Stanley sat on the ground on one of the balconies, careful of his dress and away from the battle that was still happening. He couldn't go back, not… not dressed like this. Not when he could damage the beautiful fabric, nor when he finally got the chance to do something he always wanted to. He wanted to enjoy this moment—enjoy this—while he could. Enjoy the winter air on his powdered face, enjoy the softness of his wig, the pink of his clothes.
Maybe they would win and kill the Beast, maybe they wouldn't. He didn't care.
He was free.
It wasn't the most dashing of vestments, he had to admit; growing up with a seamstress as his maman and with his three older sisters made sure he knew his way around fabrics and fashion, even if he was never allowed to try out anything too daring himself. But it was his and that made it perfect.
It all felt like a dream, if he was being honest to himself. Like at any point in time it would turn midnight and his pretty outfit and makeup would be gone and he would be back into his normal outfit and self, like in one of the tales his maman used to tell. He looked at the sky to be sure, and, yes, it was past midnight so no risk there. Who knew how the magic worked? He didn't want this to end. To be over and gone like it never happened at all.
He played with the laces of the wig he took off resting near him to pass time and wondered idly what LeFou would think.
Would he think him foolish for his tastes, as ironic as it sounds, or would he accept him for who he is and understand? LeFou himself was quite daring and always proud of himself; Stanley was always inspired by the man's courage.
That's not the only thing in him you like, his traitor mind reminded him, and he found himself nodding along past the venom of the words spit at him. It was true enough and freeing to admit. He did fancy LeFou, that's true, even if he never truly was brave enough to do something about it besides watch the man from a far. Like the coward he was.
But maybe he didn't have to be one anymore.
Maybe he could come out of Tom and Dick's shadow, be his own man. He could talk with LeFou—truly talk with him—and maybe take him out for a dance. Maybe he would say yes, maybe they would court and fall in love. Maybe they could be free together.
Maybe he would be rejected and laughed at. Maybe his friends would react to him the same way they reacted to pretty fabrics and a singing wardrobe.
But maybe, just maybe, for LeFou he could live like there's no midnight coming for him, no end for it all.
And that thought is enough to make him smile into the night, holding his pretty skirt and wig.
He could do it.