Author's Notes: Um. Yeah, I feel lame for posting this. But I am, because I'm basically hackin amazing. Plus, there just isn't enough Oliver/Miley stories out there. :D
Author's Warnings: Due to the AUness of this story, characters are most likely going to be slightly out of character, especially Miley/Hannah's. However, please keep in mind the circumstances of the plotline before you flame or complain.
Disclaimer: I don't associate with any characters nor do I plan to. Therefore the lack of contact and custody means I don't own a thing. Pity, really. Oh, and the story's title is lyrics taken from The Academy Is...'s song, Everything We Had.
Title's credit goes to: Chiodos.
1.
Life Is A Perception Of Your Own Reality
The flash of light bulbs gives a glimpse of what surrealism is. If only Hannah could notice such a thing, however, she was too preoccupied by the thousands sources of lights capturing the glint of her eyes. Instead she smiled; tossed her blonde chemically enhanced hair over her bare shoulder and waved at the yelling men, all attempting to capture the perfect – or maybe, not so perfect – angle of her glowing body.
Maybe today they'll leave her alone. Maybe if she poses perfectly, like she always does, they'll be satisfied.
They'll never be.
Which, in all honestly, isn't entirely bad either. Because if they loose their interest in Hannah the world will, without a doubt, follow. And she'll be nothing but another burnt out Hollywood child star fueled on someone else's dreams. But that could never happen. Never.
Eventually she grew tired and slightly blinded from the flashing bulbs, smiling emptily one more time before exiting the carpet with her awaiting father. Her brother, Jackson, is absent like always. But she just assumes he's simply jealous over the fact that he wasn't blessed – or maybe it's cursed? – with fame like his sister. And, like everything else, it doesn't matter. As long as Hannah Montana is content, it's fine. With one last wave, in the building father and daughter went, welcomed with screams of overzealous and assumingly prepubescent girls.
"We love you!"
Hannah smiled knowingly. Of course they love her. Why wouldn't they?
She is, after all, Hannah Montana. A perfect teenage star whom was blessed with natural good looks (covered up by pounds of makeup), a dazzling smile (after paying for veneers), the perfect body (by avoiding sweets at all costs), and amazing voice (thanks to vocal correctors). Just the complete teenage package.
Like a routine she signed the overly large and heavily photoshopped posters of her with large, cursive pretty letters and within an hour she finished the last of her fans. Finally with little girls happily content and no more posters to spare, she left the circular, blank room and followed her father outside.
Once again lights flooded her vision and, unlike many other stars all whom try to flee the overbearing lights, she effortlessly posed with her father at her side. She looked blankly at the people surrounding them, refusing to even bother to look past the mass. Because behind them and their cameras is darkness. And she doesn't look beyond the blinding lights not because she couldn't see but what she might see.
-
-
"So, wait, whose eating at your restaurant?"
Oliver sighed impatiently, his grip tightening on his phone before muttering through gritted teeth, "I already told you, Lilly! Hannah Montana! That stupid popstar."
"Oh," his friend responded lamely. "So you got over your obsession with her then?"
"Shut up," he hissed, rolling his eyes when Lilly giggled tauntingly as a response. "God, I tell you one thing, one thing, and you blackmail me with it every chance you're given?"
"Well, pretty much yeah."
"Thanks."
"No problem." There a brief pause from the other end before Lilly continued in attempt to stretch the dying conversation. "So, are you waiting on her? Or what?"
"I'm not sure," sighed Oliver, running a hand through his brown mop of hair. "I don't really care but I doubt the manager would even think about it. Last week I dropped a plate of spaghetti on a costumer –"
"That's your forth time," Lilly commented cheerfully.
"–so there isn't much of a chance he'd let me even breathe next to Hannah Montana."
"Which is good, right?" questioned his friend. "I mean, you don't really give off the impression of wanting to serve her."
"Right. Plus, I heard she's a complete bitch anyways. I'd probably be fired right on the spot if she complained about me." he concluded before glancing at the nearby clock hanging from a wall in the kitchen he was currently located, sitting on a pristine white table eating dinner and wasting away the minutes of his break.
"You should quit regardless," Lilly urged.
"Like hell I will." he scoffed.
"I mean it, Oliver." Now he could almost see the frown flashing across his friend's pretty face. "Your job sucks. Really sucks. And your boss isn't exactly keen on you and your two left feet working for him."
"Then I should consider myself lucky for his lack of good help," smirked Oliver. "And even if I wanted to, I can't. I'm not going to live off of sunshine and love when I go to college."
"I guess, I mean, it's pretty unlikely you could, considering you'd never find love in the first place. Well, excluding me and I guess your family at least."
"Once again, I thank you for your comments, Lilly."
"And once again, I reply with a 'no problem', Oliver."
The brunet let out an overly dramatic sigh before informing, "you know, I'm just going to hang up now assuming that you're going to continue assaulting my ego."
Lilly giggled as a response. "I'm telling you nothing but the truth but I should get back to my homework."
"Alright, I'll call you later."
"You better, Oken."
"Promise." With that said, Oliver ended the call and shoved the mechanical device deep into his slack's pocket before finishing up the remainder of his dinner. With his stomach satisfied and his social life up to snuff, he straightened his button down shirt, fixed his lopsided tie and finally ventured out in the dining area.
Not taking even two steps the manager whom he had grown to completely loathe had uncomfortably grabbed his arm and pulled him back into the kitchen. Out of habit his mind instantly raced with lies and excuses for whatever he had wrongfully done; immediately informing his manager, "I'm only a minute late, sir. Sorry. You can –"
"Never mind that," breathed the slightly dazed man adjacent from Oliver. "Hannah Montana's here and I need you to serve her water."
Oliver froze. "M-me, sir?" he asked with disbelief. "But, I thought, since last night –"
"That incident gives you a reason to redeem yourself," hissed Oliver's manager. "My entire staff is working on catering to her and blocking the paparazzi from entering. You're the only one I hadn't assigned anything to."
"Well, in that case," Oliver sighed, his heart dropping quite low. "I'll grab the pitcher and ask her now."
Author's Notes: Ugh, first chapter. Any thoughts? Future chapters will be longer and hopefully slightly more captivating, I promise. I just need to develop and establish their personalities first. Review to make me feel less lame?
