The entire image of Brendon waiting for me in the parking lot looks straight out of a movie.

After spending time in an industry full of people who grace magazine covers and makeup company campaigns, I thought being around pretty people would get easier at some point. While I'll never be able to stand next to some of these stars and feel adequate enough to be in their presence, at some point, it has to let up.

        But, watching Brendon lean against the hood of his car, I'm hit with the realization of how attractive he is. Not that I have ever been naive enough to deny such a simple fact.

        It's clear why so many people around the world adore him, and why they want to get to know him. His entire aura is laced with allure, and he invites attention as easily as a person needs oxygen to survive. And even if his charms are lost on me, I understand why an eager, anonymous soul on the internet would cling to his persona.

         His head slowly lifts as a smile blossoms upon his lips, like a sunflower finally opening up to the first sign of sunlight, and he lowers his phone into the pocket of his dark wash jeans.

        "Ready?" he asks, pushing off from his car.

        "Subtle."

        "Did you expect anything else?"

        "I'm not sure what I was expecting." When it comes to cars, I know nothing. But anything sleek catches my eye over flashier designs, and the car he's driving checks both of those boxes. "What is it?"

        I'm not sure why I ask. When he rattles off a name that includes numbers, of all things, I stare back at him.

        "Right."

        He shoves me toward the passenger door with his elbow. "Come on, just get in."

        I slide onto the cool, leather interior and a strange chill slithers down my spine. I'm so out of my element in this car that's nicer than any I've owned in my entire life—my 2017 Nissan Altima back home is extremely jealous—but as soon as he drops into the driver's side after closing my door behind me, all of it dissipates like it was never there to begin with.

        "You alright?" Brendon asks.

        "Yup."

        "Just checking."

        "You haven't told me where we're going."

        "It's a surprise."

        Brendon shifts into gear and the car peels away from the curb. The only sound that passes between us at first is a gentle hum of some band playing from his car and the air blowing softly through the vents. The rest of the world seems to be cut off while we're inside the car, only a vision of Melbourne flashing past us and leaving as quickly as it comes.

        "Have you lived here all your life?" I ask to break the silence.

        He keeps his eyes on the road, but my attention drifts to the way his left hand grips the stick shift.

        "Born and raised. What about you?"

        "I have not lived in Australia my entire life, no."

        He lets out a soft chuckle that manages to fill the empty space around us. "I meant Hawaii."

        "Born and raised," I repeat. "We only moved to California after we signed. I would never have done it otherwise."

        "Really?" he laughs. "I like it up there. Everyone is so....friendly. Too friendly, sometimes."

        "It's fine in small doses but after a while, you just want to get the hell out of there."

        "Maybe I just haven't been there as much as you have," Brendon replies with a smile.

        "Trust me, you're better off somewhere else. I'm only there as long as I need to be."

        "Do you go home often?" he asks.

       "Whenever I feel bad that I've been away for too long, I remind myself that I'm going to retire there."

        "Really?"

        "There's nowhere else on the planet I'd rather go."

        Brendon reaches out with his pinkie to flick his turn signal on, angling his head to check for oncoming traffic. "I've never been."

        He's mentioned it before on a random rooftop. "Consider me your official tour guide if you ever go."

        "Wow," he says in awe, "we're really making strides with our friendship."

        "Shut up."

        "I don't think I will."

        "I'm revoking the tour guide offer," I threaten.

        "Right," he says unconvinced.

        It only takes ten more minutes until we're in the heart of the city, and we let music play all over us the entire time. It reminds me of those moments during all those parties we try to escape from where we just sit still and admire the night sky. Without fail, its beauty shines through the foggy haze.

        He pulls the car into a small parking lot with an attendant, handing off a couple of bills in exchange for a ticket. His experience behind the wheel is ever-present with the smooth fluidity in which he maneuvers the car, and I'm just a helpless victim watching him, impressed by the simplest of things.

        Once we park, he slots his keys into his pocket while I exit the car. Standing outside this strange place with him solidifies the reality of what I'm doing. While I've done my fair share of visiting new cities in countries on the far parts of the map, I'm usually with one of my friends which helps me feel less like a fish out of water. Now that Brendon is the only one here, he's the one that grounds me.

        "I think now would be a good time to tell me what we're doing," I comment as we make our way out of the garage.

        "Just look around."

        It really is as simple as that. Immediately after we round the first corner, a vision of liveliness fills the frame until all I see is a kaleidoscope of colors. My body goes into high alert at the overabundance of people gathering around—some waiting in lines, some circling around each other, all of them bustling about with conversation and laughter and good times—but we find our way through the chaos. By the way Brendon navigates us, it's clear he knows where his target is, and once we reach it, he grabs my hand and pulls me into the bar. The strangeness of it all settles onto me when I hear both of our names being called out a few times by someone off in the distance, but he ignores everything and pulls us along.

        He releases my hand once we arrive at the back in an area that still has access to the bartop, but far enough away that most of the crowd can't see us. It's cleaner than the rest of the bar, and he greets the staff walking past with warm welcomes, making it clear he's a familiar face.

        "You brought me to a bar," I state.

        He pulls out a barstool and waits until I sit before he replies. "Don't sound so excited."

        I shove him onto his seat. "I'm not dressed for a bar."

        "You can dress however you want, it's fine," he dismisses while looking in the other direction. He leans in close, his breath hitting the side of my cheek. "In case you can't tell, this isn't the kind of place where anyone is going to judge you." He lets his eyes trail over my outfit. "Not that you have anything to worry about."

        An older man walks through a pair of swinging doors with a towel thrown over his shoulder. The thick scruff of hair along his chin is peppered, and the breadth of his chest is wide. His aura screams comforting and protective.

        Brendon lets out a low whistle, drawing the old man's attention. Instinct informs me they're not related, but they've shared a long history, and my suspicions are substantiated by the warmth with which they greet each other.

        "I figured you'd be too busy to stop by," the man says once they part. "Who's this?"

        Brendon looks at him like he expects him to know who I am, though I haven't become jaded enough to assume anyone knows my name. "This is my friend, Stevie. She's in that band I was telling you about."

        "Right. Don't remember shit but it's nice to meet you. I'm Hudson." He dries his hands off on the towel before throwing it back over his shoulder. Leaning across the bar, he holds out his hand to shake mine. The calluses are thick, no doubt from lifting heavy boxes. "You're too pretty for this schmuck. What did he say to convince you to come out here with him?"

        "And I'm smarter than him, too," I joke. "What a catch, right?"

        Hudson smiles at me before turning to Brendon. "And she's cooler than you? You really hit up."

        "So she'll tell me," Brendon replies. "Do you want something to drink?"

        While I wasn't planning on drinking tonight, I might as well since I'm here. And though I don't particularly enjoy relying on alcohol to help make me more social in busy settings, sometimes it can't be helped. "I'll just have a beer or something."

        "But you hate beer."

        Hudson waves him off. "I'll take care of her."

        He surprises me by pouring himself a glass as well, though I suppose it's likely he owns the entire place. I won't snitch on him either way.

        He holds up his glass. "Happy birthday to boy wonder and future world champion."

        I nearly spit out my drink, turning to look at Brendon. He's unfazed by the revelation.

        "It's your birthday?"

        "Yeah," he replies, shrugging casually.

        Before I can question his omission, Hudson swoops his way around the counter, tossing his dirty towel aside, and joins us on my other side. We both get swept up in conversation so quickly that I'm unable to steer us back in the direction of his birthday. I make a mental note to question him about it later.

        I'm not sure what his intentions were when he first brought me to the bar—pub, Hudson corrects with a cheeky grin—but it's clear he finds it relaxing. While Hudson tells us funny stories about mishaps over his years as a bartender, Brendon rests his arm on the back of my stool, occasionally leaning over to smack Hudson when he says something funny. Jokes and laughter bounce back and forth between the three of us like we've known each other for years, and not like I'm the third wheel in this friendship.

        The night passes in sweet waves of high notes and the occasional but simple calm lulls when Hudson has to walk back around to give us refills. Brendon sticks to Sprite after the first glass since he's driving, but Hudson and I fill up with his perfectly chosen beer selections to go along with the food he orders from the kitchen. Even though I ate dinner not too long ago, I still enjoy the munchies and company.

        After a few hours, Brendon and I say goodbye to Hudson who has to head home. While there are still a lot of people hanging around, we take it as a sign to leave as well, though neither of us is particularly interested in going back just yet.

        "Let's take the scenic route," he suggests, pulling me in the opposite direction of where we came from. I don't protest.

        We stroll down the pebbled walkway until we arrive alongside a river. It's quieter by the water, but the faintest sound of the bustling side street with all of the bars and shops still plays in the background like a soft harmony to the sweet melody of the water rushing alongside us. The air is crisp against my skin, nipping and biting until I rub my arms for warmth.

        Brendon doesn't have a jacket to offer me, nor would we share clothing items so casually, but he angles his body to shield me from the wind.

        "Why didn't you tell me it was your birthday?" I ask after a few minutes.

        He shrugs as a gust of wind blows a lock of hair across his forehead. "I don't make a big deal about my birthday."

        "Still. I'm sure you have friends that you'd rather spend it with."

        "Since you came out with me tonight, I think we can safely say we're friends without you wanting to throw up," he replies, kicking a small rock into the water. "But they probably have something planned after the race. I just wanted to get away for a bit."

        It strikes something in me that, perhaps if he's trying to escape, it makes sense he'd use me. We're just taking our hideaways out into the open this time. And, against my better judgment, I don't not enjoy it.

        His body language suggests he doesn't want to get into it, so I change the subject. "Is Hudson a family friend? You two seem close."

        "He's like an uncle to me." Brendon rubs the back of his neck. "I don't stop to see him enough anymore. Busy and all that."

        "I get it." I cross my arms, fighting against the cold blooming in the air, only intensified now that we're walking alongside the water. "Our manager Marty is like that to me. I'd be a mess without him. He's just....family."

        He peeks at me from the corner of his eye. "Working with family can be tough."

        "So is working with your best friends," I laugh. "It's not all fun and games, contrary to what I'm sure a lot of people would like to think. The higher the highs, the lower the lows, and it takes work. We all try to do our best to not let it consume us."

        "I'm sure the media tries to play it up," he says suggestively.

        It's hard to control the sarcastic laugh that bubbles out of me. "Between the rumors of Jun and me being secret lovers, Rami trying to pursue a solo career because he's sick of taking care of us, and Seira being the ticking time bomb because of course, they're going to vilify a woman for being outspoken, I can never keep track of what's going on with our group." I force a fake smile on my face. "Crazy how well these strangers know about us. So many convenient anonymous sources."

        "We deal with a lot of the same stuff, too," he says. "Netflix likes to play up the drama for the camera and pretends something is there when it really isn't, just so they can get clicks."

        I haven't watched the Formula One show but sometimes when it's trending on Twitter—and I haven't thrown my phone across the room because that app is without a doubt one of the worst places for my mental health—I'll check out some of the more popular tweets. There's never a shortage of outrageous headlines to generate interest, even at the expense of the very real human beings who are the most valuable asset of their industry.

        While it's nice to have someone that can understand my struggles in their own way, it's not pleasant knowing how many people have to deal with the messy soul-crushing nature of the entertainment industry.

        "They love trying to pit teammates against each other," he continues. "Like with me and Idris? On the show, they make us look like bitter rivals but we're completely fine off track. Great, even. He's always felt like a big brother to me. I mean, sure, we're still competing against each other, and sometimes there is tension, but it's not like we're constantly trying to rip the other's heads off."

        We stop by a bench along the water.

        "Does it ever get awkward because of it?" I ask as we sit down.

        Brendon keeps his hands in his pockets and stares out at the water; a deep, midnight blue under the faintest of moonlight. "Not always."

        "But sometimes."

        "Yeah, sometimes."

        "You seem fine enough about it."

        Brendon laughs and a small, barely-there dimple forms on his right cheek. "That's nice of you to say."

        "Anytime, bud."

        Deciding to take a breath, I take in the view again. It's hard to rank all of the places we've been to as a band since every culture offers something unique and exciting, but Melbourne, and Australia in general, don't seem as foreign as other places. If it weren't for the ten-hour plane ride, it could easily be mistaken for a cityback in the states.

        "So," I pull my legs up, "is there anything I should watch out for this weekend?"

        Brendon rests his arms on the back of the bench. "It gets busy before the race with all of the guests they bring and, obviously, all of the crews trying to get the cars ready. But you'll get used to it."

        He says it like I'll be spending a lot of time at races. With how far all of the F1 points of interest are, I doubt we'll be back anytime soon, especially as guests of Windsor.

          "Also, it's loud. Louder than you expect," he adds.

        "Louder than a concert?"

        "Probably." He shrugs. "But I'm sure that'll help you."

        "Consider me an F1 veteran." I lift my chin and tap the bottom, smiling at him, which earns a laugh in return. "Seira wants to wave the chequered flag. She's claimed it her new goal in life."

        "Maybe one day," he laughs. "I think they're keeping an eye on that. They had a model wave it at the Monaco race earlier this year, but she waved it a lap too early and everyone was mad. All of the drivers knew, but it still kind of kills the buzz."

        I nudge his side. "Maybe you can put a good word in. She's good at keeping count."

        "I'll try my best."

        Before the night ends, and before I lose the confidence to make such a silly remark, I take my shot at being cordial for once. "Thanks for the ego boost, by the way."

        Brendon gives me a funny look. "What do you mean?"

       "I must not be too bad if you wanted to spend your birthday with me."

        He shakes his head, looking down at the ground. "No, you're not."

        Above us, a plane flies through shades of moonlight, with a red light blinking down as if to remind us the timer on tonight is running low. It's not late enough that I can't rally for a little longer, but the time is wearing down on me. Brendon proves he's not terrible company, even outside the confines of a boring party. All in all, tonight isn't as weird as I expected.

        "Happy birthday, Bash," I murmur quietly, a soft gust of wind blowing past and carrying my words to him.