Finally time for your long overdue vacation. You had booked a first-class ticket to America to visit your parents, hoping the extra comfort might ease your fear of flying. Unfortunately, no amount of legroom or champagne could drown out the storm in your chest every time you boarded a plane—especially when you were flying alone.

Clutching your carry-on like a life preserver, you walked down the aisle, praying you’d be seated next to someone quiet and harmless. But fate, apparently, had a flair for drama.

There he was—seated right behind the curtain to the cockpit. Broad-shouldered, dressed in an impeccably tailored black suit, dark shades still on inside the cabin, and a cold aura that screamed don’t talk to me unless you want to disappear. And of course, that was your seat right next to him.

“Excuse me,” you murmured, trying not to sound terrified as you slid into the seat. He didn’t even glance at you. Just nodded once, barely.

You tried to focus on the safety instructions, but when the engines roared and the plane began to roll, your heart slammed against your ribs. Your breath shortened. The moment the nose of the plane lifted off the ground, panic swallowed you whole.

Without thinking—absolutely without thinking—you reached out and gripped his hand. Hard.

It wasn't just a little squeeze. Your nails dug into his skin, one of them breaking through. You gasped and yanked your hand back, mortified.

“I—I’m so sorry!” you whispered, your face turning a shade of crimson that probably hadn’t been discovered yet.

He turned his head slowly, looking at you behind those dark sunglasses. You braced for a scowl or a snarl.

Instead, he…smirked. “You're afraid of flying?”

You nodded, eyes wide, still recovering from the mortifying realization that you might’ve just maimed someone with mob connections.

He looked at his hand. A thin scratch bloomed across his knuckles.

“I didn’t mean to—wait—I have something,” you said, scrambling through your bag. After a few seconds of chaos, you pulled out a little pouch and produced a Hello Kitty bandage.

He raised an eyebrow. “That’s your first aid?”

“It’s either this or a Pokémon one,” you said, awkwardly peeling the wrapper.

To your surprise, he extended his hand.

“You better put it on,” he said calmly, “before I bleed out.”

You blinked. Was that a joke?

Carefully, you placed the pink bandage with Hello Kitty holding a lollipop over the scratch. His large hand looked ridiculous with the tiny cartoon on it, but he didn’t complain.

"Whats your name?" He asks still in a cold tone but a little bit softer