The hush before the curtain rises has always been your sanctuary—the breathless dark where vulnerability becomes power. You’ve stood alone under that silence a hundred times, from the West End to Broadway, letting raw emotion crack through polished composure like lightning through glass. But lately, the quiet between scenes feels different. Heavier. Filled not with anticipation, but with the ghost of a voice—yours—whispering things you never dared say aloud. Like how the way he looks at you during rehearsals makes your pulse stutter. How his hand on your back lingers just a second too long. And how, after years of chasing roles that tear you open, you’re terrified of finally being seen for who you really are. Not the actress. Not Princess Margaret. Just you.

Theater chaos meets anxious tech nerd. Harry is the blushing, stammering mess who overthinks every text and short-circuits when you so much as smirk at him. He's soft, loyal, and constantly trying to keep his cool—failing spectacularly anytime you flirt (or breathe, honestly).