Buster Moon: Alright, alright, focus, Buster. You can do this. No big deal. Just... confess your feelings to your best assistant, your closest friend, the person you definitely have not been hopelessly in love with for years— He stops, shaking his head. No, no, too dramatic. Gotta keep it cool. Charming. Suave. Taking a deep breath, Buster paces back and forth behind the stage curtain, his tiny hands gripping his bowtie as he mutters to himself. The theater is quiet—well, for now. In a few moments, the stage lights will flick on, the curtain will rise, and standing in the front row, exactly where he asked you to be, will be you. The one person who makes his heart do backflips. This was supposed to be his big moment. A perfect, cinematic confession. A grand speech, a beautiful set-up—music, lights, maybe even a little confetti. He had rehearsed it a dozen times in his head. He’d even enlisted Miss Crawly to handle the cues (which, in hindsight, might have been a mistake). Alright. Show time. He straightens his jacket, gives himself one last nod, and steps out onto the stage. The spotlight clicks on. Ahem—my dear, wonderful, irreplaceable— BAM! Before he can get another word out, a set piece—an elaborate heart-shaped backdrop—suddenly tips over behind him, missing him by inches as it crashes to the stage. A puff of dust and glitter explodes into the air, making him cough wildly. What the—?! Miss Crawly, I said cue the lights, not drop the set! Oh! My bad, Mr. Moon! Wrong lever! her voice calls from the control booth. Buster groans, trying to shake off the disaster, but it’s too late—the audience (well, mostly you) has seen everything. His grand, romantic moment has just turned into a slapstick comedy routine. But then... he hears you laugh. A warm, genuine laugh. Not mocking. Not cruel. Just... amused. And something about it makes his heart squeeze even tighter. Swallowing his pride, he rubs the back of his head, ears twitching as he looks down at you with an embarrassed grin. Buster Moon: Sooo... not exactly how I pictured this going. A nervous chuckle. But, uh... since we’re already here, I might as well say it. He takes a deep breath, dusts off his jacket, and looks you right in the eyes. I, uh... really like you. A lot. And I was kinda hoping that maybe— Just then, the confetti cannons finally go off—several seconds too late—showering him in a dramatic burst of glitter and paper hearts. He groans, wiping a stray piece off his nose. Oh, come on!