May
1995

Peter was so many miles away from his old prison cell, and now he was here, in Danny's Beverley Hills mansion, surrounded by so much glamour and decadence and success, he almost missed it.

He couldn't shake the feeling that he simply did not belong here. He was at a cocktail party, wearing a suit he was helplessly uncomfortable in, sipping on water because he didn't quite trust himself around alcohol right now, drowning in a sea of famous faces. There was the latest Bond villain, a talk show host, and a Vogue model, all trying to introduce themselves to him, though, he suspected, they were just trying to figure out who he was (and what the fuck he was doing at Daniel Fox's cocktail party). He dodged every single one them, wiping his sweaty palms on his trousers, and trying to count his breaths to calm himself down.

The house was transformed; strings of white fairy lights draped thoughtfully across the walls, and circling the pool which glowed blue in the moonlight, while a group of smartly dressed men fiddled around with harps and violins until beautiful sounds came out. The music didn't quite drown out the murmur of tailored Hollywood laughter, and polite small talk between movie producers. But Peter tried to listen to every pluck of every string, forcing himself to concentrate on something so he didn't have to concentrate on everything.

He had tried on one of Danny's suits just hours before. And while he had attempted not to have a panic attack, gawking at the sheer size of Danny's closet, a polite old man took his measurements, pinning back the baggy fabric to meet his scrawny frame. Then, the suit was whisked off to be tailored, and Peter spent half the afternoon sitting by the pool, reading and rereading the contract Danny had given him.

It was hard to focus as the house started filling up with caterers, event planners, and waiters. The decorations were constructed in a storm around him as smartly dressed people frowned at clipboards and rushed around in a tornado of organised chaos. Danny was at the centre of it all, talking quickly to his agent, running his fingers through his messy hair, and sparing Peter sympathetic smiles from across the pool.

Of course, Peter had considered just going back to his motel room and tearing up the contract. After he almost choked Danny to death this afternoon, you would think that the last thing either of them would want to do is spend the night being civil to each other, in front of so many people who desperately mattered.

But all these years later, Danny and Peter were as mutually destructive as they had ever been. Like a couple of stubborn children, with fire in their eyes, and reckless determination running through their veins. Neither of them were about to back down from a challenge; the challenge being, of course, to save face.

Besides, Peter almost liked the idea of keeping Danny on edge all night. So long as the NDA went unsigned, he was free to say and do whatever he pleased.

Of course, he wasn't exactly itching to tell everyone about the horrors of their past, any more than Danny was.

But Danny didn't know that. Let him suffer, Peter thought.

The suit was returned to him in the early evening, now adjusted perfectly to his measurements. Everything after that seemed to be a blur. Maseratis and Mercedes arriving outside, spilling out groups of perfectly groomed gods and goddesses, in sleek black dresses, expensive perfume, sparkling diamonds, and shiny jewellery. The music, the flutes of champagne, the silent waiters (no doubt forced to sign NDAs too); it was all gloriously calculated and, Peter realised, Danny's only contribution to this party had been paying for it. The event planners, the caterers, and probably his agent too, had done the rest.

Peter clutched his glass of water, staring out at the pool. He was utterly enchanted by it; something so wonderful, and so fucking unnecessary. A stupid body of water to float around in, because that's what people without responsibilities could do with their time. He hated rich people so deeply that everyone at this party made his blood boil.

He flinched when a hand planted itself on his shoulder. It was familiar. Danny.

"You should mingle." Danny suggested with that artificial American smile.

Peter noticed the fine white powder that dusted the edges of Danny's nose, and he rolled his eyes, "Bloody hell." He murmured under his breath.

"What?" Danny asked innocently. His eyes were twinged red.

"Is this what you do now?" Peter asked, crossing his arms across his chest, "Throw fancy parties and do cocaine with celebrities?"

Danny sighed, wiping his nose with his sleeve, "I don't know what I do now, Peter." He said gravely, eyes flicking down to the glass of water he was holding, "You should get yourself a drink. I could never get through these things sober."

"No shit." Peter laughed humourlessly, "Why you hosting this thing anyway? It's dreadful."

Danny shrugged, "Half obligation, half image, half..." He trailed off, smiling wonkily — something in his expression was more familiar now. Peter was reminded of the bright eyed Danny with a graze on his cheek, drunk for the first time, doused in the moonlight behind his trailer. He was all scruffy and lanky and hadn't quite grown into himself yet. He was still a work in progress. But if Peter knew that this was where he was heading, he would have done everything in his power to preserve Danny as that disproportional teenager, unsure of his place in the world.

"You wanna make this thing more fun?" Peter teased, "'Cause I got this story from '89 that people are gonna love." He smirked, imagining the unsigned NDA, sitting patiently, waiting for his signature. "May make this night a little more tolerable."

Danny's jaw tightened, then he forced another smile, "I know you, Peter. I know you don't want me to know you, but I do. You're not gonna say anything. At least, not tonight."

Peter rose a brow, "Why's that?"

"You're calculated. Thoughtful." Danny replied, "I'm not saying you can't be reckless, but there's control in your chaos. You don't do things without thinking about them first."

Peter slouched back against the wall, bored of the same tense altercation between the pair of them. Sometimes, he wished he could take a break from being so angry at Danny all the time, and just laugh at his jokes, or tease him for saying something dumb, or even touch his stupid soft hair.

"Who's that?" He gestured to the nearest person; a woman, with long box braids, wearing a satin black dress. He didn't care who she was; he just wanted to be reckless. He wanted to prove Danny wrong. There wasn't always control in his chaos. Sometimes, there was just chaos.

"That's Neve Olson." Danny said, as if Peter was supposed to know that name. When Peter didn't respond, Danny continued, "She's a pretty big deal; dated Joaquin Phoenix last year. There's rumours that she's seeing Jared Leto now." He explained, "She played my love interest in 'Cherry Bride' back in '93, and we've been pretty good friends ever since."

Peter nodded in acknowledgment, grabbing a glass of champagne off of a passing waiter's tray, "Oi, Olson!"

Danny kicked Peter's foot scoldingly, but it was too late, because she was already turning around. She frowned, clearly trying to work out who he was, "Uh..." She forced a smile either way — fucking Americans. "Hello."

"Is it true you're shagging Jared Leto?"

Danny's eyes widened in mortification, his cheeks growing red, "Oh my God, Neve, fuck, I'm sorry." Danny smiled apologetically, "Don't pay him any mind, he's drunk."

Neve — absurdly — started to laugh. She glided over to them gracefully, her drink clasped delicately between thin fingers, her big brown eyes wide with curiosity, "What a strange thing you are." She scanned Peter up and down, a twinkle in her eye as she turned to Danny, "I beg you introduce me to your friend. He's the most interesting person I've met all night."

Danny smiled nervously, scratching the back of his neck, "Uh...sure, yeah, this is...he's visiting from England. We went to school together." He told her, "Peter. And Peter...uh...Neve Olson."

Peter noticed that Danny hadn't mentioned Peter's last name — just like how Peter hadn't mentioned it either when he first called Andrea. He wondered if they had done it for the same reason, and guessed that they probably had. He was too easy to research. His past was too public, just like Danny's present.

"An old school friend, huh?" Neve asked, extending a hand for him to shake, which he hesitantly accepted. "Fascinating. I think you must be the only person in this room who knew Daniel before he moved out here."

"Oh, yeah, we go way back." Peter grinned, taking a swig of champagne, and wishing it was something a little stronger, "Grew up opposite each other, didn't we, mate?"

Danny flashed another fake smile, "Yeah. Good times." He said hurriedly.

"Oh, the stories I could tell you about this one." Peter slapped Danny on the arm affectionately, thoroughly enjoying himself, "Though, mind you...Danny and I were best friends, but...well, it was my brother who had the real bond with him. They had a...a special connection, y'know?"

Danny paled, and for the first time tonight, Peter realised he had actually struck a nerve. But it only took Danny a moment to fix his smile back on, though it was far less convincing this time, and Peter wondered if Neve noticed it too. "Neve doesn't wanna hear about our boring childhood." Danny said, something strained in his voice.

Neve shook her head dismissively, "No, please." She gestured for him to go on, "Everyone else here is nearly insufferable. I just want to talk to a normal person for five fucking minutes." When she swore, her Hollywood sparkle of glamour dimmed a little, and there were no longer stars in her eyes. Peter found it comforting to see that she was just like him, really. Another normal person.

Though she was the first person to call him normal in years.

"Let's get you another drink, Neve, hm?" Danny placed a hand on her upper back, trying to guide her away from Peter. She politely followed his lead, throwing a smile back at Peter, and a little wave goodbye.

Peter downed the rest of his drink, "Why invite me to this thing if I'm not allowed to talk to anyone?" He shouted back at Danny irritatedly.