anthony was sweating, really bad. the kind of sweat that soaked through the collar of his costume and made his curls stick to his forehead. the lights out there were brutal, blinding, hot in a way that made it hard to remember anything except the next step, the next note. he got off the stage, walking to the left wing, heart still racing from the scene he’d just left. grabbing a rag one of the stage managers handed him and wiping his sweat, he let out a shaky breath, grounding himself for half a second. it was the middle of 'helpless', phillipa doing her thing, her voice floating through the theater like something holy as he leaned against a beam for a few seconds before he had to go out again.

the music swelled, soft and dreamy, and even back here, hidden in the wings, he could feel the audience holding their breath. he always did. he loved that part — the way thousands of people would go silent for her, the way every lyric felt like it was meant for someone specific. for him, it always felt like it was meant for you.

he turned, looking around the crew before he saw you. you were standing just off to the side, clipboard in hand, eyes glued to the stage, lips moving along with the words like you’d memorized them. the glow from the stage lights hit your face just right, soft and warm, and for a second everything else blurred. right as phillipa sung, both his and eliza’s hearts went boom.

his.

it was ridiculous, really. he was in the middle of the biggest show of his life, in the middle of a scene that made people be in awe, and all he could think about was you. about the way you smiled when you caught him staring, about the way you waited for him every night after curtain call, about how you always pretended you weren’t proud even though he could see it written all over your face.

he pressed the rag to his neck, trying to cool down, but nothing could calm the way his heart was pounding now. 'and my heart went boom', phillipa sang, and anthony almost laughed because yeah, it really did. every time he saw you, every single time, it was like falling all over again.

he had to go back out there in seconds, had to become someone else again, had to be loud and charming and sure of himself. but in that tiny stolen moment, hidden in the wings, he was just a boy in love, counting the minutes until the play was over and he could run back to you, wrap you up in his arms, and pretend the world was small enough to only be the two of you.