15: after

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May
1995

When Peter and Danny reentered the party, their suits a little askew, and hair a little ruffled, they were drunk. Messy, stupid, whiskey-breath drunk.

Andrea came trotting over to them immediately. Her brows were furrowed, and Danny realised he had never seen her without a frown before. "Where have you been?" She hissed in his ear, "You disappeared for an hour at your own party!"

Danny nudged her away, laughing giddily. He slung an arm over Peter's shoulder and pulled him into his side, "I've been with my friend."

"Can I remind you that this party is nothing more than a business meeting?" She lowered her voice further, "Are you drunk?"

He nodded, tugging Peter closer, "This is Pete, by the way." He told her.

Peter smiled widely at her, "Hi. We talked on the phone."

"Who are you?" She asked sharply.

"Peter."

"I know that." She rolled her eyes, "But who-?"

"It's a party, Andrea. Drink some champagne, do some coke, enjoy yourself." Danny encouraged her.

Andrea hooked an arm around his and dragged him outside, "Come with me."

Danny grabbed onto Peter's sleeve as he was being yanked away, pulling him along with him. He didn't want to lose him in the crowd because suddenly they were kids again, surrounded by people much wiser, and more mature than them. They had to cling to each other, to their adolescence, to avoid being sucked into it all too. Danny even forgot that this party was his, when he had been locked away in the games room with Peter, drinking from a two thousand dollar bottle of whiskey.

Suddenly they stopped, Andrea's arm still looped around Danny's, and Danny's fingers still curled into Peter's sleeve. They were back by the pool, beneath the moonlight, amongst classical music and floating white fairy lights. A girl with wild crimson red hair, and sharp black eyeliner stood in front of them, next to an extremely average man, who was holding his hand out for Danny to shake.

"Daniel." Andrea cleared her throat, "I'd like you to meet Vanessa Harding, and her manager, Chris."

Danny shook Chris' hand, then leant forward to kiss Vanessa on the cheek. Peter tried not to laugh as he watched Danny stumble over his laces, and grip onto Vanessa's shoulder for support. "Hey!" Danny exclaimed, "You're the one they want me to shag, right?"

Andrea chuckled nervously, "He's only kidding." She quickly said, "He knows this is merely a business transaction."

"Business transaction?" Peter scoffed, grabbing onto Danny's upper arm to avoid slipping, "What're you talking about?" He slurred.

Vanessa watched him with calculating eyes, "Who's this?" She asked Chris.

"M'Peter." Peter held out his hand and Vanessa shook it hesitantly, "What business transaction are you making?"

"They want me to fuck Vanessa." Danny whispered loudly, though everyone heard him. When he caught Andrea's disapproving expression, he rose his hands in surrender, "Sorry. They want me to pretend to fuck Vanessa."

Peter burst out laughing, "Why would you fuck Vanessa?"

"Is this a joke?" Chris spat at Andrea, "Your client is clearly drunk-"

"Ooh, are we telling jokes?" Danny asked excitedly, his smile growing, "I got a good one about a doctor and a-"

"Not the time, Daniel!" Andrea snapped.

Peter leant in close to Danny, his lips against his ear, "You don't really wanna fuck her, d'you?" He whispered quietly, "She's a girl."

Danny chuckled, nudging him away, "Go play somewhere else, Pete." He grinned, "Andrea's mad at me."

Peter stumbled back, "Fine."

Danny smirked, "Fine."

And so, Peter left them to it, stumbling through gaggles of celebrities, and collapsing by the edge of the pool. He kicked his shoes off, and dipped his feet into the warm water, tilting his head back to look at the stars. He dreamt about the stars a lot when he was in prison. He dreamt of waking up in his cell, the ceiling torn off, and the night sky sprawling out before him. Twinkling diamonds, and a beautiful full moon. Now, it was all laid out before him, and part of him just wanted to crawl into his itchy prison cot as the ceiling regrew above him, sealing him into his lonely tomb.

He felt guilty admitting that he missed prison. But he felt more comfortable in a khaki prison uniform than he did in an expensive suit. He felt more at home playing cards with his fellow inmates than he did talking to Neve on the sun lounger. And no matter how many times he told himself he was grateful to be free, he couldn't quite let himself believe it. Because prison wasn't so bad, when you knew you deserved it.

Peter stopped staring at the sky when someone sat down beside him. He turned, his gaze meeting a pair of stormy grey eyes. The man had a buzz cut, which suited his finely chiselled bone structure with his high cheekbones and strong jawline. He was holding a martini, and wearing a friendly smile. "I hope I'm not interrupting." He said.

Peter shrugged, pulling his gaze away as he stared at the glowing blue water below him. He kicked his feet, and watched as a set of ripples ran across the glassy surface.

"You're the talk of the town." The man said.

Peter scoffed, "That so?"

"You're all anyone's talking about. They're trying to figure out who you are." He continued.

"Yeah? Me too." Peter grinned.

"British?" He rose a brow. Peter's accent was painfully obvious here, surrounded by so much Americanness.

"Nah, born and raised here in California." Peter's grin widened, now sarcastic.

The man nodded in understanding, a chuckle rising up his throat, "You must be a friend of Daniel's, then?"

"Yeah, 'cause all British people know each other. Danny and I are best mates with the Queen, actually. And Oasis."

The man kicked off his own shoes, and dipped his feet into the chlorinated water, setting his martini aside. "So, who are you?" He asked. "You must be more than just the kid who ate a tray of mushrooms on the floor of Daniel Fox's cocktail party."

Peter rolled his eyes, "Daniel Fox." He echoed. "Everyone says it like it's such a big name. Such a big deal." He scoffed, "It's just Danny. I'm just his friend. And this is just his house. Can't it all be that simple?" His head was starting to hurt now, the whiskey twirling around his consciousness and making him a little dizzy.

"I guess." The man shrugged, "Fine. You're Daniel's friend. And who's that?"

"Peter." He finally looked at him again, straight in the eyes, with purpose.

"Peter...?" He rose his brows, clearly looking for more than that.

"Just Peter." He said.

"You don't have a last name?"

"Not one I'm willing to give out to strangers." Peter looked back up at the stars then, and somehow, it made him even dizzier. "I can make one up for you if you'd like?"

The man laughed lowly, "No, just Peter is fine."

Peter stared into the never ending abyss of the galaxy, and realised how insignificant this stupid party was in it all. "I suppose you're not going to tell me your name." He said to the stranger, "Because you've assumed I already know who you are."

"You don't?" He seemed genuinely surprised. Not disappointed, just curious.

"Don't have a clue, mate." Peter liked the satisfaction of it all; treating celebrities like normal people. Like they weren't Gods amongst men.

"Jason Kelly." The man said.

"Right." Peter didn't ask him any more questions. He didn't care if he was an actor or a singer or a director or a writer. He didn't care how famous he was or how much money he made or if he lived in a mansion even bigger than Danny's. He just did not care.

"What are you, aspiring actor or something?" Jason asked, "Here to make connections?"

Peter snorted, "I'm not an aspiring anything." He slipped off his jacket, and pulled off his tie, "Wanna go for a swim?"

Jason stared at him, dumbfounded, puzzled, and utterly confused. He wasn't used to people acting like this, not in Hollywood. Not when everything centred around image, and manners, and finely tailored interactions. Recklessness was something he hadn't been familiar with in years. He glanced around his shoulder, looking for his manager, and when he couldn't find her, he shrugged, "Okay then."

Peter rose his brows, "Really? You're not wearing like a...a ten thousand dollar suit, or something?"

"Only three grand." Jason grinned, "Got tons of them at home."

Peter was surprised; had he finally found someone at this party who wasn't painfully dull and excruciatingly obnoxious? He had thought that money and status brought you a free pass to do whatever you pleased, with close to zero consequences. But after tonight, he realised that it was quite the opposite. The more important you are - the more you care about your image - the less freedom you had. These people were suffering more than the prisoners he had shared cells with.

He stood to his full height, and Jason followed suit. They scanned their surroundings - a few people had their eyes on them, vaguely curious, a little judgemental. And then, they jumped in, and it was the most free Peter had felt since the day he was released.

When they rose back up to the surface, suits clinging to their skin, chlorine in their hair, Peter saw Danny smiling at him from across the patio. Then, he shook off his own blazer, pulled off his tie, and ran towards the pool to join them.

As Danny splashed into the water with them, a flash shone through the bushes, accompanied by the distinct sound of a camera shutter.


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