Aziraphale didnāt like airplanes. His whole life, he had a reoccurring nightmare of being stuck in the plane as it fell out of the sky. He could do nothing but know that he was going down, down, down.
His father, strict disciplinary type, had always mocked him for it. Reminded him that flying was the safest way to travel, and it was a sign of weakness to even consider the possibility of falling.
Unfortunately, this did nothing to resolve it. He had spent most of his teenage in college years, driving or taking the train. But when he got a job for his father after college, he knew he would be required to take international trips often.
Today he had gotten to the airport too early. So early that most shops were closed, so he ordered his usual latte. His nervous energy led him to finish too quickly and he ordered a second.
He was regretting that now.
About 30 minutes into the 4-hour flight, he realized his error. The normal jitterness didnāt dim as he tried to read his latest novel - his heart only raced faster.
To make matters worse, the trip was last minute and he had been forced to accept a middle seat instead of his usual aisle.
Aziraphale put the book away and tried to practice the meditation tips he had found online this week. He really hated working for his father. And flying. But itās what he had been trained to do.
He kept squirming, feeling bad for the young man next to him in the window seat. While the older man in the aisle seat was passed out (who picked an aisle seat and then slept? had this man never flown??), the window man - likely around his age, but it was hard to tell with the glasses and way he kept his face turned towards the window - was awake, tapping his foot to the music that Aziraphale could faintly hear coming from his earbuds. Aziraphale was nervous that his squirming would annoy window man, who likely had been unhappy as a result of the last minute addition to the row. Aziraphale also kept leaning slightly in his space - he was just so fidgety! That second coffee had been such a mistake.
Within the next 10 minutes, Aziraphaleās thoughts had completely begun to haywire. He was trapped - trapped in the middle seat, trapped on a plane, trapped in his job, and his miserable life, alone. His eyes began to prickle, which just made his panic worse.
Window man shifted then and bumped elbows with him. Aziraphale automatically glanced over, and the humiliation was instant. The man had removed his sunglasses and was looking at Aziraphale/ and he was gorgeous. His long fiery red hair was tied up in a knot, and his facial features were sharp and sleek, just like his body. An absolutely contrast to his own roundness. But it was his eyesā¦ they were a usual shade of green, nearly yellow. And they looked very surprised.
āAre you okay?ā beautiful man asked.
Aziraphale blinked twice, then realize the wetness on his cheeks. Ah, right. He quickly wiped his eyes. āYes, yes. Thank you, dear.ā
Beautiful man frowned. Normally Aziraphale didnāt like frowns, but this manā¦ well, it looked right. āYou donāt seem okay. Iām told crying usually means something. I donāt mean to be nosey.ā
āItās truly nothing,ā Aziraphale said, although the concern of Beautiful man was touching, if not embarrassing. āI just do so hate to fly, and I consumed much too much caffeine this morning. So you see, nothing dire.ā
The man smiled. Ah, the frown wasnāt bad but the smile! Delightful.
āAnthony Crowley. Call me Crowley,ā the man - Crowley - said as he held his hand between them.
(Should I finish this or just scrap it)
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