The Imitation Game ✓

TWENTY-ONE | IT ONLY TAKES A TASTE, PT. II

When Illicit Affairs was announced as the winner of Best Play, Rasmus had momentarily thought, This is it.

This was the thing that would finally, finally make his parents proud of him, that would make them consider his career as valid. The thought was enough to get him choked up with dizzying emotion, to make him not think twice about tightly holding onto Cora's hand when she reached for him.

But after only a minute, as the kick of adrenaline was just starting to ebb away ever so slightly, he realized, No it's not. It wasn't enough—it was never going to be enough. They could win Best Play, but his parents would still be asking why he wasn't the one up there accepting an award. He could win an award and they'd be asking why he hadn't written the whole damn play.

But then Cora had looked over at him, her cheeks stained with fresh tears, and smiled at him with genuine fondness despite how much they disliked each other, how poorly they sometimes treated each other. And he thought, Damn them. I can be proud of myself.

"Are you ready to celebrate?" he asked her later as they were leaving the theater.

There were probably a million afterparties held after the Tonys, but they were going to one hosted by a group of producers who worked across several shows, which meant that it was likely going to be packed. But perhaps that was a good thing—Rasmus didn't adore having too many pairs of eyes on him at once when he was out of character.

"I am," Cora replied, then dropped her voice so that only he would hear. "But if it happens to suck, you're helping me plan my escape route."

He laughed under his breath. "Deal."

Outside, the weather was much more bearable now that the sun had been chased out of the sky for the night. The slight breeze that blew against them was still warm but didn't carry that miserable edge of humidity it had possessed earlier, which was the best anyone could really ask for on the East Coast in the summer. Now that people were dispersing in different directions instead of all converging on the theater, the stroll to their afterparty was much calmer than that towards Radio City earlier in the afternoon. Cora and Rasmus were both quiet, still absorbing everything that had just come to pass.

Considering that they had just come from the show without detouring, he had assumed that the party couldn't be too crowded yet, so he was caught off guard when they stepped inside and it somehow looked like it had already been going for hours. Champagne was flowing; people were in the throes of celebrating. He could barely hear himself think over the volume of the music combined with the hundreds of different conversations going on around them. Surely the only way this many people were already here was if they'd left the awards early or hadn't come altogether.

But Rasmus didn't actually care that strongly about who was here or where they came from—the fear of missing out on some unknown something was basically the only thing that brought him here. He suspected that the same was also the case for Cora. He was a little more keen on being here now that their show had actually won an award, however, so he grabbed two flutes of champagne from the nearest waiter and handed one to her.

"Cheers, Coraline. To somehow not fucking this thing up yet."

Her eyes, which had been surveying the party with a sort of wonder in them, came back to him and stayed there as she held her glass up and grinned. "Cheers."

His toast sounded like a joke, but he meant it sincerely—maybe it was just his imposter syndrome whispering in his ear, but he truly had no idea how the two of them were possibly managing to lead a Broadway show, much less a Broadway show that was being received well and just won a damn Tony Award. Their senior year showcase felt like it had happened just five minutes ago and yet here they were in a room of people who combined had invested millions, if not billions, of dollars into Broadway shows; people who had directed and designed for productions all over the world; people who had worked with all the great stars of the stage and screen; people who had decades of performing experience on their resumes. And Cora and Rasmus had been invited to be here because they supposedly belonged.