A Collection of Imagines

Kian

My Hand

I hate flying. Well, more specifically speaking, I hate taking off and landing. And the harsh sound of the wind whipping past the metal of the large vessel. And the lazy, snobby stewardesses. And the bad conversation of small talk with weird strangers. The list goes on. I enter the large air craft and quickly walk past the staff in order to avoid awkward greetings. I walk down the aisle trying to find my seat. Thank god I packed light and didn't use a big carry on suitcase because due to the size of this narrow aisle, I would hit so many people. I see my row approaching and by the looks of it, someone is already sitting in the aisle seat. Great.

In the corner of my eye, I see someone stop in front of my row. I look up from my phone to see her. A woman, probably around 20 to 21, standing above me with her hair in disarray and her breath staggered. She wears a over sized sweatshirt that almost touches her knees that wear a pair of black leggings. Her long hair tied into a little bit of a birds nest underneath the hood of her dark sweater. Messy, effortless, indescribable. I rise from my seat, moving into the aisle to let her sit in the middle. The other older woman sitting at the window is already invested on the screen in front of her. She barely notices the younger, more attractive female sliding into the seat next to her.

Ok, maybe there's one plus to flying. Having your seat randomly placed next to a hot stranger. He didn't get up immediately when I asked if I could slide in, but I didn't mind. It gave me more time to look at him. Not in a creepy way I hope. I can't see my face so I have no idea how I was staring at him. My mouth could have been open, you never know. Well, anyway ... he's got floppy brown hair with a silver wing as a dangling earring. His face is littered with beauty marks. It's quite entrancing. He makes me snap out of it when he gets up from his seat. I mentally smack myself for taking to long to get into the seat. The woman sitting at the window doesn't even look up from her devise to see who's sitting next to her. People and their technology.

I sit back down in my seat and take another glance at her. You know when you see someone unrealistically attractive. Not like stupid hot or just objectively attraction, but like real beauty. The type that seems like they don't need an ounce of make up because they can just get up out of bed and into a magazine cover. That's effortless beauty. And this girl has it. She doesn't even try and she's beautiful. Her eyes meet mine again and I quickly avert my eyes. I pretend to be scanning the rest of the aircraft to make her think that I wasn't looking at her. I see the flight attendant coming down the aisle, closing the over head compartments and giving the regulated speech on the exits and what to do in case of an emergency. They go on to talk about life jackets and she moves frantically next to me. I glance at her to find that she chewing on her fingers nails. Her eyes mortified. What? She looks at me again. I quickly look away again. Nice going, idiot.

He looks at me again and I take my hand away from my face. He must think a manic. The flight attendant walks down the aisle again, telling people to close their trays. Ok, calm down. You're not going to die. You're going to be fine. You're just nervous. It's ok. Stop thinking that you're going to die. You're gonna be fine. I close my eyes and dip my head down.

She moves again and I'm hesitant to look. In the corner of my eye I can tell that her eyes are closed. I turn my head towards her. Her face is clenched and her fists are closed. Is she ok? "Are you ok?" Before my brain can catch up with my mouth, I realized I actually said it out loud. She opens her eyes and her head whip towards.

"Oh, yeah." I look down at my lap. I can't look at his chocolate brown eyes when I'm in this state. My head hits the back of my seat. "I just get a little nervous on flights."

"Oh." I can tell by her body is so completely tense that she's actually dreading this. The plane begins to back out of its spot. She whips her head to the window. We both watch as the vehicle slowly back out. She goes back to stare at the back of the seat in front of her.

"It's just taking off ... " I probably should finish that sentence. To warn him, I guess. "... and landing." I look back at him. Wow, he's actually concerned of my well being. I can tell by the way he's leaning slightly over out shared arm rest and his eyes are glued to mine.

"No, I get it. I used to have major anxiety on flights when I was a kid. What really helped was holding my mom's hand. So, if you need a hand to hold ..." I want to hit myself so badly right now. What the actual fuck. You sound like a fucking predator. If you need a hand to hold. Give me a fucking break. And why did you bring up mom, you literal idiot.

That's actually very sweet. I mean a little weird, but still kinda sweet. He's a complete stranger and he's concerned about me, so he offered help. But I don't want to look like a complete wuss. "Uh ... I'll take a rain check." He chuckles and so do I.

The plan finally makes it to the runway and I can tell I'm distracting her a little, but not enough. She looks back out the window, then quickly back to her lap. She takes a deep breath. The plane engine revs louder and she tenses even more. I didn't know that was actually possible for her. The plane lurches forward and she screws her eyes shut. The front wheels perk up and she frantically moves to latch her hand around my hand. I squeeze hers as she does mine and I lean forward to her, using the same comforting words I was given. "You're ok, just focus on my hand."

The words actually break through the immense sound of the engine. I put all attention on his hand. My eyes open to find his hand locked in mine. I don't know why I didn't notice this before, but his arms are literally covered in tattoos. Probably because he's wearing a long sleeved shirt, but I mean his hand is littered with small tattoos. He has a cactus and a beer bottle inked on the skin of his wrist. I chuckle at the illustrations. I hear his voice again.

"What?" She looks up at my eyes again.

"Nothing, it's just ... I like you're tattoos."

I look down at my hand. The cactus and the beer bottle are poking out of my shirt. I chuckle. "Which one?"

I shrug at his question and look back down at his wrist. "I mean ... I literally have thousands of cacti in my apartment, so I'm going to have to go with that one."

I laugh again and glance out the window, hoping that she doesn't follow suit. We above the foggy overcast of the San Franciscan coast. I look back down at her again. "Hey, guess what?" She looks back at me with a confused expression. "You do it." Her head whips to the window. Her expression changes. She begins to wear this bright smile that actually suits her very well. She looks back at me and laughs at her own achievement. It's quite adorable. "I'm Kian, by the way."

His face lights up at my smile. He seems pleased with the reaction he got out of me. And to be quite honest, it's a genuine one. One that I haven't made in a while. "Why hello, Kian." And then, that's when I realized that I was still holding his hand. And I didn't want to let go.