When death looks away // Alex X Tod //Final Destination

Chapter 1

The airport smelled like burnt coffee and floor wax.

Alex Browning couldn't tell if the weight in his stomach was anxiety or just the four bites of French toast he'd forced down before leaving the house. Everything felt wrong. The fluorescent lights buzzed too loudly, the woman at the gate kept clearing her throat like a ticking metronome, and the flight number—180—glared at him from the departures screen like a warning carved into granite.

He tried not to look too twitchy. He already felt like a caged animal in his own skin. His fingers wouldn't stop twisting the boarding pass in his lap, crisping the edges and smoothing them out again like ritual. It wasn't the plane itself. He'd flown before. But this—this trip, this night, this school-sponsored journey to Paris—felt like a countdown.

And somehow, sitting across from him on the other row of molded blue plastic chairs, Tod Waggner noticed.

"Dude," Tod said with a smirk, "you look like you're about to hurl on the tarmac."

Alex looked up, startled. His eyes landed on Tod—hoodie zipped halfway up, earbuds slung around his neck, hair ruffled like he'd just woken up from a nap he didn't remember taking. His grin was lopsided, familiar.

Alex swallowed. "I'm good."

"Liar." Tod leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "You keep looking at the departures board like it's gonna grow fangs."

"I just..." Alex hesitated, then shook his head. "Weird feeling. Like something's gonna go wrong."

"Isn't that, like, the plot of every horror movie ever?"

"No, seriously," Alex muttered. "It's like a... like a pit in my stomach. I can't explain it."

Tod raised an eyebrow. "Is it like a premonition or something?"

Alex stared at him.

Tod blinked. "Wait, seriously? Dude, you're freaking me out."

"You're not the one with the nightmare on loop," Alex mumbled.

Tod leaned closer, voice low. "What kind of nightmare?"

Alex glanced around. Carter and Terry were a few seats over making out on a chair, Ms. Lewton was with the other teachers, talking, Billy Hitchcock was sitting cross-legged by the wall, talking to his milk duds box, and Clear was reading a book with her earbuds in trying to ignore Carter and Terry . Nobody was listening. Still, Alex lowered his voice.

"I thought it was just nerves. But now that we're here, it's like déjà vu. Like it already happened."

Tod was quiet for a long moment.

Then he leaned back with a casual shrug. "Well... maybe that's your superpower. Freaky dreams and all. Just don't tell Billy or he'll think you're psychic and start asking if his board's gonna make it to the Olympics."

Alex laughed—more a surprised breath than anything else. But it helped. Tod always had that effect, ever since sophomore year. Since their first forced group project in American History, since the first time Tod sat too close in the library and Alex didn't move away.

The overhead voice crackled. "Flight 180 to Paris, boarding now. Rows 30 to 50."

Alex's gut twisted.

"Time to go." Tod slapped his knees and stood. He held a hand out. "Let's not die, yeah?"

Alex took it. Tod's grip was warm. Steady.

They boarded together.

The plane was ice cold. Alex's skin prickled as he shoved his backpack overhead, he tried to calm himself down my what Tods brother, George told him , "itd be a fucked up god to take down this plane." Because there was a baby and a mentally challenged man on board. Yet his palms damp with sweat. He slid into the window seat beside tod because Christina and Blake wanted to sit next to eachother on the plane.