"Man is many things, but he is not rational."   - Oscar Wilde

147 days until the premiere.

[Wednesday 08:45 a.m. 42b Dulwich Road, Herne Hill., Brixton]

Harry woke with a grunt, and with a killer hangover, he realised as he blinked his eyes open. Blimey, he thought as he placed a hand over his head, he wasn't even sure how he got home last night.

There had been Gin & Tonics and at the end of the evening, the tonic had turned to mere gin. There had been dancing, laughing and flirting,...Had he been flirting with Louis? Did they-? He snapped his head to the other side of the bed and exhaled in relief. It wasn't Louis laying there next to him. That wouldn't have been good for anyone.

As he looked at the blonde man he remembered more dancing, and more gin, and himself stumbling around searching for someone. Louis popped up on his cornea once again, Louis and his oversized black hoodie with sleeves so long his hands disappeared inside them. God, Harry had been flirting with him, hadn't he? He gave out another grunt. Why couldn't he keep his hands to himself? Why did he have to be such an embarrassment all the time?

The man next to him turned around, facing away from Harry as he exhaled a long breath. Harry was quite certain his name was Tom, but just quite. Unsure if he was supposed to wake him up or not, he reached for his phone.

There was one missed call from Sarah and one from Liam, and then there was a text from an unsaved number. He frowned and opened it.

07.45

Not dead

Was the only thing it said and Harry smiled in realisation. He had been searching all over the place for Louis. Of course, and he had been nowhere to be found, so Harry grabbed a cab back home with Tom and then it all went a little blurry again. He eyed the time and pushed himself out of bed. He was supposed to be at work within thirty minutes, but first, he would need to take care of the crippling hangover. He buried his face in his hands before stroking them downwards over his neck and-

What was that? He traced his finger backwards over his throat, put light pressure on the spot underneath his jaw. Felt the heat when blood rushed to his cheeks as he circulated his finger over the spot. He debated with himself whether he should go to the bathroom to give it a proper look in the mirror as his finger still lingered over the lump. Why hadn't he ever felt it before? Or had he felt it but now it had grown bigger? The skin underneath his finger grew sore from the pressure but he couldn't stop touching it. He inhaled a lung full of air, felt the dizziness threatening as he sat himself down on the bed, forcing himself to move his hand, but it was too late. He had felt it and now he couldn't think of anything else. Not about the fact that he was running late for work or the fact that he's nightly companion rolled around as he woke up.

The only thing on his mind was this lump. This lump that he knew would be the end of him, the sickness that would spread in his body like poison. It would eat the last of his strength, it would feast on his body until he was no more than a person slowly fading away in a white gown of death in a hospital bed that smelled like his worst nightmare. He was dying. He knew he was and what's the point to do anything when you already know you're doomed? He laid himself down, pressing his arms against his chest as he felt the tears well up in his eyes. He buried his face down into the pillow and swallowed, and swallowed, and swallowed but it didn't help.

"Good morning," Tom whispered and moved closer, grabbing Harry by the waist underneath the duvet.

The panic was so thick in Harry's throat it felt like he couldn't breathe. The last thing he needed right now was this man, this stranger, touching him, "Tom," he said with a strained voice, "I think you should leave."

"But-" Tom said, confusion written over his face, but he didn't remove his hand from Harry's waist who bit back another tear. He wasn't supposed to become like this in front of people, only when he was alone.

"Now!" Harry commanded and pushed Tom's hand away who rushed out of the bed to grab his things.

"Did I do something wrong?" Tom looked at him with knitted brows as he moved towards the door.

Harry sighed, "Just leave, please."

"Fine, alright, I'm on my way," Tom said and opened the door, "Nice way to start the day, really." He muttered under his breath as he slammed the door shut. Harry held his breath as he waited for the front door to close and when it did, he clutched his arms hard around his chest and burst into tears.

[12:06 p.m. Jermyn Street Theatre auditorium]

"Repeat after me," Jeff said and looked at Harry with big demanding eyes, "You little fool! You have destroyed my love. Killed it. How could you embarrass me in front of my friends?, with passion this time. You hate her for doing this to you!" He gesticulated wildly in front of Harry's face, "What Sibyl has done to you is the greatest betrayal."

Harry inhaled, peaked down at his script before signalling he was ready, "You little fool!" he called out, disgust in his words, Jeff nodded in encouragement, "You have destroyed my love," Harry continued, "Killed it." He clenched his fists, taking a step towards Jeff who's eyes burned with delight, he was finally doing it. Acting without stumbling on his words, "How could you embarrass me in front of my friends?"

"Yes, that's what I'm talking about! That's the passion I've been missing!" Jeff said, smiling widely as he gave Harry a light push to the shoulder, "Ready to do it again? With Camille this time?"

"Sure," he agreed, knowing that Camille would rather do a scene with Tommy Wiseau than with him at that moment. She hadn't said a word to him since Sunday morning, and Harry had no idea how to approach her. He watched as she put her water bottle aside and rose from her seat, avoiding Harry's eyes. Great, he thought as she placed herself before him, how the fuck was he supposed to act with someone who didn't even want to look at him?

Jeff cleared his throat, the usual signal for them to begin, but Harry couldn't until Camille looked at him. She was turned towards him, but her eyes were placed inches away from his face. Had he hurt her that much?

"Cam,..." he begged her, knowing full well she understood how uncomfortable this made him.

Jeff leaned forward in his seat, "Come on guys, we're waiting." Nothing, she refused to look at him.

"Camille, is there a problem?" Harry looked up as he heard Louis voice from the upper section, and Camille turned to look at him.

"No, everything's fine," she said, forcing a smile.

"Good, then there's no problem for you to look Harry in the eyes so he can begin?" Louis asked, holding a pencil against his lower lip. Camille sighed but did as he said, and she looked anything but kind. Harry swallowed, tried to ignore the coldness shooting out from Camille's eyes.

"You little fool!" Harry shouted, keeping his concentration steady to not lose track of his lines. He needed to prove Jeff wrong. It was crucial, "You have destroyed my love," he continued, but Camille's dark gaze made it difficult to keep in character. Could she just drop it? Only for now he wished, but she wouldn't. 

"How-ehm," No-, no, no, no. Not now, not when everything went so well, "How dare you to embarrass me-" he swallowed hard, pushing away the knot growing in his throat as the spotlight began to burn. Pearls of sweat forming in the curls of his neck. Fuck, "How dare you," he shook his head in desperation. The sense off Jeff's eyes looking at him like a hawk searching for its prey forcing him to close his eyes. He couldn't breathe.

"Harry," Jeff said, and Harry knew he was about to rise from his seat to come down to the stage. He didn't want to meet his eyes. He didn't want to be here. It was all too much, everything, it suffocated him, "Take a deep breath," the next time Jeff spoke he was standing in front of him.

"Jeff-" Camille tried to say something but Jeff stopped her.

"Harry, you need to get a grip," Jeff placed a hand on Harry trembling shoulder, who without thinking pushed him away.

"Don't, not now," Harry said, still with his eyes closed. He was in a full-blown battle with his own mind, and the last thing he needed was Jeff to push him any further.

Jeff took a step closer, "You need to solve this."

As if he didn't know that, "I'm not bloody stupid," Harry hissed and opened his eyes. Why were they pushing him like this? Why did they want to suffocate him? Couldn't they see he was drowning there right in front of them?

"Tell me what happened. Why did it become like this? What can I do to help?"

Maybe because I'm fucking dying and you all would probably laugh me right in the face if I ever said something about it. Maybe because you're asking too fucking much of me. Maybe because I'm bloody useless. Nobody can  help me, "I don't know."

"You do know, and you need to tell me because we can't keep working like this. You know that." Jeff kept his voice calm, but he didn't understand. He didn't understand a damn thing.

"I can't do this," Harry whispered, panic in his voice.

"What?" Jeff leaned closer, and Harry stumbled backwards.

"I can't fucking do this!" He yelled and met Jeff's eyes. He needed to understand that Harry wasn't capable of doing this. He needed to understand that he was wrong by giving him the part of Dorian, "I can't anymore," Harry said, voice shaking as he leaned down to grab his script from the stage, "Give my part to Zayn or whatever. I'm done," he stated and before storming down the stage he threw his script against Jeff's chest who caught it just in time.

He rushed down the stage, ignoring the crowd of shocked eyes that followed him as he grabbed his jacket and bag. Everything drowned in the sound of his vibrating pulse, his blood boiling in his veins. He could barely feel his feet as he ran up the stairs. The last thing he heard before slamming the door behind him was Jeff calling out from the stage, "Louis, let him be, don't follow him!"