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evening, which means Louis will have the kids for four hours before

he‟s no longer allowed by the school to keep them there. That‟s four

hours to get as much work as he possibly can done while he‟s got the

maximum amount of manpower. In addition to the cast and crew,

Niall‟s pulled some of the orchestra kids and Zayn‟s pulled some

strings with the art club and Harry‟s managed to sweet talk a few of the

footy boys who aren‟t already in the play. He wants to say that his

friends are independently incredible, but he‟s also offering free all-you-

can-eat pizza to everyone who comes to help, so he doesn‟t think the

students are acting solely out of the goodness of their hearts.

He pulls one of the orchestra kids aside at one point, one of the section

leaders, to thank them for helping out, and the curly-haired girl just

looks at him with confusion in her eyes. “He asked us to,” she says,

pointing at Niall. “He‟s a legend, we‟d do anything he asked.” Louis

makes a mental note to ask Niall how he can turn his students into good

little soldiers as well.

The one person who is acting out of the goodness of his heart is Liam,

who texted Zayn earlier in the week to tell him that he finally has a day

off this weekend and ask if Louis still needs his help. Zayn has been

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anxious about it all week, though he‟s been surprisingly quiet. Louis

assumes he must just be dealing with it by writing odes to Liam‟s

compassionate soul in the moleskine he keeps inside his leather jacket

or something. He can only imagine what Zayn is going to do when

Liam shows up in the flesh that night, as was the agreed arrangement.

That‟s later, though, and for now Louis just needs to focus on the actual

rehearsal. He can use the prospect of laughing at Zayn as the carrot to

get him through what promises to be a very, very long day. The extra

help isn‟t supposed to arrive until six, but Harry, Niall, and Zayn will

be around all day trying to make as much progress on the set as they

can on their own while Louis oversees the rehearsal itself. They aren‟t

getting the costumes in until Monday, but at least he‟s had the whole

cast off-book for weeks and hardly anybody is tripping over themselves

during the dance numbers anymore. The play itself is looking great, and

he feels incredibly grateful for the cast and crew that he has. If he had

an extra pence in his budget, he‟d buy them a cake or something.

Right, then. Nine o‟clock. Louis heaves a sigh and abandons the prop

table he‟s been fussing over backstage.

As he steps out from behind the curtain, he surveys his domain. The pit

is full of Niall‟s orchestra minions warming up, bless their hearts. He

can‟t imagine that any of them care about him, particularly, but he‟s

pretty sure they‟d follow Niall to the gates of hell, and they‟ve turned

out in droves. If he shades his eyes, he can make out Niall and Harry in

the sound booth in the back, fiddling with the controls for the lights.

Zayn has a backdrop spread out on the floor and is setting out paint

cans and rollers. The cast and crew are milling about, looking half-

awake but at least present and alive, which is good. All goes according

to plan. Louis makes a contented noise and walks to center stage. Time

to go to work.

And, honestly, the rehearsal goes as smoothly as Louis could ask. It‟s

everything he remembers Saturday rehearsals to be, but his cast is just

so solid that even with all the chaos, he only has to correct them a few

times and for the most part can just let them get as many reps of the

show as they can fit in nine hours. He has to hand it to Stuart for taking

his assignment as male lead to heart and assuming leadership of the

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cast, because his energy is infectious and he makes everyone around

him even better just from playing off of him. He‟s all over the place,

prompting lines when other actors drop them and helping Harry‟s

football lads when they‟re struggling with a complicated part of the

choreography. Louis sees him leading Mike Kendall through a

particularly complex set of steps and feels very proud indeed.

All the while, parts of the set are slowly coming together around them.

Harry and Niall have all the lighting trusses ready to go up as soon as

the stage is done being used for the day, and Zayn has finished a lot of

the basic painting and moved on to details and shading. He has Harry

somewhere backstage trying to finish up one of the prop cars now

while Niall is busy going over a few changes in the arrangements with

the band. It‟s coming together, and Louis hasn‟t caught his breath yet,

but he‟s starting to feel like they‟re really going to pull this off.

Zayn disappears around half five, and Louis finds him in the boys‟

dressing room, leaning into a mirror and fiddling frantically with his

hair. Right, he‟d almost forgotten. Liam‟s supposed to be arriving in

thirty minutes.

He leans in the doorway, watching the sad spectacle. “Preparing to

storm the beaches, babe?”

“Shut up,” Zayn says without even sparing him a glance.

“If he likes blokes I promise he already wants to fuck you,” Louis says,

and Zayn rolls his eyes, “and if he doesn‟t, the right hairstyle isn‟t

going to change his mind.”

Zayn purses his lips in the mirror. “It calms me down,” he says, turning

and brushing past him to the door. “And you know this isn‟t about

trying to fuck him. This is romance, Tommo.” He waggles his

eyebrows and then disappears backstage.

“If anybody shags on my set I‟ll have your balls, Malik!” Louis shouts

after him.

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Hearing a soft gasp behind him, he turns to look at the shocked-looking

year ten who just walked out of the women‟s dressing room.

“Shouldn‟t you be in the orchestra pit? Go on,” he says, making

shooing motions with his hands. She scurries off with a squeak, looking

somewhat scandalised.

Louis wraps up rehearsal at six with a speech about how proud he is of

all of them and a fifteen minute break before divvying up projects

between the students and setting them to work on the set. A decent

number of Harry‟s boys show up, as well as more of Niall‟s orchestra

kids and Zayn‟s art club recruits, and altogether they have a pretty

sizable team. The artistically inclined kids get put on painting duty,

while anyone capable of lifting helps to get the lighting trusses

mounted and the rest are handed staple guns and hammers and

measuring tape.

Aside from the hour Zayn spends sulking after Liam texts that he got

called in unexpectedly and won‟t be able to come until later, it‟s a

productive night. Louis is feeling pretty confident by the time he

gathers the kids for one more “massive thank you” and dismisses them.

It doesn‟t last, though. Once the kids are gone and it‟s just the four of

them left, everything is open in front of them and it‟s clear to see how

fucking much they still have left to do. How is that even possible? How

can there still be so much left? Is this some kind of cosmic joke? Do

two more unfinished set pieces spring up every time they finish one?

Will it ever be done, or will he die of exhaustion and old age first? If

the prop cars were fully functional, Louis would be seriously

considering lying down in front of one and begging Harry to run him

over.

He looks at Zayn, who looks at Niall, who looks at Harry, who looks

back at him, and they all just sort of stand there, looking at the set. Just.

Looking at it.

“Shall I order more pizzas, then?” Niall says.

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And that‟s how they wind up sprawled out on their backs an hour later,

half-eaten pizzas strewn all over the set and not a single inch of

progress since the kids left. Louis is lying across the soda bar they built

for the diner scenes with his head pillowed on a pile of fabric that needs

to be turned into curtains at some point. He may never move from this

spot.

Of course, it‟s then that the theatre doors swing open and the cavalry

arrives.

“Hello!” Liam announces, tromping up to the stage with a smile. “Sorry

I‟m so late!”

He‟s got on a plaid flannel over a white undershirt and work boots and

he looks fresh as the fucking morning dew. He‟s not wearing a tool

belt, but he does have a battered canvas and leather tool bag slung over

one shoulder. Zayn seems too exhausted to do more than turn an

unattractive shade of red and choke a little on his mouthful of pizza.

Louis sighs. He really was looking forward to giving Zayn shit all

night, but he‟s just not sure he has it in him anymore. He feels

exhausted and slightly inadequate just looking at Liam, and it‟s using

up the last of his energy.

Liam is standing in front of the stage now, smiling around at all of

them with his hands clasped in front of his chest. Nobody moves.

“Where d‟you want me to start?” he asks Louis.

“I don‟t know,” Louis says, more to the cosmos than to Liam himself.

“I don‟t even know.”

“Sorry,” Zayn says, having cleared the pizza from his windpipe.

“We‟ve been at it since nine this morning. We‟re a bit dead.”

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“It looks great, though!” Liam says. He hops up on the stage, and this

close Louis can feel the energy radiating off of him. It hurts. “A few

more hours of work and it‟ll be done.” All four of them groan at that.

“Aw, come on,” Liam says. “It won‟t be that bad. We can make it fun!

Here, we‟ll start with this—” He walks over to an unfinished prop table

and picks up one side. “Niall, grab the other end, yeah? Niall?”

Niall just stares at him.

“Zayn, collect your person,” Louis says. Zayn just sort of flops an arm

out ineffectually.

“All right,” Liam says, dropping his bag on the stage and bending down

to unzip it. “I suspected this might be a problem. Luckily, we have a

way of dealing with this sort of thing in my line of work.”

Liam pulls a six pack of Red Bull out of his bag and plunks it down on

the stage in front of him.

Well. That‟s an interesting turn of events.

Several cans of Red Bull and forty-five minutes later, Louis has to

admit that he‟s caught a second wind. And a third. And a fourth. He‟s a

fucking tornado, actually, and so are the rest of them, hyped up on the

combination of chemicals and exhaustion and each others‟ energy.

Louis is half-heartedly trying to figure out the schematics for the set,

but it‟s pandemonium and Niall is literally in the rafters and there are

grease stains everywhere and Harry‟s throwing pizza at people.

“What a shot!” Louis says, manic in his announcer voice as a piece of

pizza collides with the side of Zayn‟s face. “Directly into the face of

Zayn Malik! Excellent form!” The slice slides off Zayn‟s face and

lands cheese side down on the floor. “And he sticks the landing! Oh,

that‟s gonna be a big score right there!”

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“I‟d like to thank my mum,” Harry says, covering his heart with one

hand. Somewhere up above, Niall has starting singing God Save the

Queen. “And also Louis Tomlinson, whose arse has inspired me even

in my darkest times.”

“And here I thought it was my sparkling personality,” Louis says.

“Lou, there isn‟t a human alive with a personality that outdoes your

arse,” Harry says with a wink. “Sorry to disappoint.” Louis schools his

face into faux-disappointment before going for the nipple pinch,

pleased when Harry squeaks and smacks his hand away.

Louis looks around for another victim and spots Zayn at the side of the

stage, scrubbing the pizza sauce off his face with a napkin and sporting

a look on his face that‟s an equal mixture of blind canine affection and

utter panic. Louis strolls over to get a better look, but things aren‟t any

less dire up close.

“What‟s that look on your face?” Louis says, squinting at Zayn and

poking his cheek. “You look like you‟re trying not to throw up

poodles.”

“Louis,” Zayn says. “Liam is here.”

“Yes, I know, Zayn,” Louis says. “He‟s been here for like an hour.”

“No, but, like,” Zayn says. “He‟s here. And, with the, the tools. And the

building things. Oh my God.”

“Are you having a stroke?” Louis says as Zayn‟s knocks over his

second paint can in the last ten seconds. Zayn seems to have lost

control of his hands. Also his face. Is it normally possible to look

terrified and aroused at the same time?

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“He‟s so fit,” Zayn says. “He‟s so fit, and I think the Red Bull is giving