THE NIGHT HAD FULLY SETTLED IN NOW, AND THE SOFT, COOL BREEZE BRUSHED AGAINST CHARLIE'S SKIN AS THE HELICOPTER LIFTED OFF THE GROUND. Her hair fluttered in the wind as they soared higher, the city below transforming into a breathtaking sea of lights. The skyline of New York stretched out before her, towering buildings glistening in the moonlight like jagged diamonds, their reflections dancing and rippling across the river's surface. 

The streets below buzzed with life, illuminated by the vibrant pulse of nightlife. It was as if the city was alive, a thousand stories unfolding beneath them, but from up here, it felt quiet, distant, and distant.

But even the gentle hum of the helicopter's blades couldn't drown out Johnny's voice. It cut through the air, steady and warm, like a familiar melody. He began to speak, sharing memories that Charlie hadn't expected—stories of his father. As he flew them over the city, Johnny's words painted a picture of a different life, a life he had once known. 

"We used to come out here on weekends, just the two of us," Johnny said, his voice tinged with nostalgia. "Flying was our thing. No distractions, no one else around, just me and him in the air, like we had the whole world to ourselves. We'd talk about everything and nothing... and it always felt like our time, you know? Like there was nothing else that mattered but those moments in the sky."

Charlie's heart softened as she listened. There was something so pure about the way Johnny spoke, his voice laced with a quiet reverence that made it clear how much those times with his father had meant to him. She couldn't even begin to imagine what it was like to share such moments with someone who truly cared about you, who valued your presence in such a profound way. 

She had never had that—never had anyone who had given her the time, the care, the connection that Johnny had known with his dad. Her upbringing had been far different. Her memories were jagged and broken, stripped away by years of cold training, forced to disconnect from emotions before they could hurt her. The Red Room had seen to that. It had turned her into something mechanical, something hardened.

But Johnny... Johnny was different. She could see it in the way he spoke, in the way his eyes softened as he recounted his memories. There was a tenderness there, a rawness that she rarely saw in anyone. He wasn't just sharing a moment in time—he was sharing a part of himself. And for the first time in a long time, Charlie felt something she hadn't in years: the faintest stirrings of a longing for something she had never known. To have someone care that deeply. To have someone who wanted to share those kinds of moments with you.

As Johnny's voice continued to weave through the air, Charlie's thoughts drifted. She couldn't help but reflect on her own past, the absence of love in her life. She had never known what it felt like to have a mother who cared, or a father who looked after her. The Red Room had taken everything—her family, her sense of self, even her ability to trust. She had been trained to push people away before they could get close enough to hurt her.

 It was easier that way, safer. It kept her from feeling the ache of loss that she knew could shatter her. But now, with Johnny... something was different. There was warmth in his presence, a kindness that she had not expected, and it made her feel things she had spent years burying.

As the helicopter circled over the city, Charlie caught a glimpse of Johnny's face. The way his eyes seemed to glisten with both pain and fondness as he spoke about his father made her heart tighten. She could see how much he missed him, how those memories were a part of who he was. She realized then that she had never truly allowed herself to miss anyone. The Red Room had made sure of that. But Johnny's vulnerability made her wonder—what would it be like to have someone like that in her life? To have someone who cared so deeply, so openly?

Charlie swallowed hard, feeling a lump rise in her throat. The idea was almost foreign to her. She opened her mouth, her voice barely above a whisper as she spoke, her words coming out more reflective than she intended. "I don't know much about parental relationships," she said, her gaze fixed on the city below, though her mind was on the man beside her. "But I can tell you really loved him. He meant a lot to you."

Johnny didn't immediately respond, and for a moment, the only sound was the hum of the helicopter's engines. But then he turned his head slightly, catching her eyes in the dim glow of the city lights. His expression softened, and his lips curled up slightly in a bittersweet smile. "Yeah," he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. "He meant everything to me. He was... everything I needed, you know? He made me who I am."

Charlie's heart ached as she processed his words. She realized that Johnny had lost a part of himself when his father was gone, and yet, here he was—flying her through the night, sharing pieces of his past with her. He was letting her see him, a side of him that she knew few people had witnessed. And for the first time, Charlie felt a connection—something deeper than the fleeting moments of her past. A quiet understanding between them, built on honesty, vulnerability, and the shared space between their words.

For a moment, the world outside the helicopter seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them suspended in the air, floating above the city, lost in the quiet, intimate bond that was slowly starting to form between them.Johnny's eyes flickered for a moment, a brief flash of vulnerability. "Yeah," he said with a bittersweet smile. 

"I miss him. But the thing was, I guess I kind of felt special, you know? He took me to this place no one else had flown before. And I wanted to share that with you, to help you feel special too... I didn't realize how much all of this was affecting you, with the running away and the paparazzi, the fake dating. I never really thought about how it might make you feel. I was just having fun... but I guess in a way, that's ..."

Charlie blinked, her expression softening with understanding. "Selfish?"

"Yeah, selfish," Johnny muttered, his voice quieter, almost ashamed.

Johnny shifted in his seat, still not quite looking at her, but the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease a little. The weight of his admission, the quiet honesty between them, was settling, and for the first time, Charlie saw the cracks in the armor he had carefully built around himself. She wanted to reach out, to say more, but the words didn't come.

Instead, she found herself shifting the conversation in a different direction, something lighter. "Well, thank you for bringing me up here," she said, her voice gentle but sincere, the sincerity in her words as clear as the night sky surrounding them. "I know you didn't have to, but I really appreciate it. It was cool to learn about your dad. I could tell how much he meant to you. I feel... special, honestly. No one's really ever shared something like that with me. So, thank you."

Johnny blinked, startled by her kindness. For a moment, he didn't know what to say. The air between them seemed to thicken with an emotion neither of them knew how to handle. But then, as though the weight of the moment was becoming too much to bear, he shifted his gaze back to the controls, his fingers gripping the levers with a firm intensity. "You're welcome," he said, his voice a little quieter now, but somehow more genuine. "It's nothing... I just thought it'd be good for you to see where I came from. You know, before everything got messy."

Charlie smiled softly at him, her eyes tender with understanding, but she didn't press him any further. The last thing she wanted to do was make him uncomfortable or force him to relive more than he was ready to share. "Well," she said after a moment, her voice lighter now, "it was definitely something I won't forget. I can't imagine anyone else would've thought to show me something like this."

Johnny's lips twitched into a small, almost imperceptible smile. His hand lingered on the controls, but his attention seemed to shift for a fraction of a second as he glanced at her from the corner of his eye. The moment lingered between them, neither of them sure how to address the unspoken bond that had been forming. It was something delicate, something fragile, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Johnny wasn't running from it.

But before either of them could speak again, Johnny quickly turned his attention back to the controls. His hands moved with practiced ease, adjusting the direction of the helicopter as they circled over the sprawling city. The sudden shift in focus broke the tension, and Charlie let out a slow, quiet breath. It wasn't that she was disappointed—far from it—but there was something about the silence that spoke volumes. She realized, then, that some things were better left unspoken.

As the helicopter circled back toward the airstrip, the soft hum of the blades cutting through the air, Charlie felt a twinge of nervousness. The city below was a sea of lights, the skyline of New York sprawling beneath them like a glittering web of possibilities. But despite the view, the tension in the air between them was palpable. Charlie, sensing that Johnny's mood had shifted, hesitated for a moment before asking, "Do you mind if I ask you something personal?"

Johnny let out a light chuckle, but it didn't reach his eyes this time. He glanced at her, his lips curling into a smile that didn't quite hide the unease beneath. "I love personal questions," he replied, his tone half-hearted, the usual teasing lightness gone from his voice.

Charlie bit her lip, unsure how to frame the question, but she couldn't shake the curiosity gnawing at her. She had been watching Johnny all night, studying the way he controlled the helicopter with ease, the way the wind tousled his hair, and the way he seemed so completely at peace up here. But there was more to him than just the carefree pilot. She could feel it. "If you love flying so much, why did you retire?" she asked, her voice soft but probing.

The moment the words left her mouth, Johnny's face changed—his expression hardened, and the light in his eyes dulled. His body, which had been so loose and relaxed moments ago, went rigid. His grip on the controls tightened so much that his knuckles turned white. Charlie watched as his palms began to sweat, a thin sheen of moisture glistening on his skin under the dim lights of the helicopter's cockpit. His breath grew shallow, rapid, like he was struggling to catch it.

Johnny's focus seemed to drift, as though the words had reached somewhere deep inside him that he wasn't prepared to confront. His gaze glazed over, fixed on the horizon but not really seeing it. For a moment, he was lost to her, lost to whatever memory or feeling had been triggered by her question. The calmness he had shown while flying—the ease with which he navigated the skies—was gone, replaced by something darker, something painful.

Charlie's stomach tightened with concern as she watched him, her fingers instinctively curling into her lap. "Johnny?" she called gently, her voice steady but with a soft thread of worry. "Are you okay?"

He didn't respond immediately, his body stiffening even more, the strain in his shoulders and arms palpable. It was as if he couldn't breathe, as if the weight of something unspoken was pressing down on him. His lips parted, but no sound came out at first. When he finally spoke, it was a strangled whisper, barely audible over the hum of the helicopter blades. "It was my fault... when I... when I..." His words trailed off, swallowed by the pain that seemed to surge within him.

Charlie's heart skipped a beat, her own breath catching in her throat. Something had happened—something he blamed himself for—and she could feel the guilt radiating from him like heat. The words that hung in the air were jagged, broken, like pieces of a puzzle he couldn't put together.

He tried again, but this time his voice was a thin, trembling whisper, "I... I froze. I—" Johnny's words caught in his throat, the sentence unfinished, lost somewhere between his consciousness and his inability to speak it out loud. His eyes were wide now, distant, as if the memory he was revisiting was too much to bear.

Charlie's instincts kicked in. She couldn't just sit there, watching him unravel. He needed help. She knew this wasn't just a moment of panic—it was deeper than that, far more ingrained in his past than anything she could have anticipated. She reached over slowly, hesitating only for a second before placing her hand on his. Her fingers were warm against his skin, trying to offer something steady, something grounding.

"Johnny," she said softly, her voice calm but firm. "Breathe. You're okay. Just breathe for me."

He looked at her then, his eyes full of desperation, and Charlie could see the war raging inside him. His chest was heaving now, his breaths coming in short, shallow gasps, as if the air itself had become too thick to inhale. The quiet panic that had seized him was threatening to spiral out of control, and she couldn't let it.

Charlie didn't wait for him to speak again. She kept her hand on his, her touch steady, unyielding in the midst of the storm that seemed to rage in his body. She slowly moved her other hand up to his face, cupping his cheek gently, her thumb brushing over the stubbled skin of his jaw. She needed him to focus, needed him to come back to the present. She needed him to trust her.

"Johnny, look at me," she urged, her voice low, yet insistent.

He didn't respond at first, his eyes wild, darting everywhere, unfocused and panicked. But then, slowly, he seemed to hear her—really hear her—and his gaze locked with hers, a flicker of recognition and vulnerability crossing his face. His breath came in ragged bursts, but he didn't look away. She could feel the tension in his muscles as he fought to control himself, to rein in the panic that had overtaken him.

With each breath he took, his body began to calm, if only slightly. The grip he had on the controls loosened just a little, his fingers not so rigid against the metal. His eyes never left hers, as if her presence was the anchor he so desperately needed to steady himself.

"Good," Charlie whispered, her voice like a soft lullaby in the midst of the storm. "You're doing great. Just breathe, Johnny. In, out. Slowly."

The helicopter began its descent, the airstrip growing closer with each passing second. The city below seemed so far away now, the lights distant and dim as the earth loomed closer, grounded and solid. The noise of the helicopter blades roared in their ears, but Charlie's voice cut through the chaos, keeping him focused.

As they touched down, the helicopter's wheels meeting the asphalt with a gentle thud, the noise gradually faded into a heavy silence. The world outside seemed to pause, as if waiting with bated breath. The moment they landed, Johnny's grip loosened entirely, and his hand fell limp in hers.

The stillness between them was thick, laden with the unspoken emotions that hovered in the air, too heavy to be ignored. Johnny didn't move immediately, his chest still rising and falling with effort, his eyes closed for a moment, as if he was trying to gather himself, to make sense of the flood of feelings that had just broken through.

Charlie's hand remained on his, her thumb gently stroking his skin, waiting until he was ready to speak, ready to breathe again. And when he finally opened his eyes, she saw something different—something vulnerable, yet deeply thankful.

The helicopter settled completely on the tarmac, its blades winding down, leaving a soft hum in the air as the world outside grew quiet once more. Charlie felt the tension in her chest loosen, though her heart still weighed heavy. The silence between them felt profound—almost sacred—as if something had shifted in that brief moment when Johnny's vulnerability had cracked through the surface.

She didn't release her hand from his face. The warmth of his skin under her fingertips was grounding, an anchor in the sea of emotions swirling between them. She could still feel the tremors of his breath, the unspoken weight that lingered in his gaze. It was as though he were standing on the edge of something, something deep inside of him that had been buried for so long and was now, for the first time, beginning to surface.

Charlie looked at him with a quiet, soft intensity, her heart breaking just a little more with each ragged breath he took. His eyes, usually filled with confidence and that carefree spark, were now clouded with something darker. He looked so fragile in that moment, so raw, like a part of him had just been laid bare. Her thumb continued to trace soothing circles on his cheek, the gesture slow and deliberate, as if trying to anchor him in the present, trying to remind him that he wasn't alone.

"Johnny," she said softly, her voice gentle and calm. "I'm going to take you home, okay? You need to rest. We'll talk about it when you're ready, but for now, we have to get out of this helicopter."

The words were meant to reassure him, to offer him some semblance of peace. But when Johnny met her gaze, his eyes told a different story. They were full of confusion, pain, and an undercurrent of guilt that he hadn't yet vocalized. She could see it in the way his chest rose and fell, in the way his shoulders were hunched as if carrying the weight of a thousand things he couldn't explain.

Charlie's heart clenched in her chest, a dull ache filling her as she watched him try, and fail, to mask his fear. It wasn't just about the panic attack. It was something deeper, something that had been festering in the corners of his mind for too long, left unspoken and unchecked.

Johnny's breath was still uneven, shallow gasps that seemed to come from some place far away, as if he were struggling to stay tethered to the here and now. His skin was pale, the usual warm glow that came with his smile nowhere to be found. And then, his voice—when he finally spoke—was barely more than a whisper, fragile and broken.

"Yeah..." he said softly, his eyes drifting away from hers for a moment, as if he were trying to escape the vulnerability that had spilled out. "I'm just... not okay sometimes."

Charlie's chest tightened as she looked at him, her heart aching for the man sitting before her. There was a pain in his eyes that she didn't know how to fix. She couldn't change the past, couldn't erase the things that haunted him, but she could be here. She could be the person who showed up, the one who didn't turn away when things got hard.

"You don't have to be okay right now," Charlie whispered, her voice low and soothing. "You don't have to explain anything. It's okay to not be okay, Johnny. We don't have to talk about it if you're not ready."

Her thumb continued its slow, comforting circles on his cheek, a silent promise that she wasn't going anywhere. She wasn't going to push him to speak if he didn't want to. The air between them was thick with emotion, the weight of everything unspoken pressing down on them both, but Charlie was determined to be patient with him. She wanted him to know that he didn't have to carry this alone.

Johnny closed his eyes for a moment, and Charlie noticed the way his lashes trembled, the vulnerability he had let slip barely contained under the surface. When he opened them again, there was a flicker of something—something raw and unguarded—that passed between them. He didn't say anything at first, just stared at her, as if trying to make sense of the kindness she was offering. His lips parted, but the words never came. He didn't have to speak; Charlie could see the gratitude in his eyes, the recognition that he wasn't alone anymore.

Charlie's heart softened at the sincerity in his words. She nodded, giving him a small, reassuring smile. "I understand more than you think," she replied, her voice steady. "And I'm here. No matter what, Johnny. I'm here."

She didn't need to say anything else. The silence that followed was comfortable in its own way—familiar, even. She kept her hand on his face, letting him find his way back to the present. Her presence was the only thing she could offer him right now, but in that moment, it felt like enough.