I often find myself at times daydreaming about kissing Oliver Godfrey. It's seriously not fucking healthy, but when he skulks around the tour bus and hotel rooms just publicly making out with Candice it outwardly makes me want to vomit, but inwardly turns me on a bit.

But once, I was turned on by watching him eat an apple, so it's not that odd.

They've been going at it for about an hour now. Candice straddles him on the couch against the tinted windows where the Los Angeles sun beats down on the rich and famous. Her fingers have intertwined around his neck, pulling him closer, while his rest in the back pockets of her daisy dukes.

My fingers are fiddling for a cigarette, instead tearing up bits of paper from my notepad that I'm supposed to be writing songs in. Not that Mitch Simmons has ever had a look in – all our songs are written by machines just trying to make a quick quid so they can feed their families and afford the bus home.

The songwriters are great, writing to a formula that'll make the girls cry and scream and think about us stood next to them at the altar.

But they're not my songs, they're not my feelings.

There's a rumbling in the distance. It's soft at first, like tyres on freshly paved tarmac or maybe it's growing thunder of a storm perched on the top of a mountain. Or maybe, it's a bit of both. I squint and move to the window, pressing my forehead against the glass because I know no one can see me do it from the other side.

"Jesus. Fucking. Christ."

Candice and Oliver's mouth noises stop as they look over to me, and Luke appears, still in his pyjamas despite it being three in the fucking afternoon and going on American television later. Demitri is in his bunk and has been there since my birthday, four days ago. Fuck knows how the team are going to get him ready to actually leave the bus this evening.

The four of us kneel on the couch in a line and stare out at what looks like the ocean. It has a harsh current and it's loud like I've never heard it before. It's inviting, even for someone like me, but it's dangerous too; the most dangerous thing I've ever seen.

The ocean is a swarm of teenage girls. Teenage girls crying, teenage girls screaming, jumping, waving placards with our names and our faces on. I spot a few 'Scott's and 'Scottie's and I feel my cheeks warm. Most of the placards say 'Luke' and 'Oliver' and I'm not surprised. Luke's already standing up to reach his hand out of the window that's tilted open slightly, a smirk playing on his lips.

"What're you doing? You daft twat!" I yell, but I've got a smile too, because we've all become giddy, even Candice, who giggles behind a hand and moves closer to Oliver, who squeezes her shoulder. I'm not looking at him, for the first time today probably, but I know his eyes are on me. I know the feeling I get when he looks at me; like a million tiny needles are pressing onto my skin; not exactly piercing, but just enough pressure to make me feel something.

"They're here to see us." Oliver almost whispers, as the crowd begins to chant Purple Envy.