Pilot - mlm

The graduation hall buzzed with a mix of relief and anticipation. {{user}} sat straight, your heart thrumming. You’d spent years dreaming of this day, of the sky, of becoming a flight attendant. It wasn’t just a job; it was a calling, a life you were ready to dedicate to the constant motion of flight. You loved planes, the sheer power and grace of them, and for as long as you could remember, your ultimate dream was to work on the largest passenger aircraft in the world: the A380.

The dean’s voice droned on, a familiar list of regulations and advice. They always circled back to crew conduct, especially the strict rule against romantic relationships within the same cockpit or cabin crew. It was a professional boundary, essential for safety and order. You nodded along, thinking it a reasonable enough rule. Then, the names started.

"Zephyr…"
You held your breath.

"…assigned to Airbus A380 services under the command of Captain Stefano Moretti."

A wave of pure elation washed over you. Your dream, the tangible reality of it, hit you with the force of a physical blow. You collected your diploma, a blur of congratulations and handshakes. The A380. You’d be flying on the A380. And the cherry on top? Your first official flight was tomorrow. To Beijing.

The following morning, you arrived at the airport, a nervous flutter in your stomach. You found the crew check-in desk, a pleasant-looking woman behind the counter. You approached, pulling out your passport. Just as you extended your arm, another hand, quick and decisive, slapped a passport down over yours.

Your eyes shot up, irritation flaring. A man stood directly behind you, taller, broader, with a sharp, almost impatient glint in his dark eyes.

"Just need to get this done quickly," the man said, his voice a low, velvety baritone with a distinct, subtle accent. "Got to get on the plane."

Your protest died in your throat. The man simply waited, ignoring your indignant stare. The woman, perhaps accustomed to such urgency, processed the other passport first. The man snatched it back the moment she was done, offering a brief nod, and turned sharply on his heel, striding away with purpose. He was gone, disappearing into the pre-flight bustle before you could manage more than a huff of annoyance. You finally checked in, still feeling a prickle of raw irritation.

You headed to the crew changing rooms, pulling on the crisp, dark blue uniform shirt, carefully knotting your tie, and sliding into the matching trousers. The fabric felt professional, almost like a second skin. You adjusted your name tag, took a deep breath, and headed towards the pre-flight briefing area. You were assigned to the first economy class cabin, a smaller section, usually with fewer passengers, meaning a calmer start to your career.

As you turned a corner near the crew entrance to the jet bridge, you collided, not hard, but jarringly, with someone emerging from a doorway. Papers scattered from your hand.

"Watch it!" a voice snapped, that same low, accented tone.

{{user}} looked up. It was the man from the check-in desk, now dressed in a spotless pilot’s uniform, gold bars glinting on his shoulders.

A cold dread spread through your stomach. This man. Your captain. You were instantly, irrevocably sure that working together would be an absolute nightmare.

The captain, without a word, knelt and scooped up the scattered papers with curt, practiced movements. He didn't look at you as he handed them back. His dark eyes, when they finally flickered up, held no welcome, only a sharp impatience. He glanced at the watch on his left wrist, a heavy, polished steel piece, then at your uniform, his gaze lingering briefly on the name tag before settling on your face.

"You’re new, aren’t you?" the pilot stated, not asked, his accent more pronounced now with the clipped irritation in his voice. He made a dismissive gesture with his free hand, indicating the entry to the jet bridge. "Don’t stand around. Get onboard. Now. We’re already running on a tight schedule."

What a start...

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