”Passengers going on flight number 568 to Newark, 11.30 P.M, please listen. Your gate, number 42, is now opened and ready for boarding.”
Gerard Way strolled down the empty gate, hearing the passengers gather up some meters behind his colleagues amused chattering. This was his second to last flight this day out of seven. It had been a tiring day, way too many grumpy, posh passengers and delays of food and other things they needed ready to go up in the air. As if this wasn’t enough, he was working with his four most arrogant and grumpy colleagues who wouldn’t shut up their huffy mouths about how ‘eyeliner and messy hair do not fit in their strict policy of appearance.’
He scolded after them as they walked down the plane aisle to do the decent stuff at the back of the plane. Of course he had to welcome the tired, mad, and haughty passengers onto the plane. Of course.
He adjusted his tie and put on a fake grin just as the first people came down the gate, eager to drop down in a soft seat after a probably long walk in the ridiculously huge airport to reach their destination in time. This is what he hated the most with late flights. All the passengers were so busy with being tired to even consider that he had been in the air all day, and still had to smile and be nice to them. Okay, so he was paid for it. But they had paid to be here. He hadn’t forced them to it.
He frowned as a bunch of posh, chattering, pink-clad twelve-year-olds entered the plane without even a look in his direction. He rolled his eyes. They had probably been here in LA to shop with daddy’s card, acting like adults. At least they tried to look like ones and, much to Gerard’s dismay, they were almost as tall as him with their long, calf-like legs. Grinning to himself inwardly, he put on a wide smile like he was looking down at a newborn and asked them if they wanted the kids’ box of crayons and candy. After all, he was told to give those things to kids up to twelve. They gave him a shocked and embarrassed look that literally screamed ‘don’t you see our Prada bags?’ This job had some fun to offer at least.
Gerard had turned to tell the crew that all the passengers were on board, as he didn’t see any others behind the pink gang. But oh no, behind the unnaturally tall kids, there was still one man left that hadn’t been visible behind them. He turned back to give this midget an especially fake smile, as he thought ‘seriously, if I’d been shorter than twelve year olds, I would have jumped out from a bridge years ago,’ but was held back. His fake smile faded as he looked startled into the widest, white grin he’d ever seen. His eyes traced over the short, messy, dark brown hair (could there be remnants of a Mohawk?), the black band t-shirt, black, worn-out jeans and Converses. This was just how he himself would have looked if he hadn’t been trapped in the disgusting black slacks and white button-down shirt that was his work outfit.
“Hello there.”
The man’s words pulled Gerard out of his little moment of surprise. He put on a sly grin and returned the greeting. But the passenger didn’t go into the plane like he was supposed to; he just stood still, giving him an amused look. Gerard’s heartbeat sped up.
“Uh. Could I have my newspaper, please?”
Gerard mentally kicked himself. Of course, he was supposed to deliver out the Daily Mail. He must have looked so stupid. This guy must think he was brought to work here by the ‘Office for unemployed, semi retarded people’ or something. However, he handed the guy his newspaper and they shared a smile as the guy walked by him into the plane, looking for his seat. As he walked down the aisle, Gerard studied his ass, grinning. He didn’t know if it was intended or not, but this guy had a little twist with his hip as he walked. He loved it when the passengers were hot.
‘This seems to be an interesting flight after all,’ Gerard thought to himself as he was standing behind the curtain, grinning to the can of coffee in front of him. He usually hated going up and down the aisle, asking the sleepy, ignorant passengers if they wanted ‘Coffee? Tee?’ He used to feel like he should change his name to ‘Old aunt Hildred.’ But this night, he couldn’t pour out enough cups of grimy old powder coffee. He leant over his guy, putting on his most seductive grin and asking with a raspy twang in his voice if ‘he could bring him anything. Coffee, maybe? Tee?’ And, to his joy, the guy couldn’t seem to pour down enough cups of coffee. He returned the smirk every time and said “Yes thank you, since it’s so delightful. Just one more cup couldn’t hurt.” It would probably keep him awake until July.
