153 days until premiere.

[09.14 a.m., Jermyn Street Theatre kitchen]

Harry emptied the coffee pot, and with shaking hands he moved the cup to his mouth, only to flinch when the coffee stung the tip of his tongue.

"You're not supposed to drink it like it's water, you know," a soft voice hinted from the kitchen inlet. Harry put on a smile and turned around, to see Camille leaning with her elbow against the door frame, her hair tied back in a tight knot revealing a fading hickey at the back of her neck. Harry blinked and swallowed another sip.

"What's water? I've only ever heard of coffee," Harry leaned back against the sink watching as Camille opened the fridge. She grabbed two bottles of water and put one down between magazines and dirty plates on the kitchen table.

"That's water," she pointed at the bottle, "and I want you to try it. It's good for you, dehydration and shit," when Harry didn't make an attempt to answer, she continued, "why didn't you come out last night? I thought we all agreed on meeting up."

Harry tapped his finger against the cup, debated on whether he would make up an excuse or not, but ended up with a shrug. Camille unscrewed the cork of her bottle,"Was it because of what happened yesterday at rehearsals?"

Harry cleared his throat and straightened up, his hand gripping harder around the cup, "Wasn't you the one who wanted me to cut back on the drinking? And now when I stayed home for one damned night you've got the nerve to question it? Classy Camille, really."

A cough left Camille, a sip of water ran out the side of her mouth and she quickly wiped it away with the back of her hand, looking at Harry with widened eyes.

"I was concerned, Harry, that's why I asked," she screwed on the cork, hesitated and then walked away, but turned again, "just so you know, people around here are growing sick of your bitchy attitude when all we've ever done is trying to show you support. If you don't want to let me in, despite the fact you've done coke from my pussy, that's fine, but don't expect the others to tiptoe around you just because you're too proud to tell them what's going on."

Harry looked after her for a long time, holding onto the coffee cup as if it was the only thing keeping him from sinking down to the floor, screaming out in frustration. He knew she was right. He knew he was a nightmare to work with, and that they all questioned Jeffreys decision the give him the main character after his breakdown in the aftermath of their last production. They had doubted him from the very beginning and he had done nothing to prove them wrong, if anything he had given them more reasons not to believe in him.

Even Zayn couldn't conceal his scepticism any more, he could sense it in the way he glanced at him at home when he thought Harry couldn't see. He could sense it in the way he offered to rehearse lines with him after dinner sitting in the living room on opposite sides of the sofa. He could sense it during every night out, where Zayn's eyes were like hawks following his every move to make sure he would be there when the catastrophe hit. Not to be ready to catch him, no, he was there ready to witness the fall and then pick up the pieces Harry could no longer carry. The part of Dorian Gray, the spotlight, his face on the play-card. Zayn had grown tired of standing in some lunatics shadow and Harry had grown sick of pretending he couldn't see it.

He cast a glimpse on the clock hanging above the inlet, groaned and lowered the last of his coffee. Camille's voice still lingering in his mind as he walked out of the kitchen. He did treat her unfair, but he couldn't help the boiling annoyance that grew inside of him every time she tried to crawl under his skin. He didn't want her concern. He wasn't sure he wanted anything from her anymore.

Before joining the cast in the auditorium he stretched the tensed muscles in his neck, breathed into his hands and closed his eyes. You can do it, it's only for a couple hours, then you can go home and ignore the whole damn world, he soothed himself and stepped inside.

A dozen of eyes turned as the side door opened, and Harry froze in the middle of a step. He was interrupting something, and then his eyes landed on the man sitting at the side of the stage, wearing a dark green sweatshirt with a white striped collar and in his hands laid an outworn manuscript. He was certain he hadn't seen him here before. Then he remembered, the assistant director. Liam's friend, Lu- something.

The newcomer rested his eyes on Harry for a second before waving him closer, "Come to join us, mate. I've just started," and then went back to speak in a low tone with the cast sitting in a circle around him. Harry stepped closer, sat down, catching another glance from the new director. Harry sensed the nerves twitching in his stomach.

"So, since everyone's here I might as well introduce myself again. My name's Louis," he nodded towards Harry, "Tomlinson, and as you all know I'm here because Jeffrey was polite to ask me to come work for him and this wonderful crew," he made a gesture with his free hand around the room, "and since I've always looked up to his work, I couldn't do anything but accept."

Harry paid attention to the strong north-England accent making its way through when Louis spoke, but he couldn't place where from exactly, as if it would matter he thought bitterly but kept his eyes steady on him as he continued.

"I'm very excited to be here and my hope is that I'll be able to bring some new and intriguing ideas to the table. Hopefully, you won't hate all of them," he chuckled.

"Don't worry, Lou, they'll love all of your ideas!" Liam called from the technician's table.

Louis smiled thankfully, his eyes scrunching together in a way Harry couldn't help but find adorable, "Aw, thank you, pal!" he turned to look at his friend who gave him a wink, "either way, I won't take up any more of your time today. If there's anything on your mind, don't be afraid to ask. Alright, I'm done, get your asses back to work," Louis jumped down the stage and strolled over to Jeffrey, who gave him a wide smile before turning to his cast.

"Harry, Camille, I would like to test out the theatre scene, to set the mood for Dorian and Sibyl's interface. Meanwhile Zayn, Niall and Nick, I want you to rehearse scene six and seven in the blue-room upstairs. The rest of you can stay here and watch. Sounds good?"

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, exhaled a deep breath as he walked across the stage, waiting for Camille to get in position as he chewed on his bottom lip. The failure of yesterday's rehearsal creeping up on him.

On Jeffrey's queue, Liam turned the lights off, leaving two spotlights shining down on the stage. His eyes narrowed on Camille as she sat down on a chair, pretending to work a comb through her hair. When she put it down on the non-existing dressing table he stepped out on the stage with his hands enclosed around an imaginary bouquet of white lilies. Heart beating fast, blood ringing in his ears.

"May I introduce myself?"  The practised voice of Dorian Grey gushed and Camille turned on her stool, "my name is,..."

"Shh!" Camille rose and put a finger over his pouting lips, "I want to call you, Prince Charming," she smirked and a faint blush appeared on her cheeks.

"Prince Charming, why yes of course!" Harry shouted in played excitement, Camille's hand travelling from his lips to his shoulder. The ringing in his ears increased as he looked into her big eyes, the knot in his throat repairing in a matter of seconds. Triggering the thoughts he had spent the whole previous night trying to suppress.

Not now, he begged himself. Please, not now. But it was too late, once the feeling got a hold on him he couldn't control it. The flash from the spotlight seemed too bright. The sound of Jeffrey, or was it Louis, scribbling down notes echoing in his head and the sense of Camille's hand on his skin made his fingers twitch. He needed to get away, he needed air.

"Jeffrey, I-" he stuttered, as he brushed away Camille's hand from his shoulder, "I need to take five,"

"Harry," Jeffrey sighed, "we only just started!"

The twitching in Harry's hands increased, his eyes flashing over the room, "I really just need to take a five-minute break, goddammit," on the verge of yelling, "let me take five minutes!"

Jeffrey's mouth snapped shut, "fine."

Harry nodded, rushed past Camille and out of the auditorium, leaving everybody silenced in shock. Jeffrey leaned his face into his hands, muttering under his breath. The man next to him still with his eyes turned at the spot where Harry had disappeared, his eyes squinted.

"What the fuck, Jeffrey? I thought you had talked to him," Camille threw her hands up, staring up at her director.

Jeffrey looked up from his hands, shaking his head, "What can I say, Camille? I've tried. But it's not up to me. It's his life, his choice."

"I get it," she spat, storming off the stage to her chair, grabbing her water, "but you have to do something! We can't work like this. We're getting nowhere because of him," she gulped half the bottle, drying her mouth with the back of her hand, "sure, I understand he's been struggling with stuff, but if it affects his work this much maybe he should get a sick-leave. Seek up a doctor, met a psychiatrist, the hell do I know. Everything's better than doing nothing and destroy the rehearsals for everybody else," she tossed the bottle back in her chair, looking up at Jeffrey.

"I'm sorry," Louis leaned forward in his chair, "but this feels like a conversation a newbie like me need to get a little backstory to engage in," he put his hands together and rose halfway from his seat, "therefore, I'll go out and get a smoke, give you some privacy."

"Louis, there's really no need, isn't it good for you to see exactly what's going on from the start?" Jeffrey asked. Louis gave him a half smile.

"I don't feel right for me listening to something this serious when I haven't even introduced myself properly to the person in question," he stood up and grabbed his jacket, "maybe I'll take part when I've heard what both sides have to say. I'll be back in ten minutes!" he flashed a polite smile and left before Jeffrey had the chance to answer.

[10:03 a.m., Jermyn Street Theatre backyard]

Harry leaned back against the wall, the hairs on his arms rising when a light breeze passed by the narrow space between him and the fence. He should've brought his sweater, but he had been in too much of a rush to think about that. He just needed to get out, to breathe.

His heart rate was dropping, and his hands stopped twitching but the thickness in his throat wouldn't give up that easy. He moved his hand over the place where he could feel it suffocate him, put a light pressure on it in a hopeless attempt to push it downwards, down into his stomach where it could burn best it wanted, as long as he got free from the stinging pain in his throat. He sank to the ground in defeat, resting his head between his knees with his hands in a tight grip around each other, putting all his focus on his breath, breathing in, breathing out.

"That looks cold," a voice spoke, Harry snapped his head up, "oh, sorry, didn't mean to scare you," he added when he saw the shock in Harry's eyes that soon turned to suspicion.

"Did Jeffrey send you? Tell him I'll come back in, I just need a minute," he said while looking down between his knees.

Louis gave out a chuckled and grabbed something from the pocket of his trousers, "Wow, that didn't take long. One hour to be exact."

Harry lifted his head, his brows knitted, "What?"

"Getting the role as Jeff's page-boy," Louis smirked, putting a cigarette in between his lips, "no, Jeff didn't send me. I came out here to smoke. If that's okay with you?" He tried to catch Harry's eye but they stayed on the ground.

"Ehm,..." Harry stuttered and pressed his lips together, "I would rather be alone, but,..." he spoke low, his eyes darted around the yard, stayed for a second on Louis' face and then down to the ground again.

"Yeah, I totally understand," Louis nodded, still with his eyes only on Harry, "but since this one's already lit, is it okay if I stand here for two more minutes and then I'll be out of your hair?"

Harry let go of his hands, his arms falling to his sides, "Uh, well, sure," he shrugged and rested his head against the wall, and couldn't help but cast a glimpse towards Louis. His lips enclosed around the filter of the cigarette, in his left hand he held his phone, scrolling casually as he exhaled a cloud of white smoke. He avoided looking at Harry, and he wondered if he had made him uncomfortable sitting there half on the ground.

"Your name's Harry, right?" Louis asked while putting out his cigarette, tossing it inside one of the ashtrays.

Harry furrowed, meeting Louis eyes, "Uhm, yes."

"Can I just say one thing, Harry?" He asked, taking a step towards the door.

"Can I stop you?" Harry didn't necessarily mean for it to sound so hostile, but a smirk was hiding in the corner of Louis' lips.

"Probably not," he admitted.

"Then go ahead."

"Forgetting your lines isn't the worst thing that can happen to an actor, I'll try to get Jeffrey to remember that. And if I can help you in any way with whatever, just come to speak with me," he said and made sure to meet Harry's eyes, gave him a quick nod, smiled before opening the door and stepped back inside.

"I-, "Harry's eyes widened in shock, "thanks,..." he whispered as the door closed behind Louis.