On The Horizon || L.S.

Prologue - London, England

Friday, the 12th of August, 2022

Harry is not a fan of flying.

He can't pinpoint a time, place, or incident that set his anxiety in motion. There was simply something about not understanding how the plane stayed up in the air in the first place that always had him on edge. How did it stay suspended mid-air? How does the whole cabin stay properly pressurised? What were the captains even doing? There were a billion and one switches, buttons, and indicators up in the cockpit; he had seen the movies. It all made sense, it had to, but when it came to Harry's mental state, it didn't change a damn thing.

"Section 3 for Miami!" An airline staff member announces his seat group, which he confirms with a glance at his boarding pass. It seems as good of a time as any to pop a Xanax, pulling his mask down briefly and hoping that it works its magic before they take off. Of course, Harry is fresh out of water. Great. There's no way he's getting on a nearly 10-hour flight with an empty water bottle. His lukewarm latte had been abandoned at his side while a new read took his focus: "Declutter Your Mind: How to Stop Worrying, Relieve Anxiety, and Eliminate Negative Thoughts." Though stale coffee is not his preference, it seems to be his only option to help swallow the pill.

Most other doctors would recommend not combining caffeine with Xanax. Dr Styles doesn't give two shits right now, and everyone else's opinions wouldn't change a damn thing.

As passengers line up, he half-walks, half-jogs over to the closest water fountain, aiming to look casual and landing more in the ballpark of constipation. He wonders if he'll get an irritated look from the attendant if he gets in line late. Logically, his section is around the middle of the pack, and no one cares. The order they call you in doesn't make any sense anyway, working from the front to the back. Still, it nags at him as the water flows at a faint trickle.

"Bloody brilliant," he mutters, foot-tapping and glancing at his watch. There's no reason to check the time; it doesn't change a damn thing.

Moving quickly, he shuffles back over to where he left his suitcase and carry-on, jerking them in the direction of the line. By now, he can see that they've called Section 4 as well, and he has half a mind to walk out of the airport entirely. What kind of successful doctor not only arrives late but doesn't have a water bottle ready to go? Shameful. He should report himself and get his license revoked. Maybe he can find a lovely little flower shop and prune roses and live in his mother's basement. He'd probably find a way to chop a finger off, though, accidentally. Perhaps that's not the best idea. At least he has the skills to stitch it back on.

He's yanked out of his daydreams by someone gently prodding his shoulder from behind. "Line's moved," comes a quiet voice behind Harry. He looks back sheepishly to see a lithe, dark man behind him, his tapered black hair flattened by a hoodie. It makes him want to check his own hair.

"M' sorry." Harry tries to quiet his mind, which is using the situation as an excuse to let all hell break loose. He fucking hates you now! You're such a shit show. How hard is it to walk forward? You don't even need to be paying attention to do that! Absolute knob. Spine stiff, he whirls back around to catch up, searching for his passport to present. That attendant already hates you, and she hasn't even seen your face yet. I bet you lost your boarding pass already, so spaced out. He gropes around in his pocket desperately, only slightly consoled to find it exactly where he left it, not two minutes prior.

The flight attendant, sporting a branded airline face mask, looks like she couldn't care any less when she checks Harry's documents and offers a gentle, "Welcome aboard."

He tries to remember why he was even going on holiday as he traverses the walkway down to the plane. Escape life. Get away from the hospital. Relax for once. His annual leave had been piling up, and even though it felt impossible to get away, Harry's therapist Donna had practically pleaded with him to take time off. He put in the request and was utterly shocked to find that not only was his boss fine with the two-week departure, she was relieved on his behalf.