|#Wattys2015| HΔNGIN' |Bastille/Dan Smith fanfic|

7. Dont, just don't.

The following morning Woody seems in less pain and is excited to go home. We all are in fact considering we all have our women to go home to. Will has his nice girlfriend, Kyle is dating Janna, and Woody is married to his wonderful girl, Chrissy.
I find that really cool too because as soon as they married they became Chris Wood and Chrissy Wood so the basically have the same name!

I pick up my luggage from the collection point and look for Woodys. We've just got off the plane in London, Home! Finally! for four days. Seeing as Woody is on crutches for now for his sprained ankle, he can't carry his bag so I kindly offered to get it for him. But its not here. Why didn't it come through the conveyor belt? Looking to the left I see that everyone else has got their bags but not Woody's bag. Where is it?! Woody notices me getting frustrated.

"Is my bag not there?" I shake my head, " oh fuck, they've done it again! Bloody British Airways!" Woody curses and calls a staff member over. He tells her that the bag isn't there and she says something down her radio.

"We are just searching for it now, sorry for the inconvenience... again." She smiles. Neither of us reply. Why does British Airways have a habit of losing Woody's bag? Pretty stupid.
Woody sighs annoyingly whilst we wait patiently for someone to return the bag.

"So how are you?" Woody asks me, breaking the silence between everyone.

"Fine" I reply simply whist scrolling through tweets on twitter on my phone. A lot of fans have been posting stuff. One in particular caught my eye,

"@Bastilledan your pessimism is really getting annoying. grow some balls you fat bastard!"

Re-reading it again, I think hard. The person is right. My pessimism is annoying my band too... but they've never called me a fat bastard. Maybe they should if its the truth. I probably am fat. But oh well. Does it really matter? probably.

"Dan ignore it" Woody tells me. I hadn't noticed he was leaning over my shoulder, reading what's on my phone.

"They're right though" I reply. Woody tugs on my hoodie, pulling me to the side and away from everyone else again, who just looks confused.

"Daniel Campbell Smith. When the hell are you gonna open your eyes and ignore the fans?!" He snaps quietly.

"Why should I ignore them when they're right? They're only telling the truth, my pessimism annoys everyone, admit it!" I snap back angrily. This isn't going to end well.

"Fine, yes. Your pessimism annoys us, annoys me! Because its fucking bullshit!" Now he's calling me a liar?!

"It's not! I think the songs are crap because they genuinely are! Even the fans think that Wood! When are you gonna open your eyes and realise that?" and with that, I storm out of the airport away from all the stares, without a word to anyone else. I don't care if the guys want to know if I'm okay or anything, I'm going straight home. The anger remains bubbling through me as I clamber into a taxi, dragging my suitcase next to me. I tell the driver my address and just before he starts driving, he turns to look at me.

"I thought I recognised your voice! So how's rock star life?" he asks in a cheery way. He's so cheery it's actually depressing. My band will hate me now. I wipe an escaping tear from my cheek and the driver's smile suddenly drops.

"Cookie?" he offers, holding out a pack of chocolate chip cookies. I shake my head and he puts them down. What if they kick me out? Woody will probably never forgive me.

"Why the hell is Bastille's famous singer crying?" The driver questions in a not so cheery tone. I sigh heavily and ignore the question, waiting to go home.

"Come on, I'm not moving until you answer dude" He says again. Oh my god is it seriously that important?! What's happened to respect these days? I mean if I saw someone crying and he or she didn't want to talk about it then I wouldn't push them, I would respect their choice to keep it to themselves. Why can't this stupid blonde haired driver do that?

"I had an argument with our drummer, now take me fucking home!" I snap angrily. The driver turns around in silence and finally drives the taxi to my destination, home.

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-Kyle