⇝ part two :

"What are you?" I drunkenly drawl, three bonus margaritas later. Turns out that 'Annie' could make killer mixes. At-least she was good at something.

Being a light-head, I rejoice in this fact, giggling to myself. I never had to spend more than a few bucks to get that certain kick.

Alex stares at me, but he was visibly relaxed too. He takes off his sunglasses, and tosses them onto the tray, crossing his arms.

"A man on an airplane seat, trying to avoid being smothered with drunk people."

I gasp, even though it made no sense in my swirling mind. Everything was blue, and colorful, and hey, why did pilots wear such funny hats? I remember laughing so hard, I was taking up most of the space between me and Alex.

"You look like a rock-star to me." I wag my finger, but it doesn't seem to stay in one place, and it reminds me of a bee.

"Buzz!" I howl, painting the air in front of me. Alex tries not to smile. Annie, out of the corner of my eye, looks concerned. Probably because I was so close to him. Well, she could go suffer. She put him here.

"You look like a psychic to me." He grumbles, flipping through his magazine, and doodling a little YoYo with a pencil from his pocket. That pocket didn't come out of nowhere, though? It was from his jeans. His tight, sexy jeans that look like they've been painted on.

I stare out the window, swaying slightly. This calms me a bit, and I stay mum for awhile, before eventually shutting my eyes for a second or two, drained.


" 'ey!"
I open my eyes again, suddenly pissed. "Hey!" I yell back, crossing my eyes. Alex looms over me.
"Ye' just passed out."

"No, I didn't. I shut my eyes for ONE second, and 'ye' ruined 'at." I protest, realizing that the blue sky had taken on a darker shade. So, he was right.

He narrows his eyes, and I spot the drink in his hand. Great, he was drunk too.
I massage the sore spot above my eyes, groaning and slithering further down my seat. "Jesus, lift me from here."

"Ya' can't get much further above from 'ere, love."
I give him a slight shove, and he barely flinches.

I sigh deeply, extremely bored. I had already read all magazines, cover-to-cover, and not to mention, accidently spilled Alex's drink on one, but he didn't seem to care.
Instead, he seemed rather relieved, as if he was let go from the pressure of finishing such a toxic beverage. This strange man was like nothing I'd ever seen before.

But now, I wanted to talk to him. The rest of the population in the plane was asleep, lights dimmed and all.

I nudge Alex, who looks at me reluctantly.
"Where are you heading?"

"Oh, you know, dropping in for a visit to my maternal grandparents in Kolkata." He answers, draining the rest of his new glass of whisky. He had ditched the terrible Bloody Mary, almost instantly.

I blink at him twice, utterly confused. "But this is American Airlines."
Alex gives me a look, and I shut my mouth. Right. So he was heading to New York, too. But did he have to be so awfully rude about it?

"What do you plan to do there?" I interrogate, leaning forward. Alex runs a hand through his messy hair that stopped past his ears. It was soft, and brown. Something that was freshly washed.

"Perhaps, I'll do a gig or two. Although, I'd rather not. Music is empowering. Yet, too much, and it becomes a sickness more formidable 'an your local typhoid." He replies, equally as forward. I keep my gaze, and in return, he keeps his, so it turns out to be some sort of crazy staring contest which neither of us break. I notice that his nose has a light bump, almost as if it was broken, but I don't let my eyes skim much more than that.


Alex, and I spring away from each other like two different peas in a pod. I look up expectantly at that bitchy air-hostess. Annie.

"So, A-lex. How's everything, lo-ove?" She giggles, giving me a furtive look. Bile raises up my throat, and I don't know what it's from, the ugly notion, or a drink too many.

Once I feel safe, I carefully pretend to barf, which colors Alex amused. "If you're done with your hansy-pansy, Ann-ie, you should probably turn to your job. 'Clean-up in aisle two!'" I mock, gesturing a mop. I point towards the green-faced man a few rows over, and she gives me the dirtiest look her job could manage without getting some sort of restraining order.

Alex smothers a chuckle, and I pursue my lips, trying not to laugh as she hobbles off in her ridiculous high heels, which are soon to definitely be covered in vomit.

"Oh, and the shit, shock, horror. You've seen your future bride." I sing, under my breath, as I shove the rest of my belongings in my bag. It was some tune I had heard on the radio. One from 2007, or some shit.
I feel eyes burning on me, and I look up expectantly.

"Nice song, 'at one." Alex mentions, his hazel eyes even more alert. I smile, and I don't think I've done that in quite a while. So, I smile even wider, until he awkwardly looks away.
That's what makes me laugh a bit, until I nod.

"Sorry for that weird smile. It's been a long time since I've done that. And yeah, mate, I heard it, and thought it was pretty brilliant. Too bad I don't know the name of it. "

Alex grins, one that escapes from just being restricted to his mouth, and spreads to his eyes, he leans back in his chair and shuts his eyes, nodding.

"Right. It's called 'Dancing Shoes', though. Enjoy."

I pull out my phone on the word, and search it up on Spotify, surprised when I see it was from some band called the 'Arctic Monkeys.'