Airport
I can't sleep, so this is what I tend to do...write. This doesn't really have anything to do with anything. I don't even know what that means. It's late. I'm tired. My brain is mad at me for not sleeping. BUT OMG I LOVE WRITING WHEN IT'S LATE.
Title: Airport
Pairings: Ian/Anthony? I guess...
Rating/Warnings: PG
Summary: When sitting at the airport and waiting for a flight, a mind tends to wander...
~~~
The clear floor seemed to be newly swept over, judging by the freshly dried yarn marks left by an industrial sized mop due to the poor job of an underpaid immigrant. The tiles were stuck together for what seemed like miles and miles with a continuous black line until they finally adjoined to an off-white wall on the other side of the huge room, which was covered by large, glowing bank advertisements. The ceiling of the room was painted a sickly yellow, with small portions of glass cut into the smooth surface, allowing the gentle early morning sunlight to shine through. Among the loud chattering of people walking by, children nagging their parents for junk food and the plastic rolling of carry-on wheels, there would always be the the distant rumble of an aircraft in the background or the artificial voice of a flight coordinator directing lost passengers to their proper terminals.
Far into the corner of the large room, a young man was sitting rather uncomfortably on one of the waiting chairs, legs loosely folded over each other, the ankle of his right shoe resting on top of his slender left knee. Absently, he brought a lanky arm over his face, letting two of his fingers flick a deep brown swoop of hair on his forehead, before bringing his full attention back to a magazine he was gazing intently at. He bit the inside of his lip, with a serious and businesslike expression, as he flipped through the pages of his current interest and focus, Digital Arts, a magazine he had randomly picked up, out of boredom, from a small stand a few minutes ago. His eyes were scattered across pages and pages of color, as he realized just how much there was to be learned just by looking through the bright images other designers had graciously submitted.
After darting around pages, his eyes settled on a slightly unusual image that seemed to jump right at him. Almost losing grip of the magazine, his heart seemed to gasp internally as he focused his view on a purple and yellow design of two male lovers sharing a passionate kiss. Feeling immature, he closed the magazine, letting his thumb rest in between the overwhelming image, as he scanned the room quickly. Thankfully, all was the same. Children were running after each other and fighting in the spaces between the rows of navy waiting seats, adults in suits were walking side by side, their sleek carry-on bag companions trailing after them. Shops were still functional, and people were still standing around, either buying things, reading the paper or inspecting prices and then walking away. A middle-aged man, sitting three seats away and holding appalling orange flowers, was still in a deep, awkward sleep, jaw open and cracked lips wet from his seeping saliva. The dark haired man turned the other way and was relieved to see that the seats on the other side were all vacant.
Timidly, he spread out the pages of the magazine once more, eyes instantly drawn to the kissing couple. It was piece of work, just beautiful, that was for sure. But something about looking at it made him feel uneasy. His soft, brown eyes, with a suggested dark olive hue, inspected the page over and over, searching for an explanation on why he didn't like looking at the image. Feeling slightly frustrated, and again, paranoid, he turned the page a little too forcefully, and kept looking at the rest of the art. Even after looking through the creative images of disproportionate rubber ducks, sub woofers covered in flowers and dogs with eight legs, his eyes were glazed over and the gears in the back of his mind spinning, remembering his reaction upon seeing the kiss design. He always thought he was just a little homophobic on the inside. As a kid, the idea of two men kissing each other sounded absolutely bizarre. A lot of the times, he would always make playful retching sounds when his friends would talk about gays in normal conversation. That behavior stopped all at once when one of his straight friends protested by saying, you know, if you hate gays so much, you probably are gay.
At the time, his friend's statement bothered him so much, he stopped talking all together for an entire week. He remembered walking home one day after school and briskly locking himself in his room. All he could do in his room for the entire day was think, I must be gay. He missed supper that night and he didn't do his homework. His mind kept him awake the entire cold night, almost as if it were some sick form of karma. His thoughts troubled him for years to come, as his friend's words never left his newly corrupted mind. Later in his life, it dawned to him that maybe he wasn't even homophobic in the first place. Maybe his friend was right. Maybe he was just afraid of himself.
Feeling mentally and emotionally disorientated, he closed the magazine for good and pushed it into his bag, hoping that his unneeded feelings would follow suit and leave the vicinity. He knew he didn't like men, but the photo was very well created and visually pleasing, despite how uncomfortable he felt looking at. He swung his head to the right, hoping to bring a falling, brown swoop of hair back to where it belonged on his face. Instead, the hair fell down much lower, and feeling irritated, he was forced to bring a hand up to fix it. After his hair was taut, he let his fingers drop and massage his thick, dark eyebrows out of a sudden and concealed feverishness.
Upon hearing familiarly loud footsteps, he observed, from the corner of his eye, to see who he expected was coming back. Looking up fully, he saw another man of a similar age, sporting a Food Battle 2011 T-Shirt, walk towards him with a large grin plastered on his face. He was carrying two coffees, one of which he took a quick pause in his step to take a sip out of, before strolling forwards with the other coffee, untouched. The man, with glowing aqua eyes, blinked them over and over, as flirtatiously as humanly possible, while he bit his lip dramatically, uttering a shy hello from his distance.
Straightening up and faking a self-confidence, the dark haired man sitting down fixed the fading blue-grey beanie on his head, all while pursing his lips into a childish smile and squinting his large eyes.
He grinned sheepishly, seductively sliding his pink tongue over his top lip, "hey."
~~~
Comments or anything? :3