〈 I Wish You Were Mine ╱ MarkHyuck 〉 ✓

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Four Hours Into the Flight

The airplane was a capsule of uneasy sleep. Overhead lights dimmed to twilight, passengers curled into their seats with blankets, headphones, and dreams of arrival. The smell of reheated food lingered faintly in the recycled air.

Minhyung sat by the window, forehead resting against the cold glass. Clouds rolled endlessly beneath them, silver under the moonlight. Somewhere far behind, an entire life lay buried—his childhood, his sacrifices, his best friend who never became his.

He closed his eyes.

If there's one prayer left... let him be loved, let him be safe.

The plane rattled. Just a whisper at first. A turbulence no one paid much attention to. A baby stirred, a woman glanced up nervously, then leaned back again.

Minhyung tightened his seatbelt, fingers gripping the fabric. He'd flown before. He knew the rhythm of these small shivers in the sky. Still, his chest tensed.

Then—

A sudden jolt. Metal groaning. An alarm blinking red near the cockpit.

The passengers stirred awake. Confused whispers spread like fire.

"What was that?"
"Is this normal?"
"Mom, what's happening?"

The overhead speakers crackled to life, the pilot's voice steady but strained.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we are experiencing a technical malfunction. Please remain calm and stay seated—"

His words cut short by a violent lurch. Luggage tumbled from the compartments, screams erupted, trays and cups clattered to the floor. The plane dipped, then steadied, then dipped again, harder this time.

Smoke curled faintly from the vents above the aisle.

Minhyung's eyes widened. His heart hammered like a drumbeat in his throat.

The cabin dissolved into panic. Children wailed. People shouted prayers, curses, names of loved ones. The flight attendants tried to scream instructions, but their voices drowned in the roar of the engines sputtering.

A sharp smell filled the air—burning, acrid, unmistakable. Fire.

The plane shuddered violently, lights flickering on and off. Oxygen masks dropped with a mechanical snap, dangling like ghosts above every seat.

Minhyung reached up with trembling hands, pulling the mask over his face. The rubber clung too tight, the air hissing loud in his ears.

His mind raced—not to Canada, not to his future, but to one face.

Donghyuck.

Donghyuck's laugh, shrill and bright in classrooms. Donghyuck's hand clinging to his sleeve when they were boys, too scared of thunderstorms. Donghyuck's late-night calls, his voice half-asleep, whispering stupid jokes.

Donghyuck's kiss.

His chest convulsed. Tears blurred his vision. "Donghyuck," he choked behind the mask. "I can't—I can't leave like this."

The plane dropped suddenly, stomachs lurching, screams filling the void. Outside the window, lightning split the horizon, illuminating the vast nothingness of night.

The pilot's voice shouted through static: "Brace for impact! Brace—"

And then—

Silence, before the world split apart.