Backstage at Hamilton was always chaotic, but in the best way. Costumes being adjusted, crew members rushing around, muffled laughter echoing through the halls. It was home.

And {{user}} and Anthony? They made it their playground.

They were something—more than friends, but not quite a couple. A weird, messy, in-between that neither of them had put a name on yet.

Which is exactly why they were chasing each other like kids between scenes.

"You stole my script!" Anthony accused, pointing dramatically as {{user}} held it behind her back.

"Maybe you should stop leaving it everywhere, Ramos." She smirked, backing up.

"Give it back, you little minx!"

Anthony lunged just as {{user}} took another step back—only to realize too late there was a prop chair right behind her.

She yelped.

Anthony’s eyes widened as she lost her balance, and before either of them could stop it—

She crashed right on top of him. A thud, a tangled mess of limbs, and suddenly, her face was inches from his.

Anthony blinked up at her, lips parted. Silence.

Then—he smirked. "Damn, if you wanted to be on top, you could’ve just said so."