In This Starless City

I had arrived at the air port and had checked my bags just a little after nine thirty. I sat on a bench by the revolving door and after just a few minutes, I saw my lead guitarist come bursting through them.

He was breathing heavily as he walked up to me, his luggage hanging off of him as well as trailing behind him. I stifled my laughter as he glared at me, setting his guitar (which was safely packed in a traveling hard-shell case) beside my legs.

"You're mean, you know that?" he says as he walked away toward the check-in counter.

"And you're sweaty," I call to him as he went and he flipped me off over his shoulder.

Ten minutes later, the final two members of Charlotte Melancholic came through the revolving doors with their luggage.

Oliver—a lanky kid with light brown hair was the first to spot me and he waved excitedly, his guitar swinging off of his shoulder. He was our lead vocalist and second guitarist as well as the life of the band. He could double as a mascot if we wanted him to.

After sighting me, he nudged Brandon, the drummer who carried only a pair of drumsticks as opposed to a stringed instrument, and the two of them made their way over to me.

"Forget to set an alarm, Miss Melancholy?" Oliver grinned ridiculously at me. He knew I didn't like that nickname; he also knew that there was nothing I could say to keep him from using it too.

"No, Nathan did."

My voice carried through the air port and Nathan, who was still at the check-out counter, turned to flip me off again, this time using both fingers.

Oliver, Brandon, and I all laughed as Oliver set his guitar beside Nathan's before he and Brandon also made their way toward where Nathan was finishing paying his checking fine.

Finally, after a long discussion with the security woman behind the check-in counter, we made our way toward security with just out designated musical instruments hanging in our hands. Except for Brandon, that is. The woman behind the check-in counter made him check them along with his luggage, claiming they could be used as a weapon against the pilot. He seemed bored now that he had nothing to tap on things with, but he had a million pairs of drumsticks at his summer home, along with his second or third set of drums.

Oliver slapped Nathan on the shoulder blade. "Forget how to function without your mom holding your hand, Nathan?" He joked, snorting. Nathan shoved his shoulder and told him to shut up.

Typical, I thought with a small smile.

We made our way through security without too much of a hassle and by the time we had all gotten our carry-on items from the x-ray belt, we had to sprint to our gate when we realized that they had already finished seating everyone and were getting ready to close the doors.

"Hold on a second," Brandon hollered at the top of his lungs, causing many of the people around the air port to watch as we hurried toward our gate. "Sorry, we got held up by…traffic." Oliver and I both snickered.

Smiling apologetically as we walked by the stewardess, she begrudgingly scanned our boarding passes and allowed us one by one onto the plane. Brandon, who was in front of me, twitched his eyebrows at the woman, and she scoffed, rolling her eyes.

I laughed at Brandon's failed attempt to be seductive as we walked hastily toward the plane.

Of course, the flight attendants were not pleased with our tardiness, and asked us to please hurry and be seated so that the plane would be able to depart on schedule. Apologizing once more to her, I scowled when I turned away, and I made my way toward my seat with me ticket in hand.

We slid single file by the passengers in the first class cabin and I could feel their eyes burning into me the entire time. I kept my eyes glued to my ticket and continued into coach. Finally, I reached my row of seats, which to my surprise, were both empty. I slid into the chair next to the window and gently leaned my bass in the seat beside me.

Brandon sat down in the aisle seat in the row in front of me and instantly turned around and looked at me over the back of his seat. He frowned over my head.

"What's with the empty seats back there?" he ponders aloud, nodding behind me. I turned in my seat to see that there were four empty seats behind me.

I shrugged at Brandon but before I could voice my opinion of the empty chairs, I heard someone shouting in the front of the plane.

"Wait, wait, we're coming!" the voice of a boy says, sounding slightly out of breath, but his voice rang out with so much clarity that he could've been standing right beside me and talking at a normal volume. The sound of frantic footsteps pounded onto the threshold of the plane and the voice sounded again. "Sorry," the boy apologizes in a gasp. "Jackass here decide to sleep in a tad today."

I could only assume that the flight attendant would not be impressed. And the tone of her voice when she said, "Please find your seats, sirs." closed my case.

The male voice did not sound again as footsteps made their way through first class and toward the end of the plane.

"Our seats our all the way in the bloody nose section of the plane," another voice says with a sigh. "Leave it to Alex to book the last tickets left on a flight to LAX."

Having heard this, Brandon groaned, casting a yearning look at the roomy, empty seats behind me and glaring at the snoring man beside him, before turning back around and sliding down once more.

I snickered at him before my eyes caught sight of a guitar case being carried down the aisle. My eyes rose to the face of the boy that was carrying the guitar case and I wondered momentarily why the boy seemed so familiar. Then, it hit me, hard, and my breath hitched and my stomach spasmed.

The boys of All Time Low were walking casually toward us.

I recognized each member of the band as if I had known them my whole life.

Alex Gaskarth was easily pointed out due to his muss of brown hair that had had a black beanie shoved over it.

Rian Dawson was behind Alex, his characteristically white teeth dazzling as he laughed at snide comment that had been directed toward Alex just moments beforehand.

Zack Merrick was behind Rian and was smiling as well while simultaneously fiddling with the lock on his guitar case.

Then, bringing up the end of the train, there was the unmistakable Jack Barakat.

I blinked and lowered my eyes. My teeth snapped together as I gave a small nod toward Brandon, who had turned around to stare disbelievingly at me as the four musicians continued their way toward the back of the plane.

Obviously, I wasn't the only one that had recognized them so easily. Incognito was obviously not these boys' forte.

I forced myself to stare out the window of the plane, praying silently that none of the aforementioned musicians had the seat beside me.

I didn't want to be forced an opportunity to humiliate myself.

Then, to my displeasure, a throat was cleared behind me before a voice asked, "Excuse me, is this your bass?"

I turned to se Zack Merrick eying my black Fender bass with a smile on face as he waited for my response. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Brandon looking back at me from between the two seats in his row. His eyes flicked from me to Zack and back again repeatedly.

Behind Zack, Oliver and Nathan were both staring around at me as well, willing me to respond already.

Finally, I smiled back at Zack and nodded. "Yes, she's my baby."

Zack's smile grew and he delicately picked up my guitar, running a hand over the neck and the strings. "She's beautiful," he says before casting me another bright grin. "Is this seat empty?" he then inquires.

I was about to reply when another voice sounded and cut me off. "Yo Zack, that's my seat. Bug off!" I looked to see Jack Barakat.

With a let down expression, Zack nodded once and then walked to the clear back of the plane, taking a seat and placing his guitar case in the empty seat beside him.

Jack smiled apologetically. "Sorry about him," he says as he carefully placed his guitar case in the seat diagonally behind his, beside Mr. Gaskarth, who was typing vigorously on his cell phone. "Zack is always trying to find a reason to feel up a girl's…bass strings."

The strategically placed pause in his statement made me gape slightly at him before laughing quietly as he gave a goofy grin and buckled his seat belt.

My cell phone buzzed in my pocket and I pulled it out to see that Oliver had sent me a text message.

Keep it in your pants, Char. :]

Rolling my eyes, I opened a blank message.

Not that you would know, Mr. Mangina.

I pressed 'send' and moments later, I heard a sharp intake of breath from the seats across the aisle from Jack and me and when I looked, Oliver was giving me the finger, to which I responded with a sweet smile.

My band just loved flipping me off if you hadn't already noticed.

"You need to put that away," I was suddenly commanded off by a flight attendant. I looked up to see the woman sneering down at me and I tried to smile at her, but I think it came off more like a jeer as she walked away.

Shoving my phone back in my pocket, I noticed that Jack had done the same thing just as I had. I smirked, and suddenly, the woman was back, peering down at my and Jack's empty hands suspiciously before giving us both an annoyed look and walking away.

I looked down at my lap.

"Bitch,"

My tone of voice was matched with that of the boy beside me and after calling jinx on each other simultaneously, we both started laughing.

"Holy shit, I thought I was the only person left on the face of the earth that played that game," Jack says through his giggles, his eyes bright and smiling.

"I've only played that game since I was a tiny tanker!" I exclaim excitedly before abruptly sobering and fixing Jack with a serious stare. "But for the record, you will not be getting a soda from me."

He made a face. "Maybe we can strike a trade?" he asks with a smile.

I quirked an eyebrow. "Depends on what's on the table," I say craftily.

"Well, for starters, I'd love to know your name," he says with genuine interest, his brown eyes still twinkling.

"Will I learn yours in return?" I ask in vain, but he didn't know that I knew who he was. He'd probably be creeped out if he did.

"That's usually how a trade works," he says in a 'duh' voice.

I looked him over carefully. "Charlotte," I say, coyly. "Charlotte Connery."

He tilted his head ever so slightly, his luminescent eyes narrowing faintly. "Is that an accent?"

I nodded. "I'm from London,"

He gave me another odd glance before beaming again. "I like it," he then held out a hand. "Jack," he mocked me. "Jack Barakat."

I placed my hand in his gently. "It's nice to meet you and your phony accent,"

He leaned in slowly. "The pleasure is all mine, I assure you," he kids, placing a cliché kiss on the back of my hand.

Fighting the blush that I knew was rising up my neck, I tore my eyes from his and looked at the window, laughing quietly to myself at him.

This was going to be an interesting flight, that much is certain.