Goodbye, Hello

06 DEPARTURE

IN SEATS TOO CLOSE TOGETHER
ON AN AIRPLANE DESTINED FOR
SEATTLE
Warsaw Chopin Airport, Warsaw, Poland
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The seats on the plane are comfortable, at least, despite the fact that they have begun to feel like a prison. The plane hasn't even left the ground yet and Mari already feels as though she is airborne.

Wakatoshi's standing in the aisle, placing small bags in an overhead compartment and having no problem doing such. He doesn't seem to notice the bewildered children in their seats a few rows back and across the aisle, pointing out to their mother the big, tall person who seems contained in this plane that feels so small. She hushes them, but Marigold thinks it is endearing.

She thinks it must be the default reaction for children when they first meet Wakatoshi-it happened when he met her little cousins, too. It baffles them how someone can resemble a superhero from some book, she supposes.

His arms lift and the hem of his shirt with them, and Mari finds herself looking away as if she was in school again. It's childish, and it is immature; but there is something odd about checking out a person when you understand that there are reasons in play that you are not supposed to.

So she looks away, and doesn't turn back until she feels his arm brush against hers when he sits. Not on purpose, but for space-or lack thereof.

His legs bend and almost touch the chair ahead of him, and Mari laughs. "What is it?"

"You're so tall," she nods toward the front of the plane. "We probably could've gotten the seats by the door you jump out of when shit hits the fan, because that can't be comfortable."

"I'm fine."

"Aren't you used to nicer seats? Doesn't your team take the nice planes, though?"

"Yes," he turns, a moment of slight confusion washing over. "I though you knew that."

Mari just shrugs, slumping in her seat in the slightest and looking out the window. She looks at nothing important, the plane is still on the ground where she is not. "We haven't talked like normal people in a while. I didn't know if that changed."

"Oh." He says, "It hasn't."

"I'm glad."

Because ordinary things seem as though they will never be enough for a man like Wakatoshi, someone who deserves casual luxuries-no matter how simple he may be.

Silence follows, and it is awkward as usual. It is familiar all the same, but it's dense and not even a blade on fire could cut it all the way through. His body is so broad, built for a mortal hero no less, and he doesn't bother to pull his arms closer to himself to avoid the way they brush up against Marigold's. She understands, because they are adults and not children, but it feels like a familiar stranger. It feels nothing like it did before, when every touch felt more languid.

Wakatoshi is a master of silent perception, though it seems, as he watches Marigold bite her nails. When he gently pushes her hand away from her mouth and tells her to stop, it doesn't change anything. Nothing shifts, the dynamic remains.

Marigold looks embarrassed, he figures, and he decides he will speak. "There is no reason to be nervous."

"Did we pack enough for the trip?"

"Pardon?"

"Did we pack enough?" she repeats, and only then does he realize she wasn't worrying about the plane at all. "We left like minimalists, and I'm not sure how often we'll be able to spot a dry cleaner by the hotels if they don't have it included."