I feel like my life has been split into two.

There's the one with Parker, where the rest of the world falls away and it's just us. It's my life before the band, the one I had where no one knew who I was. I didn't have Twitter, wasn't even present on social media. In fact, I don't think my phone even had wi-fi.

I'd go round my mates' houses, play games, drink, fight, hang about street corners. I had a shitty little shop job that paid for my trips to Blackpool. I never had someone like Parker though; someone who encompassed all those things in his life too, but was also like me in so many other ways. That part of me didn't exist back then, not properly, not out on the surface.

Then there's the other life, the one everyone knows and hears about. It's my career, travel, absolute freedom from the confines of Northern England. It's money and it's music. It's finding a boy who, despite everything, loves and cares about me, even when I fuck it up, even when he doesn't know how anymore.

Oliver was the only one who was concerned when I came back to the bus late after visiting Parker. He didn't say anything, because it's none of his business, but I could tell in his weak smile and how his hand reached out, yet again, but recoiled when my words echoed in his head.

I hate myself for saying that, but I'm right; I do love it too much.

The road to Las Vegas is long...I think. No, yeah it is. Christ, when was the last time I looked at a map?

None of us are really doing anything; Demitri has created a cacoon of blankets around him, and he refuses to come down from his bunk. I can't hear his Gameboy, I can't hear anything. Luke is being too proud and he won't come near me should I expect an apology, because I know I'm not getting one, the bastard. He's fidgeting like bugs crawl under his skin. There's no gear on the bus, nothing for him to snort. He's not so far gone that he needs to be put in a locked room and go cold turkey, but he's sure as Hell not looking great. His eyes are red rimmed, his skin pale, he's chugging Lucozade like it's got cocaine in it.

And then there's Oliver Godfrey, who keeps talking to me about music and writing and back home. He makes me laugh a few times, and we even get in a few card games. The sun shines out of his eyes sometimes, his hair golden, his smile genuine. Despite everything, I know I'll always have him, in one way or another.

It takes us almost the double amount of time to reach Las Vegas. Four hours becomes eight and my head is resting against the breakfast bar. We realise we're slowing, that we've pulled up at a truck stop.

"What gives, Alan?" Luke yells.

"It's 1AM, lads. I'm calling it. I already texted Mitch and he said it's fine." Mitch Simmons is already in Las Vegas because he flew in on a fucking plane.

I look out the window, but it's so dark that I only see myself staring back. There's a light flashing; my phone going off. Sometimes, I turn on the notifications to see if it slows down, to see if the words are nice and not hateful or sexual. Those are the only tweets that exist now. I pick it up and actually, there are a few nice ones. People who're late to the party, mind, but here and lovely no less. Lots of heart emojis, even other verified people saying how much they support me. My stomach is in knots.

"Where are we?" Oliver asks.

I don't look up from my phone, but I know he's smiling when I say "America."

.....

When Demitri comes back, he practically leaps out of bed, changes his shirt and bounds out of the bus.

"There are fire pits out there, you know for fires!"

"So?" Luke mumbles, half asleep and flicking his lighter on and off. Demitri rolls his eyes and nabs the lighter off of him. "Oi, I was using that!"

"I'm fed up of this bus, we need to go outside."

"It's half 1 mate." I look out again, and beside the 24 hour truck stop are benches and fire pits. You know; if you fancied a jamboree in the middle of the desert.

But we do it anyway, not a jamboree, but we light a fire, lay out blankets over benches and bring out beer bottles and cushions and Luke sets up his Spotify playlist on his phone. None of our songs are on it. Firelight flickers onto each of our faces as we all just sit there. We haven't faced one another or even spoken civilly to one another for days, and now we've just forced ourselves into it.

"This is necessary, right?" Demi lights a cigarette. "I feel this should be happening. I mean, I know I'm not always around, and that fucks you over a lot, but things aren't grand at the moment, are they?"

We're silent, staring into the fire and my eyes are burning. I blink them away.

"I'm sorry, Scott." I look up and opposite, through the fire, is Luke, who just stares at me like I am the fire. "Am I colossal knob? I can't believe I did that. Of course you didn't release that picture of me and Candice. Why the fuck would I think you would do that?"

"I wouldn't. I didn't."

"You're not a twat like me." Luke keeps going, self deprecation after self deprecation that it's tiring to hear.

"Mate, mate, stop." I raise my hand. Silence hangs in the air and Luke's stopped looking at me. "Luke, are you alright?" I can't see tears forming from here, but I know they are because he wipes his eyes on his forearms. This might be the first time in a long time that someone's asked him that. Offers of pills and powder and drink but not so much as an alright?

When Luke shakes his head and sniffs loudly, Demitri wraps his arm around his shoulders and brings him in, scooting round so he can reach him. He nods along at Luke's crying, which is eerily silent, the sound of the crackling fire louder.

"I forgive you Luke." Is all I say, wanting to crawl around the fire too, but instead I smile, letting him see it fully, and he does it back. "I think I can safely say that we're all feeling the same thing."

"What's that?" Demi asks.

"Stressed, mate."

"Ahh yes, fucking Hell, we're stressed." He laughs. I think of Candice back in Ireland unable to leave her house, Parker sitting alone by the pool, Mitch confronting me in the halls of Leonard Baxter's studio.

Fame is a dangerous game.

When Luke turns to Oliver, who's sat quietly near me, his fingers inching closer and closer to mine in the sand, I hold my breath.

"I'm sorry to you too. I...I know you care about Candice. I shouldn't have said those things. How can you not care for your girlfriend? You love her, and I fucked you over by fucking...that came out wrong."

"You're wrong." Oliver says quietly, not looking any of us in the eye. "I care about her but I didn't love her, Luke. I never did. She didn't...doesn't...deserve me. But I know she doesn't deserve this either, any of it."

"I really like her." Is all Luke says, before we don't speak of it again, instead talking about lighter things, things we can smile about. I'd never thought Luke actually had feelings for Candice, anything other than what was sexually charged. I never noticed his eyes light up when someone says her name, or when I was staring longingly at Oliver, Luke was right next to me, staring longingly at Candice.

.....

"Scott." I hear in the wind as I walk back to the bus. Demi and Luke have this mad idea of falling asleep by the fire like daft twats. But I actually like my bed, like the gentle humming of the mini fridge. I stub out my cigarette and turn around to just about see Oliver in the darkness. "You're in love with me." He's never said it out loud before, not to me anyway. It's fucking weird, like it doesn't sound right.

He swallows hard as he comes closer. I feel my back press against the cold metal of the bus.

"Why are you in love with me?"

And just like how no one has asked if Luke is alright, no one has asked me why I'm in love with Oliver. Why am I in love with Oliver?

"You're funny, kind, smart, handsome. I mean, really fucking handsome. You're the eye candy. You care about me, you support me, you don't make fun of my accent, you just came up to me at auditions and didn't fucking turn your nose up at me. You're talented. I don't know; why do people love people?"

Oliver presses his body against mine as he kisses me. I feel his hands in my hair and on my shoulders. I do the same, taking everything in. I'll never have enough, there'll always be more and I'll always need it.

"I think you're funny, kind, smart, and handsome. Really handsome; I do double takes. You care about me, support me, don't make fun of the fact that I can't sing. You're so fucking talented. Am I in love with you?" He mumbles between our lips.

I hate to say it, hate to do it, but I pull back, and take a hold of his hand. "I think we need to have a chat, mate." And I lead him onto the empty bus.