Stiles dropped into the seat nearest the window, huffing out loud in exasperation. The meeting in Chicago hadn't gone as planned and he was ready to go home. Though the thought of home automatically made him think of work, and that wasn't necessarily something he was looking forward to. He could only imagine the lecture that awaited him. It would no doubt include all his flaws being sneered at him: 'Why did he have to be such a spaz?', 'Didn't he ever stop talking?', 'Couldn't he do one damn thing right?'. Well, obviously not, he thought dejectedly, banging his head against the window pane.

That was the moment two very good things decided to appear. One, an extremely attractive man took the seat beside him, and suddenly Stiles was thinking he could enjoy the flight very much if this was who was going to keep him company. Two, the flight attendant was there, offering a flute of wine. Stiles accepted the wine with a grin, having no shame in practically chugging half of it down. As he drank, he side-eyed the man that had sat next to him.

The man was sculpted like a greek god. He was chiseled, as greek gods tended to be, but instead of the cold stone demeanor that usually accompanied such looks, he gave off an aura of warmth. When he accepted his own wine, he smiled. It was small and it was brief, but by the good Lord it was gorgeous. Stiles had to pause in his own drinking and look down at his lap to keep from losing his breath. He shook his head to rid himself of inappropriate images, concentrating on pretending to be a normal person. Unlike all the other people in Stiles's life, he didn't want to scare the greek god away with his geeky awkwardness.

"Cheers," the man next to him declared and Stiles's heart picked up cheerfully.

"Cheers," he raised his half drained glass and rose his head to meet the man's beautiful green gaze. A wide grin spread across his bambi-like face.

The man smiled in return, but it wasn't like the smile he'd given the flight attendant. This one was more teasing, like he was quietly laughing at Stiles. He tilted his head to the side and pointed to the device in his ear. "No, sorry. Someone just thought I was talking to them."

Thoroughly embarrassed, Stiles looked back down at his lap, his pale skin heating up. Serves you right, he thought snidely at himself. He had a girlfriend. There was no reason for him to be ogling the hot guy beside him. Because he was loyal god damnit, and dependable too. No warm, subtly smiling, green-eyed, greek god had to power to change that fact.

It didn't matter that him and Malia were in sort of a rut, or the fact that he was pretty sure he wasn't in love despite her being the only girl he'd ever dated. He would remain stout. Which meant he was determined to stare out the window, he decided, jerking his head up to stare out of the plane as it lifted off. He wouldn't glance at the him at all. Nope not once. And he wouldn't speak anymore either. His thin, pink lips were going to be sealed the entire flight. Yep, that was the plan. It was a good plan too.

But then, a little over an hour into the skies, the plane began to shake. He startled upright. "What's happening?" Dozens of passengers demanded, including Stiles, who was naturally inclined towards panic in the best of situations.

"It's just a bit of turbulence," the nearest flight attendant tried to reassure, but immediately after she said it, the trembling of the plane increased.

"We're going to die!" Stiles cried out hysterically.

"We're not going to die," the greek god stated calmly. His green eyes were set on Stiles, as if his steady gaze had the power to soothe someone frazzled nerves. It didn't. "The plane's just going through a bit of turbulence."

"They have to tell you that! It's not like they can just tell us the truth that the plane's going to crash and soon we'll just be mangled bodies strewn across the wreckage. The would just create chaos and panic. And they can't have that, so of course they're going to say it's just turbulence. But they're lying! And, oh my god, I don't want to die."

Green eyes watched him in a mixture of concern and amusement. How he wasn't freaking out even just a little bit was beyond Stiles. The guy probably took some xanax before getting on the plane, or some other nerve sedative. Because no sane person could be as calm as this guy.

"I can't die! I haven't done anything with my life. I haven't succeeded in my job. I haven't had children. I don't even think I've ever been in love."

It spiraled from there. With his heart beating twice as fast as normal and his fingers digging into the upholstery, Stiles went on and on about every secret he'd ever held onto. He shared how he hated his coworkers because he thought they were pompous and pretentious, and about how he would sometimes free himself from them under the guise of helping Lydia in accounting. Even though Lydia was a genius and didn't need help with anything, and certainly not with numbers. Instead, they'd just get coffee and gossip.

He talked about Scott, who was his best friend and the best roommate a guy could have. "I had a sex dream about him once. It was completely erotic and I realized I was bi, but not for him. Just bi in general."

And he talked about Malia, who was the only girl in high school that had found him worth wanting. They'd been dating since junior year of high school, but even after all these years Stiles could never get himself to feel anything deeper for her. Nor could he bring himself to break up with her. She kind of scared him. He talked about her domineering personality and about how she liked to leave scratch marks when they had sex. "Which I thought I would be into because I always imagined myself being a little kinky in bed, but honestly it just hurts. Plus, that's the only kinky thing she does. Anytime I suggest doing something new in bed she turns me down. And dude, she can be brutal. Like, she doesn't just say no, man. She really gets into it about why what I want is disgusting."

Somewhere along that line, Stiles realized that he was ranting like a maniac. Subconsciously, he may have also realized that the turbulence had eased up just a bit. "I'm uh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to unload all that on you."

The greek god just smiled. That barely there in the corner of his lips, blended into his dark, neatly trimmed stubble kind of smile. "No. It's okay. Keep talking."

For a brief second, Stiles paused anyways. No one had ever told him to keep talking before. Actually, he reflected, no one had ever really listened to him before. They always got annoyed and told him to shut up. Or, if they were his friends, they'd humor him and then pretend to listen, but really their expressions were entirely blank and they weren't listening at all. After the second had ended, Stiled told the stranger as such. Then he proceeded to talk more.

"What was that?" Sties cut himself from his spillage of secrets. The plane had just given a violent jerk. Everything suddenly came into a sharper focus and Stiles felt as if the air was condensing around him.

A warm hand fell on his bony shoulder. "The plane landed."

"What?" Stiles jumped out of his seat, hitting the overhead compartment with a thud.

Even the greek god winced at the sound. "Are you alright?" he asked in concern, standing much more gracefully than Stiles had and moving into the aisle, stepping back to let Stiles go through.

All at once, every secret he'd unburdened himself of came back with a thundering force. His face burned with shame. "Yea, I, uh...I…" he cleared his throat awkwardly, fidgeting and stammering under the beautiful eyes of a stranger that knew everything about him. "I have to go." He hurriedly stumbled out into the aisle to get off the plane and through airport and finally get some much needed fresh air.

"Wait, I…" The man who sat next to him tried to call out, but Stiles was too busy trying to get away to hear him.

By the time Stiles got his luggage and was heading out of the double doors of the airport, his breathing had steadied and his face had returned to its pale hue. He planned to walk a few streets down - stretch his legs, enjoy the San Francisco breeze - before calling for a ride, but the sound of his name being called stopped him in his steps.

"Malia. What are you doing here?"

She smiled, which always looked more like a snarl than anything. It wasn't just Stiles thought that. Other people had commented on it too. Like an excited coyote (Stiles had always mentally compared her to a coyote. He wasn't sure why), she bounded towards him. Her strong, toned, arms circled around him, embracing him with all her strength. "I missed you." She leaned her chin against his shoulder. Her dark hair, smelling like apples that day, ticked his nose.

"I missed you too," he responded as best as he could. It was more difficult than one might think. Malia was strong, and right now she was squeezing him to his last breath.

After a moment too long, she finally let go and stepped back. "Are you okay? Scott called saying your plane was about to crash."

Stiles could feel the heat rising back into his cheeks. He'd forgotten he'd texted Scott in his panic. "Just a little bit of turbulence. But you know Scott. Bit of a drama queen that one."

"Right." She smiled again, but this time it was with a teasing edge. In a single word, she could adequately convey that she thought Stiles was an even bigger drama queen. She was good at that. "I thought you could take me to dinner," she announced grabbing his hand and dragging him to her car. "That way we could catch up. I've been thinking about us a lot while you've been gone." She opened the passenger door for him.

"What have you been thinking about?" he asked, trying to sound casual, but knowing that he failed.

She smiled that snarl of her's. Almost predatory, Stiles shivered. "We'll talk about it over dinner. How do you feel like taking me to the steak house?" Before he could answer, which of course was going to be yes if only because she was a very hard woman to say no to, she pushed him inside and closed the door.

Neither noticed the figure standing out on the curb of the airport, watching the car drive away.