Flight A2783

"So..." I say, leaning against the closed and locked bathroom door. "What's up buttercup?" I cringe. What the fuck. "Don't answer that," I say. "Ignore everything I just said."

"All of three words?" Harry asks, a small smile on his face.

I roll my eyes. "Yeah. Whatever. Except it was four words." We're quiet, and I can't help but feel like he's watching me carefully, studying me. Which he is, when I look up at him. But unlike usually, he looks unabashed, and I stare right back at him. Our eyes lock, and the corner of his mouth quirks up.

My mouth seems to have its own fucking mind because I'm smiling back at him. I open my mouth, a question forming on my lips, but Harry cuts me off.

"I don't know why I kissed you, okay?" Harry says quickly, his eyes slightly widened. "It just happened." He takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry if you didn't-"

"Like it?" I finish for him, cocking an eyebrow. Harry doesn't say anything, just eyes me warily. "I don't know. Hell, I don't know much of anything. Except that I might have liked when you were kissing me. Maybe. A slight chance." A huge chance. Because I did like when he kissed me. In fact, I'd be perfectly fucking content if he kissed me now.

Harry seems to read my mind because he moves closer and holds my face in his hands, pressing his mouth against mine, catching my lips with his own. My arms slide around his neck and automatically my fingers twirl his curls around, as if I've done this so many times before. Harry moves one hand to grasp my hip, under my crew neck and tank top. His thumb rubs gently as he continues to kiss me, and I kiss him back.

Holy shit. He's kissing me. I'm kissing him. Oh my god.

And then my crew neck is up and over my head. I push down the ball of panic that's forming in the pit of my stomach. It's nerves. That's probably what it is.

Harry presses me against the bathroom door, harry removes his hand from my face and it's on my hip, balling the fabric of my tank top. The knot in my stomach is only getting tighter, and my mind and heart is racing. It's getting hard to breathe.

Harry's hand slips up my tank top and something in the back of my mind snaps. I can't. I need to-

"Stop," I gasp, pulling away, I push Harry away, not quite gently, either. I hug myself, gasping for breath. The fear is creeping up my throat, choking me.

I haven't-

Well I haven't had sex or anything remotely close to it since that night at that party. I've had boyfriends, sure, and when I wouldn't give them what they wanted, they broke up with me. It hurt at first, guys only wanting to be with me for that, but after awhile, I shrugged it off and swore guys off completely.

And now, as I think back to just a few moments ago with Harry's hand up my tank top, I can't help but shudder. I know Harry would never do something like that to me, but it doesn't stop me from being scared shitless every time a guy touches me.

Which is why I run out of the bathroom, the door shutting so hard behind me that it opens again. People stare, and I don't have the energy to glare at them. I slam down into my seat and pull my legs up, hugging them to my chest. I rest my forehead down on my knees and take long, shaky breaths.

Shit. Oh god.

I don't even realize I'm crying until the tears drop one by one down my thighs. I shut my eyes, and use the back of my hands to dry my face. There's probably black stripes down my face rn. Shit. I pull my sleeves down over my hands and use them to wipe my face.

My front camera tells me that yes, I look like I girl who just got pissed-drunk and got weepy. Or that my boyfriend just broke up with me. Obviously, neither one happened so fuck.

What the fuck am I going to do when he gets back? Shit. I don't know. I'll have to pretend it never happened.

***

And then the plane crashes and we all die.

The end.