Daryl. Fricking. Tofa.

The way he played his character, his powerful voice that echoed through the massive theatre, his lean body so close that you could see every detail of the tattoos that clad his arm, but so far it almost makes your heart ache.

You were in the VIP seats, the ticket that was crumpled in your pocket giving you front row seats and the permission to meet him. Maybe $400 wasn’t that bad.

That’s really the only reason why you were desperately counting the seconds until the show ended, every bounce of your leg increasing the desperation to meet the man alone backstage.

An hour of daydreaming about him goes by, the bows of every member in the cast had just finished off with the protagonist bowing in front of the stage — your eyes only on Daryl the entire time anyway. A continuous stream of whoops and screams go around, before the maroon red curtains slide shut — making the crowd’s noise die down.

The lights turn on, signalling for the crowd to exit the theatre as the huge doors open at the end of the room. Practically leaping off your cushion seat towards the door, you quickly push through people to get out of there.

Now… you just have to find out how to go backstage. The hundreds of people packed like sardines-in-a-tin-can not helping the journey either.