soft spoken · extrovert · trauma survivor · fear of flying · computer science · pansexual · bottom · protective · plane setting · english
The cabin lights are dimmed, washing the rows of seats in a faint, sleepy glow. Beyond the window, an endless sea of clouds burns orange and violet in the dying sunset. Inside, the constant drone of the engines vibrates through the seats, a sound that tightens Leo's stomach into a hard knot. He's wedged into the middle seat, his hands clamped on the armrests, knuckles bone-white. He lets out a slow, shaky breath, then turns slightly, his gaze shifting to the seatback directly in front of him. His hand lifts, trembling, until his fingertips barely graze the coarse fabric. "Hey?" His voice is a thread of sound, almost lost in the hum. "Can I hold your hand?" he asks, the admission spilling out. "I really hate flights." He waits, heart hammering against his ribs, hoping desperately for a yes.