**Huh, I wonder what this is inspired by. My constant love poems and posts about this anonymous "she" certainly give me no clue as to what I could possibly be relating this to {sarcasm}**

     Cast parties.

     Goddamn it.

     Tremaine hated cast parties. He never had anyone to talk to, he was always upset that the show was ending, and the loud chatter made him anxious. The only thing worse than the cast party was the hellacious, hours-long process of disassembling the set and sweeping the stage that came before the cast party known as strike.

     His therapist had told him to try to reach out to people more. He'd reluctantly asked his trusted castmate Jesse for a ride to the theater just to make Dr. Hopkins happy. But Jesse had long since left, ditching the group as soon as the curtain closed. Tremaine couldn't blame them.

     So here he stood now, bags on his shoulders as he unloaded them one by one into the trunk of the director's car. He was planning on going to the cast party. For Dr. Hopkins, he'd repeated to himself like a broken record. But the one problem was this: He didn't have a ride.

      Mrs. Ahmadi approached the car with more bags and started unloading them into the vehicle. She had joined the show to be able to perform with her son, Roshan. She had always been sweet to everyone, treating the cast like her own children.

     So what was wrong with asking her for a ride?

     Oh yeah. Tremaine was head-over-heels in love with her son. Things would just be awkward.

     But something inside Tremaine prompted him to stutter out, "U-um, when we go out to dinner, do you mind giving me a ride?"

     Mrs. Ahmadi smiled. "Oh, Tremaine, honey, I have to drive this stuff over to the storage. But you can go with Roshan."

     Tremaine's heart exploded just a little.

     "O-okay."

     What was he gonna say? Sorry, no, I can't ride with Roshan because I fear I might kiss him at any given moment?

     Before he could process what the hell was happening, he was riding shotgun with Roshan. Roshan Flipping Ahmadi. In Roshan Flipping Ahmadi's car.

     He even proceeded to look cute when he drove. The way he carefully braked with each stop, the attentiveness with which he turned on his blinker.

    Tremaine could barely think of anything to say. Not when Roshan was inches away from him, his eyes reflecting the sunset that painted the skyline, his hair tousled from hairspray and bobby pins.

      Soon enough, they arrived at the restaurant and they walked out together. "Thank you for driving me," Tremaine finally mumbled shyly.

     "No problem," Roshan said with that smile that drove Tremaine nuts.

     Now see, they had met last year when Roshan was a techie for another show that Tremaine was in. But they had never performed together until now. And Tremaine didn't even have time to decide to blame Roshan's attractiveness, his cleverness, or his charm before all three sent him spiraling down the complex road of a showmance.

     They sat across from each other, occasionally making small talk, listening as the directors handed out cards and flowers. They stayed there for maybe three hours, talking with their castmates about their journey together.

    Roshan checked his phone at one point in the night. "Do you need a ride home?" the question was sudden and left Tremaine wondering exactly how many bombs were rigged to make his heart go Kaboom.

     "I mean, if you don't mind, I don't want to cause you any trouble I-"

     "Don't worry. I got you covered."

     And there he was again, in the passenger seat of Roshan Flipping Ahmadi's car.

     Roshan looked so adorable when his eyes were lit up by the display screen of the car. The way his fingers relaxed around the steering wheel, the way he carefully tilted the wheel to stay in the lane.

     The British-accented voice of Siri spoke from Tremaine's phone, directing Roshan as they wound through the night.

     And everything in that moment was perfect.

     Roshan was perfect.

     Tremaine felt perfect.

     The stars in the sky? Perfect.

     The careful rumble of Roshan's car? Perfect.

      The only dent of imperfection was the moment Roshan pulled to a stop in front of Tremaine's house. Tremaine wanted to rest his head on Roshan's shoulder and beg to stay, but that's not how you get dates.

     "Thank you so much," he said, still as meek as before. "A-are you gonna be able to get home from here?"

     Roshan nodded, grinning. "I'll figure it out."

     "Okay," he said, managing a small smile. "Text me when you get home safe, okay?"

     He nodded. "Sure thing."

    With one more smile, Roshan's car vroomed into the night.

     And Tremaine felt a little bit like spinning around like Maria in The Sound of Music.

     Or perhaps breaking into I Could've Danced All Night from My Fair Lady.

     Or perhaps If I Were A Bell from Guys and Dolls.

     That's what he would've done. His eyes switched to his dark-windowed home, his car parked in the driveway. He walked in and could barely sleep.

     Who could blame him? He was in love.