He sighs. “I hate this skin. I’d rather wear anyone else’s.”
The woman in the row in front of us turns around to gawk. My smile disappears. The urge to kick the back of her seat is strong, but she would probably report me if I did, so I settle for staring at her until she minds her own business.
She’s being nosy, but we should watch our mouths. Talking about extra joints and wearing skin isn’t normal for humans.
The announcements start, and I listen, equal parts fascinated and horrified as the attendant walks us through the oxygen mask explainer and using the seat cushions as flotation devices... you know, in case the airplane springs a leak or we crash into the ocean.
I shake my head. Human ingenuity is impressive, but the lengths they go to for basic survival are wild. Even wilder: their fucking apathy about it. Miss Perky is doling out life-saving information, and no one is listening.
Except Riven. He yanks the laminated card from the pocket in front of him. Bowing his legs wider than a cowboy's, his left knee ends up wedged between two seats in front of us. He stares at the card, then the flight attendant, then the card again. His knees start to shake.
“It’s okay,” I whisper. “I don’t think planes crash often. The odds are really low.”
A static band rolls over his face.
A man across the aisle glances at him, brow wrinkling.
Shit. I’m not helping. What does he need? Tough love? Reassurance? I decide on a combination of both, pinning his trembling leg to the floor with one hand and grabbing his chin with the other. “I won’t let you die,” I tell him. “If something goes wrong, I’ll rip those doors off—see, the ones four rows up with the red handle?” I point his head in the right direction. “We’ll go out through those, and I’ll fly us out of here. You won’t even have to open your eyes. I promise.”
Riven shudders, and I release his chin as he turns and rests his forehead against mine. The contact lasts maybe a second, barely long enough for me to register. His leg stops bouncing, but I don’t move my hand. We may not be lovers, but we are friends, and I don’t hang my friends out to dry when they’re scared.
The plane taxis down the runway, picking up speed, and my heart thumps unsteadily in my chest. This is intense, but we’re the only ones who seem to think so. The kid across the aisle is laser-focused on her tablet, while the old man next to her is sound asleep, mouth open wide.
“They’re remarkably unbothered,” I whisper, nudging Riven with my shoulder.
He grunts, sliding the laminated card back into the seatback pocket before dropping his hand on top of mine.
I squeeze his leg. He squeezes my hand. Both of us use too much force.
Once the seatbelt light turns off, I ease my grip, but neither of us lets go. For the next four hours, we stay exactly as we are, living statues inside a tin can with wings.
I’m glad I’m not alone.The thought worries me. I’m in too deep with him, and I’m pretty sure it’s too late to do anything about it.
I adjust the straps of my backpack as we exit the plane. “If you tell anyone I was scared during takeoff, I’ll call you a liar.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Riven says.
I glance over my shoulder, then tilt my head to accommodate his inconvenient growth spurt. He grins, the skinny mustache wiggling like a caterpillar above his thin lips.
We exit the stuffy tunnel, and I blink a few times. This airport is way busier than the last. There are countless people, and they’re all in a hurry. “Gods alive and dead.”
“It’s a madhouse,” Riven says.
I roll my shoulders back and brace to carve a path through the crowd. “Ciprian booked us a car; we’ve just got to find the rentals.”
That proves to be more difficult than I thought. After a long tram ride and a longer walk, we manage to find the rental desk. By the time I have the keys, a folder full of things we’re not allowed to do in the car, and vague directions to the rental lot, I’m dying for fresh air.
We burst through the automatic doors; I take a deep breath and immediately feel like I’m drowning. “What the fuck?” I close my mouth. “I can taste the air. Why is it wet?”
“Humidity, darling.”
“I knowwhatit is. I just didn’t expect it to have ataste. Is it heavy to you?”
Riven nods and grips the front of his plain black shirt to pull it away from his skin. As soon as he lets go, it sticks to him all over again.
It takes fifteen minutes to find our rental car.
Compact and red, with heavily tinted windows, if it has working air conditioning and brakes—in that order—we’ll be good. Panting, I pop the trunk and hurl my backpack inside, dragging Luca’s flannel off so my skin can breathe. What felt warm and comforting a few hours ago has been suffocating me since we got off the plane.
