Sometimes I think I'm really stupid. Sometimes people agree with me. They make the assumption because of the way I speak, the way I break out in anger and deal with my feelings in an aggressive manner. But I don't think that makes me stupid, I guess it just makes me frustrated.

Next to Oliver, I must look really fucking dumb. Oliver is from old money, with perfect hair and perfect teeth and a perfect voice. He's got charisma oozing out of him, charm running coursing through his veins. Of course, he's the fan favourite, he's the eye candy.

But he constantly surprises me; from his insecurities about singing to the thin grasp he had on his relationship. And when he hesitates when we make it to his bunk, I'm utterly fucking gobsmacked.

The boy who kisses me first just stares at the bed and then at me, unsure of what to say.

"I told you I just want to chat. I thought this is probably the most private place." And because I stare at this fucking place every night, and I've decided that I'm finally going to lie on it, even if we're just going to talk.

But we don't talk. After nodding and slowly lying down next to me in the dim light, both fully clothed, we make out for a good twenty minutes. Did I just say make out? Fuck, I'm becoming more American by the minute.

Because of how small the gap is between this bunk and the one above us, and the fact this bed is only built for one boy, Oliver and I have to press in tight. And I mean, really. fucking. tight. I'm talking the best position of my life, I'm talking closeness that makes you want to forget what the feeling of fresh air is, or the scent of another human.

I'm also talking about what that closeness might do to a guy.

I'm going to test the waters, because I'm that fucking horny and Oliver Godfrey is making noises that I want to put into a jar and only open when I can't find good porn. My hand moves down, I kiss slower, and then I feel his hand in mine and he moves it back up.

We stop kissing, and that's the end of that.

"I just like this."

"Don't you want more like this?"

Oliver hesitates, I guess contemplating what I've just said like it's a puzzle. This is the next step, I'm sure it is. He wants this, he kisses me first, he kisses me first.

"You said you wanted to chat with me." He laughs. "We haven't spoken yet."

I remember what just almost half an hour ago what I'd wanted to chat to him about. But the thought of saying it now would be ridiculous, a complete 180 on what we're doing right now.

I sigh. "Ok." I think about it, how to word it, how to look at him when I say it. Because I know I'm going to get it wrong, but I know I'm right. "You asked me if you're in love with me. I think if you need to ask me well...then you're not, are you?"

His lips are red around the edges, made blunt from my lips. I did that, I did that to him. Scott Connors in the audition waiting hall would be high-fiving me right now.

"Scottie, I'm lying in my bed, and we're kissing. We kissed all night back in L.A and..."

"And what?"

He smiles at himself, avoids my eyes. "...And I guess sometimes I get a little jealous when I think about you and Parker."

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

Am I in a love triangle?

AM I IN A FUCKING LOVE TRIANGLE?

I shake my head. "But I'm right though, aren't I? You're not in love with me, you just think you are."

"What does that even mean?"

"It means you knew." Sometimes I think I'm really stupid. Sometimes, I'm right. "How could you not know that I was in love with you? I was so transparent, Oliver. You kissed me because you knew, and you care about me, so you let it happen. You're letting this happen because you want me to be happy. It's why you dated Candice; she fancied you, so you agreed to date her, and you stayed with her because she wanted to stay with you. And now you're kissing me here because I brought you here. You hesitated when before we climbed into this bunk."

I can't believe I've said it. All that's in my head is out, and I can't believe I've gone and fucking said it.

"I told you all the reasons I love you."

"And I don't doubt that, but you're not in love with me."

"I wish I was." He says quietly, pressing my nose against his. I think I might burst into tears this evening, but it won't be in this bed, with Oliver staring at me like he might cry too. I'll do it alone, maybe outside where no one can hear me.

Because Oliver isn't in love with me, and while it hurts so fucking much now, I think I might actually be okay at the end of it.

I kiss him one last time, hoping (but also really not hoping) that it's the last kiss ever. I can't stand it any longer, and I shouldn't. But I let it linger anyway, and because of all the things he's said, he lets me; he lingers with me.

"Do you want me to go?"

I laugh. "It's your bed, Oliver. But...no, I've kind of...always wanted to just lie here so, can we just do that?"

He smiles, and shuffles to get more comfortable. And we fall asleep a couple or so minutes later. Our foreheads press together, and I don't realise how tired I am, how even though we're just lying here, even though the only exercise I've been getting recently is either on stage or under Parker Watts. My muscles are less defined (not that they were even defined to begin with), the skin under my eyes is darker, and the thought of doing stuff the next day just makes me even more tired. Thoughts are literally wearing me out.

But despite this tiredness, I still wake up just before sunrise, still curled up next to Oliver Godfrey, his lips parted slightly, strands of hair falling over his eyes. I dream of Oliver Godfrey every night, dream of him kissing me on stage, of holding my hand in public, of forcing me to quit smoking, of having me all to himself. But this is the first time I watch him dream, and I think this might be better than any dreams I might have had.

I climb over him, and pad my way outside, where the fire has burnt out and the sun is slowly rising. My feet hit the sand and my socks almost fill immediately with the shitty stuff, and I jog a bit to get myself warm; who knew a desert could be so cold?

I light a cigarette, look out on the road ahead, and maybe cry a bit. I can cry, I'm allowed to cry. I don't really do it in front of people; just Oliver sometimes, maybe once in front of my brothers. But it's my thing, I keep it to myself.

The road ahead looks long, it looks a little lonely, but I know I won't be. I know I'm not alone.