"Tell me again why we are travelling at night,"
"Don't be absurd. You know why, Matt,"
Matthew pouted in annoyance and with a roll of his eyes as he walked on the grounds of the LAX airport. Careful not to make a scene and attract an audience, he wore a silly disguise of a gray hoodie and a cap, with the hood covering the most of his face.
He understood why they had to travel, and he was getting sick of the same old reason Tyler kept on telling him; if he were to make a scene in public, people would flock over for him, screaming for autographs and pictures. It wasn't a bad thing to interact with fans, but Tyler has kept picturing the worst case scenario.
"This is so boring. I can't meet my fans," Matthew whined, like a kid who didn't get the toy he wanted.
"Dude," Prince interjected with a shush, glancing at Matthew before shaking his head as they walked towards the counter to check in their luggage. "Act like your age. And besides, you've already met your fans back at the hotel."
"Hi there, good evening. Checking in?" a woman behind the carter greeted them enthusiastically; a big grin was plastered on her beautiful face and her aura was as joyous as a kid in a carnival station.
Prince nodded, his lips forming into a small smile as well as he greeted the woman—not as enthusiastic as the flight attendant was, though.
"Hi, good evening. Yes, please," he said, handing her their passports for verification.
Matthew looked around as he let Prince do his work. He put his hands on the pockets of his hoodie as he carefully stared at his surroundings.
There were still a lot of people in the airport—waiting at the benches for their flight, checking in on counters, and going in and out of the airport. It wasn't as crowded as Matthew expected, but once people knew about him being here, it would certainly attract attention.
He watched as people hug their loved ones; they were either saying their goodbyes or they were reuniting for a long time. He didn't have that kind of relationship with anyone except with his friends, but they weren't here to bid their goodbyes. It must feel great to have someone like that.
For Matthew, it was Tyler who did that for him—when he wasn't busy running around. It wasn't as if he cared about having someone like that—he just had too many things to take care of sometimes. Not to mention, his life wasn't exactly normal; he was a popular celebrity that held a big name for reputation.
There were far too many things to uphold than care about having someone hug him goodbye in an airport. And besides, he was used to it. It was more convenient that way—no extra feelings of baggage to think about.
"Matt, let's go," Prince nudged him with his elbow, snapping Matthew out of his thoughts then he handed out everyone's boarding pass and passports. "Here."
"Thanks," Matthew muttered quietly as he gripped his own passport, careful not to let it slip away from his hand.
The rest of his team fumbled as they got their hands on their passports—seeing as they have had their hands full with the necessities for Matthew's benefits. They have played a big role in Matthew's career and would continue doing so. It was thanks to them that his career was able to flourish and stable—without them, he would have a hard time sorting it out.
Once they were ready and raring to go, they went on their merry way inside to wait by their designated gates, in silence and hopefully, without alerting his fanbase and attracting too many people.
An hour later, Matthew sighed happily and leaned back comfortably on his booth seat in first class. This was one of the few perks he loved getting—being able to afford business class flights. He loved being privileged knowing he earned it and worked hard for it.
"Man, I'm so hungry," Prince quipped from beside him as he scrolled on his phone. He has already covered himself with the blanket, looked cozy in his seat, and stopped reading whatever it was on his phone to frown at Matthew.
Matthew turned to him with a roll of his eyes and said to point out the obvious, "I'm not the flight attendant, Your Highness."
"Anyway," Prince chuckled and continued to read what he was reading from his phone. "Have you read your email? Tyler sent some questions Cosmopolitan might ask, so you might want to review them."
"Okay," Matthew obliged, pulling out his phone from his pocket. He immediately went to his email and tapped onto the first mail he saw—which was labeled as "important" and sent by Tyler.
There was a short message for him as a reminder to read it—which Matthew rolled his eyes at and ignored it—and came with the message was the attachment of questionnaires Cosmopolitan liked to ask for their magazine interviews.
He tapped on the attachment and waited for his phone to load the document for a few minutes. When it finally loaded, the first thing Matthew saw was the topic they were going to have on the day of the interview—which was his celebrity status and popularity for the last few years.
Although that was the topic, Matthew has a hunch that he might get asked impromptu questions about romantic relationships; both present and past of his romance, it was a good idea to have an answer ready to avoid furthermore questions. That was always Tyler's advice about his interviews.
One by one, he worked on the questions like an overdue high school assignment; asking Prince for help every once in a while, when he was blanking out on a question.
What do you think of the development of your career?
If all questions were easy like this, Matthew wouldn't have a hard time going through the interview.
In terms of the status quo, do you think the industry needs more diverse actors like you?
Matthew found himself frowning at the question. He didn't know whether this was a trick question or not, so he turned to Prince to ask for help.
"That's a simple question, Matt. Answer it as honest as you could," his assistant manager said as he squinted his eyes to read off of Matthew's phone. He was in the middle of eating a snack as there was a forkful of spaghetti on his hand.
"I know that, but isn't it kind of tricky?" Matthew asked in confusion.
Prince stared at him with an incredulous look for a few seconds as if Matthew didn't know anything he was asking about, before he put down his fork with a soft clang to his plate and opened his mouth to retort something in reply.
"Dude, you've been in the industry for twelve years. It's not a racist question because you're half black and excellent in what you do. There's no wrong answer in that question."
Matthew stayed silent, focused his gaze on his assistant manager, and listened intently to what he has to say.
"You can't overthink something so trivial. It's only a magazine interview. And we're not even sure if we're getting that question, plus we'll be with you so you're safe."
Prince finished with a snap of his fingers and a look of sass, and he immediately shoved his fork full of spaghetti in his mouth.
"Okay," Matthew said nonchalantly after a few moments of silence, though his face was breaking out into a smile he couldn't contain. "Got it, Your Highness. I love you too."
"I love your money," his assistant manager joked as he chuckled and continued eating his beloved spaghetti.
For the remaining flight hours, Matthew finished reviewing the list of questions he was given, and he sighed out in relief. Finally, it has been approximately two hours since he started his homework, and if he was being honest, he was already too tired of reading the questions before they even get to New York.
He stood up from his seat and stretched out his numb limbs from sitting, and he found Prince fast asleep comfortably in his booth, covered in a blanket and had his mouth slightly open. He shook his head, chuckling to himself as he felt his stomach grumble, and he decided to walk around to let his legs exercise.
After a few minutes, he found himself standing in front of the buffet; growing only hungrier by the second as he ingested the smell of food in front of him.
The flight has been on idle for a while now, and there hasn't been any delays or turbulence—to which Matthew was thankful for. He was getting bored of sitting down, and besides, he was already done with his homework.
He grabbed two plates and filled it with his favorite food, saying thank you quietly every now and then to the servers. He was hungry, so he might as well make the most of it—knowing how much money he paid for their flight. Once he was done getting the food he wanted, he sat on one of the stools with a short slim table enough for three people to eat.
Unlocking his phone in his hand, he started to eat as he read off a few messages from Tyler and some of his friends. He smiled at some messages of his friends and rolled his eyes when he saw his manager's last message to him. He loved him to death, but he overreacted for every little thing sometimes.
The feel of needing to unwind seemed so unlikely as he had done just that last night. Matthew was about to be busy for the following week, and not to mention, he was about to close a deal for a new movie role—well, Tyler was about to close a deal for a new movie role for him.
When enough time has passed, he made it back to his booth seat and lied down on it, covering himself with the blanket the flight attendants have placed on their seats. He closed his eyes and let sleep consume him in a dreamful state, where all his worries and questions from the back of his mind were kept in the dark.
A while later, Matthew found himself being shaken awake vigorously, and he groaned in response and curled up even more.
"Excuse me, sir, but we need you to sit up and fasten your seatbelt. We're landing in a few minutes," a soft-spoken, light, but firm voice said to him while they shook him before they moved on to the other passengers.
Were they about to land already? It didn't feel like it; it felt like it was only a few minutes since he fell asleep.
Groaning once again, Matthew sat up against his will while he wiped his eyes out of drowsiness. He fastened his seatbelt as quickly as he could, and when he was done, he looked around and found his assistant manager—looking cozy and ready while he drank a glass of red wine.
Then, as if Matthew called for him, Prince turned to him and nodded at him in acknowledgement. "Hey, had a good sleep?" he said after another sip of his wine.
Not really. "I guess," Matthew croaked out, his voice rough as he just woke up.
"Well, welcome to New York,"
"Yeah, cheers to that,"
Bright city lights and loud busy streets of New York welcomed Matthew and his team. There weren't many people in the airport, but as a precaution, Matthew wore his cap and hoodie to avoid attraction from a few fans—if there were any that could recognize him, he was thankful that they didn't try to hound him for pictures.
"Oh," Matthew said in surprise when he saw a few people rushing towards him, screaming at the top of their lungs while they took pictures from their phones. He raised his hands to cover up his face, but to no avail, he wasn't successful as they neared.
"Shit," he cursed, looking panicked as he turned to Prince and the rest of his team for help.
"What—thought you wanted to meet your fans?" Prince teased; his face etched onto a small grin—to which Matthew rolled his eyes and sighed in defeat. "We have time, but make it quick."
Airport security immediately surrounded them when some of the fans almost threw themselves at Matthew. It was inevitable—he knew it, but some fans didn't really know how to respect his personal space as he smiled nervously at the scene in front of him.
Saying hello and taking several pictures with the few fans had him on his guard. The adrenaline that came with it was making his heart beat as fast as a sportscar racing on the streets. It wasn't bad, but he liked asserting his dominance over his fans for the sake of his safety—and he was in a place where he couldn't because it would make him look like a villain in public's eye.
The ride to the hotel was not long, given that it was already nighttime. But it sure became hectic after the airport incident in Matthew's point of view.
"...we're just about to be checked in, Ty," Prince was saying, his phone on his ears as he talked to Tyler. "No, nothing major, just a few fans and no paps. He just wasn't ready for it, I guess."
Walking inside the hotel just as the bellman carried their luggage to the carrier, they were welcomed with a pleasant and joyous greeting of the hotel security,
"Welcome home, Mr. Clifford,"