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You hold your head between your knees, trying to slow down your breathing without making a scene. You’ve been sitting still for nearly fifteen minutes, but still your nerves are on overdrive, leaving trickles of sweat to run down your face and into your t-shirt. Sitting at the back of the plane, your panicked form goes unnoticed by the boarded passengers and attendants.
‘In and out Y/N, c'mon. In and out. In. Out. In-’
“Uh...hi. I think you’re in my seat.”
You lift your head up from your panicked position to make contact with the tall bearded man in front of you, holding out his boarding pass for you to read.
Rogers, Joseph
Seat No. 28 I
Of course, you knew the seat you were in wasn’t yours. However, your anxiety would only be worsened if you sat in your assigned window seat. For some, the chance to view the highlighted clouds and endless ocean was welcomed merrily, but all you could think about was getting struck by lightning and falling into the deep abyss of water several kilometres below.
‘In……Out. In…….out.’
“Do you mind if I sit here and you take the window seat? I walk around a lot during long flights,” you lie, giving the handsome stranger a small, forced smile.
Your expression must’ve been less controlled than you’d thought, as he gives you a strange look before nodding slowly. He stores his carry-on in the overhead cabin, then squeezes his large form past your knees to sit beside you, opening the window screen. You see workers running back and forth on the solid airport tarmac in envy. What you would give right now to stay on sweet, solid land...
‘In and out. In and out.’
Minutes later, the airplane begins to move and prepare for takeoff. You immediately tighten your seat belt, so much that the flesh of your abdomen beings to sting at the extreme constriction. Leaning back, you squeeze your eyes tightly and attempt to get your breathing in control.
“Are you okay, ma’am?”
You open your eyes to find your neighbour giving you a look of concern. You want to respond, but the plane picks up speed and the words get stuck in your throat.
‘In. Out. In. Out. In. Out’
Your mildly shallow breaths have become frantic gasps, as the fear and anxiety rushing through your veins threatens to consume you.
In an instant, the stranger beside you places headphones in your ears, and the sound of pianos and synth blast through your mind, nearly overpowering the sound of the plane’s engines. He makes eye contact with you, taking one of your hands and placing them on the left side of his chest, and the other on his ribcage.
The strong and steady beat of his heart pulses through your clammy hand. You feel his ribs expanding and contracting rhythmically. His piercing blue eyes never retreat from yours, and before you realise it, all your senses are occupied by the stranger beside you, and the gentle music flowing into your ears.
Before you know it, the rhythm of your heart matches that of his, and your anxiety quietens for the first time since boarding the plane.
When he's sure that you've calmed down, he slowly releases your hands from his reassuring grasp. Your focus shifts from his eyes, to the window behind him, and you see a view of blue sky, and monochrome clouds. Your gaze meets him again, sparing him a look that is equal parts confusion and gratitude.
“How did you-”
“A few years ago I developed a fear of heights, which wasn’t exactly beneficial considering the… nature of my job. Sometimes, I’d start getting serious anxiety before I had to go to work, and my best friend found me during one really bad episode. He sat me down and helped match my breathing with his, and before I knew it, I’d calmed down a bit,” he explained, rubbing the back of his neck shyly.
You stared at him, awed at the incredible kindness he’d shown you. “I…thank you. I’m Y/N,” you introduce yourself, handing him back his headphones.
“Steve,” he says, but sees the confused expression on your face as you glance at the name on his boarding pass. “Ahhh, Steve’s my middle name.”
Wanting to continue speaking with the him, you probe, “Why don’t you go by Joseph then?”
You notice him tense ever so slightly. Surely the question wasn't that invasive. Still he answers, “Joseph’s my dad’s name. I suppose it’s to prevent confusion in the family.”
“Or because Steve is way sexier than the generic Joseph,” you tease with a cheeky smile, causing him to roll his eyes. He grins at you and you feel the remnants of your earlier panic crumble. With a smile like that
“That may be true, but it doesn’t compare to yours. I bet a name like Y/N always gets people rolling,” he smirks. The smile on your face widens, and you’re not quite sure why, but you send him an overdramatic wink and together you both laugh with each other comfortably. The warmth that fills you makes you comfortable in a way you haven't been in a long time.
Abruptly, the plane shakes and you jump, your heart falling into your gut at the turbulence. Before the anxiety has a chance to nestle in your chest, Steve takes your hand and gives it a tight squeeze.
“Hey, how many paper airplanes do you think we can make from the magazines?”
Despite the fear you feel, you giggle at his words and stare into his reassuring eyes.
For the duration of the flight you and Steve switch between making paper airplanes and holding hands, speaking as if you’ve known each other your whole lives.
The plane touches down in New York, and you're shocked at how sad you feel. Over the past few hours, you'd somehow managed to develop a spark of feelings for the handsome man. To go from speaking non-stop for 7 hours straight to never again...it wasn't an ideal prospect for you.
“Hey, is this by chance your last stop?” he asks, giving you a hopeful smile.
Your heart rate picks up, and a giddy feeling rushes through you. “Yeah, actually! My place is in Manhattan.”
“Seriously? I'm staying in Brooklyn with a friend. Maybe you give me your number and we can have an actual date without torn magazines and turbulence?” He grins at you, making your heart flutter as much as it had been at the beginning of your flight. But finally, for it speeds up for all the right reasons.
“If you're willing to brave the traffic, then yes, Steve. I would love that.”