Kevin slumped into his first-class seat, wide-eyed and mildly overwhelmed. Leather that smelled like money. Quiet hum of champagne being poured somewhere behind. A warm towel appeared in his lap like magic.
"Okay," he muttered. "This is disgusting."
Leonhart, seated beside him, raised an eyebrow. "You're welcome."
"You booked the whole row?"
"I booked the cabin."
Kevin whipped around. "You what?"
"I need privacy." He glanced over the rim of his glass. "And I don't share air with strangers."
Kevin gawked. "This is deranged. This is—this is crazy rich ex-boyfriend behavior."
Leonhart smirked. "You say that like it's an insult."
Kevin turned back to the window. "God, this seat reclines like a bed."
"And you deserve it," Leonhart said, with rare gentleness.
For a while, silence passed. The hum of the engines, the muted clinking of glasses behind them. Kevin fiddled with the small gold spoon on his dessert tray.
"You always this nervous flying?" he asked after a moment, glancing sideways.
Leonhart didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he stared straight ahead, posture rigid, hands folded tightly in his lap.
Kevin blinked. "You are nervous."
Leonhart shifted stiffly. "I don't like being… suspended. Between places."
Kevin tilted his head. "You mean planes?"
"I mean being in transit. Not here. Not there. No control."
Kevin's voice softened. "You're scared of limbo."
Leonhart didn't deny it.
"Is that why you came?" Kevin asked, quieter now. "Because I was leaving, and you didn't want to be left in-between?"
Leonhart's throat moved. "You disappear so easily, Kevin. Smiling one moment. Gone the next."
Kevin blinked.
He hadn't realized Leonhart noticed things like that.
After a long pause, he leaned back in his seat, pulled the blanket over his lap, and said softly, "Well, I'm right here now. And I don't vanish mid-flight."
Leonhart said nothing, but his hand edged ever so slightly toward Kevin's on the armrest.
He didn't grab it. Didn't hold.
Just touched.
And that was more than enough.
Kevin didn't pull away.
---