We haven't reached the front door and there's people sprawled everywhere. Cars are parked but there are girls in bikini's lounging on top of them with doors open and even one of them is rocking. Others behind us are running in between the gates before they close again, clearly gate crashing, and bottles and cups line the drive like a red carpet.

"Should we even bother knocking?" Demitri walks in front of us, taking big strides and knocks anyway, like they'd be able to hear us from the insane volume inside and out here. I hear a splash in the distance; of course this house has a pool.

I'm completely sober that it's a little embarrassing, not that I need alcohol to have a good time, but in this case, I feel like I'll need to be off my face to enjoy the company of these twats. I've seen their Twitter and Instagram accounts; utter bellends.

Surprisingly, the door opens, and a guy leans on the door frame, cigarette between lips with red rims around his eyes and he's topless. Parker Watts is for Dawn Senate what Oliver Godfrey is for us; he's the eye candy, with a sharp nose and freckles than run along the bridge of it and an even sharper jaw line. His grey jogging bottoms hang low and his teeth are a blazing white when he grins at the sight of us.

Parker, just like the rest of the band, while trying to be pop-punk will never shake off their reputation as red-blooded Americans. They all have unnatural looking teeth, Caucasian but slightly tanned skin and stupid names; Parker, Aspen, Kashton, and Asher. They were born to be in a manufactured rebellious band with a team writes their songs for them and probably has a backing track for their musical instruments. They were brought up with privilege and red plastic cups and summer houses in the Hamptons.

Looking at him, I suddenly feel grubby, with my slightly crooked teeth and my Northern English accent and my bitten nails. I'm rough, raw, and I've been told that's what people like about me; that something like this could happen to anyone, you don't have to look and sound like Dawn Senate to be invited to the party.

But, let me tell you, it helped.

"Who the fuck are you?" Parker raises his eyebrow at us, stopping from letting us in.

"Luke invited us." Demitri's accent is even more out of place than mine, the Irish countryside oozing out of from his lips like he owns the place. I love it, I love him, and I hope this fucking place doesn't change him, even though I see him change almost hourly these days.

"Sorry dude; can't understand a word you're saying." Parker gives us a cocky grin and then abruptly slams the door in our faces.

"Feckin' Americans!" Demitri screams, kicking the door with his foot and pushes me forward. "You try, Luke said they're baking cookies and eating them off girls in there!"

"Ew." Candice mumbles, "No one wants to hear their brother say that." She turns to me, giving me a little rub on the shoulder for support. I sigh in frustration, and bang on the door just as a Fatboy Slim songs starts playing inside.

Parker swings the door open again, but this time his grin shows genuine warmth and friendliness. "I'm just screwing around! I don't live under a rock; I know exactly who you are! You guys are the shit! We got the mystery," His finger glides over to Demi, "the eye-candy," He looks to Oliver, giving him a wink, pulling his cigarette out of his mouth and chucking it into a bush to our side. And then, he looks to me, his eyes boring into me, his finger moving to just below my chin. "And then we have the talent."

He's read about us on the internet, but he doesn't know us at all.

I smack his finger out the way and charge past him and into the foyer. He stumbles into the door frame and laughs before grabbing a random beer bottle left next to the house phone and takes a swig.

Demi comes up behind me and jumps onto my back, yelping and shouting. "To the bar!" He points in front of me and I'm too giddy to look back to see if Oliver and Candice are ok. The foyer is quiet for a raging house party. Why have everyone hanging out by the front door when you have the rest of the house to explore?

I race through the halls, Demitri still resting on my back and kicking me in the side gently to make me go faster, until I follow the smell of cookie dough and we find the kitchen. I lower him and we spot Luke, who's long hair is wet and scraped back and has oven mits on his hands. A cooling tray of cookies sits on the island counter and another member of Dawn Senate, Kashton, who is their 'mystery', is trying to pick at the cookies without burning himself. But he does, every single time.

"Shit you made it! Demi, in my phone your name is straight after 'Dad' and I got worried I was texting him!"

"Mate, you fucking called me!" They laugh at each other and start fist bumping, while I help myself to every single bottle laid out. In my peripheral vision, I see two girls in flowery dresses eyeing me and whispering to each other. This happens far too often, but it now means I'm skilled in looking like I could actually fuck them. It's horrible, I hate it, and I hope to God they're not fans.

Meeting fans in situations like this is terrible. Are you taking advantage of your fame because they'll do anything you say, or are you genuinely attracted to them? Of course, I'm neither, but they don't know that.

"Hey," One comes up to me, holding a red cup and her other arm using the counter to hold herself up. "Are you Scott Connors?"

"Um...yeah, I am."

She giggles at my accent. "I'm Olivia, Parker's cousin." Phew. "I'm a big fan of yours." Shit. "I didn't know you guys knew Dawn Senate."

"Well," I pour alcohol into my cup until it can't hold anymore. "We do now." We clink cups and both down our drinks and it shoots through my veins.

.....

Two hours later and we haven't left the Dawn Senate party.

We're in the house, this big fucking house, clambering with people and bottles and drugs and booming with music and the walls are vibrating and I haven't been so drunk in all my life. It hurts to have my eyes open, to have my eyes closed, to move, to stand or sit still. I hate the feeling and I love it and it shows when I'm either guzzling water and splashing it over my face, or I'm guzzling alcohol from a tube above me.

And I don't understand why I'm dancing with Olivia Watts.

Olivia has her arms wrapped around my neck, pulling me closer after each drop of a song and I pull away as subtly as I can. We're packed like sardines in the house's basement that's been turned into a dance floor. It's dark but it's bright, colourful lights shining on people's faces and limbs and the speakers in each corner. It's hot, so fucking hot that I can feel sweat dripping down my temples. Olivia's dress is sticking to her body like it would if she were a model in a calendar. It should turn me on.

No, why the fuck should it? Fuck you stupid thought.

I feel absolutely nothing, but I'm human, I know she's pretty and she knows that I know, and it's enough for her.

Sometimes Olivia turns into two Olivia's, and I realise I need some air. I shout in her ear if she wants another drink and she nods, saying she'll wait down here. I scramble up the stairs but the railing isn't enough. People let me hold onto their shoulders and arms, keeping myself up right until I make it to the hall which is littered with people's rubbish it looks like a dump. I'm already lost; I have no clue where anything is, let alone the kitchen, wandering into one of the many living rooms, I'm sure. Cream sofas surround a roaring fire and it's scorching. I'm surprised someone was able to stay stood up and light it.

And then, a big hand claps me on the shoulder and the world goes off kilter.

I spin round, more like I'm spun round, and there's Oliver Godfrey, swaying on his heels with no shoes on. A bottle in his other hand, and his eyes are wide, looking at me with such fondness that I can't help but put my hand on his face.

I just, I just do it. And he smiles, he fucking smiles.

"I'm sorry about before." It doesn't come out right; it's slurred and blurry and I start to see multiple of him too. Jesus; two Olivers. "I sh-...I'm glad I said something."

"It'sgoodthatyoutoldme." It all comes out in one word, and we both laugh at it. I may snort accidentally, but he doesn't notice.

His eyes widen, a light bulb turns on. "Hey!" He points at me. "You should teach me!"

"What?"

"Teach me how to sing! You're...you're so fucking good Scottie. You need to teach me."

I laugh. "Maybe I will." Oliver smiles in relief at me, watching me pull out a lone rolled cigarette that I didn't even know I'd already done in my back pocket. I hold it up in victory, put it between my lips.

"You know, you're my favourite, Scottie."

I'm looking around for a way out of this place; somewhere I can smoke this thing. "Oh yeah, you're favourite what?" I can see some sliding doors which lead out to a pool area. It's packed, and there are bottles everywhere, but it'll do. I take one last look at Oliver and give him a pat on the arm goodbye, before leaving him. He says something as I go, but I don't hear it, just another buzz in the hive.

"My favourite everything." Oliver says.