Love At First Flight | BL ⚣

✈️ 2000 ft. ✈️

That flight was intensely turbulent. Not only because of the dense layers of clouds that occasionally shook the aircraft, punishing it in movements that would terrify any poor person who is not used to flying. But also because I spent my serious and dedicated fourteen-hour shift thinking about him.

In First Officer Hiyama.

If you don't understand the difference between captain and first officer, I can explain it in just two words: pilot and copilot. In terms of rank, captain has four stripes on his shoulders and is the owner of the entire plane hierarchy. The first officer or copilot is second in command in the hierarchy, and his uniform has three stripes. Ok, these are just some technical aviation terms, no one here is going to look at how many stripes Hiyama has on his uniform—well, I actually did that, and I know he has three—what stands out about him isn't even that. His beauty and friendliness.

We crossed the Pacific Ocean and Alaska, from Japan to New York, it was tiring. Here I am, on American soil and lying on my hotel room bed with a box of pizza sprawled out next to me. Bored, I scroll through Grindr looking for a New Yorker who can cure my hyperfocus on Hiyama, but the low light in the room makes me sleepy and also lazy to leave this cozy environment just to kiss someone. I'm insistent, extroverted, passionate, and silly, but I know when feelings speak louder in me.

And that moment is now. Well I think. I've always wanted a boyfriend, someone to hold my hand and tell me they love me, and maybe I'm fantasizing about it too much. Promised not to fall in love, but I think my promise is betraying me. Once, Étienne told me that dating someone is not part of our life as flight attendants, but look how hypocritical he is for having a boyfriend for nine years—a flight attendant boyfriend—while I'm alone! I don't want to sound desperate, but I know exactly when someone makes my heart skip a beat. God, I need to be at peace with myself and be who I am.

And it's away from Starwind Airways' strict dress code that I can be who I am, instead of filling my blond hair with gel. Now my hair is free again, as are my feet dressed in my cherry blossom sock. I don't even bother getting dressed, lying on the soft hotel bed with my robe half open.

I slide my finger on my phone screen and even though I see very handsome guys on Grindr, I'm not satisfied. Hiyama catches my attention more than any of those random guys. I lock the screen for a moment and sigh, placing the phone on my bare, white chest. Could just sleep, I'm really enjoying my first time in the city.

I look for something to do and unlock the phone again. I was going to invite Nilo and Étienne out on a New York night out, but I see from their WhatsApp statuses that the bastards wasted no time and went to a romantic restaurant. It feels like I'm alone again; Whatever, better find something to do.

I think of some idea, a movie to watch or a book, but what comes to my mind seems to contradict all the alternatives I have to derail my brain: the not-so-brilliant idea of ​​looking for Hiyama's Instagram.

This doesn't sound like a super smart thing to do, but it's what I can try, after all, I'm alone and bored and bored people do stupid things. I spend minutes trying to find out what his nickname is, and just throwing "Hiyama Murphy" in the search bar doesn't help, I'm letting something very specific go unnoticed.

The sound of New York's sirens is stressful, and my incessant search for Hiyama's profile without any results in my reach leaves me more distressed. I think about interrupting my best friends' dinner, but it would be too obvious to them. Instead, I will look for my target on his profile.

And after a long scroll through Nilo's gigantic "following" list, I find him, with a nickname I would never find, and spend the night trying to look for Hiyama like the "Cinderella" saga with her damn glass slipper.