airplane ﹙short story﹚

thirteen

The blond blinked awake.

His hands uncurled from around the blanket covering his lap, instinctively reaching up towards his head with a wince. He hadn't meant to, the nightmare was still fresh in his head and it almost burned with agony. He tried to push back the memories of his father, before his attention was briefly caught.

The bright light illuminating the brunette's face was noticeable, as well as the prominent bags under his eyes, which seemed to pop out even more. He was watching something on his phone, completely invested. Yet he looked so tired.

So why wasn't he asleep? Atticus checked his watch, a little concerned.

"Angel?"

The brunette didn't tear his eyes away from the screen, and instead answered with a sharp: "What?"

Atticus carefully sat himself up. "It's late. Why are you still up?"

"Why do you care?" He snapped, making sure to keep his voice quiet in case any of the other passengers were light sleepers. "Why can't you just leave me alone?"

The blond reached out with a small smile, fingers brushing the edges of his brunette hair. "Because you're so–"

The brunette slapped his hand away. Harshly. Atticus snatched his arm back into his chest abruptly, the skin tingling unpleasantly. He bit the inside of his cheek, and glanced upwards at the seething boy.

"Why are you trying to touch me? What is wrong with you? You're fucking weird, you know that?" He scowled, his eyes blazing from under the dim airplane lights. "Why can't you just take a hint, huh? I don't like you. Stop talking to me. Don't touch me."

Atticus' skin was still stinging. The venom in his words was evident, and he quickly began to realise that the boy he'd been coaxing out of his shell had retreated straight back inside. He was serious this time. Deadly serious.

"I didn't mean–"

"Just shut up," the brunette hissed, pulling his hood over his head and drawing the strings tightly. "Freak."

His heart clenched. The knife wrenched, twisted, tugged inside of him, and he could only feel the cold rush of shame creeping up his spine. He hated that word. He hated it so much.

Without bothering to reply, Atticus rose from his seat, and disappeared down the aisle. Theo briefly watched him go.