The bus has been pulled right up to the back of the hotel, so the logistics of moving our shit is quick and easy. The fans know we're leaving; I can almost hear them sobbing, pleading us to stay just for one more day, but we've got the rest of the country, the rest of the world.

I sit in an Uber. I know what I'm doing. I've left the band, just for the afternoon, just for some peace and quiet, just so I can wrap my head around everything.

Then, it'll be that fucking bus, where Oliver lies topless every fucking evening because it's too fucking hot and everyone'll be agitated and so will I because it's not all how it was supposed to go, is it?

"Are you OK there, buddy?" The driver asks me as I sit in the middle seat in the back. I'm not crying or nothing, but I'm rubbing my eyes like I am, stinging ruthlessly at the thought of being in close quarters with everyone again.

I don't know if I can take it anymore.

We pull up, I pay, and I climb over the gate. I got no time for calling and waiting for someone to buzz me in, I need to do this now. It's different to how it looked when we came for the Dawn Senate party; the house is still fucking huge, but it's silent, calm. Rubbish splayed along the grass, but no cars, no people, no music.

I find that, once I get to the door, they've got no security either. It's free for me to walk in, I don't even have to push the door open, I can see the foyer from the front step.

I don't see another human 'til I come to back garden. It looks different; there's no infinity pool looking over beautiful Los Angeles, it's a proper garden. Trees line the perimeter, and in the centre is another swimming pool, sky blue with a water fountain in the centre.

Am I seeing this right? Does this place have two fucking gardens, the other lost somewhere in this labyrinth?

Parker Watts is lying on a deck chair near the pool, his shades on, fag dangling from his mouth. There's birds and the trickle of water, there's no one here but him. I think he might be asleep, but without turning to face me, he says "Scott! Glad you could make it! This crowd is cramping my style."

He didn't invite me, I didn't even tell him that I was coming, but when he looks up at me and I see my reflection in his sunglasses, I see that my brow is creased, I'm confused as fuck.

Parker shuffles in his deck chair, his shirt, of course, is flung I don't know where, and he makes room for me on the deck chair. There are plenty of other loungers, chairs, inflatable animals, but I still make myself comfy next to him.

He smells weirdly clean, except for the strong smell of nicotine.

We watch the still pool. "Where is everyone, Parker?"

"The band? Umm, I think they went bowling. The theatre, maybe? I don't know."

"You didn't fancy it?"

"They didn't want me there." There's a silence between us, and I turn to him. He just stares back; a cocky mouth and sad eyes.

"They said that?"

"They didn't have to, Scott. They haven't said anything, actually. It's weird, I grew up with them and now, they pretend I don't exist." I'd only knew Luke, Demi, and Oliver for two years, and while Luke had done the unspeakable, none of them had actually turned their backs on me because I was gay. And Parker sits here in this giant house, alone.

"I'm sorry about the other night."

"Which night?"

I raise my eyebrow. "The one where I beat you up? I thought you outed me."

"Us, outed us. And, I think you'll find that I definitely beat you up." He winks, and I punch him on the arm.

Parker flicks his cigarette into the pool, and kisses me.

And I let him, because why the fuck should I feel down all the time?

He straddles me, slowly letting me melt under each kiss, until all I can hear are our mouths together and the fountain in front of us.

"When are you leaving?" He asks during the in betweens.

"Not 'til 5."

"That's plenty of time."

"To do what?"

"Oh you know; play Fifa, order takeout, jack each other off."

"Sounds like an afternoon."

He kisses me again, but not before saying "We could stay here, just the two of us. We have the money, we have everything."

I look back at him, at his sharp jaw line, at how I didn't notice his hair slightly damp, as if he's just showered or been for a swim. Stay here; in this party house, do nothing but eat, play on the Playstation, and have sex with a guy voted one of GQ's hottest men of all time, every night.

He stares me down, waiting for an answer. He knows what he's going to get; he knows this can only last one afternoon. Once I pass through the gates, I won't be coming back.

"I really am sorry about everything. It was Luke by the way, he thought I was blackmailing him and so he thought he'd do it back."

"Straight people are weird."

"Yeah. It's not...completely fucked up, right? I mean, there's some positive impact. I reached 47 million followers the other day."

"I got 48 mil." Parker grins, and so do I.

"You cheeky shit! You're lying!"

"For real, I did!" He reaches into the back pocket of his low riding jeans and fishes for his phone. He gets up Twitter and presses the screen into my face. Fuck, he's not lying. "I'll tell you what; if you win Fifa, I'll give you a shout out, tell people to follow you because honestly, you need them." I try and clout him across the ear, but he moves out of the way.

"And what if I win?" He undoes the buckle of my jeans. "Ok, got ya."

Parker climbs off of me, and I stretch my legs. I think, in some alternate universe, I do stay for the rest of my life, and maybe in that world, I'm happier.

"Fifa first?" He askes.

"No fucking way mate."