Page 25 of The Drama King

"Hand me that gel, would you?" Stephanie called from her perch on the lighting ladder, adjusting the angle of one of the stage lights. "The amber one—L204."

I sorted through the colored transparencies spread across the work table, finding the one she needed. The theater felt peaceful at this hour, empty except for us and the late afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows. It was the first time in weeks I'd felt truly relaxed on campus.

"How's this look?" Stephanie asked, flipping the switch to test her lighting setup.

The stage transformed under a warm amber wash, creating an intimate, almost magical atmosphere. "Beautiful," I said honestly. "It feels like sunset on a summer evening."

"That's exactly what I was going for." She climbed down from the ladder, satisfaction evident in her expression. "Professor McGraw wants us to create 'emotional landscapes' with light alone. I'm designing for that Tennessee Williamson piece—you know, the one about memory and longing." She snapped her fingers, the title obviously escaping her.

"The Glass Menagerie," I supplied. "Perfect for this lighting approach."

We worked together in comfortable silence, Stephanie adjusting her design while I organized equipment and took notes for her documentation. This was the collaborative creative work I'd dreamed about when applying to Northwood.

"You know," Stephanie said, pausing in her work, "you should consider taking some tech classes. You have a good eye for this stuff."

"I don't have room in my schedule," I replied, though the suggestion was tempting. "Every credit hour has to count toward my major requirements if I want to graduate on time."

"The joys of scholarship life," she said sympathetically. "No room for exploration, just survival."

The studio door opened, interrupting our conversation. Robbie entered carrying a stack of sheet music, his black hair catching the amber light.

"Sorry I'm late," he called. "Voice lesson ran over." He paused, admiring Stephanie's work. "Wow, this lighting is gorgeous."

"Thanks," Stephanie beamed. "We were just discussing tech classes. Vespera has a good eye for design."

"She does," Robbie agreed, setting his music on the piano bench. "Though on scholarship, every credit hour has to count toward graduation requirements."

I appreciated that they understood my situation without pity. Our friendship had deepened beyond our initial alliance against the pack's harassment. We'd found common ground in our love of theater and our determination to succeed.

"What are you working on?" I asked, nodding toward his sheet music.

"Sondheim," he replied with a grimace. "Professor Vance assigned 'Being Alive' for my midterm. Says I need to work on 'emotional vulnerability.'"

"That's a beautiful song," Stephanie said. "Those contradictions about wanting connection while fearing it."

"Exactly why it's challenging," Robbie admitted. "Male Omegas aren't encouraged to explore vulnerability. We're supposed to be quietly competent and unobtrusive."

I heard the frustration beneath his casual tone. "Want to work on it together? Sometimes it helps to have an audience while you're figuring out a piece."

"Actually, that would be great." Robbie moved to the piano, running his fingers over the keys. "I keep getting caught up in the technical execution and losing the emotional through-line."

As he began playing the opening chords, I settled into a theater seat to listen. Stephanie adjusted her lights but kept an ear on Robbie's performance.

His voice was beautiful—clear and controlled, with an expressiveness many singers worked years to develop. But I could hear what Professor Vance meant. Robbie performed the notes perfectly while holding back the feelings.

"Stop," I said gently after he finished the first verse. "You're protecting yourself from the song."

"What do you mean?"

"You're singing about the fear of being hurt, but you're not letting yourself actually feel vulnerable while you sing it. The audience needs to see that fear, not just hear about it."

Robbie's expression tightened. "Easy to say. Harder to do when showing vulnerability usually gets you attacked."

The comment hung in the air, heavy with unspoken understanding. All three of us knew exactly what he meant.

"But that's what makes the song powerful," Stephanie said, looking up from her light board. "It's about the courage to be open despite the risk."

"Try it again," I suggested. "But this time, think about someone specific. Someone whose opinion matters to you but who might not accept who you really are."