The Leonard Baxter interview has done nothing but elevate us.

We were popular in America before, but now we're fucking cool. Especially Demitri; who tabloids and celebrity blogs have labelled 'mystery', like he's some Marvel comic character, like he hides in the shadows and waits, biding his time.

Usually, he's just playing on his old Gameboy.

This evening is a show much like our old shows; a handful of guests, a small stage, nice lights, the smell of beer from the stale bar, and of course, welcomed paparazzi.

The air inside is sticky, and clearly not prepared for us. We pass the queue on the outside through tinted windows, where nobody suspects us. Bands with real instruments and real lyrics play here, not some boyband with shitty dance moves and beats you can't get out of your head. The bands that usually play here are rockstars, but they call us youngsters.

"Ok, this is the shit." Luke beams as we're guided through a corridor with posters and marked quotes tattooed along it's walls. My combat boots, though sturdy, are still sticking to the floor. "This is where we're supposed to be."

"Intimate gigs are great for publicity, proves you're human." Mitch walks in front; stride confident and proud, like he's showing his kids around his new condo. Luke runs his fingers along the walls, no doubt catching an STD. "I want eye contact with each fan in that crowd."

"Is that even possible?" Oliver whispers to me at my side, making me smirk. I caught glimpses of lucky fans that are no doubt filling the floor now. A lot of them are underage, and there's a strict ID check for each and every person who's planning on ordering anything. Apparently, they planned for it to be over 18's only, but the amount of fans being alienated was a catastrophic amount.

Our demographic is 15-20 year old girls; you can't bar them from a gig like ours, regardless of where it is.

"Yes!" Demitri shouts when we reach the side of the stage and he spots the drum set. Musical instruments are a luxury on stage, instead we're left with microphones, and sometimes I get a keyboard for the slower numbers. But for Demitri to have drums, and seeing one or two guitars too, I feel like we're being spoilt rotten before we're made to do stadiums.

It'll be like a jam session, except on a stage, I can handle that.

I look to Oliver, whose skin is glistening from either the warmth down here, or from something else, from nerves. I allow myself to press one hand against his back.

"Mate?"

"I'm fine."

"It's just like the early days, remember? Before the stadiums."

"I like the stadiums." And so do I; but this, this is what I auditioned for.

Before I can answer, there's a guy on stage, in a fedora and fat rimmed glasses. He looks like he'd be anywhere other than introducing a 'mainstream, mass produced, performance act' or some shit.

But the crowd doesn't let him spout a half-arsedintroduction, as they all scream our names.