"Gasp. I'm shocked," Edward says monotonously after I tell him that Raven dropped my camera and it broke. "Why didn't you just come to my party?"

It's 1 PM and the guilt has been gnawing at me as I spent the entire morning trying to find the best way to break the news to Edward, and the fact that he isn't even upset makes me wish I'd spared myself the agony.

"What are we going to do about the photos?"

"Way ahead of you. I had them backed up on my computer. After you told me you were going to be with Raven, I just couldn't take any chances. I guess my intuition was right."

Is it bad that - at this moment - I'm pleased with Edward's distrust of Raven? I mean, if it wasn't for that, all my work would've been lost and all my chances of getting a job would've been nought again. And I need a job.

"To be fair, it wasn't her fault. Some lady bumped her, and the camera fell."

"Yeah well, nothing is ever her fault," he mutters. "Anyways, just come to my house and we can put the final touches."

"Sure," I respond and hang up.

God, if this worked out. I need this to work out so I can make my life better. Sure, freelancing has been great in terms of 'being my own boss' and shit, but there's no money there and I have to eat. I know it's not guaranteed that I have the job, but just the knowledge that I actually have a shot is great.

Trying not to trip over the dirt in my room - I know; I'll clean it someday - I grab my phone and keys and walk down the stairs while trying not to touch the rails. Everything smells like piss, beer and vagina.

Why people choose to do it on the stairs instead of in their rooms is beyond me.

I find Charlie eyeing my car, and I roll my eyes, but I struggle with hiding the smile that creeps onto my face. "Are you trying to steal my car, you fucking prick?"

He smiles back. "I was worroid when yaouw doy cum back lus noight, so I thought I'd just check if yaouw came back."

"I was at some concert. It kind of just came up," I explain.

"Yaouw doy yav ter apologise."

"I don't think I was. Anyways, I'm going to see Edward. Want me to give him a message for you?"

"Just tell him I still love him."

Laughing, I step inside the car when I see the Pepsis on my dashboard. I give them to him along with the burgers and make my way.

I'm always sort of stoked when I drive into Wandsworth because of two reasons: one is that it makes me ask myself exactly how much money Edward has - but then again, he's dating a lawyer, so there's my answer; and two, I wonder how Edward is able to live here. The old churches, the buildings' traditional style, the lake I just passed in the middle of it - it all just gives this neighbourhood a pretty conservative, family values, vibe.

And we all know that gay couples aren't very good for enforcing British family values.

I don't think my straight arse would survive here. How does Edward do it?

Edward's behemoth gates open after I let him know I've arrived, revealing the even bigger behemoth that Edward calls 'home', and I feel like shit parking my scrap metal in his yard. Just seeing the amount of wealth he has built up for himself makes me feel hungry for success of my own. Sometimes it bothers me that he's made it so far while my life has largely been stagnant, but I've learnt that ice-cream is good at calming those feelings.

Walking, I take in the smell of fresh lavender that fills the space. It completely contrasts the smell of stale food and dirty clothes in my apartment. The hardwood floors clink as our shoes make impact with them, and the almost empty reception room echoes the sound.

Everything is neat - neutral colours, pops of colour introduced by the bouquets of flowers and modern paintings of blocks.

"Why do you have a six-thousand sov painting of lines?" I ask him as he leads me to the lounge.

He rolls his eyes: he knows what's coming next. "It's art. You wouldn't get it."

I smirk. "How much would you pay me for a painting of lines in different shades of green?"

"Two quid."

A fireplace sits at the end of the lounge and above it sits a portrait of Edward with Léo behind him in an embrace.

I wish I could have that.

I sit at the couch, and he joins me with his computer.

I know he isn't the most hospitable host but you're telling me he couldn't even bother to ask if I wanted a glass of water?

"What?" he asks, his eyebrows knit together in confusion.

"You're not going to offer me something to drink?"

"I'm not your wife. If you want something to drink, if you want something to eat, the kitchen's that way."

This guy really doesn't deserve me.

"Anyways, how did you say Raven broke your camera?"

I rise and make my way to the kitchen as I explain the entire story to him again. I end up making a sandwich and juice.

"Why do people like those guys, anyway?" Edward asks of The Indie Service as I settle back on the couch.

"They're really good. You should come with us sometime; you'd have a great time. Plus, they have this cute gay guy and I know you'd like him."

"I have a boyfriend, you slut."

"Léo would be happy if you brought him here."

His eyes widen in shock, and he loses control of his jaw, which just makes me lose my wits as I laugh at his expense. This guy is very rarely shocked by anything; but when he is, it's nothing short of hilarious.

After a session of good laughter and an exchange of insults, he whips his computer out again.

"So, as I said, I had yesterday's photos backed up. We just need to pick a few good shots, send them to Eva and it'll be alright," he tells me, getting serious. That's one of the things I like about him: although he parties like there's no tomorrow, he never lets that interfere with his work.

We decide on a picture of the guys on top of each other on the couch, another of them looking at two of them sharing a playful peck and another one where they're serious - in their own way - with a few of them holding soccer balls. We also choose one of the new guy that we feel most resembles the Born in the U.S.A. cover. It should be easy, really: just pick the one where he's looking at the flag most stupidly, but nothing is ever easy with Edward.

"What was this guy's name again?" I ask once we finally pick a photo.

Edward smirks. "Why? D'you like him?"

I huff. "No!"

He cocks an eyebrow. "Then why do you want to know his name?"

"Just-I might be asked about him."

"No one knows who you are; you won't ever be asked anything about him."

God, I hate this guy so much.

"Just tell me his name."

His smirk grows wider until it's a grin. "First admit that you like him."

"I won't do that."

"Then I won't tell you."

"Okay, fine man! Maybe I like him just a little," I mumble.

He leans into me and pulls his earlobe. "What was that?"

I sigh. "Maybe I fucking like him just a little."

"There we go. Was that so hard?"

"I will get you for this."

"His name's Alejandro Lorenzo García. He was born in Catalonia, where he grew up chasing goats. He was raised by a single, overweight mom who can't read because his dad was out chasing whores instead of raising his child. Oh! He also can't read. He-"

I grab him and shut his mouth with my palm. "Shut up!"

I feel a sharp pinch on my palm and a yowl forces itself up my throat as I withdraw my hand. He falls to the floor laughing. "I can't believe you have a crush on that village gypsy. I wish I'd gotten your confession on camera so I could put you on Instagram."

"You do know that your chances of going to heaven are already less than one percent, right?" When he doesn't answer, I rise from the couch. "I need to use the bathroom." I step on him, and he lets out a groan, but he goes back to his stupid laughing.

Fuck him.

Alejandro.

Didn't Lady Gaga have a song where she was heartbroken by some Alejandro guy?

Well, I don't stand a chance with him anyways. He's a celebrity, and I'm a nobody. What are the odds that I'm going to see him again? What are the chances that he'll ask me out if I do see him again?

And also, the guy's kind of an arse; so, maybe he's not really all that.

Edward continues to tease me and doesn't stop even as I try to ignore him.

I like his sense of humour, but not when I'm the butt of his jokes.

"Charlie said to tell you that he still loves you."

"Who's Charlie?" Léo asks as he comes into the lounge.

"Léo, we didn't hear you come in," Edward says in a high-pitched voice as he tries to straighten himself.

I wish Léo would be here every time I come over.

Léo comes over to give Edward a peck on the lips. "Hey, Edgar. Who's Charlie?"

"My lover," Edward says cheekily.

"Ouch. Is he better-looking than me?"

"Pretty much. Hey, I've got a hot scoop for you! Edgar has a crush on some rich village gypsy from Catalonia!"

One of the reasons that I hate gay male relationships is that it's essentially two mean guys brought together by their love to gossip.

"Edward, how many times must I tell you to stop using offensive slurs to describe people?"

"Did you hear me? Edgar has a crush on-come, let me show you his pictures."

He scoots over the couch to see. "Ooh! He's cute. So straight and serious, I like him! You'd better give me the prenup gig - I know he'll want one because you're dirt-poor."

I groan. Mean guys, I tell you!

"You're not even married, so how good could your advice be?" I fire back.

"Sweet stuff, we couldn't get married just five years ago. We've got a good excuse for not being married - aside from the fact that marriage isn't really a big deal for men. What about you?"

Léo seems a bit taken aback by this declaration, but he recovers fairly quickly.

I decide it's gotten late and prepare to leave. We exchange a little more banter until I get up and leave. They thank me for the visit. I tell them I was here for work and I'm out.