-motion, as the gap between the curtains grew smaller and smaller and his view of the audience slowly but surely faded away as the curtains finally slid shut.

And without thinking, Alfred immediately turned to the side, grabbed Arthur by the elbow and the words were tumbling out of his mouth, falling unbidden from his lips:

"I really like you, Arthur. Will you go out with me?"

It suddenly occurred to Alfred just how silent it was. When the curtains closed it blocked out the sound from the audience, and the rest of the cast had all fallen silent—everyone had turned to look at the both of them.

So it was in complete silence that Arthur looked at him with wide eyes, completely stunned. He stared at Alfred's face, blinking rapidly, then looked down at where Alfred was still clutching onto his elbow so tightly it would probably leave a mark in the morning, and then back at Alfred's face wordlessly.

The pit in Alfred's stomach was sinking rather rapidly—disappointment. Sadness. Resignation. This was stupid, there was no way in hell that Arthur would have said yes, and now that he'd gone and done it in front of the entire cast—and the crew too, probably, judging by how backstage had gone completely quiet as well—he'd only served to completely embarrass himself, and now the whole world would know of his unrequited crush on Arthur, how could he have ever thought this would be a good idea—?

But then Arthur's lips parted and he was whispering so quietly that Alfred almost couldn't hear it, almost couldn't believe it was coming from Arthur's mouth—

"I'm not dreaming, am I?"

Alfred blinked once, twice, thrice. Arthur was looking at him in awe, as if he couldn't quite believe what was happening, and Alfred was sure that the look on his face mirrored Arthur's perfectly.

But then he was pulling Arthur into a bone-crushing hug and Arthur was pressed flush against his chest, his head resting on Alfred's shoulder and cheeks burning a bright red, and Arthur was beautiful and perfect and gorgeous and liked him too, and without realising it Alfred was laughing, tilting his head back and laughing till his sides hurt and tears were forming in his eyes and this couldn't possibly be real but it was.

"You're not dreaming, it's real, it's real."

All around him Alfred was vaguely aware that his fellow actors had all started cheering. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Elizaveta and Emma hugging each other and shrieking, and then there was Francis giving him a meaningful look and a wide grin, and behind him Gilbert was making a rather obscene gesture, only to be interrupted by Antonio who had slung an arm around his shoulder.

And in his arms was Arthur. Arthur, who had wrapped his arms around Alfred's waist too, who was looking up at him with unmasked affection, who was beaming at him like it was the happiest moment of his entire life.

Arthur, who was flushed a happy pink and whose lips were pulled into a bright smile and whose eyes were brimming with emotions he could not say but could convey with his actions nonetheless, and Alfred could think of nothing more than to kiss him, to kiss him until they were both breathless and giddy and delirious—

And so he did.