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"So," Rebecca says, curling her leg up over Nathaniel's hip as she drapes her upper body across his chest, "why didn't you ever mention you did musical theater in high school?"
Nathaniel hums thoughtfully, and Rebecca feels the vibration where her cheek presses against his skin. "It wasn't the type of thing I ever mentioned in mixed company."
Rebecca scoffs, then giggles when she feels how the caress of her breath makes Nathaniel squirm just a little beneath her. "So I'm mixed company now?"
"And I guess," Nathaniel goes on, ignoring both her comment and, impressively, the way she begins idly tracing the edge of her nail around his areola, "to me, it was just another thing I put on my college applications."
"Oh," Rebecca says, not bothering to hide her disappointment. She lets her hand drop away, her arm drooping idle across his stomach instead. "I see."
Nathaniel's breath ruffles her hair as they lay in silence for a few moments. She wishes she hadn't brought it up, because now she's ruined the mood and honestly, what had she expected he would say? It had been an impulsive question, fueled by the excess of endorphins in her bloodstream, but now she's playing out all the other answers he could've possibly given and finds she doesn't like any of them. She should've kept her mouth shut, should've kept it as some great unknown instead of prying like she always does and —
"I thought it would piss you off," Nathaniel says quietly. The sincerity in his voice disarms Rebecca's spiraling thoughts, and she pulls away so she can look at him. His gaze is focused on some abstract point near the foot of his bed, but flickers back to her once he realizes he has her attention. "That I was so nonchalant about something that meant a lot to you. So, yeah, I thought musical theater was stupid, but," he draws the conjunction out as a verbal roadblock to the protest that's on the tip of Rebecca's tongue, "I was an idiot preppy teenager who thought that joy was an emotion for simple people and domesticated animals."
Rebecca laughs in spite of herself and leans in to nip at Nathaniel's chin. "Woof woof."
"Down, girl," Nathaniel says, tapping his fingers on the bridge of Rebecca's nose. She doesn't withdraw and licks Nathaniel's chin instead, which makes him laugh, too. "But really, I'm sorry I didn't mention it before. I just didn't want you to think I was dismissive."
"I mean, you were," Rebecca says as she rolls over further on top of Nathaniel, her chin prodding into his sternum. "Dismissive, I mean. Even when you were talking about it at the audition. But the sucky thing is that now I kinda get it."
"Hmm, I dunno." Nathaniel's hand ghosts down the bare expanse of Rebecca's back. "Elliot Ellison's a lost cause, sure, but I bet I could woo you with a lyric or two."
"From the Jesus musicals?" Rebecca grins, shifting her weight so she can rub one foot lazily along Nathaniel's calf. "How sacreligious of you."
Nathaniel smiles right back, the sort of smile he deploys when he's keeping a secret he knows Rebecca will like. The sort of smile that makes her feel warm and glowing inside. "I didn't only play Jesus, you know. Community theater wasn't my first time playing a prince."
"Is that so?" Rebecca teases. She runs the tip of her finger along the line of his collarbone, back and forth, waiting expectantly.
"Mmm-hmm." Nathaniel shifts beneath her, straightening a little, his hand pressing down on the small of her back to keep her steady. "Anything can happen in the woods," he sings, his voice quiet and a little uneven. "May I kiss you?"
Rebecca squeaks, delighted, and wriggles up the last couple inches to press her forehead against his, her lips hovering just out of his reach. "You know, in context, that song is kind of amoral."
Nathaniel pouts theatrically. "What? The prince asks for consent. I thought you were into that."
"Oh, it's definitely doing it for me," she says, nudging his nose with hers. "Not sure how I feel about being the Baker's Wife, though."
"Really?" Nathaniel's hand traces idle patterns on Rebecca's back. He's so, so close, but he doesn't close the gap between them. "She's smart, brave, stubborn..."
"And dead," Rebecca cuts in, pulling back to emphasize her point. "Not to mention the fact that the Prince didn't love her. He kissed like, half the women in that musical."
"I'm aware," Nathaniel says, unable to keep the coy smile from his lips.
Rebecca rolls her eyes and pulls away further, arching back into the warm press of Nathaniel's hand. "Okay, gross."
"Some senior girl played the Baker's Wife," Nathaniel goes on, grin spreading across his whole face, "and she was definitely the best kisser."
"Gross," Rebecca says again, shoving playfully at Nathaniel's face before collapsing against his chest in a cascade of giggles.
When she looks back up at him, he's just gazing at her, soft and fond. "Well," he says, sliding one hand back into her hair and brushing his thumb over her cheek, "how would you rewrite it?"
The question catches her off guard, and her heart flutters in her chest, beating frantically against her ribcage. She leans into his touch and closes her eyes, thinking about him on stage, singing the words that she'd written but had been too scared to perform herself. She still doesn't think she's Ike Barinholtz but, for some unfathomable reason, Nathaniel thinks she could be. It's validating, and intoxicating, and terrifying.
She's kind of in love with it, a little bit.
"For starters," she says, tucking herself back into the crook of Nathaniel's neck, "the Baker's Wife gets to live, because getting crushed by a tree is a fucked up punishment for twenty seconds of infidelity. Like, get over yourself, Sondheim."
"So am I still the Prince in your version?" Nathaniel asks. She can feel his lips moving in her hair, and her eyelids flutter shut for a moment at the sensation. "Or am I the Baker now?"
"No, the Baker is..." The darkness, she thinks. "Something else," she says. "Something she's better off without."
She glances up at Nathaniel, expecting him to look curious, expecting him to pry, but he doesn't. "So the Baker's Wife leaves the Baker for the Prince?"
Rebecca wishes the real story was that simple. "She leaves the Baker for herself. The Prince just happens to be there."
Nathaniel laughs, and Rebecca feels some of the tension that had started building in her spine unwind and dissipate. "Not an especially romantic entrance for the Prince."
"Well, the Prince is kind of an asshole," Rebecca teases. She tilts her head back and presses a kiss to the space beneath Nathaniel's ear. "But the Baker's Wife likes it."
Nathaniel makes a noise deep in his throat and then he's moving, threading his fingers through her hair and shifting to kiss her, his mouth hot and eager against hers. "Then what?" he whispers against her lips, his other hand sliding between them to cup one breast.
"This is quite a sexual musical you're having me write all of a sudden, Mr. Prince," she tells him, even as she rolls her hips into his, even as she leans in to kiss him again, all-consuming.
"Would you rather I take over?" he counters once she's freed his mouth again.
She pulls his hand free from her hair and pins it over his head, her fingers encircling his wrist. "You should know better than to interfere with an artist's creative vision."
"Mmm, okay," Nathaniel says, skimming the thumb of his free hand along her ribs. "But can I make a suggestion?"
"If you must know, we call those 'notes' in the theater," Rebecca says, putting on an exaggerated accent and grinning at the way Nathaniel rolls his eyes.
"My note, then," Nathaniel corrects himself. He nudges Rebecca's nose with his own, catching her full attention. "I think... the Prince falls in love with the Baker's Wife."
All the tension and excitement and arousal that's been stirring in Rebecca's blood slows and congeals, radiating warm in her veins. "Oh," she says softly.
He tilts his head at her, just a little, his teeth catching at his bottom lip. "I- is that okay?"
"Well, in that case," she says, her voice a little less steady than she intends, "the Baker's Wife should fall in love with the Prince, right?"
"That's up to the Baker's Wife," Nathaniel replies, sounding strangely shy.
She leans back in, her smile pressed to his smile. "Then yes," she says, "I think she does."