Flight 208

chapter 1

harry

"SHIT," I hiss as I drop my bag on my foot for the third time today. This thing has my life in it. My tour manager only let my band mates and I have one bag each. Do you understand how hard it is to shove everything you need for a ten month tour into one suitcase? It's pretty fucking hard. We finished our last show last night in New York, thankfully. I mean don't get me wrong, I love performing, but I've been consistently doing this for three years with barely any break. It's for the fans though. Even though they throw heavy ass shit at my head, I do it for them. But seriously, I wonder on a daily basis how a 14 year old girl can chuck a jumbo sized dildo successfully at my head. I still have a bruise from that one.

"Next in line please," an old voice blasts through the speaker. "Me?" I mouth at the krusty woman who needs to get her eyebrows done. "Who else would I be talking to asshat?" she snarks. Damn, who pissed in her coffee?

My heels (they're not feminine, they're grunge) click as I travel to the ticket stand. "ID, passport, flight number," she croaks. I reach into my black back and look for all of my shit. I can't find a fucking thing in this stupid ass bag. My mum didn't think about storage when she got me this for Christmas (love you mum). I finally spot the little booklet and my wallet and hand the stuff to the old hag. Her wrinkly hand snatches it and types it all into the computer. I check my watch. Well, shit. My flight leaves in 30 minutes and I'm not even past security yet. Good one, Harry.

After what seems like a century the ticket shoots out of the machine. I think this bitch is messing with me now, because she takes extra long to pull the ticket out and hand me my baggage tickets. Finally she hands them to me and I mumble a quick "thanks bitch" before I turn and speed walk to security. Gate D3, flight 208 to Chicago.

The line's not long. Thank god. It only takes me about five minutes to get through the metal detector and start heading towards my gate (minus the 3 minutes it took me to get my sparkly boots on. That part doesn't count).

I take long strides to the gate, assuming I'm already going to be late. Let's be honest here, I'm always late. I guess it just comes with the "bad boy" persona. Ha, bad boy. Okay Harry.

After a few minutes, I'm way too out of breath for the shape I'm in. And yes, chunky yet funky is a shape. You would think having a world champion wrestler as a personal trainer would pay off, but I guess not.

cora

My ass actually might fall off if I sit on this tacky carpet for one more minute. I push myself off the floor and head over to the crowded airport McDonald's. A girls gotta do what a girl's gotta do to fulfill her high cholesterol needs.

After eating way more than my small frame was intended to, I feel my heart sink as I hear the last thing I wanted to. "Ladies and gentlemen, I'm sorry to say that flight 208 from Laguardia to Chicago, has been delayed til further notice due to mechanical issues with your aircraft. There's no need to worry, you can come to the front desk with any questions you might have. Again, I am sorry and you're welcome to stay at the terminal until everything is sorted out, but it can take up three hours. Thank you, for flying southwest."

Great, well there goes my dinner plans. I've been waiting to see Ian for four months now, of course our romantic night together has to be postponed. This is the exact moment where I wish to myself "Damn, I could use a drink!" Sadly, being 19, I would have to wait to be in the comfort of my own home (or in this case Ian's) considering it's highly illegal.

Ian and I have the typical long-distance relationship. We met in high school, started dating in Junior year, got into different colleges across the country, yet magically we make it all work. Since there are only a few weeks left until the end of our freshman year at college, we decided to celebrate spring break together in Chicago.

As I attempt to walk off all of the calories I just consumed, I slam into a particularly attractive dude. Complete with ripped flannel and sparkly gold boots. What the FUCK kind of outfit is that? "Oh shit, sorry love, didn't see you there." DAMMNNNN BOY GOT A BRITISH ACCENT. "ummmmm, sorry," Cora. You are talking to an extremely attractive specimen, get your shit together.

"Hey, I'm Cora." I blurt nervously, jutting my sweaty hand out in an attempt to shake his hand. He stares at me for a second before laughing and reaching his own hand out to meet mine. "Harry. Nice to meet you, Cora." Why do I get the feeling that isn't going to be the only time I'm going to run into him? Cora. Snap the fuck out of it. You're going to see your boyfriend.

After a few minutes of mindless chatting, I find out that Harry has a cat, is from Cheshire, his favorite color is, as he described it, "a deep, jungly, foresty, mysterious green", whatever that means. He's also in a band.

"Which direction?" I mutter, confused.

"No, One Direction. It's my band's name. We're kind of big, if you know what I mean" he replies as he winks. I can barely suppress my chuckle.

"Way to be humble about it, Asshat."

"Hm. That's the second time someone's called me that today. I must have it written on my forehead or something."

"Very funny. Where're you headed?" Pleasenotchicagopleasenotchicagopleaseno-

"Chicago." Fucking great.

"Don't suppose your flight is number 208?"

"Haha, yeah, actually it is. How funny!" he winks. What is up with all this goddamn winking? "What's your seat number? Maybe we'll sit next to each other!"

"Oh, I hope not!"

"C'mon, you don't mean that!" he suggests.

"I think I do! Also, you should know that our flight is delayed for at least another three hours!" I smile.

"Are you fucking kidding me?? I have a very special date with a very special person!" he hissed.

"Oh! With whom?"

"My mum, thanks for asking." he huffed. I couldn't swallow the giggle that was arising.

"Are you kidding? Your mom! Haha that's great!" I snickered. He's a mommy's boy! I never would assume that.

"Hey! My mum is a strong, beautiful woman who deserves the world!" he ranted.

"Damn, bitchboi, calm your tits. I was joking. You just don't seem like someone who would take their mom on a date," Harry shot me a warning glare, "but hey, that's cool. Good for you. I bet she loves your dates." I smirk. He just groans and turns to his phone for comfort.

I decide to nap to pass the time, and surprisingly enough, hot strangers you meet in an airport happen to make great pillows. After what seemed like five minutes, a demon of a voice booms through the loud speaker, telling us it's time to board. Finally.

I grabbed my bag and strolled over to the door, handing the woman my ticket and walking onto the loud plane. Harry followed close behind. Pleasedonthavetheseatnexttomepleasedonthavetheseatnexttomeplease- SHIT.

Harry looks at me with a sinister grin, and places his (very expensive looking) bag next to me, "Wow! Would you look at that. I have the seat right next to yours!" he winks at me, yet again.

If he winks at me one more time I will personally rip his eyeball out. "Yeah, what a coincidence." I groan to myself and slowly sink deeper and deeper into my seat. He stretches up to put his bag into the overhead compartment and I almost faint. His v-line is so real. Why God, why? Cora, you have a boyfriend. You have a boyfriend you don't need a hot British boy who happens to share your interests and flight number. You got this. I got this. I'm good.

Harry leans over and whispers in my ear, "I get nervous when I fly, mind if I hold your hand?" and this bitch winks. I sigh, exasperated. This is gonna be one hell of a flight.