ghost light.

lost.

The lights of the theater lifted with a soft glow as the applause died down, the crowd standing from their seats and filing out of the house and into the lobby. Normally you weren't the type of person to go out on a weeknight, you much preferred the solidarity and comfort of your own home but leave it to your friends to drag you to the closing night showing of this new up and coming play.

Of course they'd never been more insistent on taking you out than in the recent weeks, claiming you'd been "throwing yourself into work" or "needed a self care day" or even needed to "treat yourself" with how you've seemed to nearly drown yourself in deadlines, positively overbearing yourself with work. They were right of course, credit to their concerns. Your schedule was nothing but iced vanilla americano filled mornings, late nights and trying to manage countless projects in between. The lifestyle you lead was intensive and demanding, being a working artist. Crafting 3am paintings to guarantee a steady timeline or distracting yourself with planning a gallery showing, picking up freelance and other commission work here and there if need be, which evidently seemed often in order to make ends meet.

If you were being completely honest though, everything was a distraction but you'd been clear and cautious with your quite limited social endeavors, nothing inherently draining. The whole situation had gotten to the point where the cafe around the corner from your apartment had your order ready, sitting and waiting at the same time daily and you had local takeout places on speed dial. This type of lifestyle was the only outlet you really ever knew, practically second nature to you by now. Contrary to your belief though, your friends weren't as content with your situation, seeing as they convinced you to this night out.

Oliver, one of your closest friends and the orchestrator of this night's shenanigans, called you up to offer a free ticket to a show he had to cover for an article, a show that coincidentally featured your other more melodramatic friend Lydia in the cast. They'd both been unconditionally supportive of you and your career, especially with your recent given habitual tendencies, so it was only fair to support both of their career ventures. He dropped phrases like "hot new director on the rise" and "a show with the flair of the avant-garde" and several others, trying to curb your appeal.

On the other hand though, Lydia had been a bit reclusive with her demanding rehearsal schedule, the director pushing for the company to evolve into some type of Broadway tier level of professionalism which inevitably called for increased rehearsal days in addition to an added week of tech. It left the quaint apartment you shared often lonely but you respected her schedule, texting her when you both had free time since you'd assumed it wouldn't be that far off from your own personal schedule.

She always tried to sneak in ways of trying to get you out and about on free days but your schedules just didn't match with the demands of her insistent director. She wasn't privy to giving too much detail about the show, something about maintaining 'artistic integrity and suspense', well that and she'd usually end up passing out on the couch or making a beeline to her room after rehearsals, not leaving much time for small talk. Ironic how they're both concerned about your schedule and hermit habits when both of their schedules aren't far off from paralleling your own.

Still, you'd let yourself be coerced into ditching the old paint stained band tees you wore around the house during your work sessions and forced into some socially acceptable attire for this theatrical excursion. For tonight, you donned a fitted black midi dress with nude strappy heels and a denim jacket, accompanied with a simple black clutch and a thin gold pendant necklace that dropped just below your collarbones. Classy but still you, nothing eccentric for tonight. Nevertheless, you had to admit that it was a nice night out, something refreshing to switch up your schedule.

Oliver pulled you out of your thoughts, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder then letting it fall to offer it to you as an invitation to stand. You'd let him guide you out and towards the lobby, idle chatter surrounding you as audience members basked in the after-show glow and bewilderment. He'd dropped your hand to slip his phone out of his pocket, tucking his small notebook and pen under his arm as you both stopped in the corner of the lobby.