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sign your name across my heart

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Rebecca's a little (okay, a lot) drunk when she confesses to Christina that she sort of maybe has a crush on her. Everyone's celebrating their win by getting drunk and letting loose, the energy level at the party somehow sky-high after fifteen shows in twelve days (plus a surreal performance at Radio City), but when Rebecca's feet start to hurt, she's content to sit by Theo's makeshift DJ booth and talk to him in between songs. He's wasted, too; his hand slowly creeping her thigh, despite the fact that he's got a girlfriend (who may or may not be a complete bitch, but that's irrelevant). In a minute or two, Rebecca will get up for another drink; come Tuesday, he'll laugh it off, make some stupid joke.

"I feel like I haven't seen you all night," Christina says, swooping in behind them, tucking some loose hair behind her ear. "We should catch up." She takes Rebecca's hand, fingers warm against Rebecca's own, and tugs her away before Rebecca has time to mouth sorry to Theo. Once they've made it outside, perching on the stairs, Christina says, "Thought you could use some rescuing. You looked kinda terrified, but you totally could've taken him."

"Thanks," Rebecca says, feeling oddly cold now that Christina's not touching her anymore, even though it's muggy outside. "Johnny probably wouldn't have been too happy if he saw."

Christina shrugs, the curve of her shoulder catching the city light, and it probably means something that Rebecca's suddenly paying attention to that kind of thing now, but she's too drunk and too tired to figure out what. "Whatever, dude. Tonight was amazing. Anyone who ruins it for themselves by getting pissed is just..." she trails off. "I don't know, actually. We should just enjoy it while it lasts."

"I can't believe we won," Rebecca says, though it probably won't sink in for anyone until they're onstage, waiting for the audiences' cheers to die down.

"I can't believe you didn't get nominated. There's no taking down Lansbury or Catherine Zeta-Jones, but I was surprised you weren't at least on the list. You totally deserved it."

"Thanks," Rebecca says, flashing a smile. "I'm just happy we won. There's no changing anything now; why stress about it?" Truth be told, it's taken her some time to get to the place where she can say with. Not getting nominated hurt, but it's also not like anyone else in the cast did either, and her role's barely substantial enough for Featured Actress. She's happy to be working, and in such an awesome show, even if she and the rest of the girls have gotten the short end of the stick.

Maybe it's all the alcohol, or all the emotions, or just Christina, but Rebecca's uninhibited enough to slide her hand along Christina's neck, her dark-painted thumbnail contrasting with Christina's flushed cheeks, lean in so they're touching at their knees, hips, elbows, and brush her lips against Christina's—hardly more than a touch, but something. It's enough that Rebecca can feel a lip gloss that isn't her own, fingers curling in her hair.

When she pulls back, everything hits her. They won Best Musical, and now everyone's drunk, including Rebecca, who's sitting a few feet away from the street and just kissed Christina Sajous: her castmate, the object of Stark Sands' onstage affection, and most significantly, female. "Shit," Rebecca says, but she falls when she tries to get up, cement catching the back of her thigh and leaving a stinging red mark.

"It's okay." Christina's voice is soothing and calm, almost hypnotic. "Everything's okay. It was good; I just didn't think you were..."

"I don't think I am, either," Rebecca replies.

Something darkens in Christina's eyes, and the smile drops off her face. "If this is some drunk experiment à la Katy Perry, I'm really not interested."

Rebecca shakes her head. "I think it's just you," she clarifies. She experimented a little at conservatory, but was never really into it; Christina's gorgeous and talented, and wearing this slinky dress that highlights all her curves. If things go over badly, which Rebecca hopes they don't, she can blame it on the alcohol, even if it pisses Christina off. "God, you look beautiful," she says, blushing at how cheesy it sounds.

This time, Christina's the one to lean in for the kiss. It's less tentative this time, her tongue just slipping out to touch Rebecca's lips, but it sends warmth up Rebecca's spine and makes her feel weak in the knees. "You're not so bad yourself," she says, hand moving down to rest on Rebecca's hip. "Let's get a cab."