#but at least i got back in the writer's spinny office chair

[tydy-the-megnet]

Romance, a “How To” Guide

Because I’m always a sucker for pick-up lines. Or... Chat-up Lines, in this case, heh.

...

Chat Noir was stood above Parisian rooftops with his partner in heroism Ladybug. The lights of the city shone brilliantly beneath them, illuminating their conversation.

And what a shocking conversation it was, Chat mused.

“Wait, you have a crush on Adrien Agreste? Like, a real one, not just a celebrity crush?”

“Yeah,” Ladybug raised her shoulders, curling in on herself and trying to hide her embarrassment, “He’s in my class, and -- I don’t know.” She trailed off, biting her lip and gazing wistfully toward the sparkling skyline.

“A-and you came to me for help?”

“Yeah. I hope that’s not too awkward--”

“No!” Chat flinched as soon as the word left his mouth. He had answered too quickly, too excitedly. He caught Ladybug’s eyes and tried to play it off, “I’m just, uh, surpurrised that you would tell me this. We don’t usually share such personal information.”

Ladybug glanced at him, a shyness creeping into her expression, “Yeah, but we’ve been partners for a long time. It was bound to happen eventually.”

“But, if you start, um, d-dating Adrien, wouldn’t I find out who you are?”

Ladybug reeled back, “D-date him!? No! No way! I couldn’t!”

“What? Why not?”

She floundered for a moment, trying to come up with an excuse while her partner watched expectantly, “B-because! I just couldn’t! I wuh, wouldn’t even know how!”

“I’ll help.”

Ladybug froze, eyes stuck boring into Chat’s.

“Yuh, you would?”

“Sure,” He shrugged, smiling easily, “Anything for you, M’Lady.”

The heroine found her eyes narrowing at the laidback posture. Wasn’t he always claiming how in love he was with her?

“But,” she searched and searched, looking for some sign of deception, “Why?”

His smile changed at that, she noticed. It took on an odd quality, like he was in on some secret. That didn’t ease her nerves.

“Because I want to see you happy.”

She was touched, and a smile slowly graced her face as well, “Okay, whatcha got?”

“Well,” He said, in his overly grandiose manner, “Furst, you need some good chat-up lines!”

“No way.”

“But M’Lady, they’ll work! Trust me!”

“They don’t work on me.”

“Ah, but you aren’t Adrien Agreste.”

“I don’t think you’re lines would work on anyone.”

“That hurts, Bugaboo. I’ll have you know the ladies love me outside of the mask.”

“That so?”

He grinned. The expression seemed so him, like an earnest, breathless, unended expression of pure Chat-ness. She found she couldn’t look away.

“Absomewtely. So, pawlease trust me when I say Adrien Agreste will love it if mew walk up to him and start using tailor-made lines just fur him.”

Despite his own confidence, Ladybug held fast to her skepticism. And she told him as much, saying in no uncertain terms, “If this doesn’t work, I don’t know if I’ll be able to forgive you, Chat Noir.”

But, somewhere deep in her heart, seeing her partner’s unwavering confidence gave her hope.

What did she know? Maybe he had years of experience charming girls. Maybe she was the only girl it didn’t work on. Maybe she should give his advice a shot.

...

So Marinette found herself waiting for a good time to drop the line Chat gave her. He had said he didn’t trust her to come up with her own line, and she had been offended; however, she mused, she still wasn’t completely sold on the idea anyway, so maybe coming up with her own line wasn’t the best idea.

She breathed, trying to control the flustering heat that accompanied any thought of the ridiculous line. It would be so embarrassing.

And if it didn’t work, she was going to mangle that mangy cat.

But until then, she waited. She waited and watched the gorgeous boy who sat in front of her.

Then, as school ended, and everyone started leaving, she took her chance.

Waving Alya off, Marinette took even, deliberate steps, trying to psych herself up for the big moment. She looked over at Adrien. He was looking all around, probably looking for someone.

Part of her didn’t want to interrupt him, but that was quickly and brutally overcome by her desire to get to him before whoever he was looking for.

“Hey,” She said, observing with rapt attention when he turned to face her. She tried not to overthink his expression, which looked like an odd mix of so-excited-he-would-explode and so-nervous-he-could-vomit.

Considering her own temptation to just explode into vomit at that moment, she decided she could relate.

“Hey, Marinette. What’s up?” He gave her a smile that almost seemed hesitant, but she ignored that completely.

“You know,” She said instead, “I could make you a whole new outfit in, like, a week. But if you come back to my place, I could take your outfit off in, like, five seconds.”

His eyes widened, as did his smile, and Marinette’s heart nearly exploded without vomit.

Then that smile turned into a roguish grin that looked both entirely too at-home on his face and simultaneously absolutely foreign.

He took her hand in his, delicately, and she was certain he could her the thrum of her heartbeat. But he didn’t acknowledge it, instead, he brought her hand to his lips, placing a gentle kiss on her knuckles, “Why, that sounds delightful. You make me feel entirely too hot in these, anyway.”

And in an instant, the explodey-vomity feeling was gone, replaced by an empty sort of wonder that was slowly being replaced by the lovely recognition that this-was-totally-happening-oh-my-god.

Then she slowly, cautiously, moved her hand, entwining their fingers as she gave him a smile. And Adrien looked -- oddly enough -- starstruck, and she didn’t know quite how to feel about that, but she didn’t think it could possibly be a bad thing. So her breath sped up, and her heart was going even crazier, and Adrien was beaming at her like the cat that got the cream and --

Wait.

Marinette stared at those green eyes all the time, but now she noticed the hue; she stared at his lips just as often, but now noticed his smile; she dreamt about his hair, but now noticed the locks.

“Marinette?” He asked, brow furrowed, when he noticed she was no longer responding.

Her face had gone slack, she believed. She wasn’t quite sure, since she couldn’t really feel it. She didn’t see Adrien lift his free arm to her eyes, either. She didn’t really take in anything after that glorious moment.

...

Adrien was getting worried. He was certain that Marinette was Ladybug, and she had seemed so happy a second ago, and he was ecstatic that she went through with his plan.

Now they could fall in love, have eight kids, and get a dog together.

Except, she wasn’t saying anything, and now he was less sure.

Hadn’t everything gone according to plan?

“Marinette?” He asked again, more hesitantly this time. Cautiously, he looked around, making sure no one was in earshot. “Um, M’Lady?” He whispered, leaning forward.

Violently, Marinette flinched back, and Adrien flinched back, and suddenly they were out of each other’s personal space, and their hands were separated, and Adrien wasn’t quite sure what was happening until he fell backward.

Then all he felt was the cold, hard ground beneath, and the warm, soft body of Marinette on top of him. And her lips -- he felt those, too.

[hansolmates]

cherry contact |🍒

summary: jihoon has access to all versions of you - your credit score, shopping habits, work emails, even your terrible tinder history. pairing; fbi agent!jihoon x civilian!reader (f) genre/warnings; fluff, crack, it’s really just that “your fbi agent” meme that caused everyone 8 years ago to put tape over their webcams, questionable viewing habits for an fbi agent, language, dick talk, mentions of sex, jihoon has feelings and is confused, he is a PINER, tw—sexual harassment  w/c; 3.3k  a/n; i can’t believe i finished this😭😭 part of meraki’s job collaboration and i’ve been dying to do a svt collab since the dawn of time and finally today’s the day! it’s been a hot moment since i’ve written for jihoon, glad i managed to get those svt writing muscles going! a huge thank you to @merakiiverse​ and @woozisnoots​ for putting this together. readers pls definitely check back on the masterlist linked above to see more of the other talented cwc writers and their rendition of the job prompt!

if you like this fic please consider giving it a like n’share!🤓🖥🤓🖥

“Kevin, 32, works at Kodak,” you scroll further to the description, “I love being tied up and need a dominatrix, have swing at home—no.” Swipe right. 

“Lisa, 24, works at Infinity Dance Studio,” you definitely are weak for athletic ladies, “My hobbies include cuticle care and online shopping! Looking for a sugar daddy or mommy that can spoil me rotten—definitely can’t afford that kind of relationship.” Swipe right. 

“Hansol, 26, works in an art museum,” sounds promising, you love art, “wait, why are all his pictures of him holding fish? Is he inside a fish? Who the heck finds that attractive?” Swipe right. 

“Billiam, 31, works in finance. Needs a bratty baby girl who can triangle,” you grimace, “what is with these guys and stating their kinks from the get-go? Gotta take a girl out to dinner first, and the fuck is a triangle?” 

You swore off Tinder since the dark ages, also known as senior year of college. However you’re in a particular slump, thirst-trapped between needing some serious dick and a committed relationship. You’d prefer the latter, but after a stressful day at work and the fact that it’s the ass crack o’dawn, you’ll take what you can get. 

“Bye Billiam,” you sing-song into your phone, moving to swipe right. 

Except you accidentally drop your phone between your sheets, and when you pick it up you accidentally swipe left. 

“Fuck fuck fuck me with a fuckin’ fuck nugget!” you cry out into oblivion. You’re so glad you live alone at the very least, it stops you from looking like a crazy person when you talk your potential sexipades out. 

Billiam has Super-liked you! 

“No. Nononono—” you bludgeon your head against your pillow, frowning when your phone opens up a chat for you and Billiam. 

Billiam: hi can u check if my dick is too small

You: please, don’t send me a picture of your dick. 

Billiam is typing… 

You: for fuck’s sake—

“—that’s disgusting,” Jihoon curses, and immediately sends out the screenshot for sexual harassment. 

“What’s disgusting?” Mingyu chimes, swiveling in his spinny chair from his side of the room.

“Don’t look,” Jihoon gags, reaching for a bottle of Coca-Cola from the mini-fridge. “You’ll throw up your fried chicken.” 

“My person is a twenty-one year old nympho who also happens to be a incel,” Mingyu chastises to his screen, closing up the eighth tab of BBC porn he’s seen this week, “he doesn’t know how well he’s avoiding the FBI’s eyes,” Mingyu shakes his head, “so I’ve seen some pretty bad shit, but I’ll take your word for it.” 

“No,” he echoes your name like you’ve done the most heinous thing in the world, “no, no! Why would you swipe left on Jackson? You’re way out of his league! He literally looks like he has a pea-sized brain!” 

“He does look like he has half a brain cell,” your voice reverberates through his noise-cancelling headphones, unknowingly agreeing to Jihoon’s passionate throw of anger, “but I’m deprived and desperate, so!” 

It’s like you can hear his sentiments exactly. 

“Literally, you could have any person you want,” Jihoon chastises through his desktop, glaring heavily at your bedroom camera, “you’re wasting your time with these losers!” 

Oblivious, you let yourself dangle across the bed. The camera isn’t the best quality, but Jihoon watches intently at the rise and fall of your chest as you attempt to fall into a fitful sleep. 

“Some yell at screens for soccer,” Minghao says to the air from his cubicle, “some yell for Starcraft, but Jihoon yells for Tinder like it’s an Olympic sport.” 

“Jihoonie,” Mingyu rolls around his chair, resting a long arm over the backrest, “do you have a crush on your civilian?” 

Jihoon immediately swivels around his hair, meeting the amused eyes of Mingyu. “No,” he says sharply, whipping around to glare at his screen. 

He glares harder the longer Mingyu’s simple question sinks in. He doesn’t have a crush on you, he likes you. Jihoon swallows his sigh, wondering why you would want to go as low as Tinder to look for a potential tryst. From your profile, you’re absolutely beautiful and intelligent. You have simple pleasures that match his—a hot cup of tea right after dark, snuggling under a weighted blanket while watching anime, and sleeping in on Sundays.

Unlike him, you don’t see the world through half a dozen lenses and a plethora of information right at your fingertips. No, you’re lucky. 

“Hey can you grab me my water bottle?” Mingyu asks over his shoulder. 

Jihoon thinks nothing of it, leaving his post for the thirty seconds it takes to get to the mini-fridge and grab Mingyu’s Hydroflask. 

“You got a call,” Mingyu says when he plops the bottle on his desk, indicating to the red blinker on Jihoon’s computer. 

It isn’t until he puts on his headphones does he take care to see why his blinker is going off. 

He’s getting an incoming call. From you. 

You’ve been waiting on the line for about two minutes. He lets two additional minutes breeze by because Jihoon is internally screaming. You’re calling again. There’s a fire blazing in his brain, his fingers hot as he twitches against the spacebar of his keyboard. 

From the monitor he can see that you’ve given up on sleep, hands pawing through your drawer so you can take a final swipe at your magenta-tinted lip balm before nesting yourself in the sheets. You’re kicking around as if you don’t have work at 9AM, smacking your lips to apply the shiny salve while you wait for your call to be picked up. 

“Why is my civilian calling me,” it isn’t a question, it’s a thinly veiled indication that Jihoon is ready to fight whoever compromised him like this. 

Mingyu and Minghao fail to answer. That’s okay, he isn’t opposed to killing both if neither fess up. 

It would be so easy for him to ignore the call, or redirect it to another part of the office. Yet he aches to talk to you, for real talk to you. As if you’re just two regular plain-old human beings with normal lives, and as if he didn’t know every nook and cranny about your daily routine and your favorite breakfast foods.

Call it pride, call it confidence, but Jihoon’s been pretty good at games and he hopes prior experience helps him get over this hurdle. Slipping on his headset, he accepts the call and answers in a controlled voice, “This is the local hotline for sexual harassment reports, are you here to report a case?” 

Okay, so this is the closest thing he can get to having a full-fledged conversation with you, so he’ll take it. 

“Hi,” you mumble your name into the phone, and he nearly disintegrates right then and there. It’s different when he can hear your voice directly in his ears, definitively reaching out to him as opposed to being a fly on the wall, “I received an email that a report was sent out for my previous chat as sexual harassment, but I didn’t send out a report.” 

“Yes,” Jihoon replies smoothly, tapping his nails against his thighs, “it’s a new update.” 

“Oh, well thank you,” you reply, and Jihoon sees from the camera that you’re staring at your phone in curiosity. 

“It’s my job,” he says, and the words hold more weight than you think, “are you okay?” 

“Is it also your job to ask how I’m doing?” 

He smiles wryly, and he looks up at the monitor to see how you’ve considerably relaxed on your bed. Your legs dangle in the air, and you’re hugging a mango plushie with all the love in the world. “Not really, but I figured I’d ask. I don’t think I’d be able to recover from a dick that looks like an unhinged toenail.” 

Your laugh flutters in his ears, and his stomach is flip-flopping with more than just his shitty ramen lunch. Your face curls and wrinkles into happiness at the lewd joke, and you rest your chin on your stuffed fruit. 

“I’m okay,” you finally answer, “it’s not the first time I’ve seen subpar dick. But thank you… what’s your name?” 

“Uji,” he says, a codename that he considers as precious as his actual name, “feel free to call or text this number if you’re ever feeling uncomfortable and in distress.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind, good night Uji.” 

“Good night.” 

That wasn’t so bad, Jihoon thinks as he hangs up the phone. He dims the monitors to let you freshen up and get ready for bed, as per your schedule. After tonight, he hopes he can be sated with his curiosity of you. Maybe he needs to follow your plans and open up a dating account or something, he feels that he’s starting to get a little too engrossed in your presence. 

The waning starts today. 

You: help, i’m feeling uncomfortable and in distress

Uji: what is it this time? 

You: i can’t decide which weighted blanket i should get. Will more weight make me feel more comforted or will i accidentally suffocate myself in my sleep? 

The waning of you did not start that night, in fact it never began. Jihoon’s been on edge for weeks, simultaneously teetering between what he calls the high-school equivalent of the talking stage and an absolute catastrophe. 

It started as an accident, you meant to call your friend’s number for cooking help but since the last call before your friends was his, you called Jihoon instead. To your surprise, he knew how to roll out homemade pasta without a pasta machine. You kept him on the call for the entirety of dinner preparation, and he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pride when your pasta turned out perfect and you were happy and full for the entire night. 

Weeks later, and you’ve been texting each other for shits and giggles. At first you chalk up your insistence that he’s basically Human Google and has the answers to seemingly anything and everything, but over time it seems that you enjoy your daily interactions with him. Whether it be a simple phone call asking how to unclog your drain or a screenshot comparing two different KitchenAids, he’s at your disposal. 

The burner phone he’s been holding as of late is on silent, but he’s able to pick it up immediately. It’s almost intuition, coupled with the way he notices whenever you seem in a pickle and you need to contact him. However he does not have a chance to formulate a reply, as you’re now calling him.

“Couldn’t wait?” he speaks as if you’re familiar with each other, as if you’re friends. Jihoon longs for that so much, he would love to be upgraded to someone other than the IT guy you text for funsies. 

“Yes,” you say, voice laced with determination, “I’m deciding on whether to just like or Super-Like this guy on Light a Flame.” 

Jihoon deflates a little, but steels himself. You’d never want to go on a date with the IT guy, it seems that you enjoy the anonymity of your recent communications. Your conversations are definitely meme-worthy. 

“Who is it?” 

“His name’s Lee Jihoon, 25, works in the FBI.” 

He chokes on his coffee, precious beans from Argentina, and the liquid is flying across his keyboard. 

Pulling up your phone view, it confirms the worst. In a moment of Weakness with a capital W, Jihoon had caved and made a Light a Flame profile the other night. It’s an app reserved for more serious relationships, which means you’ve finally graduated from Tinder. 

“Are you okay?” he wants to cry when he hears you on the other line, genuinely panicked. “Do you need me to send you his profile?” 

“N-no,” he sputters, rubbing a rough napkin from McDonalds over his dripping chin. He thought he privated his profile last week after he realized there was nothing he could do to let loose of you. Turns out that isn’t the case, because you’re currently pursuing his profile and actually kinda-sorta considering him for a potentially serious relationship. 

“C’mon, Uji,” you tease lightly, “you always seem to know what to do. This is your area of expertise after all, since you work for that kind of department.” 

What should he do, scratch that, what can he do? It’s a complete violation of policy to be fraternizing with his civilian life. Sure, there has been episodes of civilians and agents meeting each other, but only minor violations that both parties forgot about shortly after. He’s so far deep at this point, he can risk being relocated or losing his civilian—losing you. 

“Do you think he really works in the FBI?” you say when he doesn’t reply immediately, “he’s really cute, though. Totally looks like my style, and he likes My Hero as well! C’mon, I just need for you to check as to whether he’s a homicidal maniac or a compulsive liar.” 

Liar. He’s a liar. 

That self-accusation prompts him to slump in defeat, and he mumbles in the phone, “I don’t think he’s worth it. I’d say pass.” 

“Hey, Coups has seniority,” Soonyoung pats Jihoon thoughtfully on the back with one hand, and grilling meat with the other. Barbeque always lifted up Jihoon’s spirits. “Why don’t you give it a chance and meet her for real? And then he can give me your super cute civilian and then he can give my shitty civilian to some newbie.” 

“And if it doesn’t work out, I just lose her,” Jihoon’s eyes are watering, most likely from the excess smoke around their grill, but it does align with his current state of sadness. It was the right thing to do, he thinks over and over as he replays that phonecall from last night. “Hoshi, if you were in my situation, would you have done the same?” 

“Like I said–” Soonyoung—codename Hoshi, waves his tongs around like a magic wand, “your civilian is super cute, so I would be making a beeline to her house and—” 

“Okay, don’t finish that sentence,” you’re his civilian, not Soonyoung’s. 

“Cheer up, c’mon,” Soonyoung’s filling his bowl with all sorts of delicious things, charred vegetables, mixed rice, and pork belly. Jihoon’s favorite is pork belly, so eventually he relents with a timid smile, taking out his chopsticks to appease his friend, “there it is, Uji. Food always makes things better—” 

“Uji?” 

Both off-duty agents freeze, hearing the familiar ting of your voice as it glares holes into Jihoon’s back. It’s you. Since they’re off the clock, he would have no idea you’d be here. Usually that’s fine, it’s early morning and it’s pretty unlikely that you’d run into your civilian considering you’re supposed to know every second of their schedule. It seems that tonight you’ve varied from the norm. 

“Uh, hey?” 

His back is still facing you, and he’s side eying Soonyoung in a panic. He’s wearing a cap and a nondescript hoodie, feeling like a shlub as your familiar voice pings back at him with excitement. 

“I knew I recognized your voice!” you’re unfazed, definitely not realizing the distress the two men are currently going through. “What a small world, I didn’t think we’d ever actually run into each other!” 

“Talk to her, you ass!” Soonyoung hisses, and immediately swivels his chair so he has no choice but to face you.

You’re so, so pretty. Prettier in person, prettier than any crappy 480p screen can give him. You’re definitely not dressed for barbeque, in fact you look like you’re just passing by to pick up a to-go order after a night out. You’re dressed in a silky looking velvet off-the-shoulder top, the cherry red color practically melting onto your skin. The black skirt paired with it has Jihoon salivating for more than just barbeque, and he has no idea how to look away. 

The smile is wiped clean off your face however, and you recognize him almost immediately. “Jihoon?” 

This should be a moment of joy for him, after all it’s far too late to go back at this point. You look a little hurt, your face twisted in confusion as you put two and two together. 

Soonyoung excuses himself to go to the bathroom, although neither party seems to care. The lame, over-distended EDM music that plays over the cacophony of the barbeque place seems to melt in the atmosphere, much like how the smoke hits the fan, and it’s just you two in the room. Jihoon gestures a pale hand to Soonyoung’s seat, and you take a beat to reluctantly sit yourself down. 

You clutch your skirt with both hands, thumbs ringing against the pleats and ironing them out. “So, you’re also Jihoon?” your voice is tiny, small and sad. Jihoon feels liquid guilt inject in his veins, and he wishes he could reach out and pat your shoulder, hold your hand, something. However no matter how much he knows you, he’s a stranger to you. “Why did you lie to me?” 

“It’s… complicated,” you shake your head at his pathetic reply, and Jihoon hates this. He feels like he’s drowning in smoke and mirrors and the cloying scent of pork belly is now sticking to all his senses, immobilizing him. 

With a cross of your arms, you scoff, “It’s always complicated.” 

“Please don’t think I said those things the other night because I don’t want to date you,” Jihoon tumbles the words out like a hamster wheel, wanting to speed up to your pace as fast as he can, “I want to, I really do, but it’s—”

“Complicated.” 

“Yeah.” 

The two of you sit in silence, letting the noise back into your little bubble. Jihoon feels his stare on you, akin to how a teacher looks over your shoulder during an exam. He robotically eats rice, grain after grain as he lets you have your look. 

The slope of his nose, the cotton smooth skin, the lean yet strong stature. You can’t believe he matches the Light a Flame profile perfectly. Other than the frumpy clothes, he matches the man on your phone, a simple picture in a black suit that reminds you strangely of the movie Kingsman. You mentally roll through what you remember from his profile, his hobbies, his likes and dislikes, his occupation—

“Wait,” you pause, your brows knitting together, “so the FBI thing on your profile… is not a joke?” 

Jihoon forgets to chew his last bite, and he swallows a whole two centimeters of meat down his throat. Ouch. 

“It’s—” 

“Complicated.” 

The adjective has a whole new meaning now. It’s crazy how in so little words, so much is exchanged between you two. You might not be realizing it, but Jihoon’s so attuned to you he feels like the pick to your guitar, strumming and humming along your chords like it’s second nature. It really isn’t fair, but anticipating your reactions helps greatly. 

“There’s things you’re not telling me.” 

“Right.” 

“And things you can’t tell me,” you add. 

“Yes.” 

“Then what are some things you can tell me?” 

“I’d… rather not here,” Jihoon’s eyes dart around the room, looking for all the pinholes and micro cams attached to the restaurant. By the bonsai, under the table, in the koi tank, “I need to work out some paperwork before anything.” 

“Paperwork?” 

Jihoon nods mutely, but he looks at you with a litany of emotions in his eyes you’re reeling back in your stool. Why do you feel like this man knows you from a simple five-minute interaction? And why do you feel like you can trust this man with your life? 

“Okay,” you finally say. 

“Really? Okay?” you think he’s cute, the way his eyes perk up and his back straightens. 

“Really.” 

Silence fills the space once more. This time however, it feels more at ease. 

“The only reason why I’m saying yes,” you pretend to nonchalantly play with your fingertips, a manicure reserved for a date you’ve long abandoned for this evening in favor of a new flame, “is because I think FBI agents are kinda hot.” 

A flush blooms on Jihoon’s cheeks, and you can’t help but giggle. 

[you-get-to-exhale-now-cyrus]

i don’t act

summary: the school play is here, and cyrus ends up dragging tj into the mess. feelings, lines, stage makeup.

ship: tyrus, some landi

word count: 6189

notes: this is inspired by this post and headcanons from @swingsetboys

Cyrus peeked his head through the door of Mr. Coleman’s room. It was the weirdest feeling, being a teacher’s room without them there. It’s like finding a secret room in a video game. Andi and Libby were already sitting there, feet up on the desks. He chuckled, walking in; Coleman would have scolded them like heck for that.

“Cyrus, you came!” Andi exclaimed, clapping her hands together. Libby smiled approvingly, waving at him.

“Yes, you finally pestered me enough to join stage crew,” he sighed dramatically, sitting down on one of the spinny chairs with a definitive ‘plonk’.

‘You like theatre, though. You’re here by choice’ Libby signed, a knowing look on her face. Cyrus pouted, crossing his arms and turning his attention to a poster that said ‘Math is ADDictive!’

“Fine, maybe I am here by choice,” he mumbled, watching a few other people filter in, “but I’m just going to end up backstage waiting to change a light or find a prop or something.”

Andi hummed disapprovingly. “Don’t say that. You have no idea what the power of theatre can do.”

The meeting was pretty successful, with a good turn out. A lot of people Cyrus had never seen were there, and were clearly passionate about theatre. He was really looking forward to making some more new friends. They took a break in the middle of their session to grab snacks,and that’s how Cyrus found himself at his locker, talking to TJ.

“Aw, c’mon you belong on stage,” TJ whined, leaning against the pod of lockers, an apple juice box in his hand.

Cyrus shook his head, closing his locker with a click. “Nope, definitely not. I mean, we’re running monologues next, so we all have to do that.”

TJ perked up at that, his lips forming a delicate grin. “Oh, really? Well, I might just have to pop in and listen to you.”

Cyrus gave him a light nudge, heading back over to the classroom. “You most certainly will not, because I said so.”

TJ’s smile never dipped, falling in step with Cyrus. “You’re acting like such a child.”

Cyrus snorted. “Says the boy with an apple juice box in his hand.”

“It’s the superior juice!” TJ exclaimed, holding it triumphantly in the air.

Cyrus laughed softly, nodding. “I never said it wasn’t. Why would I argue with the truth?”

Both of them walked into the math classroom (“Why do they have to hold a theatre meeting in this hell hole?” TJ had complained), and took seats by Libby and Andi.

“Oh good, you’re up,” Andi whispered to him, handing him a packet of paper, “you’re going number three.”

TJ gave him a soft clap on the back as Cyrus walked towards the front of the classroom. Instead of feeling a bundle of nerves compress inside of him, he actually felt at ease. Maybe it was the fact that this was a rehearsal, or the fact that he wasn’t going to end up on stage in the end anyways, but he felt happy. Calm, even.

“I'm so glad I found you. You're the only one I can talk to.  Definitely the only person I've ever talked to.  But I feel so comfortable with you.”

TJ was suddenly not leaning against the back of his chair. He scooted closer to the edge of his seat, trying to hold onto every word that Cyrus was saying. He had a nagging voice in the back of his head telling him to stop pretending this was about him, but he couldn’t seem to focus on that. All he could focus on was Cyrus.

“No one listens to me. I talk. They change the subject. It’s not that I feel I have something better to say. I don’t know if I have much to say at all. I’ve never had a chance to try.”

The way Cyrus was saying his lines, with the utmost emotion and almost despair made him feel like the boy knew this feeling all too well. It made him upset, thinking that people wouldn’t listen to Cyrus, but he tried to push that feeling aside.

“The minute I saw you, I knew you were special. There was something magical about your eyes, beautiful and green and deep and. . .mesmerizing.”

TJ had to look down at that, discreetly glancing at Andi who was also apparently looking at him. Had she written this monologue? Because if she didn’t, the writer was spooky accurate with TJ’s eyes (at least according to him).

“It’s important to love just enough. Just enough to know that you are loved without hurting the object of your affection. I wouldn’t want to hurt you, but I can’t help it. My love for you extends far beyond any possible word in the English language. My love is in soft glances, little smiles from across the room, and those moments where we both know that there’s something there. Maybe not a spark, but something. I love you, you know. Always have, always will.”

TJ was definitely in a trance, and only Andi smacking his side got him out of it. He clapped along with everyone else, maybe a little louder, even. Cyrus, bashfully, took a little bow and took his seat by a few kids he didn’t know by name, but he’d seen them in the hallways a couple of times. The clapping faded into the background as another person got up to do their monologue, but TJ couldn’t stop focusing on Cyrus’ words. They sounded so real, so beautiful, and he wanted to hear more.

Cyrus was wrong: he belonged on stage, not sitting with a prop in his hand and waiting for a cue.

After all the monologues were done, the teacher in charge, Mrs. Artesia, and Jonah, the student director, gathered together in a corner of the room to discuss roles and who they thought would do well on stage.

“You didn’t tell me you could pull of something like that,” TJ managed to say, without stumbling over his words.

Cyrus brushed it off, leaning back in his chair. “That? That wasn’t that good. . .was it really?”

TJ put his hands on Cyrus’ shoulders, shaking him lightly. “Yes, you idiot, it was really good! You should be on stage, not backstage.”

Cyrus thought about this for a moment. He did have fun performing his monologue in front of other people, but on the other hand, he wasn’t sure if he was cut out for the real deal. Understudies, probably, he thought, trying to prepare himself for the worst.

“Tell you what. I’ll go tell Mrs. Artesia that I want to be considered for an actor’s part-”

“-yes!”

“-but only if you join stage crew.”

TJ froze. Sure, he liked theatre. He enjoyed listening to the soundtracks in the car, changing voice quickly between characters as his sister teased him for not being able to hit the high notes. But actually take part in a production? He was hesitant, but seeing the borderline pleading look on Cyrus’ face, he knew he was a goner.

“. . .fine,” he agreed, to which Cyrus squealed and threw his arms around him.

“This is going to be so much fun!” he exclaimed, running off to find the director and let her know the good news.

Andi tapped TJ on the shoulder. “Since when are you interested in theatre?”

Libby, following her words, broke out into a smile. ‘Since a certain boy decided he wanted to be an actor.’

TJ sighed, slumping over. “You ladies are going to be the death of me, aren’t you?”

Andi chuckled, taking Libby’s hand in hers. “You bet.”

Wednesday morning. Eight-thirty one. The cast list still hadn’t been posted, and Cyrus was already irritated. It was supposed to be up a minute ago, but seeing as there wasn’t a throng of students gathered around the bulletin board, he knew it wasn’t up.

“You ready to be the lead?”

Cyrus didn’t even have to turn around at that. He threw his hands up in exasperation. “TJ, you need to stop telling me lies.”

“Not a lie,” he informed him, dangling a piece of paper in front of his eyes. Cyrus quickly snatched it, scanning through it.

“You didn’t make this did you? Just to try and get a laugh?”

TJ’s expression softened. “Of course not, Cyrus. I’d never do that to you, of all people. I got into Mrs. Artesia’s office early this morning and it was sitting on her desk. I believe a congratulations is in order,” he chuckled, patting his shoulder.

“Wow I. . .can’t believe I got the lead!” he squealed, hurrying over to the bulletin board and pinning it up. TJ grabbed a pencil out of his bag and wrote ‘the incomparable’ in front of Cyrus’ name.

“You flatter me,” Cyrus laughed, placing a hand on his heart, “so. . .stage crew?”

TJ shrugged, kicking at the ground. “I think I’m going to be doing lights, actually. Suits my style more.”

Cyrus poked his side lightly, beaming. “Why? So you can drool over all the cute girls on stage?”

TJ chuckled along, heading to his class, with Cyrus following by his side. “Yes, Cyrus. I, a blatant homosexual, have chosen to do lighting to look at the female population.”

Cyrus giggled at that, and TJ didn’t think there was a more beautiful sound in the universe. “Okay, whatever. I’ll see you after school though, right? First run through!” Cyrus scurried to his first period class, and as the hallway started to fill with more students, TJ was left standing in his place, watching a certain boy run off into the distance.

They had just started blocking the first scene, when TJ found himself up in the lighting booth. There was another boy up there, Wyatt. He always did the lighting for school plays, but he was a senior, so it was probably a good idea that TJ was learning the ropes.

“You TJ?” he asked, kicking his legs down from the table.

“Yeah, that’s me. Wyatt, right?” The other boy nodded, motioning for him to take a seat.

“So this is the lighting board. Pretty straight forward. These ones control the upstage lights, these downstage. You can change the colors with this lever, and then if you want s fade you have to program it with this thing here,” he rattled off, TJ trying to keep up as best he could. He didn’t have anything to write this down on, so he was just praying that Wyatt would help him out when he could.

“I have to go for now, but you’ll figure it out,” he gave him a small wave, “later man.”

Well, so much for that. TJ took Wyatt’s seat, and looking down through the window, he could see Cyrus on stage with the director, pointing at something in the script. He smiled to himself; he really did have the best seat in the house.

“Okay, let’s run the scene from the top! Remember, really use your facial expressions!” Jonah called out, taking a seat a few rows back, “Action!”

TJ watched the actions play out on stage. He tried to do lights as best he could, but without much direction, it was hard to determine what to do. Whenever a single person was on stage, he would try and put a spotlight on them, but sometimes it was too bright, and they would look down. However, the moment Cyrus got on stage, it was like all TJ knew how to do was stare off into the distance.

“Lights!” Jonah yelled, snapping TJ out of his reverie.

Crap, that was his cue, and he missed it. He fumbled with the board for a little, and after a few moments, there was a soft, pink spotlight on Cyrus, who seemed to be delivering his lines beautifully.

As soon as Cyrus was off stage, TJ seemed to have no problem getting his cues, and figuring out how to work the board. Funny how things work out like that.

“Okay, everyone, that’s all for today!” Mrs. Artesia said, clapping her hands together, “today was a lot of work, I know, but in the coming weeks, I know we’re all going to work hard and put together a wonderful performance! Does anyone have any questions?”

Cyrus raised his hand. “Can I write a screenplay for the next production?”

Mrs. Artesia pushed up her glasses on her nose. “I don’t think so, Cyrus. You’ll have to get it checked by me and the board, then it has to pass by the principal, and after that you-”

Cyrus waved his hand, cutting her off. “That’s okay, don’t worry about it.”

“Anyone else?” No one said anything. “Good! I’ll see you all tomorrow!”

Cyrus stuffed his script into his backpack, and hauled it up on his shoulders. He would normally head out with TJ, but since he had basketball practice, he was alone today.

“Cyrus!” Andi called, waving her hands in the air. He smiled seeing her, but took a step back once he saw her hands.

“Is that acrylic paint? Andi, I love you, but this is a nice shirt,” he smiled sympathetically, smoothing down his top.

“TJ sure seemed to think so,” she mused, earning his full attention.

“What? What do you mean? Did he say that? When?”

Andi laughed, Libby coming up behind her, with paint all up her arms. “I mean, whenever you were on stage, he missed his lighting cues.”

Cyrus crossed his arms in defense. “It’s the first day, Andi, cut him some slack. Plus, he messed up plenty of other times too.”

Andi sighed, turning to Libby and summing up their conversation. Libby grinned, turning towards Cyrus.

��Yes, but he messed up more when you were involved. Isn’t that funny? I think it’s funny.’

Cyrus narrowed his eyes, but the smile on his face only grew. “Shut up,” he mumbled, signing along as well, “I’ll see you guys later,” he gave them a wave, and headed out the door.

“He’s so smitten,” Andi giggled, signing her words.

‘CJ’ Libby signed back, smiling.

“Oh my gosh, is that what you call them? CJ?” she repeated her sign, her smile only growing.

Libby nodded, and her expression all of a sudden turned a little more shy. ‘Do you want to get ice cream later?’

Andi smiled. “Totally! Andi Shack?”

Libby nodded. ‘Andi Shack’

“I’m telling you, directly into the light!” Andi chuckled, setting down her tray, with Buffy sitting beside her.

“Are you kidding me?” Buffy exclaimed, her eyes widening. It’d been two weeks of rehearsals, and the teasing from Andi, and consequently, Libby and Buffy, wasn’t getting any better.

“He could have blinded himself because he wanted to look at TJ!” she sighed, shaking her head.

“I am literally sitting right here,” Cyrus deadpanned, holding onto his apple a little tighter, “and no, I didn’t look directly into the spotlight, that’s a lie.”

“Sure, you just kept tumbling over your own feet on stage for no reason, after staring at the lighting booth,” Andi mumbled, nodding her head, “whatever you say.”

“Hey guys!” TJ called, coming over and joining their table, “what’re you talking about?”

Cyrus paled, looking down at his food. “Well, we certainly weren’t talking about your job as the lighting guy.”

TJ chuckled. “Very convincing. I think I’m getting the hang of it, finally, after Wyatt agreed to stay with me for the new few rehearsals and help. Who knows, maybe I’ll even help out a little freshman when I’m a senior.”

Buffy snorted. “Fat chance someone would be able to stand you barking orders at them.”

TJ smirked, resting his elbows on the table. “Ah, Driscoll, witty as always.”

Buffy smiled victoriously, taking a bite of her sandwich. “You know it. So, Cyrus, did you wanna hang out tonight? We can do a movie night.”

Cyrus shook his head. “Can’t. TJ and I are running lines.”

Buffy smirked, looking at the basketball captain whose attention was suddenly very focused on a poster for a math competition. “You guys are running lines together?”

“Well, the show’s in a few weeks, we need to be ready,” TJ defended weakly, “and Cyrus is the lead, which is obviously the most important.”

Cyrus laughed beside him. “It’s not the most important, Teej, and you know it.”

TJ shrugged. “Well, maybe that’s what you think, but I’m right. Without the lead, what would the play even be about?”

“Without all the side characters, how would the lead grow and develop as a person? How would they discover something about themselves without someone at their side?” Cyrus countered.

“Fair point,” TJ admitted, “anyways, your house, later tonight?”

Cyrus nodded, finishing up his sandwich. “You guys wanna come too? Help run lines?”

TJ deflated a little beside him, and looked to Andi with a pleading look. He didn’t mind if people came along, but he would prefer if it were just him and Cyrus. Almost like a date, but not quite. A friend-date.

“Well,” Andi started, her look softening, “I’d love to, but Libby and I have to finish one of the set pieces.”

“Maybe another time,” Cyrus replied, not seeing the relieved look from TJ, “looks like it’s just me and you,” he chuckled, meeting TJ’s gaze.

His eyes were beautiful, TJ thought, and the only reason he wasn’t getting lost in them was because so many people were talking at the same time. Thank goodness for distractions.

“Y-Yup,” he stammered, clearing his throat, “just you and me.”

“Oh, I almost forgot! My mom’s making lasagna tonight, you’re in for a treat,” Cyrus chuckled, grabbing his bag, “I’ll see you guys later!”

TJ walked him walk off, a distracted smile tugging at his lips, and when he was finally snapped out of it by someone dropping their tray, he turned back to his friends, and found that Libby was staring at him with a knowing look on her face.

“What?” TJ signed, flushing slightly.

‘Nothing. You’re just staring at him.’ she signed back.

TJ stuck his tongue out in defiance, turning his attention back to his food, which had been untouched. “We’re just running lines.”

“At least this time he won’t stare into a light,” Buffy mumbled, shaking her head with disapproval.

“What?” TJ questioned.

Buffy waved him off, not missing a beat. “Nothing, just Cyrus being. . .Cyrus,” she chuckled.

TJ smiled a little more at that. Cyrus being Cyrus was great. He really liked him, which terrified the living daylights out of him.

Later in the evening, TJ found himself walking to Cyrus’ house, albeit a little earlier than they had planned. He wasn’t sure why, he just knew he wouldn’t be able to stay at home for much longer without bursting. So that’s the story of how TJ found himself nearly twenty minutes early at Cyrus’ doorstep.

Fortunately for him, Cyrus was already running lines by himself inside, and TJ knew because the light was on in his room, and his voice was much louder than before. Acting on impulse, he picked up a small pebble and threw it at his window, making a small ‘plink!’ sound. The words immediately stopped, and the window opened.

“Are you insane? What are you doing?” Cyrus called from upstairs, his script in hand.

TJ just shrugged, and he could practically see Cyrus’ annoyance. “Just thought I’m come by early to help with lines.”

Cyrus scoffed, waving him up. “Door’s open,” he called, shutting his window and muttering to himself, “help with lines. More like shatter my window and my peace and tranquility.”

TJ made his way up the stairs, like he’d done a thousand times before, and popped into Cyrus’ room. “I’m ready to be wowed with your talent,” he chucked, plopping down on the floor.

Cyrus’ expression softened; he could never really be mad at TJ. “Get ready for your expectations to be barely fulfilled.”

TJ groaned, pulling a pencil off of Cyrus’ desk and taking his script from him. “You don’t get to say things like that. You’re the lead, and you have to exude self confidence.”

Cyrus sighed, sitting down across from TJ and propping up his head with his elbows. “How do I do that? Especially when I’m professing my love for a girl?”

TJ let out a light laugh at that, crossing his legs and flipping to a page that was covered in highlights. He figured they’d start there. “Why don’t you just imagine you’re talking to a really cute boy?” he offered, holding a pencil in between his fingers.

Cyrus nodded, motioning for him to go on and start one of the lines.

TJ squinted at the words. “What kind of feelings? What are you trying to say?” he couldn’t help but smile at that.

“I'm so glad I found you. You're the only one I can talk to. Definitely the only person I've ever talked to. But I feel so comfortable with you. . .” he started, looking down at his hands. TJ couldn’t help but stare a little bit as he talked; even though the words weren’t directly aimed at him, he felt his heart fluttering. With a pencil in hand, he started to doodle a little on the side, a small heart. When he decided that was too romantic, he drew a tiny cat holding it, smiling.

“Line?” Cyrus repeated again, snapping TJ out of his thoughts.

“Oh, uh. . .” he squinted, looking at the words, “it’s still your monologue. ‘No one listens’.”

Cyrus nodded, composing himself again. “No one listens to me. I talk. They change the subject. It’s not that I feel I have something better to say. I don’t know if I have much to say at all. I’ve never had a chance to try.”

TJ nodded along; Cyrus was getting his lines down really well, and the tone and inflection was beautiful.

“The minute I saw you, I knew you were special. There was something magical about your eyes, beautiful and green and deep and. . .mesmerizing.”

That was the line that always got him, every since time, without fail. Whenever Cyrus said it on stage, he would crane his neck outside the little window to try and hear him better. Wyatt always teased him about it, but he never said more other than the occasional “pay attention to the lights, TJ, not the star of the show”.

“It’s important to love just enough. Just enough to know that you are loved without hurting the object of your affection. I wouldn’t want to hurt you, but I can’t help it. My love for you extends far beyond any possible word in the English language,” Cyrus started, his gaze flitting up to TJ, “my love is in soft glances, little smiles from across the room, and those moments where we both know that there’s something there. Maybe not a spark, but something. I love you, you know. Always have, always will.”

It’s not about you, please stop freaking out. It was no point thinking that, because TJ’s cheeks were glowing a bright red, and he would be lying if he didn’t say that Cyrus’ were pinker than they were before.

“S-so?” Cyrus spoke up, breaking the awkward silence that had fallen over them, “how was that?”

Beautiful. Incredible. I love you. “That was. . .the greatest thing I’ve ever heard,” he breathed out, flipping back to the front of the script and handing it to Cyrus, who didn’t seem to agree.

“It was alright. I messed up that one part, and then of course, the inflection could have been better,” he shook his head, “I’m never going to get it.”

TJ scooted a bit closer, firmly putting his hands on Cyrus’ shoulder. “Don’t say that, Cy,” he started softly, “you were really good. Like, really good. Seriously, that monologue could make someone fall in love with you.”

Cyrus relaxed a little, his shoulders losing some tension. “Thanks,” he said, smiling a little, “that was indeed my goal in this rehearsal. Make someone fall in love with me.”

You’ve succeeded. “Oh, hush you, your performance was great here, and it’s going to be even better on stage.”

Cyrus’ smile faltered a little, the corners of his lips quivering. “I’m not. . .that sure.”

TJ took his script, glowering at him. “If you’re not going to believe in yourself, then I am going to make you. You won’t need this for the rest of the night, will you?”

Cyrus whined, reaching for it, but TJ kept it above his head. “I was gonna work on it more when I got home.”

TJ shook his head. “No way! It’s already late, and there’s no way you’re going to be staying up later because of this. You’re already doing great, Cy. I promise.”

Cyrus thought this over for a few moments, before finally giving in with a yawn. “I. . .fine. But I expect it back to me first thing tomorrow.”

TJ nodded eagerly, and the two of them ran the scene again (TJ managed to not faint, by a miracle). It was just as good as the other time, if not better, especially in TJ’s opinion. When they had finished for the night, TJ took the script with him, a half baked idea whirling around in his head.

Later, when TJ got home, he took a seat at the desk in his room, pushed aside all his papers, and pulled out a pencil, and his little bag of colored pencils. Well, technically they were Amber’s, but he’d stolen them a while ago, and he figured she’d forgotten about them.

He flipped through the pages, doodling in the margins little things that he thought would make Cyrus feel better about his work. Some of them were silly cat doodles that said “you’re doing PAWsome!”, while others were genuine comments on the way that he was performing the scene.

“Whenever you say this, your face kind of scrunches up, and I think it really helps with the scene”

“This part is PURR-fect!”

“My favorite line right here. You always look ready to cry when you deliver it, but then of course you keep your composure. It’s beautiful every single time”

“No wait, this is my favorite lol”

And so it went for the rest of the night, TJ flipping pages and doodling things in the margins occasionally. Cats, cat puns, genuine thoughts, he wrote them all. He really hoped that this helped Cyrus, even just a little bit, to recover his confidence.

Tech week. The dreaded words that all theatre kids hate hearing.

“How are you holding up?” Andi signed groggily, faint bags apparent under her eyes.

Libby shrugged. ‘Okay, I guess. I’m tired. Running on a latte and a prayer. What about you?’

Andi glanced over her shoulder, at where TJ and Cyrus were bumping shoulders and laughing. Then she turned back to Libby, a small smile on her face.

“They’re going to be the death of me,” she points at them, and signs along, “they have to get together.”

Libby nods, and quickly puts on an innocent smile as TJ and Cyrus approach the two girls. ‘Gentlemen.’

Cyrus laughs, saluting her. “You guys look exhausted.”

“Thanks,” Andi deadpans, “it’s tech week, and the set is still in need of a few final preparations. How are you not dead?”

Cyrus shrugged. “I drank a five hour energy this morning. Or two of them. I can’t remember.”

TJ shook his head, patting Cyrus on the back. “Try to radiate some of that energy onto us, please and thank you.”

“But aren’t you excited for rehearsal tonight? We’re gonna run through the whole thing?” Cyrus was nearly shaking with excitement. Andi put a hand on his shoulder.

“Please, for the love of everything good in this cafeteria, calm down.”

That night, all the cast and crew were hard at work. Cyrus was working with Jonah on some lines, Andi was helping Libby find some new props, since a few broke, and Wyatt and TJ were sitting in the lighting booth.

“So,” Wyatt started, leaning back in his chair, “how long have you and that kid been dating?”

TJ nearly choked on his spit. “Wh-what?” he squeaks out, trying not to hack up his lungs during his coughing fit.

Wyatt smiled, raising a brow. “You know, the lead? What’s his name, Chris?”

“Cyrus,” TJ corrects, his voice higher than before, “a-and no. . .we’re not dating.”

Wyatt quirked a brow at his response, digging out his phone from his bag. “Really? I thought you guys were. You’re always hanging out with each other and-”

“So?” TJ cut in, almost annoyed, “friends do that too.”

Wyatt’s expression softened, but his gaze never left his phone. “Whatever you say dude, I’m just saying. You guys seem like more than friends. He talks about you all the time.”

“When do you talk to Cyrus?”

He shrugged in response. “I get here early sometimes to help him run lines. He talked about all the notes you left in his script and how it always helped because you wrote them,” he continued, “he seems to like you a lot, man. You should just ask him out.”

“What? No, that’s the worst idea.”

“Why? The worst he could do is say no. I’ve seen you guys. You’re close, and there’s no way that things would change because of your feelings,” he looked up at him from his phone, “I’ll give you twenty bucks to ask him out, and if he says yes, which I’m pretty sure he will, I’ll pay for your date.”

TJ thought it over for a moment, but he was still skeptical. “Why are you helping me? You barely know me.”

Wyatt shrugged. “I know that it’s nice to date someone that you really care about.”

“Yeah, sure, but your experience with girls isn’t really going to help me.”

Wyatt snorted, throwing his head back. “Girls? Yeah, no, they’re not for me,” he chuckled, “I think I know what I’m doing.”

TJ blinked a few times, looking at the lighting board. “Oh. Cool. Well. . .thanks. I might just have to take you up on that offer.”

Wyatt took his wallet out his bag, fishing out two ten dollar bills and waving them in front of TJ’s face. “Well?”

TJ hesitated, but then took the money, stuffing the bills into his pocket and getting up from his chair. “Fine, I’ll do it. Happy?”

Wyatt smiled, clapping him on the back. “Go get your man.”

TJ wandered around backstage during the break, trying to find Andi and Libby. After his conversation with Wyatt, he figured that they were the best people to seek out for more advice on this. He finally saw them in the prop room, looking for a new vase for the table, as someone had broken it during rehearsal last time.

“Hey,” TJ said, nearly out of breath, “I need to run an idea by you two.”

“What’s up?” Andi asked, paint smeared across her hands and her clothes.

He shakily signs as he talks. “I need a way to ask Cyrus out.”

Libby’s eyes widen and she drops the vase in her hands, letting it shatter on the ground. So much for that one.

“What?” Andi screams, a smile growing on her face, “you’re. . .you’re serious?”

He nodded. “Help me out?” he signs

Libby thought about it for a moment, before she seemed to have an idea. ‘Didn’t you leave notes in his script? What if you did that, like wrote something on the last page?’

“That’s. . .actually a really good idea. Thanks,” he mumbled, walking off determined to find Cyrus’ script. Luckily, it was sitting on the side of the stage, as Cyrus was busy talking to the director about some blocking. He quickly drew something on the last page, along with a message, and he left it on the front page, hurrying away. Hopefully this plan would work out.

Opening night. Ten minutes to curtain. Everyone was rushing around and putting the final details on the actors’ makeup and costumes, and props were already set in place. TJ was sitting in the lighting booth, on FaceTime with Cyrus, who was in the boys dressing room.

“It’s going to be a disaster! What if I miss a cue?” Cyrus whined, pouting.

“You’re going to do great, Cy. You’ve worked insanely hard on this, and there’s no way it’s not going to be amazing. And if you miss a cue, no one in the audience is going to know.”

Cyrus sighed, running a hand through his hair, much to the dismay of the student fixing his hair. “You’re probably right. I’m just. . .nervous.”

TJ’s expression softened, his smile widening. “You’re going to be amazing. I promise you. I’ll leave you be, okay? Five minutes till opening.”

He closed the call, and got set with the lighting, making the announcement for people to silence their cell phones. The silence settled over the crowd, and TJ slowly dimmed the lights in the house, the lights on the stage growing a little as the curtain opened.

“Here we go,” he whispered to himself.

The whole thing was a blur. All Cyrus could process was that he was holding hands with his fellow actors and bowing. The audience was clapping like there was no tomorrow, a few groups of people even giving a standing ovation. TJ was in the lighting booth whooping and hollering so loud that Wyatt was covering his ears.

“So, what about you and that kid? Did you ask him out?”

TJ straightened out his shirt. “As a matter of fact, I’m going to do that right now,” he announced heading out of the booth and down the stairs, holding a hand behind his back. When he got down to the lobby, he didn’t realize how crowded it was. Parents, relatives, friends, siblings, other students, all crowding the room. He spotted Andi and Libby and caught their attention, waving them over. They took time to get to him, squeezing their way through the crowd to get to him.

TJ pointed to Cyrus, who was currently surrounded by people praising him for a job well done. “Help?”

The girls nodded, standing in front of him and pushing through the crowd as TJ walked behind them, trying to avoid getting hit by a child flailing their arms. Finally, he managed to get to Cyrus, and like magic, Libby and Andi left him alone.

“Cy, hey!” he chirped, smiling widely, “you were amazing! Just like I thought.”

Cyrus chuckled, throwing his arms around him. “Well, the lights looked great too. Thank you, though. It wouldn’t have been so good without all your help and notes in my script,” he laughs, holding it up.

TJ smiled nervously, relishing in this moment before Cyrus pulled away. “No problem. I. . .here, this is for you,” he said, pulling out the rose that he was holding behind his back. His mom would kill him if she knew he took it from her garden, but for Cyrus? Anything.

Cyrus’ jaw dropped a little, taking the rose carefully, as if it were about to vanish into thin air. “TJ. . .this is. . .thank you, I-”

“Hold that thought,” TJ cut him off, “check the last page of your script. I added a new note.”

Cyrus, albeit a little confused, obliged, flipping to the last page. There, on the large section of a blank page, was a drawing of two cats holding hands, with a caption that read ‘it would be PURRfect if you took MEOWt on a date! friday after school?’

TJ waited for his reaction nervously. His heart was beating out of his chest, and he couldn’t even focus on how many people were bumping into him at that moment.

Cyrus looked up at TJ, whose face was redder than the rose in his hand. And for the second time that night, Cyrus threw his arms around TJ, grinning from ear to ear.

“Yes, of course! I would love to go on a date with you!” he squeals, holding him so tight that TJ could barely breathe.

TJ made a noise that wasn’t completely human, spinning Cyrus around in a hug before putting him back down on the ground. “Cool. . .one second,” TJ pulled away from him, putting his phone up to his ear.

“Wyatt! So nice to hear from you. I’d like thirty bucks for my date. . .yes I mean it. . .no I’m not kidding. . .you can talk to Cyrus if you want. . .okay. . .cool. . .thanks,” he laughed, hanging up.

“So, that date?” Cyrus asked, taking TJ’s hand.

TJ smiled at the gesture, giving his hand a squeeze. “How about we go to my house after school on Friday and do a karaoke show tunes kind of thing? We can order pizza and everything.”

Cyrus nodded. “It’s a date,” he agreed, looking around for a moment, before reaching up and pressing a quick kiss to TJ’s cheek. He gave his hand one final squeeze, before running to find his parents, who were waiting for him with bouquets of flowers. They were beautiful, but TJ’s rose beat them all.