2004

Being dragged along to a small after party — following an MTV2 acoustic session — was not how you imagined spending your Friday night, but you sure as hell weren’t complaining.

The Camden flat was lit with the hum of people — about fifteen or so, such as interns for MTV aswell as workers for them. Your roommate, Olivia (who made you come with her to this thing), being one of them. The light was dim, a yellowish tone casting shadows around the flat, following the people like moth to flame. The bottles of beer, once cool with dripping condensation that left rings on coffee tables, now warmed with the heat of human conversation. Ashtray’s on each windowsill lining the flat wall. A blaring speaker situated beside the open glass door, leading out to the fire escape — the sound of The Killers song, ‘Hot Fuss’ cascading throughout the apartment, weaving through the cacophony of voices.

You hadn’t seen him yet.

The only person in this apartment, other than Olivia, that you know, James Bourne. A guitarist and vocalist in Busted. A best friend from your childhood in whom you lost contact with along the years. You hadn’t known he was attending until the drive to the flat, Olivia informing you of who will be there, the band Busted being in the list.

With Olivia distracted talking to a random producer who has helped promote the band over the years, you let your eyes wander.

From your peripheral, you spotted an inch of movement from outside the door to the fire escape — making you absentmindedly move towards it.

Stepping out of the door, the cool London air hit your face, gently brushing your hair back slightly as you look at him from behind.

James is stood, his back hunched slightly as he scribbled lyrics down on his crumpled, dirtied notepad, using a dehydrated sharpie he keeps in his jorts pocket.

He hasn’t changed much since you two last saw eachother. Still the skinny boy who thinks he’s way cooler than he actually is. No banged up skateboard hanging under his arm and a creased, oversized Blink-182 shirt covering him this time though.

“James…?” You spoke, the music on the fire escape being less pronounced as indoors, leaving your voice to be easily distinguishable to his ears.

He turned, looking at you over his shoulder, his hand holding his shitty quality notepad against the railing of the fire escape. “{{user}}?” He spoke as soon as he seen you. You watched as his eyes trailed over you, taking in any slight changes since the last time you were in eachothers company. “What- you’re not supposed to be here..” He spoke, although there was a smile lifting to his lips, there was confusion etched into his features. He knows you aren’t in the music business, instead focusing your time on a random subject at university — which he knows as he may or may not have looked you up a couple times through the years..

“Neither are you, rockstar.” You tease with a soft smile, stepping further out into the fire escape, arms resting on the stingingly cold railing.

And, just like that, something old — something unfinished — reignites.