Harry Styles, the star of London's Jermyn Street Theatre. The main part as Dorian Grey now his to do with what he knows best; to act, but there's not a single script in the world that can teach you how to be someone else when you can't even stand to...
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152 days until premiere.
[Friday, 9:32 p.m. Three Crowns Pub, Piccadilly]
Harry opened the tap to the water, put his index finger under the stream, waited until it was cold enough before cleaning his hands. As he bent down towards the sink to splash his face a curl fell into his eye, and he tossed his head backwards catching himself in the mirror on the wall. His eyes slightly glazed, a subtle blush on his cheeks. He pouted his lips, tilting his head backwards, examining his pale neck, inch by inch until he remembered he had promised himself not to do that tonight. No searching for signs of things he knew would throw him off. He needed this night. He needed to get drunk, to spend time with people, to forget the nightmare of a week he and Zayn had just taken a shot on to toss it out the window.
He gave himself a grave look, "You need to stop," he shook his head to the reflection, "you're driving yourself insane," he whispered to make sure no one outside would hear him talk to himself, "you're not dying, Harry. You're not fucking dying," he curled his lip up and laughed bitterly, dried his hands and left the bathroom.
"Oh, hey!" Zayn called when he saw him step inside, "I'm on my way to the bar, want anything?"
"Hendrick's, a 6. I'll get the next round, yeah?"
"Sure, man. No worries," he beamed and gave him a tap on the shoulder before walking up to the bar. Harry followed him with his eyes for a moment before strolling over to the booth where they were all seated, nodded at the gang when he arrived and squeezed himself down between Nick and Camille.
"What did Jeff tell you about Alan Campbell? Are we supposed to split the part amongst ourselves or is he going to cast someone from the outside?" Camille sipped on her drink, her eyes steady on Nick but eyed Harry for a short second when he sat down.
"Honestly, I don't know what that lad is thinking sometimes," Nick rolled his eyes and put his beer down, "he told me to act as if the part was mine, but he also said there was a possibility he wants to cast someone later on, like, what the fuck? Am I supposed to rehearse two parts and then get one of them taken away from me in the last minute? No thank you, sir."
"Did you tell him that then, big guy?"
Nick slammed his hand on the table and chuckled, "Finally, look who's back, drunk witty Harry being a pain in my ass."
"Oh, you wish I was, don't you?" Harry winked at him and smiled at Zayn when he arrived with his glass of gin.
"God, you two always makes me so uncomfortable," Camille shook her head and Zayn let out an amused snigger as he took a seat across from them, putting his beer down on the table. He cast a fast glimpse at Niall and Liam who sat turned away from the others, discussing something Harry thought had to do with golf or stage lightning, it was hard to tell.
Harry sipped his gin, his face scrunched up as the alcohol passed his throat, "Aw, come on, don't pretend that you're innocent,"
Camille gave him a light slap on his upper arm, "Hey, I am!" she insisted, then turned to look at Nick, "you're my friend, you're supposed to support me in this or is Harry more important?"
