three
I've been on planes before. I've flown to see relatives and for vacations with my parents. It wasn't a bothersome thing in my mind.
We boarded first class on the biggest plane I have ever seen, that's when I freaked out.
A metal tin can flying through the air with all of us obese Americans. We're going all the way from big New York City to almost as big Miami. The shortest route requires crossing a mass ocean. If we crashed, we would be absolutely gone.
This isn't a fan fiction where I would be stranded with Luke Hemmings and we'd fall in love and get saved a few weeks later. I read that one with Louis Tomlinson, and I assure you it's not realistic.
I look that nonsense up. I've got to get my facts right, there aren't too many fact checkers on AO3.
Luke had a row to himself. The window seat for him and the aisle seat for his luggage. I got the aisle seat closest to him. I could see him, hear him, even smell his Chanel cologne—on the topic, I'm pretty sure he shops in the women section for perfume and jeans.
His main body guard sat next to me, falling straight into a slumber. I knew the slightest sound would wake him up in a frenzy, this dude was in Vietnam. He has seen some real shit.
The flight took off, my eyes squeezed shut, my hands clutching onto the tight material of my jeans. Every worse case scenario ran through my hazy head. What was that sound? Did the wing come off? Were we all gonna die?
We got into the air safely, I didn't open my eyes until the seatbelt light flickered off with the sound of a bing. I looked over at Luke, analyzing his position.
His sock-clad feet were up on the wide, cozy seats. His hands wrapped around his shins, his head tucked in between the curves of his knees. Luke's head rested against the plastic siding, his eyes staring out into the clouds.
He blinked a few times, his eyes scanning over each puff of air. His earbuds were blaring some heavy baseline, so heavy that I could hear it from across the aisle.
He looked sad, as if every minute ticking on made him more and more sad. That kind of thing makes me a little sad. Luke seems like a bit of dick, but no one deserves to be sad.
Luke has everything, he has the fame and the fortune. He has devoted love, people whom would die for a single smile leaving his lips.
Humans are gifted with five senses; Sight, hearing, smell, touch, and taste. I could see that Luke was sad by the way his shoulders hunched and his eyes stayed blank. The silence filling our section of the cabin was another indicator that made the mood so down. I could only smell his cologne—or perfume. I couldn't touch him. I couldn't taste him, I don't think tasting emotion would be something done while sober.
Luke was sad, Luke was miserable. Luke could be anywhere, he could do anything.
Way back when all of this was all an idea, Jack and I would brainstorm topics. There were so many different things I could write about. I had an entire issue to myself. That's a big responsibility that contributes to my loss of sleep, but it also gives me a lot of freedom.
I wanted to write about the effects of fame. I know there are many of them, I follow social media closely. Even the littlest fame can cause something.
When I reached one-thousand followers on Twitter, it went to my head and I unfollowed all the mean kids I went to high school with. I couldn't imagine what Luke's head is filled with his fifty-million followers.
There's something deep wanting to be found in Luke Hemming's head, and something inside of my stupid mind wouldn't quit until I found it all out.
Thoughts? On anything.
