Manthony ✨

São Paulo

~SÁO PAULO~

Long chapter, enjoy! :D

⚠️TW: ⚠️Smut - If you do not like smut, don't read! Thank you and enjoy! :)

ATTENTION: This is FANFICTION and none of this is CONFIRMED. No hate to ANY of the Chase Atlantic members or their girlfriends, please! Enjoy <3

~Christian~

-1 year after the car accident-

We're on the plane to Brazil for yet another Phases show. I sigh as I take a sip of my beer that I purchased from a passing flight attendant. It's cheap stuff but I don't really care. I just want to take my mind off of the nerves that come with travel and a show literally the night after you get there. I sigh and close my eyes, thinking about rest and attempting to obtain some to no avail. I sigh louder this time and unbuckle my seat belt, getting up and plod through the aisles, groggy from no sleep and on edge because who likes traveling on an airplane for more than 250 miles? I take it upon myself to use the restroom and experience some turbulence in the tiny ass compartment. I wonder if the toilet feels tiny when people sit on it. I wash my hands once I'm done and dry them, dumping the soaked contents into the small trash can provided and head back to my seat. I'm embarrassed to say I got somewhat lost on my way back and had to wander around for an extra 5 minutes. I finally find my seat and collapse next to Mitchel who has dark bags under his eyes,

"This feels like the worst plane ride I've ever had," he says and I nod my agreement, Clinton leaning over,

"I swear my brain feels muddled as fuck right now," he says and we all just shut our mouths and stop our bitching and whining. I eventually find sleep and so does Mitchel, his head on my shoulder...

I wake up to the nightlife of São Paulo, Brazil, the city lights twinkling as our plane begins its landing routine. Mitchel is still asleep on my shoulder, his breathing even. I'm glad he's asleep so he doesn't have to endure the aching of one's ears as a plane makes its way to the ground. When we hit the runway, Mitchel gasps and grips my hand, looking out the window as we gradually decrease in speed and come to a gentle stroll towards our departing gate. I yawn, grimacing once I feel my ears painfully pop. Once the captain announces that we can now leave our seats, I quickly unbuckle myself and try to beat our fellow neighbors in snatching our luggage. An old woman can't seem to reach her bags and her husband is still asleep, somehow so I push aside my hurry and help her because God forbid her arms are frail as hell and one suitcase might just be her doom. I help her and she begins hassling her husband into waking up. I turn my attention back to Mitty who's wrestling a stubborn carry-on out of the luggage compartment,

"Here, let me help, babe," I say and find the strand of fabric that was attached to a zipper, unhooking it and pulling the thing out. He grabs it and we all get situated when we wait in the ridiculously long line to get outside,

"I hope it isn't too hot," Mitchel says and Clinton snorts,

"Not only is it going to be hot, it's going to be humid," he says and Mitty groans,

"Well, the show's gonna be a blast tomorrow," I grumble as we move along and finally make it off of the stuffy plane. Thankfully the gate bridge is air conditioned and we walk through, reaching the airport. It's busy as hell for 1 am on a Wednesday,

"Well, looks like we're gonna have to wait," I say, "Who's going to risk it and stay in line for us?" I ask and Clinton growls,

"Fine, I will because you too look desperate to touch each other," he rolls his eyes and has us watch his suitcase as he slog's off. I turn to Mitchel who's blushing lightly. He sits down and I follow suit, whipping out my phone and groaning when I realize I'm at a whopping 15%,