Stranded || Freddie & Grayson
Grayson felt like he had not stopped moving since he climbed on his first flight, and now, quite a few planes later, he pushed through a crowded airport, apologies leaving his lips every few seconds as he bumped into a person here and a person there. He could not count the cups of coffee he’d drank since yesterday, but it was more than the hours of sleep he’d gotten in five days. It wasn’t healthy, but at least he could keep moving that way. It wasn’t like he was extremely busy -- plenty of people had schedules that were tighter than his, how was he expected to tour or do anything music related when he couldn’t handle being out of the house for a few days? But, in his defense, he wasn’t used to running low on sleep.
Before he arrived at Prove, the boy spent most of his time going to school and hanging around his own house. He’d probably gotten the healthiest amount of sleep out of every student in his school before he graduated, and then, nothing really changed. The only time he was slacking would be when he accidentally stayed up reading until five am and had to scramble to get a few hours of sleep before he’d be waking up to head to school, and some people actually lived like that on a day to day basis. He didn’t know how they survived.
Pushing by another person, he made his way outside, luggage in his hands, letting out a long sigh of relief when he was away from the crowd, free to breathe fresh air again. He wasn’t good in crowds, he wasn’t comfortable in crowds, and today was not an exception. He was usually pretty patient, but as his eyes wandered, searching for someone there to pick him up, he didn’t feel very patient at all. All he wanted to do was go home, curl up in his bed or even on his window seat, anywhere that wasn’t a plane, watch an episode of Friends and sleep for twelve hours straight. And, maybe eat something that wasn’t a granola bar or a rushed sandwich. Gray stifled a yawn behind his hand as he waited for his ride, before a sudden thought hit him and he realized -- he didn’t have a ride.
He hadn’t been told when anyone would pick him up, nor had he been told if anyone would pick him up. He hadn’t told anyone -- at the house, at least -- that he was heading back to Cali. No one could know they needed to pick him up. He hadn’t even alerted management. Letting out a groan, he watched someone pass him before placing a bag at his feet, pulling his phone out of his pocket. He didn’t know what to do. He could call a cab, sure -- if he knew the number. He could Google it, but he had no idea what the password for the airport wifi was and there was no way he was stepping back inside of the building. He supposed he could walk, if he had to, but he may have to sleep on a park bench before he got there. And he would definitely get lost a few times.
Scrolling through his contacts, he meant to pull up a text to his brother, but leave it to him to be four letters off and send it to someone else at random -- ‘i’m stuck at the los angeles international airport what do i do?? please help me, please??’ He didn’t want to demand that he come and get him, but maybe he could tell him how to get home or something, anything. He wasn’t always an anxious person, but he felt terribly anxious at the moment, glancing around every few seconds at the faces around him and then back down to the screen of his phone, waiting for some sort of answer.
