𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐓 𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒

prepare for takeoff

(Your POV)

Walking through the airport, my nerves get worse and worse. I'm terrified of flying and try to avoid it at all costs, but today was an exception. Timothée, my boyfriend, is going to his movie premiere in Paris and wants me to come with him. Of course I said yes: the city of love with the love of my life? Absolutely! It was only until after I agreed that I realized I would have to fly across the Atlantic Ocean to get there.

I tried to brush off the nervous feeling for the previous month, but now that I'm a mere hour away from taking off, my heart is doing somersaults.

"Are you okay?" Timothée asks, looking at me with concern etched onto his face. He must notice I'm nervous. I have yet to admit my fear of flying to him.

"What? I'm- yeah I'm fine," I lie. Timothée doesn't look like he believes me.

"You're lying. What's wrong?" Timothée says, taking my hand and sitting me down at an empty seat. He kneels on the floor in front of me and looks up at me with his bright eyes, waiting for me to say something.

"I'm scared," I finally blurt out.

"Of what?"

"Of flying. I hate planes and I haven't been on one in years. What if we crash? We'll fall into the middle of the ocean and no one will ever find us because it's the MIDDLE OF THE OCEAN!" I ramble, eventually stopping when Timothée squeezes my hand.

"Listen, baby, I promise we won't crash. The pilots know what they're doing and planes rarely ever crash. You have nothing to worry about."

"Well what if our plane is the rare one that does crash?"

"It won't. Believe me. And besides, it's a private jet that won't even feel like a plane once you're in it. And you have me. I'll protect you."

Timothée gives me a reassuring smile and squeezes my hands once more. I smile back, more convinced that I'll be okay.

"So, you ready? Paris is waiting for us..." Timothée says, wiggling his eyebrows and making me laugh.

"I'm ready." Timothée helps me up and we walk the rest of the way through the airport and to the section where private jets depart and arrive. I'm too nervous to notice the dozens of other rich people scattered throughout the huge room.

I seem to be in a daze, floating onto the jet, not really absorbing the fact that I'm in the jet until the engines roar to life. My eyes open wide and my heart leaps out of my chest.

Timothée notices my nerves and he wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer to him. I rest my head on his shoulder and rely on his steady breathing to calm myself down.

"I promise you'll be okay," Timothée says, kissing the top of my head.

The plane begins to roll down the runway. I keep my eyes closed, not willing to look out the window and see the world shrinking below me. When I feel the plane lift up, my stomach feels like it's in my throat. The negative thoughts keeps swirling in my head.

"Hey, look. Open your eyes," Timothée says in a soft voice. I do as I'm told and follow his pointed finger to the window. All I can see is blue sky and puffy white clouds. It's serene, not at all like I was anticipating.

"See, it's not so bad, right?" Timothée says, looking at me with his classic smile. The happiness radiates off of him and seeps into me, making me forget about my fears.

"Yeah. It's not so bad."

"I'm proud of you," Timothée says, loving my face so I'm directly looking at him.

"Why thank you," I say, trying to be funny but getting lost in his blue-green eyes.

"So proud that I want to give you this." Timothée leans in and gently presses his lips to mine. My heart flips, but this time for a good reason. I kiss him back, feeling his soft lips move in synchronization with mine. His hands find their way to the small of my back and he pulls me closer. My hands get tangled in his chocolate curls. We kiss more passionately, lost in our own world of pure bliss. We would've kept going if the flight attendant didn't interrupt us.

"Excuse me, I'm sorry to disrupt your moment, but would like some champagne?"

Timothée and I look at each other, slightly embarrassed but more amused than anything.

"We'd love some, thank you," Timothée says, taking the small glasses and handing one to me. The flight attendant leaves.

"I don't know, you know how champagne makes me. I don't think I should drink this right now..." I say.

"I do know how champagne makes you, and I think you should drink it. Mile high club...?" I laugh at his comment and take a sip of my drink, watching Timothée smirk.

Maybe planes aren't so bad after all...

***
hey! hope you enjoyed this imagine! i like it!

are you afraid of flying? i used to be when I was really little but now it doesn't bother me that much.

anyways, if you enjoyed this, please follow, like, and share! also don't forget i take requests! :)

thanks for reading!

much love, lyra <3