Turbulence | 𝙰 𝚂𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚝 𝚂𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 ✔

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"Felix, open the door!"

I let out another silent groan into the wad of toilet paper.

I'll admit it—I've had fantasies where Royu Snowdrop runs after me while I ride ahead in my gold-plated chariot, drawn by the best breed of horses brought down from Ferghana Valley, as the good people of my kingdom watch on, their King Felix Thistle giving that nuisance a run for his money.

Just...it played out very differently in the last twenty minutes—I scampered out of the plane, leapt into the airbus, and got chased down by Royu (who wouldn't stop shouting at me to stop!) while the entire airport got a good kick out of watching us play Cat & Mouse.

And now we're both in the men's washroom. I, on one side of the door, and he, on the other. The toilet paper is slipping from my grasp.

Why, every damn thing is slipping from my grasp.

At one point, the knocks stop. Royu's voice fades away. He must've left, and I feel my mouth twisting into a bitter line. Took him long enough. I don't even know why he trailed after me, he should've escaped while he had the chance. Stringing the toilet paper in place, I stand up from the lidded potty. This has been a weird day. I unlock the door. Weird cannot even begin to explain it. I yank the handle down. Pops must be waiting for me, I should get the hell out of here. The door opens.

Next thing I know, I'm being pushed back into the cubicle by an iron-grip on my shoulders.

"Ah, ah, ah!"

I pound the guy's chest once with my fist, before the checkered pattern on his button-up registers as familiar—and then I'm looking up. At him. Royu Snowdrop.

"Don't," he breathes, "ever," I breathe, "run away like that."

It's like I'm on the plane once again—being abducted into dizzying heights. I lean back against the wall. It's cold against my skin, but colder is the way Royu's eyebrows are knit. The corners of his mouth have plunged, and I feel a twinge in my chest.

"Why?" I say, closing my eyes. It's not like you care.

"Because it bothers me!"

That does it—I'm wide awake now.

"When you're not doing anything to bother me...do you know how much that bothers me?"

Something pops in my chest. And I'm thinking back to when I first got on the plane, resolved to give him the silent-treatment. Was that why he kept reaching for the window over my lap—trying to get my attention?

Unsteady, I press my palm flat against the wall.

He lets go of my shoulders, takes a step back.

We devote our eyes to the floor.

And an eternity later, he speaks.

"When you said you...liked me..."