Troyler [boyxboy]

Troyler {OTP}

Troye's POV

"Flight 306 Gate B has landed"

I barely caught the words as the intercom piercingly announced. With my hands clutching desperately at my bags, i hurried across the tile floor in order to reach the entrance. "Come on, come on," My muttered words came out low and rushed as i raced towards the immense sign that had 'Gate B' written in bold, glowing letters that came to view.

With every second, i could feel my legs weaken from my dashing but i still made the effort due to the fact that i can't miss this flight, which might i add, was heading to Playlist Live.

Yeah, no big deal, just an important, essential occasion that i was fucking requested to.

How rude would it be to miss a flight to an event that i was actually invited to? You know what, don't answer that question because you couldn't possibly understand the amount of stress that i'm currently drowning in at the moment. The screaming, pestering children running over my shoes and adults pratically shoving me into nearby walls weren't helping me to the slightest bit either.

With my ticket clenched tightly and firmly in my hands, i briskly showed a lady, who looked like she was in her late 20's, my ticket and with a nod of her head, i was soon joining the others who were also piling in onto the plane.

I felt like my heavy breathing was echoing the narrow halls that joined the airport to the aircraft as i dragged my feet on board. My bag lowered myself due to the weight as i continued making my way down the entry, hastily searching for my seat number.

The number of stares and looks i was recieving was actually incredible. With my eyes trained on the faint numbers and lettering above the seat, i side glanced the variety of people who was seated in the first class category and held a snort. Almost everyone's eyes were held on me, the exhausted, tired Austrailian who seemed to be fucking crawling his way to his chair.

I mean, i don't blame them, i could just imagine me being placed in a musuem, locked up into a large glass container and on the label, the words 'worn out, pratically dead, helpless Austrailian: Do not touch or else will fall in complete exhaustion at the spot' written plainly on it.

I rolled my eyes internally at my amusing thoughts and continued to saunter down the passage. It took a few seconds but i soon successfully found my seat number and without trouble, slid my bags into the upper department that hovered my chair.

With a grunt, i glided into my seat, tuning out the distant cries of infants and obnoxious, loud coughing as i slipped in my ear buds. My eyes skimmed through the song selections that reflected off my phone and i beamed as the song 'Do What U Want' came into view.