Song(s):

                                                                          "Fade" - Lewis Capaldi

Louis walked into living room and halted before the couch. Niall and Liam were lying on it; a big, assaulting tangle of limbs and drool. Their legs and arms were arranged in angles Louis hadn't known were even possible. They were both still wearing their clothes from the night before, now crumpled and stained.

Louis watched them for a few seconds, then let himself drop on top of them. Niall opened one eye and squinted up at him, holding up his hands to block the sunlight, and winced. Groaning, he dropped his head back again, hitting it on the wooden edge of the couch. "Ouch."

Liam now also groggily opened his eyes, grimacing. Niall tried shoving Louis off the couch but Louis held on tight, nearing his face to Niall's. "Morning, Neil. How do you feel?"

"I feel that you're an evil gremlin and like I'm about fifty percent dead or a hammer is smashing my skull."

Louis slightly pulled away again. "Thought so."

Niall threw an arm over his eyes. "How are you so cheery and awake? You were as drunk as we were."

"Well, about that," Louis said, pulling Niall's arm away from his face again, forcing him to look at him. Niall did so reluctantly. "I guess grave, grave mistakes make one sober up a bit."

Niall narrowed his eyes. "What'd you do, Tommo?"

Liam sat up a bit. This was probably the first time Louis saw his hair not perfectly styled and his shirt not perfectly ironed. It felt extremely refreshing.

Niall squinted up at Louis. "That bad, huh? You look like you were caught stealing stuffed animals from an orphanage." Niall folded his arms and waited. "Spill."

Louis squirmed a bit. "I don't know why I still tell you guys things." Liam and Niall merely raised their brows in unison, watching him impatiently. He sighed. "Fine. So-" He pinched his face, biting his lip. "I kind of... slept with Harry?"

In one second, Liam and Niall rearranged their limbs and sat up as if electrocuted. "What?" Liam demanded.

"Tommooo," Niall called and shoved Louis' shoulder. Louis rolled dramatically off the couch and onto the floor, where he landed facedown. "Why'd you do it? I thought you didn't even like him!"

"Well, I don't," Louis mumbled into the floor. "He's confusing and annoying, but you can't deny that he looks way too good. Have you seen those arms? Besides, I was drunk as fuck. I don't even remember that much of it."

Niall and Liam exchanged a look. "Was it good?" Liam asked.

"I told you, I don't remember."

"But you have to remember something."

"Well, I think we went for round two, so it couldn't have been that bad." Louis avoided looking in their eyes, and instead kept his face squished against the carpet. "He even slept here."

"Here?!" Liam burst out. "You mean, he slept here? In your bed?"

"Yeah, I think so. At least he was here this morning. And we sort of... talked."

"Oh oh," Niall said and gave Louis an accusing look. "What did you say to him?"

"Nothing!" said Louis defensively. Niall raised his brows and Louis sighed, throwing up his hands. "Okay, fine. I may have been a little impolite."

"What do you mean?" Liam asked, narrowing his eyes. "We need more explanation."

"I told him that he shouldn't get his hopes up and that I still don't like him or plan to be friends or anything. He didn't take it that well. But I mean, I was just telling him the truth. What was I supposed to do? Lie to him?"

"You were supposed to be nice!" Niall yelled, dropping back into the cushions. "Why can't you just be nice to him?"

"That boy doesn't need my niceness. He has money and is privileged and so goddamn annoying. And I don't want to have anything to do with him."

With another heavy sigh, Niall scrambled off the couch. "I'm too hungover for this conversation and for you in general."

"Heey!" Louis protested from the floor. "You once promised you'd always be there for me, remember? That also means listening to me and cheering me up."

Niall leaned over him. "Yes, I promised to be there for you. Which I am. In here." He gave Louis' heart a tender pat. "Silent and hungover." He stumbled to the kitchen, dragging a still half-asleep Liam behind him.

Louis stayed on the stained carpet and stared up at the ceiling. He'd lied. He did remember the night before. Not clearly and detailed, but he remembered flashes of it. Skin against skin, the hot tightness of Harry around him, heads thrown back in pleasure, exploring tongues and hands. He also had the strobe quick memory of pink lips around his cock- and then darkness as his eyes had closed and all his awareness had poured into other senses.

Without realising it, his fingers had started softly touching a small red love bite on his collarbone, and another memory flickered behind his eyelids. Harry sucking that exact spot, soft pink lips leaving their mark.

Louis abruptly sat up, wrenching his fingers away from the small red spot. No, he wasn't going to do this. He wouldn't reminisce about a night with boy he didn't even like, especially since he could feel himself already getting half-hard in his pants.

The thing was, he wasn't even so sure why he had been so cold to Harry in the morning, not even given him a short glance. But maybe it was because when he had woken up in a light room and everything had seemed so clear and detailed all of a sudden, he had suddenly felt exposed and disassembled. Vulnerable, maybe. Naked in more senses than the literal one. He had felt like he could be so easily dissected in this light, all the parts that were no longer functioning being on display for everyone to see and inspect. For Harry to see. He had hated that feeling, had wanted the dark blurriness of the night before back in which he could be whatever he wanted to be and nobody took a closer look at all the cracks in his skin.

When he had been younger, Louis, like so many people, had always been afraid to pull his blanket up over his feet while sleeping because of the completely irrational fear that someone would come to chop off their unprotected ankles, even in summer when he had been sweating under the heavy fabric. That's what Louis had felt like in that moment. Like exposed ankles peeking from under the safety of a warm blanket. And he hadn't been able to stand it.

So, he had gotten up and taken refuge in one of his biggest sweaters, lighting a cigarette to form a further wall in form of the smoke. And then he had taken the third measure to escape back under the blanket. Making Harry Styles and his eyes that felt like magnifying glasses or a microscope on Louis' skin leave. The last little touch to his heavy fortress, maybe the moat.

The thing was that now, suddenly, the blanket didn't feel so safe anymore. It just felt sort of chokingly dark and suffocating.

-

Zayn's head snapped around from where he was stacking his comic books in some order that didn't make sense to anyone but him. "You what?"

Harry buried his face in his hands. "I slept with Louis Tomlinson," he said, voice muffled by his palms.

Zayn dropped one of his Batman issues. "Harry."

"Don't look at me like that!"

"Like what?"

"Like you're judging me and like I made a stupid decision and will regret it for the rest of my miserable existence!"

"Will you?"

"Yes!" Harry said, dropping heavily into the next chair. He spun around and turned himself upside-down, letting his head hang off the bottom, dusting the floor with the tips of his hair.

Tending to his beloved comic books again, Zayn said, "Was it bad?"

Harry threw up his hands. "No! That's the worst part! From what I remember, and that's not a lot, it was incredible!"

"Then why do you regret it?"

Harry stared at him incredulously. "Why? Are you really asking me that?"

Zayn nodded like it was the most obvious thing in the world and lovingly regarded a picture of Deadpool in his hand.

"Where do I start?" Harry yelled out. "First of all, he hates me and the feeling is now mutual. Secondly, he finally agreed to joining our group and then I immediately had to go and literally fuck it all up. There's no way he's going to come now."

"He did last night, though, didn't he?" Zayn chuckled but when he saw Harry's expression his laughter quickly ebbed off and he turned back to his comic books. "You don't know that. Maybe the night with you made him realise that you're his soulmate and that he loves you or summat."

Harry gave a dry, humorless laugh. There was nothing Zayn couldn't turn into a penny novel romance. "Yeah, sure. Our wedding is tomorrow, you're invited. The theme is cigarettes, depression and regret. Wanna come? I think it'll be a lot of fun."

Harry could feel his head fill up with blood from hanging upside-down, so he sat up with a small grown and slightly winced. (He was still sore from last night, a fact he tried as hard as possible to forget about.)

"Maybe you actually don't even need him and the play will be a complete success anyway."

Harry sighed, pushing dusty hair from his face. "I don't know. As much as I love him, James doesn't have a clue what he's doing. None of us do. The thing is, I was really looking forward to working with him, was excited. Until I met him, that is. That was the moment my excitement was suddenly met with a major damper."

Zayn looked at him with dark, almond-shaped eyes. "I'm sure you can do it together. There has to be someone who has some ideas."

"The lack of ideas isn't the problem, they're all just not very good." Harry scrambled off the chair and stood next to Zayn, regarding the stuffed shelf. "Are you really sure you don't want to join us?"

Zayn nodded his head with a small smile. "Absolutely."

In that moment, the phone in Harry's pocket buzzed and he fished it out, looking at the screen. It was a text from Niall.

Hey Harold! Wanted 2 ask if maybe my mate Liam could tag along tomorrow for that theatre group of yours. Wanted to make him do something else than sit around and iron his shirts for once. I'll take that as a yes, See ya later!

Harry looked down at his phone with a surprised smile and typed out his response.

That's perfect! The more the merrier. See you later xxx H.

Zayn leaned over his shoulder and read what he typed out. "You still do that weird H thing?"

Harry slid his phone back into his pocket. "It's not weird. It's loving and personal."

"What was that about?" Zayn asked and stashed away another one of the sheer endless amount of comic books.

"Niall told me that his mate Liam would also join."

Zayn's head whipped around so fast it was a miracle Harry didn't hear his neck crack or snap. "Really?"

Harry gave him an alienated look, narrowing his eyes and pushing up his bottom lip. "Umm, yeah. Why? Do you know him?"

Zayn coughed a little and then turned back to the shelf, a small flush creeping up his neck. "No...." A beat of silence in which Zayn arranged and rearranged the issues before him, blush still intact. "Hey, H? I thought about it again and I was wondering if maybe... well... do you think I could... I don't know, like... Maybe that theatre group will be fun after all, do you think I could still come with you? You always talk about them so much, I'd love to meet them finally."

A grin spread on Harry's face as he raised his brows. "Of course, Z. You sure you haven't met Liam before?"

Zayn cleared his throat, avoiding Harry's eyes. "Don't know. I think I may have seen him a few times in town. He's the one with the brown hair, isn't he? With the warm brown eyes?"

Harry brows went up even further. "When have you ever left your house? You can tell me, Z."

Zayn sighed. "He saved Mr. Whiskers from being run over by a car, okay?"

"A shame," Harry joked- Well, half-joked. Zayn glared at him and Harry quickly played his laugh off with a small cough. "So, you like him then?"

"No!" Zayn protested, the blush intensifying. "No, it was just really nice of him to save Mr: Whiskers. He suddenly ran away, Mr. Whiskers not Liam, and I followed him and I saw him running toward the street and was really scared but then" -he cleared his throat and there was a tiny smile on his lips- "that boy with the brown hair came and picked him up and gave him back to me. He was really nice. Smiled at me and everything. I think he also said something but I couldn't hear anything, so I didn't reply."

"Well, I'm pretty sure he's a fireman so it's kind of his job," Harry said.

Zayn looked at him with a dreamy expression. "He is?" A tiny sigh. "A fireman," he repeated as if testing how the words would feel in his mouth. Judging by the small smile still on his lips, he liked it.

"Then you could talk to him during rehearsals," Harry suggested.

Zayn's smile disappeared, replaced by an expression like a scared animal. "God, no."

Harry sighed. "Why not?" He had seen this reply coming, though; knew Zayn too well to still be as naïve as to believe he would actually start a conversation with a stranger. Well, a stranger who rescued your naked animal from an oncoming car. Actually- "Where there even any cars on the road?"

Zayn shook his head. "No, but there very well could have been."

"Yeah, I guess... So, you'll come along tomorrow?"

Zayn contemplated it for a few seconds, staring at the comic books before him with absent eyes, then he took a deep breath. "Yeah. What time?"

"Eleven."

"But that's before noon!" Zayn said, shocked.

"I weep," Harry deadpanned.

"I swear you're some weird form of alien species that gets up before noon and drinks green smoothies with strange herbs in it."

"That's called spinach and isn't a herb. Besides, no one consumes more strange herbs than you do, just in another way," Harry said, sniffing the weed-heavy air.

Zayn went back to sorting his treasures. "Great minds need their freedom."

"That doesn't have anything to do with anything."

There was a dreamy look on Zayn's face. "I'll see you then, H. And I'll see him, too." The last sentence was nearly a sigh, said with a small smile and then a nervous bite on the lip.

Harry had to grin, but then dropped backward onto Zayn's bed, covering his face in his hands. "Okay, now let's get back to me and my shame and agony over my own stupidity."

"Did anyone ever tell you you're very narcissistic, Harry?"

"I'm sure Louis Tomlinson would have if we hadn't started making out. Which leads us back to my stupidity and my hatred for Louis Tomlinson."

-

"I don't want to go!" Louis yelled and stumped his foot like a little boy.

Niall stared at him. "How old are you, Tommo?"

"When you stop behaving like you're my mother then maybe I'll stop behaving like a little boy," he said, crossing his arms.

"And when you stop behaving like a five-year-old, then maybe I won't have to act like your nan."

Liam stepped into the hallway, dressed in nothing but the towel slung around his waist. Gee, that boy had abs. Louis may have stared for a tad too long. Then again, so did Niall.

"Didn't you promise him you would go?" Liam asked Louis.

"Yeah, but that was before we drunk-fucked and started despising each other again."

"I don't think you despise him. Would you have slept with him otherwise?"

"Of course I would have! There's no denying what a pretty boy he is and in that moment I would have done pretty much anything, that's how wasted I was. And I do despise him."

Liam walked up to Louis and grabbed him by the shoulders. "You're dripping on me," Louis pointed out, holding up his finger to Liam's wet hair.

Liam ignored him. "You don't even do this for him. You do this to get on the stage again. You're doing this because you love it, alright? So, stop whining and get your arse to the theatre."

Niall peeked over Liam's shoulder. "He's right. You'll wither like a flower if you don't get some stage light on you soon. You need attention to practice photosynthesis."

"Humans don't practice photosynthesis," Louis gave back with a cocky smile.

Liam turned to Niall, confused. "They don't?"

"Doesn't matter. What I'm trying to say here is that you, Louis Tomlinson, need the spotlight like flowers need water to grow. You've been wilting in front of my eyes for way too long and yes, Harry Styles will be there, so what? He's a nice lad and you could at least try to be friends."

Louis pulled a face. "I don't think so."

"But you'll go."

Louis sighed and rolled his eyes. "Fine. But I won't talk to Harry Styles any more than I absolutely have to and if he tries to talk about The night I will leave immediately."

"Do whatever you want to, Tommo. But do it quickly, 'cause we have to be there in" -Niall glanced at his watch- "Oh. Three minutes ago."

Liam's head whipped around, horrified, and he quickly sprinted back to the bathroom, ripping the towel from his waist and starting to rub his wet hair with it. "Why didn't you say anything?! We are late because of you! Shit!"

Niall and Louis gave each other a look.

-

The local theatre was not only tiny, but also run-down and looked like the entire building might collapse any minute. But despite its run-down state, the hall looked- loved. Louis could see these signs of affection and care everywhere he looked. There were rags and scarves hung over the worst-looking parts of the wall, the floor was surprisingly clean, probably recently wiped, and there were no cobwebs in sight. And the stage- Well, it was a stage. Admittedly, one of the smallest stages Louis had ever stood on and that included the one he had performed the Christmas story on in middle school. The night he had known he wanted to become an actor, a performer. What would that Louis think if he could see how he would end up one day?

Louis, Niall and Liam were sprinting down the aisle, the small group of people standing on the stage staring at them with big eyes, surprised by their sudden arrival.

"Sorry we're late," Niall panted as they passed the red velvet chairs leading to the stage. "It's Liam's fault. He took forever in the shower."

They climbed up the few steps, joining the others. Harry was standing among them, regarding them -or rather, Louis- with narrowed eyes and pressed-together lips. Well, this would be fun.

Louis was a bit surprised that today, Harry wasn't wearing one of his expensive blouses, but a worn-out Rolling Stones shirt that looked too big on him, and his usual black jeans that were practically painted on his thighs. The Rolling Stones shirt looked a bit like the theatre. Scruffy and faded with a few holes in it, but still loved and somehow even glamourous.

"Jaaames!" Niall said loudly, walked up to a chubby, small man, and hugged him tightly. The man hugged him back with a bright grin. Of fucking course Niall already knew all these people here. "Let me introduce you to these young fellas," Niall said to James, turning to Louis and Liam who were awkwardly standing around, not knowing what to do with their hands. Liam decided to leisurely put them into the pockets of his blue jeans, making him look even more like he was right at home on the cover of an M&S Blue Harbour catalogue and Louis next to him even more fidgety. Great. "This is my new flat mate Liam," Niall told James. "And this is my good ol' friend Louis."

James gave him a kind smile. "We've already met." Oh shit. Right. The first week of living in their new apartment, James Corden and his wife had knocked on Louis' door, introducing themselves to him and invited him and "his partner" (supposedly Niall) to a dinner party at their place. Louis had accepted the tuna salad they had brought him with the attempt of a polite smile and that was that. He hadn't wanted to talk to them (or anyone, really) at that time and since James had mentioned something about his love for theatre and musical especially, he had guessed their true intention. Or what he had thought to be it, at least. Seeing James now made it hard to still believe the only reason for his visit had been curiosity about the broken, fucked up, way-too-young theatre actor who had shocked the world with his up-fucking.

James grinned at him with a beaming expression that Louis could only describe as 'Niall-esque.' James held out his hand. "It's great to have you two on board. I think this could really shape up to become something great."

Liam and Louis both shook his hand, then James turned to the watching group of people around them. "So, this is our small group. That's Eleanor." He pointed at a young woman with long brown hair who was staring at her phone with a bored expression. When she heard her name, she quickly glanced up and gave a little smile to no one in particular before directing her attention back to the phone.

James pointed to a man standing next to Harry with quite an enormous pompadour and quite an enormous green shirt. The man gave Liam and Louis quite an enormous grin and a wave. "That's Nick. And the tall man next to him is Greg." Nick whispered something to Harry and Harry laughed a bit. Louis had to resist the urge to roll his eyes and he didn't even really know why. Everything Harry Styles did had somehow become an eye-rolling-inducer.

"And those guys over here are Clare, Adam, Sarah, and Mitch," James concluded the introduction circle, pointing at the four people in quick succession. They all smiled at him, giving little waves. Well, three of them, that was. The fourth, Mitch, just sort of stood there like he was made of ice or stone, not moving a muscle. It was unnerving, to say the least.

James clapped his hands, opening his mouth to start speaking, when suddenly a loud crash from the other side of the stage made them all whip around. Even Eleanor looked up from her phone, nearly dropping it in shock. A boy emerged from the dark backstage area, covered all over with dust and cobwebs. Oh, so that was where all the dirt was hiding.

"Hey, H, look what I found back there! There's a whole lot of old paint, but I think it's still usable. But I fell from the chair when I tried to reach- Oh." He suddenly stopped when he saw all the people gathered before him, staring. The boy turned tomato-red, going completely silent. He had raven-black hair and was wearing skinny jeans over toothpick legs. He looked like one gust of wind might tip him over. That was to be seen.

You could have heard a pin drop on the floor when, finally and to everyone's relief, Liam held out his hand and walked up to the boy with a polite smile. "Nice to meet you. I'm Liam."

The boy perplexedly shook Liam's head, staring at him with big eyes. "Yeah, I know," he stuttered.

Liam's thick brows raised a bit. "You do?"

"Yeah, you- we... You saved Mr. Whiskers."

Liam stared at him, confused, before his face suddenly lit up. "Oh, yeah! Of course I remember! Lovely cat, you have there."

Louis could hear Harry make a strange choking noise from where he was standing between Nick and the stone statue Mitch.

"Sorry, mate, but you've got some cobwebs in your hair," Liam continued when the boy didn't reply anything and only stared at him, flustered. Liam tucked a few white strands from his dark hair and snipped them away. "What did you say was your name again?"

"I'm Zayn."

"It's very nice to finally meet you, Zayn. Though you have to stop getting yourself in these dangerous situations or maybe there won't be a third. Running in front of cars, falling off chairs, who knows what's next."

"As long as you keep saving me that's fine," Zayn said with a tiny laugh and then turned gray when he realized he had said the words out loud.

James seemed to sense this conversation going in some strange way and cleared his throat. "Now that everyone's met, let's start, shall we?" Everyone turned their attention to him; well, everyone except Zayn who was still regarding Liam with a dreamy look. "First of all, thank you all for coming, I know we will have a great time. Secondly, as you probably know we will have one performance of whatever play we decide on and we have to try to get as many people to come as possible. But just a reminder: It's not about how many people watch, it's about how much the people feel while watching."

Louis' left eye started twitching with the oppressed impulse to roll his eyes. He could see the people around him, especially Harry, smile at James' words.

"And even though I'll be directing the play, what I really want is for all of us to do this thing together and if you have any suggestions or ideas just go out and say them. Starting with possibly the greatest decision of them all: What play do we want to perform? I was thinking musical. Yeah, I definitely think it should be a musical."

Oh god, no. Musical. Of fucking course it had to be a musical.

"'Wicked'!" Eleanor yelled out excitedly, clapping her hands.

"I like it!" James replied happily, pointing at her. "Any other ideas?"

"'Oliver Twist'?" Niall said. "I once performed 'Oliver Twist' in school, t'was pretty cool."

"'Lion King'," Nick suggested and picked the Asian woman, Clare, from the ground while singing the Circle of Life. She laughed and jokingly hit him until he set her down again, that big grin still in place.

Harry raised his hand. "I'd love to do 'Mary Poppins'." This sparked an imagine in Louis' mind of Harry in his golden boots flying around with an umbrella and skipping through painted landscapes with penguins. It did not seem too fallacious. Actually, it was way too easy to imagine.

"I think 'Mamma Mia!' would be great!" Greg suggested.

Another few suggestions were thrown out, varying from 'Annie' to 'Les Miserables' (Harry of course suggested 'Hair' which came to no one as a surprise). Nick only ruffled his long locks as reaction which made Harry look even more like a more refined and urbane Tarzan.

Maybe Louis should suggest they perform Tarzan.

He didn't. He didn't say anything.

"Those were all great ideas, thank you," James chimed in. "But since we can't be able to agree on anything, I would like to suggest something now. Drumroll please-" Sarah pretended to hit an imaginary drum set, letting go of stone statue Mitch's hand. "'Cats'!" James announced with a small flourish and wide grin. "What do you think?"

Everyone nodded brightly and started clapping, except for Louis who just sort of stood there, dumbfounded.

No way.

"No way." This was the first thing he had contributed to the discussion and everyone turned to him with a frown.

"Why not?" asked Adam.

"Because it's stupid. And there's no chance you'll get me to wear a cat costume."

"It's a great musical," Clare said. "And could be a lot of fun to perform."

"That's bullshit," Louis said before he could stop himself. He skimmed the faces before him. "Sorry, but that's why your last performances have been so shit. Just reenacting a mediocre musical obviously won't be good."

"Maybe we should take a little break," James said, looking around, uncertain. "We'll continue in five."

Louis snorted and turned around, making his way off the stage and down the aisle, trying to ignore the burning eyes on his back, following him as he pushed open the door and left the building. Outside, he leaned against the stone wall and fumbled for a cigarette in his pockets.

Five minutes later, his cigarette was almost fully smoked and he didn't feel any better. What had made him think this could actually be a good idea? That he could just join a shitty theatre group in a shitty small town and suddenly, acting would be easy again? What had made him think that he could just forget about the life he had had, the one in which he had stood on stage almost every night, hearing the smattering applause of an audience that had loved him?

But standing on that tiny stage had actually unexpectedly felt good. Having the dark wood under his feet, the red velvet of a curtain next to him, looking out over seats waiting to be filled with people. It had almost ached in his chest, this familiar, incredibly addicting feeling of being on stage. After watching a performance of his, his mother had always embraced him and said, "You were born for this, Lou. You were born to be on stage." And Louis had always believed her. But after that night, when he had fallen off his beloved place, his stage, he had stopped believing it.

Standing in a theatre again today, feeling the soft velvet under his fingertips- maybe she had been right after all. It had certainly felt a bit like... like coming home, maybe.

Turning to the empty audience, he had almost expected to see it filled with people, expected to see his family sitting in the front row with proud faces. They had always been in the front row, cheering the loudest at the end of the play.

Someone cleared his throat behind him. Louis turned around with a small sigh. "What?"

To his surprise, the person standing behind him was stone-statue Mitch. "Hey."

This was the first time he had heard him speak and it caught him off guard. He hadn't even been sure Mitch was able to speak. And he also hadn't expected him to be American. "Hey."

Mitch leaned against the wall next to him. No one said anything and Louis drew hard on his cigarette. "I once watched a play of yours in London," Mitch finally said. "You were good."

"Thanks."

"You're right, by the way. Our last few performances were really fucking horrible. Eleanor once messed up her lines so bad she started crying during the scene. But with you- I thought we could actually have the chance to be good, or at least decent, for once. And trust me, what all of those people lack in talent or knowledge about theatre, they make up for in passion and love for it. Thank you for resisting 'Cats'. I don't think my dignity could endure wearing one of those costumes. But you should go back in there now and help them. You have some great things to say and you should say them. And then this whole thing could maybe turn out to not be complete disaster after all; or at least we won't have to be ashamed to go out on stage that night and have people watch us for the entirety of the play." Mitch shuddered a bit at those words. "We all thought Harry's idea to bring you in was brilliant, and I still think that. So. Yeah. See you, maybe." With that, he pushed himself of the wall and vanished inside the building again.

Louis stared at the door for a few seconds, thinking. Finally, he dropped his cigarette butt and ground it out with his shoe. Fucking hell.

-

The door burst open and, once again, everyone's heads whipped around as Louis Tomlinson, once again, strode down the theatre aisle way too late. And once again, Harry hadn't expected him to show up at all.

Louis climbed the steps onto the stage and then stood there, arms crossed, face defiant. He looked like a stubborn cartoon character. Harry didn't get why Louis had refused for them to perform 'Cats'. In Harry's opinion, he would be perfect for the musical. He reminded Harry of a cat. The way he lounged on his small brick wall behind the café, soaking up the few drops of sunlight, smoke above his head. Also, he was confusing and creepily smart like a cat and Harry didn't trust him- not anymore, at least. And the way Louis sometimes pulled up the sleeves of his sweatshirt to cover his whole hand and rubbed his eyes with it was also something a cat would definitely do. And Harry definitely shouldn't know about that habit.

"Alright," Louis spoke up, regarding the people before him. "I'd like to say something: Your idea is bullshit. You shouldn't perform 'Cats' and you definitely shouldn't simply reenact it. That's old and stale and boring. And that's not what this should be. I think you – we - should make something that is completely our own, or at least something old but make it our own. Make it new and exciting. Everyone can reenact an old musical, sing the same songs, wear the same ridiculous costumes. But let me tell you something: That's shit. That's boring. Let's write our own story, or give a new twist to an old one. And if you really want it to be a musical, then write your own songs. Design your own costumes- I'm sure Curly over there already has a lot of those in his wardrobe. And I know all of it will probably be really horrific, but at least it will be unique. And what more could you ask for?"

Harry could see Louis swallow before he continued. "When I was an actor in London, the plays I was in were done by real professionals, they were, in all means of the word, great. Well directed, beautiful costumes, solid scripts- marvelous acting, of course"- he did a small curtsy at those words and the room chuckled a bit- "But you know what they didn't have? Courage. They were all stale - good, but boring. And I think we could really do something crazy here- I mean, we don't have a reputation to lose, do we? I know I definitely don't anymore. And the only people who are gonna see this don't care anyway. So let's do something insane. Something that's completely us."

Looking around, Harry could see small smiles on everyone's face as they started nodding. "And what play do you suggest?" Clare asked Louis.

Before Harry could think about it, he could hear his own voice answering her. He didn't know what made him say or even think it, but there was something about the sight of Louis standing there, like a little boy, hair lit by a spotlight behind him, making it glow auburn, arms crossed. Maybe it was the sight of the long shadow stretching from his trainer-clad feet over the floor.

"Peter Pan."

Now it was his turn to be stared at by the people around him. Clare's face split into a wide grin, her eyes lighting up. "I like that," she said, nodding in agreement.

The others also made approving noises, and James said, "Well, then it is decided, we will perform 'Peter Pan' but we'll make it our own! Harry, Clare, am I right in saying you two would like to be in charge of the costumes?"

Harry and Clare nodded and sloppily high-fived each other.

"Great," James continued. "Who here can write songs?"

Niall proudly raised his hand. "I study music. Me and Henley will come up with something."

"Henley?" Adam questioned.

"His guitar," Liam and Louis clarified as one.

Behind them, someone cleaned their throat and everyone turned around to see Zayn gingerly raise his hand. "I could design the stage. I love to paint. Spray-paint, in particular."

"Great!" James said with a thumbs-up. "And I guess I will try to write a script-"

"I could also try to come up with something," Louis offered, now a bit more cautious.

James seemed surprised, but pleased with his offer. "Okay, awesome! We'll both try to get something on the page and then compare our notes next time, alright?"

Louis gave him a small smile. "Yeah, alright."

"Great, then let's just clean up here a bit for the rest of the rehearsal and start properly next time. Maybe a few of us should go backstage and see if they find anything useful there."

Ten minutes later, Harry was kneeling on the ground of the audience area, cleaning the fabric of the chairs and the dark floor. Turning his head, he could see Louis standing on the stage next to one of the big curtains, lightly touching the material with his fingers. It didn't look much like cleaning what he was doing.

Not thinking about what he was doing for the second time today, Harry rose from his knees and made his way to where Louis was standing, looking out over the small expanse of the theatre. He looked over his shoulder when he heard Harry approach him.

The last time Harry had been alone with him flashed in his mind, and he could immediately feel his jaw tighten, remembering the way Louis had sat on those steps, not looking at him, all of his words a hard jab in Harry's flesh.

Louis' fingertips were still slightly grazing the red curtain. Harry stared at them. He knew what those fingers felt like on his skin, knew what they felt like inside of him.

Feeling a blush creep up his neck, Harry quickly looked away, focusing on a spot on the floor before him. "Alright, I came here to tell you something," he started. "This is really important to some of us. To me. So, if you don't take it seriously or this is just some big joke for you then please. Don't."

Louis nodded. "Alright, I won't. I will take it seriously. You were right, I miss the stage and for the opportunity to act again, I will give my best. Don't want my first performance after me fallout to be absolutely shit."

"And I also wanted to say that I agree. We don't have to speak to each other, or be anything more than – colleagues. I would very much love it if we could just forget anything ever happened. I mean, nothing really did. We were both drunk and stupid and clearly not thinking straight. No point in bringing it up again. As you said, you still don't like me and I certainly don't like you. So."

"Yeah. You're right. No point in false affections."

"Yep."

"Good idea, by the way. 'Peter Pan'. What made you think of it?"

"Oh. Don't know. I loved the movie and the book when I was little. And maybe it'll give me the chance to fly on stage, who knows?"

Louis gave him an incredulous look. "That's why you suggested it? So you can fly on stage?" Harry nodded. Louis looked up to the theatre ceiling. "I don't think that's possible here. You'll probably just break your neck. And from what I've seen, one shouldn't let you climb a wall, let alone fly around on a wire rope."

"One can hope."

"Indeed, one can."

"I feel like we've just broken our own rule within the first thirty seconds of creating it."

Louis cleared his throat. "Yeah, let's just get back to cleaning."

Harry bit back a teasing comment about Louis' lacking cleaning work so far, and instead turned around to descend the stairs. He threw one last look over his shoulder, though, seeing Louis Tomlinson stand on stage amidst the red velvet curtains, looking like he'd been born to stand on the exact spot. Harry sort of wanted to go back and stand next to him, look out over the invisible audience and hear them applaud.

But as he regarded Louis in the dim theatre lighting, the boy also looked as much lost as he was glowing. A lost boy. And Harry was maybe about to become one as well.

He probably already was.