Chapter Text
Beyonce’s voice was blaring through Neil’s headphones loud enough for the elderly lady sitting next to him to shoot him a chiding look. Neil turned the volume up a bit more.
He still felt Stuart’s arms around his shoulders and his lips on his forehead, and it was weird to think he wouldn’t see him for the next couple months, but his life was about to change drastically - and Neil was looking forward to it. He was on his way to the US to change more than his own life, and he was on his way there to wreak havoc. A small, satisfied grin spread on Neil’s lips at the thought. The next years would be a lot of fun.
He almost missed when boarding started because he was so deep in his thoughts, but when the lady next to him got up from her seat to go to the gate with her husband he blinked a couple times and realised that priority boarding had started. That was his cue, then. He grabbed his small bag, flung it over his shoulder and made his way over with lazy yet smooth steps. Years and years of intense training had him carry himself with the elegance and arrogance of a dancer, his head held high, hips swaying gently.
“Good evening, Sir,” the stewardess greeted when it was Neil’s turn. He smiled at her and held his ticket and passport out for her to check.
“Thank you,” she said, handing them back, “Enjoy your flight, Mr. Hatford.”
***
“What’s the name?”
“Neil Abram Hatford.”
“Uh-huh. Gimme a sec, sonny.” Neil frowned a bit at the name he had just been called. The lady behind the desk was scrolling through a file on her computer, her glasses sliding off her nose every couple seconds and her pushing them back up in an endless cycle. It drove Neil insane after two minutes. So did the speed she was working at, which was pretty much that of a sloth trying to climb a tree with two broken arms. To be fair, she looked like she was at least five years past her retirement age.
Neil startled when she slammed her palm on the desk and clicked her tongue with a victorious grin.
“There we go. Neil Abram Hatford. Gotcha.” Mrs Alberts - if that even was her name plate on the desk - turned on her office chair and rolled over to a massive file cabinet on it, ripped one of the drawers open and went through the folders inside.
“Hatford, Hatford, Hatford,” she kept mumbling Neil’s name to herself until she finally found what seemed to be his folder, rolled back behind her desk and waved it in front of his nose.
“Here’s your stuff,” she told him and threw a look inside to check if everything was there, “Your dorm room is number 214 in the Foxtower. Key’s in the folder. You share the dorm with a sophomore girl, lovely young lady. You’re a lucky boy, aren’t you?”
Neil took the folder from her.
“I guess,” he said, then smiled a charming smile, “Thank you, Mrs Alberts. Have a lovely day.”
“Oh, what a nice accent. English boy?”
“Yes, London born and raised.” That wasn’t entirely true, but she didn’t need to know that.
“Well, have fun in the US then, sonny. It’s not as posh here as over there, but we sure know how to have one hell of a time,” she grinned, patriotism making her chest swell with pride. Neil lowered his eyes but kept his smile.
“Oh, I know. I’ve met a couple americans before. Though I’m afraid they misunderstood the phrase “a hell of a time”.”
Mrs Alberts looked at him in confusion, but Neil didn’t explain. Instead he just turned around, left the office and made his way over to the so-called Foxtower.
Oh, this was going to be so much fun.