platonic, 𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐠𝐞

twenty-three

"Because I remember you of course," the man said, smiling, unnerving Y/N.

"Remember me?" Y/N queered and took a subtle step back. "What do you mean you remember me?"

"You're famous," the attendant said matter-of-factly.

"Right," Y/N replied, still unsure.

"But I also remember you from our last encounter," he continued and Y/N's heart lurched in her chest.

Her body went rigid. "What?" came her voice, much quieter than she had anticipated.

"Do you not remember?" the attendant said and his smile faltered slightly.

"Um... I... I don't think we've met before-"

She was cut off. "Of course we have," the attendant said urgently.

He took a step forward.

"On a plane... a few days ago... to LA."

His face had turned slightly panicked, like the prospect that Y/N didn't remember him in the crystal-clear way he had remembered her alarmed and upset him.

"My name is Thomas," he said. His smile was completely gone now.

Thomas. That name was so familiar, fitted his face perfectly. Y/N knew where she had seen that unnerving smile now: standing in front of her, talking about how much his daughter loved her. Thomas looked even worse now than he had on her outwards-bound flight. His face was shallow, ghostly, with sunken eyes and cheeks as well as thin lips and stubble lining his jawline. His hair had been gelled into a somewhat decent style but the fact that he hadn't washed it in a while was evident.

"Oh... yes, yes of course it is," Y/N said apologetically, feeling guilty that she hadn't remembered. "Sorry, I didn't quite recognise you at first."

"That's quite alright," Thomas replied and his toothy smile was back on his face; they were yellowing slowly. "I can imagine you've had a lot on your mind."

"What?" Y/N snapped. How did he know?

"Why else would you be coming back to England within a week?" he said.

"What?"

Thomas opened his mouth to say something else when the attendant who had cleaned up Miss Settman earlier came storming through the curtain, fury radiating from her face.

"THOMAS!" she barked. "What on earth were you doing? You were assigned to economy this morning. ECONOMY! Not First-class! You are walking on thin ice and it is cracking! I am this close to reporting- OH."

The attendant, Marie, stopped dead in her tracks when she noticed Y/N standing there, her hand twisting in front of her and her eyes darting between Thomas' terrified face and Marie's now astonished one.

"Goodness!" she exclaimed, flustered. "I didn't know there was a passenger back here. Miss Kunis, correct?"

"Y/N, please," Y/N said and gave a meek smile.

"I do apologise, Miss Kunis," Marie said courteously before turning back to her prey.

"Thomas," she hissed, "you are to report to the end of the economy carriage and stay there for the duration of the flight. Do not speak to anyone, look at anyone, or touch anyone. Got it?"

Thomas nodded and hurried off in the opposite direction from where Marie came, braving a glance over his shoulder to which Marie glared at.

If looks could kill.