We don't stop.

We just keep playing and playing and singing and singing really fucking badly on Oliver's part.

Poor Oliver; his voice has become hoarse and scratchy but ends up sounding sexier than ever. I make him shout and hold notes for as long as he can. I make him sing about the things he loves (the fans) and the things he hates (the gym) and his hopes and his dreams and I hope to God the fans outside can hear.

I've never taught someone to sing before but I think I a pretty good job because when I tell Oliver he's not terrible anymore, just bad, he punches me on the arm and it hurts but I love it. He gives it a rub when I wince and my skin sets alight. I look at him and he looks at me. I'm so fucking high on happiness that I think about just kissing him, right here right now. I think about how his lips would feel on mine, the same thought over and over that I've had for two years now.

It haunts me, but in this moment, I feel maybe its right, maybe it wouldn't backfire?

He touches me, he stares at me, he smiles in a way that no straight boy smiles at another boy. Am I so blind that all I see are signals, when he's just being a best friend?

And then I think maybe he's leaning in, maybe he's reaching cup my chin. He's going to do it...I'm so fucking elevated.

Oliver grabs his phone instead, and turns it back on. I know he's been thinking about the whole time we've been stuck in here, a total of three hours. The best fucking three hours of this whole trip.

Better than sex with Parker Watts? Well, I don't know.

His phone starts beeping violently that I actually see it shake a little.

I laugh. "Mate, turn your notifications off like the rest of us."

"They are off. They're from Candice." His voice is quiet as he scrolls through her text messages. There's ten of them.

I move around so I don't have to read them upside down.

Oliver! Where are you?

We need to talk about this.

Please stop ignoring me!!

OLIVER. PLEASE.

I NEED TO EXPLAIN.

STOP READING THE TWEETS.

...i love u, remember that, ok?

"What's going on?" His brow's furrowed, quickly texting her. I snatch my phone up, turn it back on, and get on Twitter faster than anything.

And there's a new hashtag trending; #GTFOCANDICE

GTFO? Who even says that anymore?

I look back at Oliver and he's...he's gone pale.

"Oliver?"

His face doesn't move. It's stoic, he's just stood there staring down at his phone like some God damn statue and it takes a few more 'mate?'s before he turns his phone around I see it.

It's a picture, uploaded and retweeted thousands of times of Candice at the Dawn Senate party. It's a little blurry, and taken at a weird angle, as if the person didn't want them to see. But it's so obvious; it's so obvious that the boy she's kissing is not Oliver.

But Luke Cartwright.

.....

Oliver Godfrey is not a man of anger.

Words I would use to describe Oliver are gentle, caring, warm, and fucking gorgeous. But not angry, not seething rage coming out of his pores.

He doesn't speak to me during the ridiculous fucking labyrinth we created for ourselves to get away from the fans in the studio, who were all chanting Oliver's name in support or some shit.

He's silent throughout the journey back to the hotel. Our Uber driver even has the audacity to look at Oliver through the rear view mirror and say "Tough break, man."

I want to punch him in his perfect, American teeth.

Oliver still doesn't speak to me when we ride in the lift to the top floor, past guests who do a double take when they see us storm through the halls. I don't know what's going to happen but I'm scared shitless.

Who is he looking for, Luke? Will Luke even be here?

He reaches Luke's room, steam coming out of his ears like he's a fucking runaway train, and bangs on the door and doesn't stop until we hear a groan the other end.

Luke opens the door in just his boxers and his hair out of his ponytail, and rubs his eyes. And Oliver punches him in the face.

Blood splutters from his nose as it collides with Oliver's fist. But Oliver doesn't stop there, he grabs Luke and pushes him onto the floor, straddling him and just keeps fucking punching.

"YOU EVIL BASTARD." He screams, punching and punching until Demitri's at my side and we've both got a hold of one arm each, pulling Oliver off of him.

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TRYING TO PULL, GODFREY?" Luke's nose is spilling out blood, purpling at the sides. He grabs tissues from a table, piling them up his nostrils. "You trying to fucking kill me?" Never mind his nose being red, his eyes are fucking out of this world, his hair is greasy, and he's slightly skinnier than usual, like he's dramatically lost weight. Like it's being snorted out of him.

Oliver doesn't try and wrestle out of our grip, but he doesn't make it easy for us to hold him.

"You've been fucking my girlfriend, Demitri's sister. It's all over Twitter. The whole world knows!" We let go of him when he stops squirming. Despite making Luke's face bloody, he's not accomplished, he's not let it all out. He's still hurt, still broken.

"What?" Is all Luke says, before glancing slowly to me, of all people, he looks at me.

I know I'm in love with Oliver. I know I should be happy that his girlfriend has done the dirty on him. But seeing Oliver, his face wet with tears and his knuckles bloody, I'm not happy, I'm not happy at all. Because watching band mates fight like this, watching them scream and punch each other, it's the worst feeling in the world.

There's a shuffling of feet behind us, and Candice has appeared, her makeup running down her face in comical black lines, her voice like a mouse's squeak. Oliver looks at her, maybe looking for something that might reveal that the story is false. But her face says everything, and Luke's face, well Luke's fucking smirking, his mouth and his nose red.

Oliver barrels through them, heading for the hotel's staff stairs. Candice and I race after him, and while we run together, we're doing it for very different reasons.