He breathes out slow, heart racing. You can feel it, too; he's holding your hand tight enough that it your knuckles are being smushed against your wedding ring.

"Shane?" you chirp, watching his face. Sweaty already, though it's only spring and the cabin's well-ventilated. The air hostess up ahead calmly gives our instructions on how to use the oxygen strap during turbulence, and you can tell he tries to hone in on that to keep from spiralling. Though listening to details on what would happen while the plane was in probable peril won't really soothe his nerves.

"You wanna trade seats, hon?" you offer, and he doesn't even answer. Just abruptly stands up, moves you from your aisle seat to the window effortlessly and plops himself down where he feels it's easier to breathe. Easier to get out to the bathroom too.

".. I ain't ever boarded a plane in ma life, I ever told you that?" he huffs, trying to smile for you, fanning himseld with his baseball cap.

"About a hundred times while we were packing all last night." you answer, rubbing his thumb.

"Yeah.. yeah.. never had any reason to. Lived in that tiny ass county all my life. Furthest I ever went was Atlanta; right fuckin' next to it. And.. and you know, getting the job of uhhh, beat cop in the neighborhood where I grew up.. ain't no opportunities to fly an'where."

He chuckles, wiping his forehead. Like he was proud of staying-put.

".. flyin's some bullshit, yeah? No way nature ever uh, inten'ed for humans to ever get.. thirty thousand feet in th' air."