[california] i'm coming home [ollie, etc]

Maybe sixty percent of the people in his home were people Liam had met, fewer still more than once before. He had his friends, of course, and plenty of them. But they were only good enough for something low-key and sophisticated, where he’d have to converse with everyone and serve a real meal. Liam was in a different mood. A lot of that was the little bottle of potion he’d been given, but it had been there before. He could have a more intimate gathering later, anyway. Liam’s birthday had a tendency to spill into a good few days of continuous celebration.

He was missing someone in particular, though.

Charlie knew it, and was definitely being a smug little shit about it, as he was wont to do now that he’d gotten over the initial surprise. Sam didn’t know, but also appeared to have little interest in whatever joke they were doing today. It would’ve bothered Liam if he hadn’t been in such a stupendous mood. He summoned Sam another beer. “It’ll be loads more fun when you’re really, really drunk,” he said, matter of fact. These kinds of parties were like that.

A couple of girls approached Sam and Charlie, but Liam kept an eye out for Ollie. Before too long his face split into a grin. He stood on tiptoe and waved, collapsing into a bear hug as Ollie finally approached. “Ahh, Mon Amour!" With a last cheerful pat on the cheek—followed with an impulsive tweak of Ollie’s nose—he drew back.

The sun was setting beyond the ocean, out below them. Liam spun around and threw out his arms, bumping someone in the chest, whose head he gave a quick apologetic pat. “How’s the weather treating you, then?” he asked Ollie. “Better than last time, yeah?” They’d been blessed, not that it was hard to be in Southern California on the cusp of summer. Liam was taking it as an omen anyway. “C’mon, come dance!” he urged, flinging one hand back to drag Ollie into the middle of the crowd. “No—have a drink first—but then come dance!” He let go of Ollie and halfheartedly shimmied to the beat. “It’s just not the same!” he shouted.

@Oliver Rigby

California.

Oliver let out a dreamy little sigh, shielding the setting sun that had welcomed him upon his arrival. All was right in the world, he decided as he scanned the spawling coastline below. The sounds from around the balcony; music, and laughter and life, rattled against his ribcage, his heart picking up pace in anticipation. Still, though, the nagging feeling of anxiousness settled in the pit of his stomach, hidden away so that he wouldn't dwell on it.

A birthday party— thank Merlin not his, but Liam's. With all of Liam's friends.

Things here, it seemed, had already picked up. He wished he could have arrived sooner, to spend some time with Liam before the party, but his newfound (and all-consuming) album release had something else in mind. They weren't far off now, but the finishing touches had to be made.

Ollie studied the crowd as he made his way. People were talking more loudly, swaying to the music that pumped from the very air around them, it seemed. He swore he recognized a few faces (probably in the industry somehow), but the majority were strangers. Green eyes, wide, scanned for the man of the hour and unsurprisingly found him right in the middle.

"Happy birthday," He called out, his Scottish accent drawn-out amidst the other fast-paced talking. He mirrored the stupid grin on the other man's face as he willingly was pulled into an embrace. "It's beautiful," He agreed, looking only briefly to the water before flicking back to Liam intently. Thankfully, he'd dressed for the weather this time, the satin fabric of his button-down rippled in the breeze, but the temperature was comfortable. Nothing like London.

A tray of champagne floated by at the opportune moment and Ollie caught it belatedly, distracted by the dancing and Liam's (usual) dramatics. He took more than a mouthful, catching the beat of the song and moving subconsciously at first, shoulders wiggling. As he made his way forward, though, he got more into it. "Sorry I'm late," He called out with a grin, keeping a safe distance for now.

“There’s no such thing as late,” Liam shouted back. He swayed to the music, curls bobbing, and reached out to link his hands with Ollie’s. “Parties should just go on forever, I think. You walk in and out as you please, but Merlin, no starts or ends—Nothing worse than that.” He’d never liked hosting parties of his own for this reason. Liam hated to deal with guests, arriving in drips and drops of ones and twos, greetings and how-are-yous and social niceties. Alas, as the birthday boy he figured it was his obligation tonight. At least plenty of them were strangers and didn’t care.

The song changed, a deep and slow and throbbing pulse. Liam drew his palms back from Ollie’s. Even in his state, he knew he couldn’t keep looking at Ollie’s stupid doe eyes, his lush lips. Again, he would have waltzed in and out of the party as he pleased, but the obligation. The man of the hour could hardly just pop off for a shag. “C’mon,” Liam said again. He led Ollie away from the pool, over to the deck chairs where Sam and Charlie were camped out. “Come meet my friends.”

He draped his arms around Ollie’s neck from behind, resting his chin on them. “Lads, the illustrious Sir Oliver Rigby.” He pinched Ollie’s cheek on the way to gesture toward Sam and Charlie. “Ollie, lads. No—you’ve met Charlie. Alright, Ollie, Sam. Sammyboy!”

He couldn’t remember the last he’d said of Sam to Ollie, indignant bitching or self-loathing praise. Probably both in the same sentence. He couldn’t remember if he’d said anything at all of Ollie to Sam. It didn’t seem to matter. Liam leaned off of Ollie to summon himself another drink.

Charlie watched Liam hand Sam another beer and smirked behind his own -- he was glad, at least, that Sam was putting aside any lingering feelings about Liam (or indeed, Charlie) for the night. He would have felt better about this, and possibly more inclined to have a good time, if he weren’t stuck in his head thinking about what had happened the night before, but he was trying to at least act like everything was fine. He hadn’t told either of the boys, and didn’t intend to. Especially not tonight, at any rate. The only thing for it then was to get drunk -- and stick with Sam. That ought to keep him out of trouble, right?

He half-turned on the spot and caught two girls approaching them -- so much for keeping out of trouble. A few years ago that would have been them set, but Sam was still coupled up with Quinn (Christ, how long had that been now?), and Charlie was simply not in the mood -- a first time for everything. Liam had wandered off and after a quick scan of the room Charlie realised it was because Ollie had arrived, and the only thing stopping him from smirking again was the realisation that tonight could be the night it all came out for Liam.

He was distracted by their new friends -- Charlie didn’t bother learning their names -- who just wanted a photo, apparently. Civic duty done, Sam and Charlie excused themselves and made their way to Liam’s poolside; a little removed from the party proper, and a little removed from more random strangers (fans) that Liam had invited into his home. In jeans and boots, they sat back on the deckchairs in comfortable silence (minus the ever present music blaring out of speakers behind them).

The sun was setting, casting everything in a warm pinkish glow, and Charlie found himself thinking about Kate again, because this sort of vista was exactly what he had come to associate with her. He cleared his throat and sat up in the lounger, elbows on his knees. “When you heading back?” he asked Sam, turning his head to focus on the Irishman rather than the view. In hindsight, setting the EP release for tomorrow might not have been the wisest move, but it wasn’t like they all had to be in the British Isles every time a single dropped. “You played her the track yet?” he smirked teasingly, sipping at his drink again. “Should’ve kept that demo with you doing the vocals.”

Liam materialised at this moment, draped over Oliver Rigby, and it took seeing them together -- properly -- for it to fully cement Liam’s newfound sexuality in Charlie’s mind. “Sir, is it?” Charlie grinned, focusing on Liam mischievously. After a pause he lifted his chin in a reverse nod at Ollie. “Alright?” He lowered his gaze to his drink, then glanced sidelong at Sam, gestured at Liam to summon him another drink while he was at it. “How’s the album coming along?” he asked, eyes back on Ollie.

At times like this -- when they’d all been dragged off to California for some reason or another, and he had a few beers in him -- Sam wondered at the progression of his life. Surely the Sam of his schoolboy days hadn’t dreamed of gallivanting to California for no reason like this, even in his wildest dreams -- his fantasies of American stardom had centered primarily around New York, where the weather was worse and more bearable.

Liam said it’d be better with more beer; Sam took the proffered bottle and raised it as a half-toast. Liam’s good mood was almost infectious; all it needed was more alcohol.

The beer on its own didn’t make him feel bloated and lethargic, but the sun and noise did, and once they’d gotten a few niceties out of the way he said in an undertone to Charlie that he was headed to the pool.  Luckily, Charlie seemed as interested as he was in the fun.

Poor dumb bastard.

“Two days,” he said to Charlie’s question, “Figure someone should be around to open the mail while you two are fucking around here.” He grinned over -- to his knowledge Liam’s birthday had always been made into a big deal.

Then, “Seriously, I think we could make a lot of money off of our demos. They like the behind-the-scenes stuff, like, remember how mad some of them would go over those photos of us in the bus?” And he had played the song for his girlfriend early on, unpolished and not very well. Liam and Charlie played the piano; Sam didn’t, though he could struggle through it well enough, but it was the thought that counted, presumably.

Liam showed up a moment later, unbuttoned and drunk, with a younger man -- for a moment Sam couldn’t place him at all. “Hullo,” he said anyway, sitting forward and sticking his hand out to shake. He shot a questioning glance at his bandmate as he did -- they’d met before, somehow. Christ, but he needed to get out more.

He was gratified that Charlie was eyeing him in return; Sam glanced back up at Liam grinning over Oliver’s shoulder and wished fervently for absolutely anything he could think to say to whoever this was -- something better than “the fuck are you?” -- for Liam’s sake. Charlie saved him a moment later, gave him a bit of context for it: Oliver was from the industry, somewhere.

Meet the friends. It was inevitable, but still, Oliver paused for a breath.

Liam propelled forward— as per— away from the crowd. His physical presence was enough to distract him as they made their way through the people who, in return, only briefly looked in their direction. He wondered if a few of them even knew who Liam was, let alone that it was his birthday. It was in that thought that he knew he was looking forward to seeing where his real friends were, hopefully with some semblance of life in their eyes.

The introduction made him stand up straighter, comfortable, under Liam's draped arms. Sir, he imagined he could get used to. That is, until he looked to the faces of Sam and Charlie, Banshee as it was. Of course, they were tucked away from the action, impossibly casual, and definitely not dressed for a swim.

Ollie was thankful for Liam's agility in a social setting, particularly now. He chose to ignore the pesky question of what he may have taken to expedite that skill presently. In some ways, Ollie was the same, but most of the time he was battling juxtaposition of both sides of himself— one that was uncomfortable with the attention, and the other that thrived on it, lived by it.

It was strange to see Charlie now, having met his once significant other so recently, and unexpectedly, but he breezed along to focus on Sam. He seemed kind, if only a bit confused. "Ollie," He took the wizards hand in his own in greeting with a grin. He nodded back at Liam for a refill of his own before Charlie's question. "Nearly finished now," He ran his free hand through waves of hair in thought. The album had kind of become his life as of late. "Set to be released the end of next month— somehow" He drawled with an unsure smile.

“Yes, sir,” replied Liam, throwing back all of Charlie’s irony. “You’ll address him with—oh, fuck.” He threw out an arm to catch the bottle he’d summoned as it started to drop. His bandmates and Ollie continued to make polite conversation while Liam clumsily topped up the glasses held up to him and, realizing he was no longer holding his own glass, took a long drink from the bottle.

He re-emerged into talk of The Album. “It’ll be out there soon enough,” said Liam, laughing fondly. The waiting was one thing post-success, but he could remember Banshee’s first album. He hadn’t even been Ollie’s age then. And though he’d have liked to claim confidence, he’d been scared out of his mind that no one would like them as he waited.

Oddly, he wasn’t worried no one would like Ollie.

“The bass lines are solid,’s all I can say,” Liam added with a grin. Nestling his chin on Ollie’s shoulder he grinned proudly up at him. How long ago had he been right here—well, thirty feet that way—trying to convince him not to throw in the towel? Liam brushed a lock of Ollie’s hair aside and impulsively smacked a kiss on his cheek before bringing the bottle to his lips again.

An American friend called out to him from the other side of the pool, and Liam’s attention was drawn that way. With a vague thumbs-up in his current company’s direction, he left to go greet the newcomers.

[out]

Charlie drank, rather than let his face betray any thoughts about fucking around. When he lowered his beer he licked his lips. “Going back tomorrow,” he offered simply. His ticket had been for Monday, originally (time allowed for a Liam-scale hangover), but as he’d been milling around in his hotel room this morning he’d decided to rebook, and opted for one that left in the early hours -- a good excuse to moderate his drinking tonight, and a solid reason not to be tempted back to San Diego.

He laughed. “Well, yeah, because you were shirtless in one of ‘em,” Charlie pointed out with a teasing grin. They were interrupted before Sam could deny his muscles’ involvement in anything.

“Good, looking forward to hearing the rest of it.” He meant it, too. What little Charlie had heard of Ollie’s talent had been enough to impress him, and while there was still that niggling worry of being superseded by a younger, fresher (arguably better) voice, the time in the studio with Sam and Liam had reassured him that they were back to business as usual -- in fact, if anything, Charlie thought the songs they’d recorded for the EP were better than anything they’d done so far. It helped, too, that Oliver’s entire sound was off to one side from Banshee’s -- they weren’t in direct competition.

“End of June?” Charlie’s attention flicked to Liam’s, curious if Ollie had been warned about their overnight release -- but getting any subtleties out of Liam right now seemed close to impossible. His eyes glanced from Liam, cooing into Oliver’s ear, to Sam -- Sam, who hadn’t been told yet that the men in front of him were fucking. He wondered, as his focus was drawn back to the happy couple, if this was how insufferable it had been watching him with Kate.

Liam was called away and he abandoned Oliver without (seemingly) a second thought. Charlie looked at Sam again and then back to the younger man, still standing. Well, if Liam was going to leave his guest unattended... “How’d you meet Liam, mate?” Charlie still had a sneaking suspicion that Ollie’s fasttrack onto the label was no mere coincidence, but this line of questioning was his attempt at getting Sam in the loop without having to spell it out for him.

“Likewise,” said Sam, who had no idea what was happening.

Charlie was giving Sam a look that Sam, through sunglasses and booze, had no hope of interpreting. Sam glanced back at Liam, back at Charlie, back at Liam (now getting downright cuddly) and drew the conclusion that he, Sam, was either too drunk or not drunk enough. He drained the rest of his beer as they talked album -- the other one, not their EP -- and set the empty bottle next to his chair, lined up with the others he’d drunk.

Liam vanished into the party again; Sam was not reassured that, even without Liam there, Charlie was still doling out weird looks. What the fuck was going on? He needed some of whatever Liam was on.

He was a little more preoccupied with scouting for more beer than with the conversation -- he didn’t know what album this was and felt unfairly out of the loop, even though he imagined that he was to blame for, like, having a girlfriend or something -- until Charlie asked how Oliver and Liam knew each other; Sam shifted his attention away from some tie-dye-shirted partier holding a six-pack and back to Oliver.

It felt strange to still be standing alone there, with the pair lounging there on their pool chairs and looking up at him expectedly. Well, maybe, that was just Charlie. Sam still seemed to be well out of the loop. Ollie wasn't surprised that Liam was pulled away but he wished that it hadn't been right at that moment. Ever the improviser, though, he made himself comfortable at the end of Sam's pool chair.

"June's the month..." He commented with a grin as he sat, fresh champagne in hand. At least Liam had given him that before he flitted off to leave him with his two bandmates. Taking another mouthful of champagne, he scanned the crowd for Cordelia, the other familiar face there— a potential out.

Oliver turned into the question from Charlie— how had he met Liam? He paused for a moment, confusion quite clear. He knew that the other man knew exactly how the two of them had met, Liam had told him the whole story, so either his memory really was shit, or there was something else at play. He did seem to have a lot on, so maybe he had simply forgotten.

"At a gig—" Ollie played along either way, for Liam's sake. "— well, hardly a gig," Suddenly he remembered who he was talking to. Ray's bloody Tavern was nothing compared to what he imagined they knew, those faceless arena shows. "I was singing at a little pub in town," He couldn't emphasize the little enough. With a shrug, he took another drink.

Oliver sat down at the end of Sam’s lounger and Charlie had another large sip of his drink. He didn’t dislike Ollie -- thought he was alright, in fact -- but that didn’t mean he wanted to babysit him while Liam continued his heterosexual charade.

“Mm,” Charlie replied, enthusiastically. “It is.” Would Kate read into the release date of this EP like she did everything else? Surely she had to know the label set release dates, not him. Christ, now he was wondering what she was doing and whether he ought to somehow apologise for last night -- but then, she had been the one to instigate everything, not him.

Charlie had zoned out a little, but looked back at Ollie now by way of Sam. “Right, yeah,” he nodded. “Sorry.” He let the conversation die, drank a little more and got to his feet. “I’m gonna get a refill,” he declared, not bothering to acknowledge that his bottle wasn’t yet empty. He turned away, then paused and looked back at Oliver. “Enjoy yourself mate, it’s LA,” he smirked, then headed inside to find himself something a little stronger than beer.


OUT

The conversation wavered and Ollie again found himself scanning the crowd for Cordelia— or some other familiar face. He already saw Liam inside, directing what looked to be some kind of drinking game and he wondered if that might be his best option for an out. It wasn't that Sam and Charlie were bad company, it was more that they seemed to be otherwise occupied. He got it— they didn't really know each other, after all.

Well Charlie knew him— somewhat, he thought. They had a night of way too many margaritas at whatever that fucking place was called that they all seemed to fancy so much. Oliver did his best to not be offended by the nonchalance, reminding himself that not everyone was as interested in his album as he was.

"Right, yeah," Ollie repeated with a grin despite himself, more thankful than ever to see Cordy as she spotted him from across the pool and made her way over with that familiar triumphant look on her face. She must have gotten some kind of story. Of course, he thought to himself as she sat down next to him and he draped an arm over her shoulders. "What did you uncover this time?" He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek in greeting before finishing what was left of his drink.

fin

Charlie had left so abruptly that Sam was left squinting after him, like a blowfish or a goldfish or any other unintelligent fish, buggy-eyed and openmouthed. He jerked his attention back to the Illustrious Sir Oliver Rigby, who was looking around for Liam or booze or whatever.

“Right, yeah,” said Oliver, saving Sam the trouble of continuing the conversation (or, worse, ending it rudely) and then Oliver was off, too, into the ether.

Sam got to his feet; he felt a little sunburnt and a little sleepy -- he stretched, yawned, then frowned around the party -- the tie-dyed shirt had disappeared with Liam and Charlie and Oliver, but Sam had ample time to track it down before he had to go back to the hotel and sleep it off.  He frowned down at his finished beers, lined up like dominoes by his chair -- but, at a party like this, in California at that, surely there was someone greener than him who’d recycle them more thoughtfully than he was capable of, so he scratched his head, pounding with alcohol and too-loud music, and headed inside.

[out]