Where the Hell is Scott?

I should feel so at home here. Oxford is a beautiful city, with old buildings and cobbled streets and university students on thin bicycles with papers stacked in their baskets, the smell of freshly baked bread wafting out of a corner bakery as children form a line and wearing hats and long shorts and blazers as they reach the school gates.

It perpetually feels like autumn in Oxford, probably because I'm often here when it actually is autumn. Oxford is my home and always will be, but this evening, when the air is crisp and biting the darker it is, I find myself sticking out more than I ever did.

Despite being almost 22, mum has still picked out my clothes for me because she's seen the 'ghastly' things I wear on tour and doesn't understand why I can't wear a lovely smokey grey woolen jumper. It's a bit too tight and it itches the back of my neck and it's so fucking heavy.

I think it's punishment because I joined a boy band instead of going to university.

I often think about what my life would have been like if I had gone to Oxford, the university that people kill to attend when it was just a twenty minute drive in the range rover from our modest country house. I mean, I say modest, but ten minutes of that twenty minute drive was winding along the road just to get to the house. Life would have have been dull and quiet, I imagined. I mean, sure, I would have joined a few rich boys societies, had a few girlfriends before meeting my wife. My accent would have gotten stronger, and no one would have made fun of me for saying things like "Splendid." or "Jolly good!" because everybody did.

But outside that circle of privilege, the rest of the world would have looked at you like you were fucking mental - to quote Scottie.

"Darling, Oliver, please stop scratching, you're going to leave marks." Mum had said when she'd caught me again. I may have been a member of the biggest boy band in the world, but she was still my cream turtle neck wearing mother. So I stopped.

I should feel at home, but this wasn't my home. It was actually next door.

Next door is actually a few fields away, but we still took turns to host dinner parties and ever since I joined Purple Envy, I got the joy of turning The Sargent's invitations down every year. They were kind enough, but they reminded me of the life I wanted to leave behind. I wanted to relate to everyone, to feel what they were feeling and experienced; I didn't want to live in the Oxford bubble anymore.

Plus, mum was dreadfully persistent with matching me up with their daughter, Gemma 'Gemmy' Sargent.

Gemmy was lovely. I remembered having such the largest crush on her in school, a private secondary school that was classed as being in Oxford but wasn't actually nearby. We could have boarded, but our houses were under an hour away that there was just no point. She had long, black wavy hair that she'd gotten from her Korean mother who had learnt English from the other married white women at our country club. She listened to classical music and then punk rock in secret. She was a year younger than me but that didn't matter.

When Mrs Sargent and Mrs Godfrey lovingly joked about us marrying, my cheeks would go hot and Gemmy would giggle with her friends about me until her ribs hurt. But we never spoke about it to each other, ever.

I'd never asked her out, and this dinner party at The Sargent's would be the first time I've seen her in years.

I'm stood in the corner holding a champagne flute and I'm down to my last gulp. Mrs Sargent's squeal had been so loud when mum had informed her that I'd be coming, and had extended the invite to the whole band. But, with Luke in rehab and Demitri visiting the Mexican side of his family across the Atlantic, Scott was my only hope. He'd told me he'd be dropping Parker off at Heathrow and then drive over here, perhaps picking up something "right posh" to wear because he owned nothing that my family would approve of.

But he's late, and I want to throw this jumper into the fire.

The only person I know (apart from my mum and dad) is Gemmy, and so I set about to find her. This house is big, with a tennis court and an indoor pool and even a stables. There are so many people and things in here but it still such a lonely place to live; my own home is the same. Priceless things on walls and behind glass cases but I had no brothers, no sisters, no friends in the surrounding area. I just had Gemmy occasionally when she came over or I went to visit her with my mum. But, as we entered our late teens, she had more girl friends then I could count, and our friendship groups drifted and then I became a superstar and she went to Cambridge.

Cambridge. Of all places.

I ascend a grand stair case to the side and pass waiters and other lingering guests wearing things much more elaborate than I am. Some men are even wearing tuxedos. I don't whether it's because they think they're important or because they've just never been to one of these before. If they think this is a formal evening, then they're in for a surprise when they're invited to the galas and the balls and the country club soirees. Good God, how did I endure all of this?

I walk down a corridor that never ends, careful not to walk into anything more expensive than my own life. The amount of people that are here all seem to congregate downstairs and I find myself alone. Or at least, I think I am, until I catch the sound of a faint piano from a record player coming from an open door at the side.

I don't know how many champagne flutes I've had now; I mean I have been waiting a long time for Scott and for this bloody dinner to start that I actually haven't eaten anything today. Posh people know how to cook a mean dinner party, and I hadn't wanted to ruin my palette by shoving a pop tart in my mouth before hand. But now I'm regretting it; the heat of the alcohol reaching my finger tips and making my palms sweaty. There's heat coming from the room too, and I realise it's a roaring fire that I can see between the hinges of the door.

I touch the door with one hand, and let it creak open gently, following the music and the heat and finding a beautiful boy with his head on his desk, snoring loudly.

Noah Sargent.

Gemmy's older brother that locked himself away in his room most days I was there, but according to Gemmy, he did that all the time. He was obsessed with academia, ace-ing all of his assignments and essays and dissertations, and now, if I remember what mum had said, he was doing a masters in Architecture at Oxford. He has black hair, like his mother and sister, and still wears thick, black square glasses which are crushed between his face and the wooden desk. But now, at 23, he's so different.

The last time I'd seen him, he at 19 and me just at 18, he'd been thin and gangly, his clothes barely fitting him like he'd grow into them even at that age. He'd worn braces too (again at 20!) and had been overly protective of his sketches of the buildings of Oxford, not letting anyone take a peek into his sketchbooks. He'd regarded Gemmy and I as children, and took pride in being able to talk to his maternal grandparents in Korean.

But now, his clothes fit him perfectly; a white shirt that stretches over his back with the top button undone, and a tie that he's pulled loose that dangles from his collar. His nose is more crooked than before, as if he'd gotten into a fight at uni, and his lips are puckered in slumber, ready for me to kiss them.

I'd forgot I'd had a crush on Noah as well as Gemmy.

Ha, that explains a lot.

A loud laugh from downstairs causes him to stir suddenly, and he shoots upright, a piece of paper sticking to his cheek. He acknowledges me before the paper.

"What time is it?"

I glance at my watch. "Just before 8."

"That thing downstairs isn't over?"

"Not even close."

"Oh bugger." He rips the paper from his face and fixes his glasses. There are books and papers everywhere, stacked lazily on and around his desk. "I suppose I best make an appearance. No doubt Gemmy is pointing out what an unsociable brother I am. Anyway," Noah takes off his glasses and gives his eyes a good rub. "Who are you and what are you doing up here?"

I frown. "Umm, Noah...it's me? Oliver-"

"OLIVER GODFREY!" He jumps up, grinning widely. I glance behind him at a bunch of empty beer bottles lined up on his window sill. "Terribly sorry, I've had a few beers and all I'm thinking about is my thesis."

"So you remember me?"

"Of course!" He pulls me into a hug and I press my face into his shoulder. He smells like aftershave and cut grass. Fuck, I really used to fancy him. "The world won't let me forget you. You're everywhere." He smirks down at me when he lets go, lifting my chin up with his fingers. I'm not that shorter than him and I'm used to looking down at Scott so much that I forget that some people are taller than me, but he still makes me feel like I'm so much younger just by looking at me like that. "What do they call you, the eye candy?" Noah winks.

"Ha, yeah. Yeah, I guess they do." My cheeks flare up again.

I end up staying in his room for two hours. Mum doesn't come looking for me, probably because it would take forever and it would be rude to leave the dinner table. Both Noah and I dream of the food that's being served downstairs, but instead of running down like children to grab some, we order a pizza that Noah sneakily collects from the back door.

"I love doing normal stuff like this." Noah says in between bites. "Not that this isn't normal life for us, but it's so strange when you leave Oxford and see the rest of the world and you realise that our lives are pretty fucking strange."

"Oh, I know that. I've been everywhere, and everywhere just seems better." He nods in agreement, brushing off his hands and pulling his tie down more.

"It's been private school to bachelor's to master's to internships. All in a 10 mile radius of this place. I'm almost 24 and I still live in my parent's house. How pathetic is that?"

"Not at all! Mum said you graduated with the highest honors and now you're interning at one of the best architectural firms in London. How is that pathetic?"

"Yes, but...you're a global superstar! You travel the world and have lots of fans and are celebrated for being gorgeous and talented!"

"I'm gorgeous?"

Noah takes a swig of another beer, this time taking his time, downing the rest of it. I'm feeling the effects too, shuffling forward, closer to him as we sit on the floor.

"Oh come on, you're not exactly hard on the eyes, are you Ollie?" And he grabs me by my awful woolen jumper and presses his lips firmly against mine. I feel the back of my head rest against the carpet as we both lie down, him on top of me, running his hands under my jumper and shirt and onto my bare skin under there.

The only other guy I've kissed is Scott. Scott, who is so familiar and warm and welcoming to me, that it seems so strange to kiss another boy, another anyone. It's been Candice or Scott. I'd never kissed Gemmy, and the thought of kissing Noah had been such a deep dark fantasy of mine that this doesn't feel real.

"I feel like," He tries to form sentences in between kisses, "Like I'm kissing my sister's fiancee or something."

"In an alternate universe, maybe you are?" But thank fuck in this universe, he isn't. He laughs into the kiss, and I want to melt into him, for him to melt into me, to take off this jumper and then everything else. We're on the floor right by his bed, if only we could just lift ourselves up...

"Oliver? Oliveeeer!"

Both of our eyes peel back. My mother.

Noah leaps off of me, fixing his shirt and tie. I find that he's undone my belt, and I see him smirk at me fiddling it closed again. When mum swings the door open in a tipsy stupor, she sees two childhood friends eating pizza and reminiscing.

"Oh darling, pizza? Really? You've missed a starter and two main courses!" I shove a slice in my mouth so I can't answer. Mum nods at Noah, "It's good to see you, Mr Successful!" She grins and it's weird.

I watch her leave, tutting to herself that I'm not more sociable, and Noah's lips find my neck. We both laugh at the thought of my mum nearly catching us, that we both feel like teenagers. For this night, this one night, I'm not going to think about anything else outside of these walls. I even receive a text from Scott saying Parker's flights been delayed and he's offered to stay with him in a hotel nearby. And it's OK, because tonight I get to be my own person, with my own desires.