Okay so now I have started sixth form so won't be writing as often, also this took horrifically long to write and ended up much longer than I intended so I hope you enjoy :)

Take me to a higher plane

Phil shifted his ticket between his hands as he queued. He was nervous, to say the least. He stood in a long, grey room; possibly the least imaginative room he had ever stood in. Each surface seemed to shine, reflecting off of each other in a manner which hurt the eyes. Not to mention the lights, big lights flooded the room, lighting up boards littered with orange writing which burned into Phil's corneas. The chairs surrounding him were filled with people, whole families sometimes squished onto a single plastic chair. And everyone was so different too, not just the clothing; which made the room like a slightly more dull sort of rainbow but in size, age and ethnicity too. You can hear a number like seven billion and brush it off, 'There are seven billion people in the world' it was just a fact stored somewhere in your brain. But you don't normally stop and think about that, think about what an incredible amount of people that is and how each one vastly differs from the next. How was one supposed to find any kind of soul mate in a world so large? Phil's thoughts had only made him more nervous. He had never been very good at people. He didn't really know what it was, but something about their judging and incessant need for conversation made him anxious. Not as anxious as planes though. Which was unfortunate for Phil seen as he was in an airport.

He shuffled forwards, his feet dragging on the horrendously coloured, green carpet. He tried to block out the noise, but the truth is, every time a baby cried or someone lost touch with the handle of their suitcase, it made him jump a little. Being anxious always made him a little skittish. He focused on making his breathing even, tightening his hands to grip his suitcase harder. Somehow the plastic pushing firmly against his sweating palm made him feel more in control.

The queue shortened as more and more families bumbled down the steps and towards the plane, their children absorbed by the big red smiles of the airport staff. When Phil reached the front of the line, his gaze was held firmly on the window just above the woman's head, through it he could already see the tip of the tail, very white against the grey sky. Phil's hand shook as he held his ticket out and the woman grabbed it without a second glance, ripping off the edge and stating in an upbeat and yet somehow still monotone voice 'Row 14, seat F', it was clearly not the first time she had seen a nervous flyer. Phil took the ticket back and mustered a weak smile, before heading down the stairs, paying close attention to his feet.

The cold air hit him as he stepped outside, the wind strong with a splatter of rain. His heart was beating really hard now. He found it hard enough to fly anyway, the prospect of a giant machine flying through the clouds frightening enough without the added prospect of bad weather. He had found that it was always when the weather was just on the cusp of being allowed that the terrible things happened; crashes, fires, and god knows what other horrors could be inflicted upon him. But with his knees shaking slightly, he set his eyes on his destination and headed towards the rear set of stairs. His parents were expecting him, he couldn't let them down.

Another fake red smile greeted him as he boarded the plane, scanning its eyes over his ticket in a bored manner. He couldn't think of anything worse than spending most of your time mid-air whilst being squeezed into arguably sexual uniforms just to appease customers.

He whispered to himself under his breath as he traversed through the aisle. 'Row 14, Seat F' it was like a mantra, it was comforting. He found it, it was a window seat. Because that was exactly what he wanted. He sighed, this was going to be a long plane journey. He turned around, picking his bag up with two hands and slotting into the overhead luggage space. Then he went to his seat, sinking down into the leather-like material, enjoying the extra foot room whilst it lasted, before the person in front reclined their chair into a bed to sleep.

Phil was one of the first people on the plane, and so it was still only half full, people scattered about like litter on the streets of New York. The two seats next to Phil were still empty and as Phil looked out of the small air plane window he began to stupidly (and rather pointlessly) hope that they would remain that way. Flying was scary enough without the prospect of being in close proximity with another person for the next ten hours. Outside the window, the sun was going down, the grey sky becoming infiltrated by streaks of orange and red. To Phil's dismay the wind was still high though, as leaves were being blown around the ground and trees were arching sideways. He tried not to let that panic him. Over three hundred flights leave Manchester airport a day. There are so many planes, and hardly any of them ever have something go wrong. The chance was so small. Somehow it wasn't helping, Phil still wanted to curl into a ball. He had picked a night flight in the hope that, if he spent most of the flight asleep, it would be less scary. He had realised too late that actually, what would probably happen was that he would be too scared to close his eyes, get no sleep and then spend the rest of the trip trying to catch up with jet-lag looming overhead.

This was what Phil was thinking about when a bag landed on his head. He squealed audibly, catching the glances of the people surrounding him and causing his cheeks to set alight. "Sorry, sorry, sorry!" he heard a voice shout in quick progression, followed by the weight being lifted off of his shoulders. He rubbed his head sourly, looking up at his attacker. The boy had all the features of a man but his face was still slightly rounded around the edges, knocking a few years of his potential age. His hair was a deep brown and flopped across his face, it seemed to be straight, but a few lose strands were slight curled. His coffee coloured eyes were filled with apology. He wasn't going to lie to himself, the boy was not only hot but oddly beautiful for a man. Phil suddenly felt vastly inadequate and cast his eyes away. "That's okay." he said quietly, although more to the floor than to the boy in front of him. The man pushed his frankly above regulation size bag into the overhead compartment and sat down, extending a hand, "Hi, I'm Dan. What a terrible first impression." Oh god, he was chatty. "Phil." Phil said, seizing the hand and shaking it limply.
"Is your head okay?" Dan said. And he had this voice, something about it seemed to sparkle, like he was permanently amused. It seemed as if he could mutter the most mundane sentences in all of the world and have them sound like he just discovered the first ever unicorn. Phil was kind of mesmerised and he hated himself for it. "Yeah, fine." Phil managed to spit out, as the pain throbbed on in his skull.

The plane began to rumble, the engine roaring to life. Phil gripped harder onto the arm rest, feeling every single nerve and muscle in his body tense up. He didn't even notice that another man had come sit beside 'Dan', his newspaper knocking against the boy's upper arm. All he could see was the seat in front, his eyes focused in fear. Why had he put himself through this?

Dan was tapping his hand against his knee in a three beat fashion and with every drop of a finger Phil's face grew taunter. Each beat seemed to mock him, like every tap was a step closer to inevitable death and destruction. Phil was getting more stressed. "Can you stop that please?" he blurted out, his voice a hell of a lot more harsh than he intended. Dan looked sheepish "Sorry," he said "Bad habit." He turned his head, his eyes hooking on Phil's face and filling with concern. "Hey man, are you okay?" Phil shook his head. Dan was about to reply but he was cut off by an announcement leaking through the speakers. His mouth was still partially open. He shut it.

The safety broadcasts started up, the parade of air hostesses lining the aisles, the ever-present smile upon their faces, holding up life jackets and oxygen masks as if they weren't objects to stop death from grabbing at you. It was rather sinister how in time they all were, like a macabre ritual to Satan practised back stage at the airport. In sent a shiver down Phil's spine.

The air plane was nearing the runway and Phil's upper lip began to shake against his own consent, his hand trying to gain entry into the world of the arm rest. Every nerve and muscle in his entire body tensed. Dan looked at him and he felt helpless. Phil felt the plane moving underneath him and he didn't like it; not one bit. He began to panic. "Can you- Can you hold my hand?" he spluttered out, his cheeks deepening in colour despite the overwhelming fear. Now he was nervous for a whole new reason. Dan didn't know what to say. Of course he wanted to hold the man's hand, he was gorgeous, Dan could barely keep his eyes from flickering over his sculpted face and of course he wanted to help calm him down but he was afraid of the intimacy. He was afraid holding his hand would lead him to say something stupid that he would regret later. Phil began to worry over the lack of response as a jumble of words began to fall off his tongue. "Sorry- I umm don't know why I said that. It was err a stupid idea." Phil looked down.
"No it wasn't" Dan said, grabbing Phil's hand and throwing him a small smile. And that smile, oh that smile was warm enough to melt all the ice in the north pole. If there was one thing Phil wanted right now it was to read Dan's mind. He was quite a good distraction really.

The plane set off at full speed and the fear began to lap around Phil's stomach again, it's heavily trained feet slamming against his abdomen as it ran. Phil thought he was going to throw up. He threw his other hand onto the arm rest and shut his eyes so tight he wouldn't have been surprised if his eyelids had welded together. Normally he would be worried about what Dan thought of him, whether he was holding his hand correctly. That's how these things go isn't it? But right now he was squeezing Dan's hand so hard that Dan was biting on his own tongue to stop from making a sound of pain. Because it was worth it. Because he didn't know what it was about Phil, but something drew him to him, something made him want him want to impress the man, to comfort him. He wanted to do more, he wanted to be able to hold Phil in his arms and call him his own. But he knew his chances of ever even seeing him again after this flight were slim enough, let alone his chances of being with him. He was probably straight for gods sake. For now he would just have to be satisfied with letting him squeeze his hand, no matter how much it hurt. Dan had worries of his own, in fact this was probably the most anxious he had ever been on a flight and it all had to do with the tall, handsome stranger sitting beside him.

The plane levelled out and Phil was still holding Dan's hand, his eyes open and his posture generally more relaxed. Dan wouldn't have minded the continuation of the hand holding, not at all, but he felt like if he didn't get to stretch his hands soon, the blood circulation would be cut off permanently and he would lose a finger. He coughed awkwardly and Phil turned to stare at him, a slight hint of a smile playing in the corner of his lips. Dan shook his hand and Phil's eyes widened. "I'm so sorry! It didn't hurt did it?"
"A little." Dan admitted. Phil looked ashamed.
"Oh sorry." the air thickened.
"Well I did drop a bag on your head so I guess we're even now." Dan said, it an attempt to lighten the mood. Phil giggled awkwardly.
"I feel like a cheater, we just shared such an intense moment and I don't even know anything about you." Dan blushed. Was this flirting? He was unaccustomed but he hoped it was. "Not much to say."
"Oh come on, every one has something to say."
"I'm err 20 and I'm from just outside reading."
"This isn't a school presentation, Dan" Phil said playfully, already feeling more comfortable.
"Lets see I erm like video games and films and stuff."
"Films and stuff? That's how you define yourself?" Dan, who was usually quite an outgoing person blushed and looked at the floor.
"I don't know, I'm not very interesting."
"A good look-" Phil had to stop himself, "Look everyone's interesting. Lets look at the deep stuff, the tiny little things that make up who you are." Did Dan mishear or did Phil just call him good looking? And then stop himself? He wasn't sure whether it was the high altitude or the sheer pressure of being so close to someone like Phil- someone who he so desperately wanted to impress- but he felt his head spin a little. He realised it had been silent for a while. "I chew pencils." He blurted out.
"Good, we're getting somewhere! Can definitely psycho-analyse that." Dan laughed,
"That's what you were looking for? I have tons of those? I tap annoyingly, I mumble, I talk to myself, I listen to music way too loud on quiet trains, I let fictional characters lives matter more than my own.." Dan trailed off, Phil looks down on him with a sort of crooked smile than Dan couldn't quite read, it looked close to admiration and the way Phil's blue eyes were sparkling down on Dan made him feel all warm inside.

"This sure is a long flight." Dan sighed, whispering now. The cabin was in darkness and everyone was asleep, reminding Dan rather uncomfortably of 'the flight of the dead' from Sherlock. His bed had been pulled down next to Phil's and his head was right next to the boy's in the darkness, close enough to feel Phil's hair on his cheek. They had been talking for hours, hysterically laughing and learning more and more about each other. It felt like they had been friends for years, in a strange way Phil felt more comfortable around Dan than he ever had with anyone before. They had discovered that they had loads in common, from anime to video games, from muse to lord of the rings. "I can't sleep." Phil said, nuzzling his head into his pillow in a way that reminded Dan of a tiny little lion cub. "Me neither."
"I usually listen to music, but I forgot my headphones." Phil said, the soft pillow catching half of his words and turning it into a quiet sort of mumble.
"Really? Me too."
"I don't think I can fall asleep without it." Phil stated "Especially not on this demon contraption."
"Do you umm want to share mine?" Dan said and he didn't know why he was nervous.
"Is that okay?" Dan nodded. "Thank you." Dan sat up quietly, making a concious effort not to wake the man beside him (who was snoring quite loudly to both Dan and Phil's amusement) and reached into his bag at the end of the bed. His phone was on top, a string of earphones attached. Dan lay back down, shifting so that the duvet completely covered him once more. The headphone were in knots, like a big ball of a yarn, Dan's fingers worked fluidly as he untangled them and soon enough little streams of white connected them together. The music started to seep through the headphones, immediately slowing down Dan's heart. It was peculiar that music had the power to do that- in many ways it felt like an audio hug to Dan- telling him it was all going to be okay.

It felt strangely intimate to Phil, having this boy lie beside him in the dark, knowing he was on the other side of the music, knowing that if he stretched his arm out his pale hand would connect with the glowing cheek of the stranger. Except Dan didn't feel like a stranger, not at all, he felt like a soul mate. Phil had to shake himself out of it; he didn't believe in soul mates. The possibility of there being one person in all of the world for you was stupid, wasn't it? His mind was telling him yes, it was a dumb thing made up by starry-eyed poets and hopeless romantics. But his heart was saying something different, his heart wanted to lean in and press his lips against Dan's.

Before they knew it, sleep captured them both. It took Dan first, it's delicate hands shutting his eyelids and letting him drift away like a boat down a stream. Phil had time to admire his sleeping features, he really did look beautiful when he slept, every single part of his face relaxed. He hoped he was dreaming nice things. Once again, Phil found himself sad about the very irrevocability of their relationship. After tomorrow he could never see him again. And for some reason that played at Phil's heart strings like they were a harp. But, eventually, sleep claimed Phil too, wrapping it's arms around him and lulling him into slumber like a baby.

Morning light and announcements overhead. They were landing soon. The boys pushed their seats upright again and wiped the sleep from their eyes. The seatbelt light flashed above them and Phil's fear began to build once more. "Want me to hold you hand again?" Phil nodded and Dan knotted his hand into Phil's.

The plane had landed and the usual hustle and bustle was happening around them. Overhead messages being drowned out by talking as people tried to squeeze their bags out of the lockers and push themselves into the queue of traffic down the aisle. It all seemed to be over so fast- after the seemingly endless slow rumbling through the air, here they were, landed and ready to go. Dan and Phil stayed seated; it wasn't worth it. It had grown a little awkward now, as the end was growing closer. "Umm Can I have your number?" Phil asked, but his attempt for suaveness fell short into a tumble of stumbled words. Dan smiled none the less. "Yeah sure, I'm err going to uni in Manchester so I might see you around?" Phil smiled widely,
"I hope so."

I'm not sure how I feel about this one but it's been like 4 days now and I'm tired and it's the best I can do. If you liked, please review!