Chapter Text
Friday, the 12th of August, 2022
Harry is not a fan of flying.
He can’t pinpoint a time, place, or incident that set his anxiety in motion. There’s simply something about not understanding how the plane stays up in the air in the first place that always has him on edge. How do the physics behind it work? How does the whole cabin stay properly pressurised? What are the captains even doing? There are a billion and one switches, buttons, and indicators up in the cockpit; he’s seen the movies. It all makes sense, it has to, but when it comes to Harry’s mental state, it doesn’t change a damn thing.
“Section 3 for Miami!” An airline staff member announces his seat group, which he confirms with a glance at his boarding pass. It’s as good of a time as any to pop a Xanax, pulling his mask down and hoping that it works its magic before they take off. Of course, Harry is fresh out of water. Great. There’s no way he’s getting on a nearly 10-hour flight with an empty water bottle. His lukewarm latte had been abandoned at his side while a new read took his focus: “Declutter Your Mind: How to Stop Worrying, Relieve Anxiety, and Eliminate Negative Thoughts.” Though stale coffee is not his preference, it seems to be his only option to help swallow the pill.
Most doctors would recommend not combining caffeine with Xanax. Dr Styles doesn’t give two shits right now, and everyone else’s opinions won’t change a damn thing.
As passengers line up, he half-walks, half-jogs over to the closest water fountain, aiming to look casual and landing more in the ballpark of constipation. He wonders if he’ll get an irritated look from the attendant if he gets in line late. Logically, his section is around the middle of the pack, and no one cares. The order they call you in doesn’t make sense anyway, working from the front to the back. Still, it nags at him as the water flows at a faint trickle.
“Bloody brilliant,” he mutters, foot-tapping and glancing at his watch, overly cognizant of the person lining up behind him. There’s no reason to check the time; it doesn’t change a damn thing.
Moving quickly, he shuffles back over to where he left his suitcase and carry-on, jerking them toward the line. By now, he can see that they’ve already called Section 4, and he has half a mind to walk out of the airport entirely. What kind of successful doctor not only arrives late but doesn’t have a water bottle ready to go? Shameful. He should report himself and get his license revoked. Maybe he can find a lovely little flower shop and prune roses and live in his mum’s basement. He’d probably find a way to chop a finger off, though, accidentally. Perhaps that’s not the best idea. At least he has the skills to stitch it back on.
He’s yanked out of his daydreams by someone gently prodding his shoulder from behind. “Line’s moved,” comes a muttered voice behind Harry. He looks back sheepishly to see a lithe, dark man behind him, his tapered black hair flattened by a hoodie. It makes him want to check his own hair for stray strands. Though the urge starts, he resists letting his hand float up.
“M’ sorry.” Harry tries to calm his mind, which is using the situation as an excuse to let all hell break loose. He fucking hates you now! You’re such a shit show. How hard is it to walk forward? You don’t even need to be paying attention to do that! Absolute knob. Spine stiff, he whirls around to catch up, searching for his passport to present. That attendant already hates you and hasn’t even seen your face yet. I bet you lost your boarding pass already, so spaced out. He gropes around in his pocket desperately, only slightly consoled to find it exactly where he had left it not two minutes prior.
The flight attendant, sporting a branded airline face mask, looks like she couldn’t care any less when she checks Harry’s documents and offers a gentle, “Welcome aboard.”
He tries to remember why he is even going on holiday as he traverses the walkway to the plane. Escape life. Get away from the hospital. Relax for once. His annual holiday time had been piling up, and even though it felt impossible to get away, Harry’s therapist Donna had practically pleaded with him to take time off. He put in the request and was utterly shocked to find that not only was his boss fine with the two-week departure, she was relieved on his behalf.
Harry has always liked cruises. He did a few river cruises with his family growing up before they moved on to larger ones in the Mediterranean and Northern Europe during college. Once Med School started, it was time to call it quits, finances not conducive to the flashy cruise life. But now he has two weeks to kill and an Oceanview cabin on the Horizon, the newest ship from Sail Away Cruise Line.
It will be different. Pandemics do that. Regardless, Harry is excited to get on the water.
The queue in front of him shifts forward, and he dutifully follows, stepping across the threshold from the lifted tunnel and onto the plane. As he continues towards the front of the aisle, he notices a cabin attendant and a captain alongside him greeting passengers with bright eyes and chipper smiles. The last time Harry felt that excited was probably the day he graduated. It didn’t last too long back then, reality sneaking in when he wasn’t paying attention.
“Welcome on board Middle Eastern Airlines!” A strong wave of cognitive dissonance runs over him, processing that an Irishman is welcoming him onto a flight from a company based in the Middle East. It clearly shows because the brown-haired man furrows his brows, cocks one eyebrow up, and softens his gaze. “Alright there, pal?”
The tag on the attendant’s chest reads “Niall”, but Harry figures it’s a bit weird to say someone’s name without a proper introduction. Niall’s flight outfit consists of a crisp, navy blue suit jacket with a white button-up underneath and a Middle Eastern Airlines branded face mask - because, of course, every single company has branded face masks now. Just a part of the standard corporate culture at this point. Mindlessly, Harry readjusts his disposable mask’s nosepiece.
A quick flash of a glance at the man next to the flight attendant confirms that yes: the captain, another brown-haired man with warm, chocolate eyes, is also staring at him in concern. He, too, is sporting a branded mask. Refocusing on the conversation, he hardly notices himself fiddling with his hair, hands feeling the different textures, seeking a satisfactory candidate to pluck. He had just told himself to stop. Trichotillomania is a son of a bitch.
“Yeah, alright, thanks, mate,” Harry manages, catching his hand before it compulsively starts pulling out individual hairs. “Appreciate the welcome,” he tacks on, hoping his stiff nod to each man is more on the composed side and less on the I-am-a-mess-please-don’t-call-me-out-on-it side.
“Cheers, enjoy the flight! Hopefully turbulence will be minimal.” Captain Payne, as his tag reads - Bloody delightful name. - seems to think mentions of turbulence are a good thing. Make it make sense.
Harry only barely caught that he has a British accent when suddenly he’s being pushed forward with the line and offers a last-minute, “Thanks, mate.” Before he can refocus on the cabin, he can’t help but notice how the Captain has turned his attention to the man behind Harry, the same one who asked him to move forward earlier.
After a quiet “Hi, Z,” Captain Payne pulls his mask down below his mouth and closes the distance to greet the mysterious man with a chaste kiss right on the lips. The Irishman in the background pays them no mind, welcoming the next passenger with the same lively expression.
With everything else going on, being caught gawking at the person who needs to get him to Florida in one piece is the last thing Harry wants. He orients himself towards the back of the plane and catches up with the queue.
Not until he’s settled in his window seat, a middle-aged man and woman in the two spots to his left, does he notice the Xanax taking effect. He feels his brain slowing down a bit, inner critic quieting. Gazing out over the black tarmac, the flight crew runs around their stations like mice, small carts overstuffed with luggage they’re caddying. It’s passably peaceful from onboard. The calm of just being able to watch, of distancing himself from where he actually is, sets in nicely.
A screech of feedback pulls him out abruptly.
“SCCCCCRRRR. Ah. This thing on? Hah, welcome aboard Middle Eastern Airlines, everyone! This is Captain Liam Payne speaking, here with my Co-Captain….”
“Captain Louis Tomlinson! You’re the Co-Captain, Payne. In my heart, at least.” A new voice. Northern accent? Captain Louis’ voice is slightly higher than Liam’s, raspier. It makes Liam sound smooth in comparison; posher, too.
“Oh, bugger off, Tommo. We’ve got a long ten-hour flight ahead of us, but the conditions are looking fantastic so far! Things tend to be pretty calm overseas, and today we’ve got a straight shot to Miami to look forward to.”
“We’re set to depart right on time at 12:05 pm, but due to the time difference, we’ll be landing around five o’clock in Florida. I’ve always wanted to become a time traveller, Payno. Have you?”
“Honestly, I’d be too afraid of messing something up. Going back in time’s not safe! Haven’t you seen The Butterfly Effect?” Harry scoffs. What in the world kind of pre-flight communication is this?
“I can’t watch anything Ashton Kutcher is in other than That 70’s Show. It just doesn’t feel right, mate. But you know what does feel right? The weather in Florida!”
“Very true, lad - we’ll be setting down where it will be a balmy 30 degrees Celsius - about 85 Fahrenheit for those returning home. Hope you didn’t try to save packing space by wearing all of your layers, folks!”
The plane begins moving while their conversation continues, slowly backing out of the terminal and adjusting to taxi around the airport. A loud Ding! and the overhead lights indicate it’s time to get seat-belted, which he’d already thought of when he sat. Harry is nothing if not prepared.
Through all of the nonsensical conversation, he finds himself able to relax a bit. Focusing on the friendly banter between the Co-Captains is surprisingly helpful in pretending that he’s not about to be shuttling through the air. For how long again? Ten hours? Right. Ten. Ten. Ten. Oh. Ten. Spiralling. Ten–
“Ladies and lads, we have every intention of making this a fantastic flight, as much of the crew onboard is gearing up for a nice cruise holiday!”
“That’s right, Louis, I’m excited for fun in the sun with you and Niall. We are always safe and careful on board, but our motivation has increased thoroughly with the concept of beaches and fine dining for two weeks.”
“Hope you all have something wonderful to look forward to in Miami, whether that be family and friends, beach parties, or a cruise of your own! Special shout-out if you’re going to Disney World, I’m right jealous of you lot. Payno, take us home, will you?”
“With that, we’re all geared up and ready to go, next in line for take-off. Please pay attention as the crew proceeds with the safety instructions. If you don’t, we run the risk of missing the cruise. No one wants that. Enjoy the flight, and we will speak with you again soon. Captain Payne and Captain Tomlinson, over and out!”
Harry is smiling. He didn’t notice during the playful banter, but it put him in a much better mood. Between the lively dynamic, easy confidence, and mention of cruises, a settled feeling took over. His hands don’t feel compelled to pick through his hair, and he’s not even put off by his neighbours. They seem polite enough, fiddling with Sudoku and the in-flight movie screen.
The safety demonstration finishes before he knows what’s happening, and he completely ignored them. Oh well. The instruction booklet is in the pocket in front of him; he’ll study that a few times to make up for it.
Moments after realising that he may need to use the restroom, the plane comes to a halt at what appears to be the end of the tarmac - no loo for him. His toes curl in nervous anticipation.
The engines groan and rumble as they warm up, quickly gaining decibels and growing in urgency. Around him, the cabin reverberates with their effort, though they haven’t moved yet. Harry attempts not to think about it. Every time he’s on a plane, which isn’t very often lately, the take-off and landing are the bits that get to him the most. His mind creates images of a plane not making it into the air, hitting grass or wrought iron fences that break the delicate wheels and slamming the cabin to the ground. Alternatively, he sees them descending too fast, not angled right, and swerving when they touch down, tilting hard to the side and getting whiplash as they crash sideways. Those are the tame images.
Well, so much for Xanax and calming banter.
Next thing he knows, the engines are thrusting, and they begin to move, slowly gaining speed, then faster and faster, starting to rush along the pavement. Honestly, he believes his first nightmare is going to come true. How long could these runways possibly be? After what feels like minutes of driving but must only be twenty seconds, the plane lurches up. They lift and begin to glide into the air mere seconds later.
How does the tail not hit the runway at this angle?!
You never know whether looking out the window will help or hurt, but the intense morbid curiosity that rests in Harry’s gut forces him to stare at the changing view. As they ascend, feeling the change in air pressure, the ground quickly parts ways and shrinks. Adjusting to the shift in gravity, he angles his head for a better view.
The cars, buildings, and trees below are incredible to watch, all becoming so minuscule that it’s hard to fathom. There are little, bitty humans across different blocks, the perspective making them easy to see all at once, and it feels almost God-like.
You often hear people talk about looking at the stars and feeling insignificant; well, right now, Harry feels like one of the stars looking down at those insignificant little people. He feels wholly significant, thank you very much.
You wish.
xxx
Overall, the flight isn’t too rough. Even Harry can admit that. One patch of minor turbulence was coupled with (Co-)Captain Tomlinson popping on the overhead speakers. “Hope you lot enjoy roller coasters because we’re in for a couple of nice bunny hills!”
Harry does not like roller coasters. It also had to happen while he was trying to pee, so thanks for that, physics.
Somehow they make it, though, after ten hours of awkwardly requesting that the couple beside him lets him pass and asking Niall, their surprisingly peppy attendant, for more sparkling water. He slept part of the way, read part of the way, and spent more time than he’d anticipated simply looking out over the clouds. It had been too long since his last flight, between the pandemic and work. It was nice to take it all in.
Landing isn’t as bad as he remembers it. They were indeed coming in fast, but their pilots do a fantastic job of setting the plane down gently. Candidly, he doesn’t even notice that they’re properly on the ground until he can hear the engines thrusting backwards. A smattering of applause echoes through the cabin when things have slowed to a crawl. Once he gets off the plane, Goal Number One will be to meet a pilot and ask if the clapping thing is weird.
“Alright! Guys, gals, and nonbinary pals, I am pleased to announce that we have landed ahead of schedule in Miami, Florida. It is currently about 4:25 pm with sunny skies and the promise of a two-week cruise on the Horizon!”
“Was that meant to be a pun, Tommo?”
“Hah! I didn’t even mean for it to be! I’ll take it.” They’ll be on the same cruise as Harry, he ponders. Maybe he’ll see them around. It’s a huge boat, though - it can fit over five thousand passengers, which doesn’t include the nearly two thousand staff on board.
Then again. Pandemic. They did impose new occupation limits.
“Well, we appreciate everyone for joining us on this journey across the pond. We wish you all the best, and thank you for choosing Middle Eastern Airlines!”
Harry takes his time collecting his bag from the overhead compartment, trying to maintain his mental state for a bit longer, when he hears the familiar chirping of a certain co-captain at the front. “Thank you! Glad to have you on board. Take care, love!” Niall is at the head again, but there’s a different person by his side instead of Captain Payne. Suddenly he’s very grateful for the slow pace of the queue as it gives him time to take Captain Louis Tomlinson in from afar.
Louis is a slightly shorter man with a small frame. Mousey brown hair sweeps sideways along his forehead and lands halfway down his ears. It’s kind of like a quasi-Justin Bieber look if he squints. Like the rest of his crew, he has a warm and relaxed aura, reflecting positive energy to the passengers. Harry gets closer, picking up on the pilot’s confident posture and tone. By the time Harry’s nearly in front of him, small laugh lines are visible; they crease around his crinkling eyes.
There’s something about him that makes Harry pause, the way his stature juxtaposes with his self-assured calm.
Louis looks directly at him, and Harry is not prepared. Flicking his gaze down quickly, he fights the instinct to clear his throat, plainly aware that coughing in public is a significant no-no. Instead, Harry takes a moment to breathe. He risks glancing back up in time to see the Captain say a thank you and bump elbows with the passenger in front of him.
Another moment passes, and their eyes lock again. Harry is a little shocked by the strength of the gaze, so much so that he has difficulty registering Louis asking, “Good flight, mate?”
He only hesitates for a split second before responding. “Fantastic, thank you. You’ll be on the Horizon?”
“Oi, you joking? Yeah! Will you be too?” Louis’ face visibly illuminates behind his mask. He nudges Niall and says, “We’ve got ourselves a cruise buddy, Nialler!”
Niall’s cheeks puff up above the top ridge of his nosepiece, grinning. “Brilliant! Maybe we’ll see you around Karaoke or something. Once this one gets a few drinks in,” he elbows Louis in the side, causing him to keel forward, “we can’t drag him off the stage!”
Painfully aware that the line in front of him has moved forward, and with no way for the people behind to step around him, Harry pushes things to a close. “I’ll be sure to cheer you on, Captain.”
Before he can step away, he sees Louis wink at him, still recovering from Niall’s assault. It’s a bit half-hearted, and he’s clearly in pain, but it’s still incredibly endearing. Harry smirks, grateful it’s hidden, and nods in the direction of the men before taking his leave.
As he’s walking away, the thought strikes that this may not be the cruise he anticipated.
He sneaks one more glance. Louis hasn’t stopped watching him and is finally straightening himself. Those blue eyes flicker upwards, and - was he staring at Harry’s arse? The captain quirks his eyebrow up, almost in a challenge, and Harry can’t stifle his giggle before turning and walking up towards the airport, surprise bubbling in his stomach.
Harry snags a cab from the airport to the hotel he’d reserved months ago, just close enough to the port to have a leisurely morning but far away enough that he got a solid deal.
Not long before bed, he tries to meditate but struggles more than usual to keep a clear mind. Harry has practised meditation inconsistently for about a year now, trying (and often failing) to do it in some semblance of regularity. Still, it’s easy to attribute it to pre-cruise nerves when half of his intruding thoughts are, Did I remember to pack enough swim trunks? and 9:00 am sharp. In the taxi. Can’t be late.
Other things are floating around up there, too, though. One new thing in particular.
After fifteen minutes of pointless ‘mindfulness,’ he finally gives up and settles for bed. Before he drifts off, having set about 18 alarms on his phone and through reception, Harry finds his mind wandering further. The last thing he remembers thinking of is a high-pitched, Northern English voice; a Middle Eastern Airlines face mask; and tired, crinkly, steel-blue eyes.