I find a window in some room in this fucking place, just so I can remember what cold air feels like again. We haven't even made it to the stage and I can already feel sweat dripping down my back, wetting my white shirt.

I already looking like a fucking mess and I haven't played one note.

When I lean out of the window, sitting on the window sill, there's no sound. I can't hear traffic or even people. When I look out, I see Vegas in all its splendour, and I'm mesmerising by the cold breeze and the quiet. I miss it so much, I don't know if I'm ready for the noise.

The sky is dark but the lights reach up and steal the stars. I miss them; I want to see them again. I remember the harsh, quiet desert we rode through to get here, and I try and think about those stars instead. It's nice to not hear the screams or the cheering or even just sound.

I think I might stay here instead of play. I can already feel the nausea subsiding. I close my eyes.

"Shit, you're gunna fall!" Hands hold my wait and push me forward and thrust me back, as if saving me from a deathly fall as Parker Watts bursts out laughing from being the funniest fuck in the world. Adrenaline courses through me and I stand up and I'm ready to punch him in the fucking face.

"Jesus! I didn't know anyone else was here."

"Aww, you looked so cute just daydreaming, I wanted to surprise you."

I press my hands to my face, waiting for my heartbeat to calm down. This isn't what I need before going on stage, I don't need any more surprises.

He won't stop laughing I don't stop breathing like I've just found air. But when I finally do calm down, when everything seems to piece together, Parker's standing in front of me, big huge smile on his face and I realise,

Parker Watts is here.

"What? No hug? No welcome fuck on the table?"

"How...? Wasn't I on the phone to you a few days ago?"

He smiles. "I may have been in a meeting to get me over here."

"You mean people heard our conversation?"

"No, you idiot! I made them all cover their ears."

"You cheeky shit."

Parker smirks, moves closer. My limbs spark with electricity, I'm supposed to be on stage, I'm supposed to be practicing. It's so important to me, this evening, important for all of us. I feel his hands along my back, the back of my neck, around my waist, in my hair.

And when he kisses me, I wake up.

I don't register time, what's the fucking point. I'd rather just be here, despite the ache I feel when I'm not making and playing music. We could do that, the band and us, all of us. I try not to think about it though, when I feel Parker's hands under my shirt.

"You know, I didn't come all this way just kiss you." He says when we break away. I follow his lips.

"That's a shame."

"I'm actually one of your warm-ups. Not the shitty one that goes first, the one before you."

"Still not headliner though, is it?" I raise an eyebrow.

"You do know that I just left one of the biggest boy bands in the world and recording my new single in a corner of my hotel room, right? We had to use mattresses for sound proofing."

"You already have a single?"

He smirks. "You didn't really think I'd start my solo act singing some of Dawn Senate's stuff, did you? I'd get sued! D'you not know how this business works?"

"I try not to think about it too much."

Parker kisses me again, his lips lingering on mine, until I can hear the small hands of my watch ticking louder and louder to crunch time. I have to physically push him away to make him leave, to make him head for the shining red light at the end of the corridor we step into.

"I need to think of a new stage name," He walks backwards away from me. "I can't be called 'Parker Watts', any ideas?" And before I suggest it, he says, "Not doucheface."

When I turn back to the green room, stood in the corridor is Oliver Godfrey, who watches as Parker disappears behind the red light that beckons him to the stage. I've never seen them in the same place at the same time, never seen Oliver look at Parker that wasn't on a screen.

From this far away, I worry that he's angry, but when I move closer, I see he's smiling, a doting smile, a smile that says to see me happy is enough. I am enough.

"Ready to go mad for it?" It's the first time I've heard Oliver put on an imitation of my accent. It's laced with public school on the ends, with just a hint of middle class. He still does that hand gestures though, still walks and hooks an arm around my shoulders like he's an old neighbour from back home, like he'd scream for Man City at the Etihad with me. "Oh, Scottie. The fans are gonna hate us." He laughs.

When I don't respond, just stare up at him as we begin to walk, strides matching, he clicks his fingers in front of my face, each click a beating drum thundering in my ears.

"Sorry," I shake my head. "I'm just nervous."

He laughs, like a thousand wedding bells chiming at once, ones that I've heard before. "You're not alone, Scott. I think everyone in this stadium is."

The green room is quiet and almost dead. I can hear the screaming crowd in the stadium, chanting us, waiting for us. All I see are four boys who want nothing more than to sing in what they believe in, to feel what they truly are addicted to when they get on stage. They want to forget about the things that make them jokes, that make the tabloids and social media talk about them like they aren't even there.

They want the fans to know that this is who they are, who they always have been; and they want to be adored.

"So, I know this is really naff." Luke starts as Demitri twirls drumsticks between his fingers. "But I really wanna do that thing where bands put their hands in and you know do the 'break!' thing. Know what I mean?" We do know what he means, but we still look at him like he's asking for the moon.

"We can do it, but you have to give me a 10 minute drum solo." Demi puts his hand in like it's agreed.

"Done!" Luke does it too, and I turn to Oliver who just rolls his eyes. I'll change none of them, swap them out for nobody, I've decided.

When Oliver nudges my shoulder with his, I know it's because I'm in a haze again. All three stare back at me, and I look down and see them all with their hands in, waiting for mine. It all looks daft, and I can hear Mitch, still sat on the sofa, staring down at his phone, chuckling at us all without looking.

"5 minutes, and you've got a deal."