Candice Fitzpatrick, sat facing me with her legs crossed on her bed in her hotel room, poses a really big problem. Should I lie to her?

"There's no point lying to me, Scott." Fuck sake. "Luke and I don't talk often, but we talk. And...it's ok."

No it's not; it's awkward, really fucking awkward. Like I'm sat here, with my legs crossed too, with a Chinese takeaway between us (or takeout as the receptionist downstairs called it) trying to talk about this in the most delicate way possible. But there actually isn't a delicate way to talk it, is there? Because it's not delicate, it's messy, destructive, and it really hurts.

"I'm sorry, Candice."

"Sorry for what? For falling in love? There's nothing you can do about that, Scott. It's sort of a 'it doesn't care if you don't want it' thing, you know?" She fumbles with her chopsticks, cursing that there's no cutlery in the room save a teaspoon. "You just gotta ride through it. You never know, he might love you back."

"He does." Candice drops her chopsticks. "No, I mean he loves me, like we all love each other, but he's not in love with me."

"Oh...I know how that feels." The room's beginning to stink of soy sauce, and I stand for a second to crack open a window. But instead of coming back to the bed, I just sort of... press my forehead against the cold glass. It feels nice, I could fall asleep in this position, I reckon.

"Shit, you're not wallowing, are you?" Her mouth's now full.

"A little bit. It's not like I can just give myself some space from him. Not that I would want that, he's still my best friend." My best friend who I like to have undivided attention from. A best friend who gives it to me because he does nothing but give and give.

"Ok, you know what? You need to stop treating him like an angel." She sounds aggressive than she usually does, and it takes me by surprise. "Sure, he's lovely. He's one of the most genuine people I've ever met. He's caring and thoughtful and very selfless. But you need a break. You don't have to ditch him, just set boundaries!" She sighs, and throws down the bloody chopsticks when she can't get a hang of them. "He wants you to be happy, and so he'll understand that you won't always want to hang out with him just the two of you, or that maybe he hugs you a bit too much. It's weird...I did what I did to him because I wasn't getting enough of what you get too much of. He cares for people in different ways. He says he's not in love with you, but he clearly does feel something, right?"

I shrug. People just don't kiss you because you want them to; they kiss you because they want to as well. He told me he liked it, that he really liked it . I love him, but this isn't love, it's becoming a fucking obsession. We're obsessed with each other, but mine just seems to involve a lot more sex.

"I don't know, Candice. I think..."

"You're stressed. You've got rehearsals, interviews, and I heard there's talks of a new album."

I snort. "Well they tell us last. I've been writing, composing a little." I don't mention how Oliver is the only one who listens to them, the only one who I let listen to them. I also don't mention that we meet in studios and in corners of rooms so I can help him sing. Because I know that doesn't help at all. If being alone with him is a crime then I'm committing murder. I rub my hands over my eyes, lay flat across the bed. Candice looks down on me, and sighs.

"Maybe you should just have a night where you don't think about him; where you just... I don't know, let loose maybe?"

I sit up and rest on my elbows. "Are you suggesting I get smashed?"

"Umm...no, not really..."

"Because I think you suggested that I go out and get smashed in one o' these fancy night clubs. There's lots of them around here, chocked full of famous people. I think that's what you just said." I grin at her. It's perfect, it's what I need, to get out of my head, to feel something different that isn't unrequited love. Because I know that time will let it wash away, but there's no time like the present, and the present is fucking grim.

"I didn't say that. But, decipher anything you want out of it. I just really need a knife and fork." She glares at her food, her mouth watering and the rice going cold.

I whip out my phone, the adrenaline already rushing through me. Do I need alcohol to have a good time? Probably not, but I'm not going to sit around in a hotel room all night in Las Vegas. I write a really shit text to Demitri and Luke, but only get a reply from one of them.

"Are you inviting Oliver?" Candice asks, not really looking at me.

.....

I haven't felt like this in a fucking lifetime. I'm not stuck in some house, some hotel room, some studio, where everything that I'm supposed to feel is squeezed out of me. Here, I can just be myself; nobody takes notice of me, the music doesn't stop, and Demitri and I keep the alcohol flowing. And, because we can, we're ordering the most expensive shit, I'm talking top shelf stuff. People are looking at us like we're the hosts of the party or something, but really, there are a lot more famous people than us here.

I can't remember the name of the club, or if we're even supposed to be here. Who cares, I'm here, it's now, and I've never been so drunk in my life. Demitri is just as bad, flinging himself about jumping up and down, our ears thumping from the bass. I know this is a high state, and I'm not about to tell him to slow down on the alcohol because I know if I do, he'll just drink more. He likes to do that.

But through the crowd, he grabs me on both sides of my head and presses his lips against mine. It's so forceful, my lips actually hurt from it. When he pulls away, he just stares at me, still holding onto my head.

"What was that for?!" I shout through the noise. He just tilts his head back and laughs manically.

"I just wanted to see what all the fuss was about."

"Fuss about what?"

"I dunno; gay stuff."

I raise my eyebrow. "And?"

"If I were gay, I'd blow you." He winks, and I think my eyes roll so much they go to the back of my head. He lets me go, and disappears through the crowd, probably grabbing more drinks, maybe finding a girl to get rid of the tast of boy lips on his.

My pocket itches, and I know it's because my phone is in there. Parker and I have been texting, just a little bit, giving me a running commentary on his shitty band mates. It's clear in interviews and performances that they don't like him anymore; that they're either just plain homophobes or they're annoyed that he took the spotlight away from the rest of them for a bit.

Interviewers and journalists don't want to talk about Dawn Senate's music; they want to talk about Parker Watts' sex life.

Mitch Simmons has put our interviews on hold because of this. We can't step foot into a studio until producers have agreed, in writing, that where my dick has been will not be a topic of discussion.

Dawn Senate's fans (or 'Senators') have come out in support of Parker though, but other fans have begun to support the other twats; Kashton and Asher or whatever their fucking names are.

It's like a weird game of 'who's got the most fans', and bookies reckon it's them, not Parker.

I look up from my phone, and Demitri's gone. I'd been able to see brown curls in the crowd and the lights but now he's definitely disappeared. My phone buzzes and it's not from Parker:

c u in the morning yeah? Found someone who's a better kisser than u ;)

I mean, when Demitri is Demitri, he's the fucking best.

I send him a text to remind him he's fucking famous and that discretion is supposed to be drilled into times like these, and I step outside the nightclub, taking a big gulp of the breeze that makes the sweat cling to my skin. I push my hair out of my eyes, but wobble on my feet. I can't get a taxi like this, I'll vomit on the seats and it'll be on Twitter. I know it will be. Mitch'll go mad if he knows I'm out, which is funny, because technically, I'm out to the world.

I sit down for a bit, gathering my jumbled thoughts and ignoring my phone for just a second.

Las Vegas doesn't sleep. I never doubted that, but seeing it at 1AM where the streets and roads are alive and all the lights are still on is something different. I realise I'm sat at a bus stop, that buses still run at this time. Fucking incredible.

There's people, but in the darkness, in their drunken stupor, no one looks at me too closely. I can sit here and I'm just here, alone, and it's lovely. But when I see the person on the other end of the bench, I sit up straight.

She's sat facing me, her eyes wide and bright like light bulbs. She's got to be around sixteen, and my eyes lower to the band logo on her t-shirt; PURPLE ENVY printed in bright purple letters.

I hold my breath, she lets out a scream.