Flight A2783

"Holy shit."

"What?" Harry asks flatly, not looking up from his phone. I roll my eyes.

"Nothing," I reply, sniffing and turning away.

"Fine. Don't tell me," Harry says.

"I won't," I say, shrugging and replugging my earphones into my laptop. I decided to bring that bad boy out again. I'm bored.

You feel?

I'm watching some girl on YouTube who is doing a haul with like six things that add up to a thousand fucking dollars. How do I know this? I used a calculator. So yeah. How does she afford all that shit? Like I don't have enough money for the jeans she got.

And you must be wondering; why the fuck are you in first class?

Well here's why; because my parents are rich, but I refuse to accept any money from them but my parents paid for my plane ticket anyway.

But I guess it's more comfortable this way. In first class. But still.

Pissed me off. So maybe I do have money for those jeans. I just refuse to use too much of it.

I'm sooo booored. I've already scrolled through my tumblr dash like 1526738382839 times and no one has reblogged anything like what the fuck. God damnit.

Then I've checked my insta and its like where all those camera whores and their selfies like you'd think in the one time I need something to look at they'd pull through. Nope. No camera whores today.

And then I go on fucking twitter and like no one is tweeting anything. Like not even anything about being bored or about taking a shit or whatever.

My social media accounts are failing me.

Vine is no help either.

Ask.fm is failing because no one asks me any fucking questions.

YouTube. Well. I'd have to watch the same videos over and over again and that gets tiring after awhile.

Omegle. I really don't want to see any penises right now so I'm not gonna bother.
I'm so bored.

I still have like four hours on this flight. Like fuck.

I drum my fingers on my tray, rolling my eyes when Harry gives me a dirty look. He says something but I don't hear it because I'm tuning him out. I stop and shut my laptop and slide it back into my backpack. I unbuckle my seatbelt and navigate through Harry's legs to stand in the aisle. I reach up to open up the overhead compartment.

Need my sweatshirt. It's cold. I mean I already have a hoodie on so I'm going to take that off and put on a crew neck.

My bag is wedged between these two huge ass suitcases that in no way are regulation size. Like what the fuck. I'm sure you rich people can afford to pay for your huge ass suitcases. Jesus.
I tug on my duffle, yanking on it. No luck.

I continue yanking until I get so fucking frustrated that I yank on it superhumanly hard and one of the huge suitcases pops out and starts falling towards my face.

I'm just going to tell you now that most of the time my reflexes are good. This time though. Well this time isn't included in the 'most of the time' category. In fact, it falls in the 'I was in Brandy-world and not paying attention to reality' category.

I've injured myself a lot before. In highschool when I played volleyball, I twisted my ankle diving for a ball. I've broken my arm. Cracked a rib. But never have I ever been hit in the head with a suitcase.

In fact as it falls, all I can do is open my mouth and make a high squeaking sound and widen my eyes.

Then there's a jarring impact on my forehead and everything goes black.

***
Harry

Brandy is drumming on the tray.

Stop. Jesus. She has no respect for other people. It's almost funny how rude she can be. Almost.
I can't take it anymore. I glare at her. "You want to stop?" I grumble.

She just rolls her eyes and keeps on doing it. Obviously she's bored. She could sleep. Or watch or do whatever she was doing on her laptop and keep from annoying everyone on this fucking plane. But no. She wants to keep on drumming on her tray as if she's a little five year old who needs to pee.

Finally, she stops. Thank. God. Holy. Sweet. Baby. Jesus. She shuts her laptop and shoves it into her backpack. It's so weird that she has a backpack. Not a purse or some sort of bag like most girls do. She stands up and her long, slim legs are walking past mine and she stands in the aisle.
I watch all of this in the corner of my eye. Because I know she'll probably give me a lecture about staring.

She reaches up and her tank top shifts upwards, so that a strip of her toned stomach is showing. I'm mesmerized. She doesn't notice me staring. She's trying to get something from her bag. I think.

As she's tugging on something, a strand of her hair falls in her face. The rest of it is up in this messy bun thing I think its called. This annoyed look makes its way onto her face and she's muttering something under her breath. Knowing her, it can't be anything nice.

Brandy stops whatever she's doing and sighs, then glares at whatever she's tugging. Then she gives a hard yank, and all I see is her eyes widening and her lips parting and I hear a low squeaking sound. A suitcase comes tumbling down and hits her in the head and she's falling and the suitcase is too and scramble out of my seat and grab it before it falls on Brandy.

She's just lying there. People are staring, shocked.

I throw the suitcase aside and get on my knees, shaking her, shaking her. But she's not waking up. Holy shit she's not waking up.

Shit shit shit.

Her chest is rising up and down steadily. She's breathing. She passed out.

There's a small gash on her forehead, and bruising around it. It's bleeding. Shit.

A stewardess has come over with a first aid kit. This girl is different from the one before. She asks me to lift Brandy and place her on my seat, the back reclined so Brandy can lie down. I do this, then watch as the stewardess cleans the cut, then places a large band aid over it.

She brings a cup of water and a packet of aspirin, saying that as soon as Brandy wakes up, to have her drink it.

I nod and watch Brandy for awhile. Why she's out for this long I don't know. They usually aren't unconscious for this long right? Then again its only been about a minute-

***
Brandy

"Jesus fuck," I mutter, as my eyes flutter open. There's a stinging sensation on the right side of my forehead.

I reach up to touch it, but someone grabs my hand and makes me stop.

"Don't touch," a voice says quietly. Harry is leaning over me, his eyebrows knitted together with concern. He leans over me a little more and adjusts the seat so it's still inclined, but I'm sitting up a bit more. He hands me a cup and two white pills. "Drink up."

"What is it?" I ask, even as I pop the pills in my mouth and swallow them.

"Asks the girl who swallows them before getting her answer," Harry says, sounding annoyed. "Aspirin. You got hit in the head with a giant suitcase."

"Yeah. I remember trying to get my bag down so I could get my sweatshirt," I say quietly. "Speaking of which; Can you get it for me?"

Harry stands and grabs my bag down easily and opens it up. I see a bright swatch hot pink. My hot pink bra to be exact.

Abort mission.

Abort abort abort.

Harry smirks up at me, but then pulls out my gray crewneck and hands it to me.

"Thanks," I say stiffly, my face flushed, slipping off my hoodie and putting the crewneck on instead.

"Do you want the bra too?" Harry asks, zipping up my duffle bag and putting it back into the overhead compartment.

"Shut up," I mutter, putting my hoodie into my backpack.

"What color bra are you wearing now?" The little shit asks me, plopping back down into his seat.

"I'm not wearing a bra."

Harry's eyes bug out of his head as he quickly glances at my chest. "Oh."

"I was kidding you little fucker. I'm wearing a sports bra," I reply, rolling my eyes. Harry flushes. "You can't just ask a girl what color bra she's wearing."

"Sorry."

I scoff. "No you're not."

The look on his face tells me I'm correct. That little shit. Perverted, unrespectful little bastard. He genuinely wants to know what color bra I'm wearing.

"If it helps your sick desire, my sports bra is blue," I say sarcastically. Harry grins, and I roll my eyes. "I really don't understand you."

"What's not to understand?" Harry replies.

"How you can be such a perverted dickhead and be nice to people at the same time. Like how?" I mutter.

Harry opens his mouth to respond only to be interrupted by the three girls from earlier. Jesus fuck. Leave us alone. Like fuck off. Please.

"I was just wondering if you could follow me on twitter?" She asks shyly.

Harry shoots her a smile that would cause a convent full of sexually abstinent nuns to beg for him to make them unsexually-abstinent. "Of course."

"This is exactly what I was talking about," I hiss, rolling my eyes.

She turns to look at me. "What happened to your face?"

I snort. What happened to yours? Did mommy shut the door too hard on you when she realized you were so ugly? Of course I don't actually say this, but it'd be nice to. But I'm not that much of a bitch. "Got hit in the head with a huge ass suitcase."

She and her little friends exchange looks and snicker. I really wish I had said that thing to them. Wipe those little smirks off their faces.

"I hope it doesn't affect your intelligence," she says snarkily. "Not that you seem very smart."

"I guess you speak from experience, huh?" I say flatly, smirking at her momentarily blank expression. Harry watches this without a word, his phone in his hand, his thumb hovering over the screen.

"N-no," she stammers. I snicker. "You're not very pretty," she blurts, as her final attempt at insulting me.

I just laugh. Like your mother, right? She can't be very pretty or you wouldn't have ended up looking like that.

Of course I don't say this either.

"Thanks. I guess that makes us even," I say flatly, examining my nails and staring at the chip in my navy blue nail polish.

"Ugly bitch," she says more confidently.

I just look at her. I open my mouth to respond, but Harry cuts me off. "That's enough," he says quietly, and to my surprise he isn't saying it to me. Harry is speaking to the girl. And she's just as surprised as I am. His voice isn't particularly mean, or even cold. It's quiet, polite, and unnervingly flat. "Apologize to her please " My eyes widen, and so do the girl's.

"S-sorry," she stammers, her eyes wide, and her cheeks flushed.

Harry sets his phone down. "You should have a new follower," he says quietly. "Do you mind giving us some time alone?"

All three shake their heads and shuffle away, whispering to each other.

"What was that?" I ask, still shocked.

"I didn't like what she was saying to you. All of it is untrue," he says casually, shrugging his shoulders.

I cock an eyebrow. "You think I'm smart?"

Harry seems to be avoiding my gaze. "Yes."

"And pretty?" This one's a stretch, but I want to see what he says.

"Yes."

"Well thanks," I say, smirk on my face. "Although, I'm not sure I-"

And suddenly his mouth is on mine, his lips parting and forcing mine to mirror his in the action.
My lips are tingling, and a wildfire is spreading through my body, starting from my lips down to the tips of my toes. My hands grip the armrests, and Harry's hand cups my cheek, his touch gentle.

It's a lingering kiss, and then it's over. Just like that

Harry pulls away abruptly, stands up, and walks away, to first class bathroom, shutting the door with a loud bang behind him. People stare for a moment, then go back to what they were doing. My lips are still tingling, still feeling like Harry's are on mine.

Holy fuck.

What was that?

***

It's been ten minutes. He still hasn't come out. Either he's taking an extremely long shit, or he got sucked into the toilet and out the plane and splatted to his death.

Yes. Splatted. Not a word. I made it up. Get over yourself.

Or he's just as shocked from the kiss as I am and is still reeling.

Like I am.

My thoughts are racing a fucking mile a minute. Jesus. I can't think straight.

Should I go and check on him? Would that be weird?

I mean he could be taking a shit and I'd be interrupting and I know that could like affect his
ability to like actually go. So idk man. I'm so confused.

It'd be weird, wouldn't it? God. Maybe I should just stay here. Wait til he comes out.

No. I'm going to go check on him. Yeah. Imma do it.

I stand up, smoothing my crewneck down a bit. I walk into the aisle, take about five steps, then panic.

Or nah.

Abort mission.

Abort abort abort.

I realize that I'm standing in the middle of the first class cabin and people are starting to stare.
Shit. No. I have to go. I need to pull my shit together. I force my legs to keep moving.

When I get to the bathroom door, I hesitate, raising my hand to knock. I keep my hand there, chewing the inside of my cheek. I knock, twice.

I hear Harry say, "Occupied."

I take a deep breath. "Harry? Are you okay?" I ask, trying not to talk too loud.

A pause. "Yeah." Another pause. "I'm fine."

"Oh. Um. Okay," I say awkwardly. The door opens, and Harry's hand wraps around my wrist and pulls me into the bathroom with him.

"Wha-?"