ᴀʟʟ ᴍʏ ʟᴏᴠᴇ, ᴀɪʀᴍᴀɪʟ

ᴀʟʟ ᴍʏ ʟᴏᴠᴇ, ᴀɪʀᴍᴀɪʟ

…𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘱𝘪𝘭𝘰𝘵!𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘵 𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘳

fluff, mutual pining, summer romance, pilot!matt, seaside town, slight angst i guess, unresolved

requested by the lovely @vanteguccir !

word count - 400ish

Matt shows up every morning like clockwork. Just after sunrise, boots dusted with sand, hair ruffled from the wind and eyes still dreaming. His goggles hang around his neck, and he smells like sun-warmed leather and ocean salt, like the kind of guy who lives too close to the sky. He's been flying since he was young. Too young, probably.

He’s come to your town every season for the past couple of years, flying tourists in slow, looping circles over the sea. 

“Just for the summer”, he tells you every time you ask him how long he’s staying for. 

But Matt walks like he’s not in any rush to leave. Like the sky’s been waiting a long time to let him rest.

The old red biplane sits in the lot like it’s waiting for something magical to happen, patched up with love, stickers from places he’s flown to, and a little yellow flag that flutters even when there’s no breeze. 

You work the morning shift at the sleepy seaside diner down the road from the airfield, all creaky stools and checkered floors. Pouring coffee and pretending not to watch the door. Matt always takes the third seat from the end, facing the window like he’s waiting for something. Or someone. 

“Same as usual?” you ask, smiling as you already scribble it down. Scrambled eggs, burnt toast, a glass of apple juice.  He nods, a little shy, but his mouth quirks at the corners when you bring him the glass. He only ever stays long enough for a bite of the food, but some mornings, he leaves behind little things.

Stickers form fuel stations in towns you’ve never been to. Napkins with doodles. A postcard with nothing but a timestamp and a messy scrawl “thought of you today. The clouds looked like cotton candy.” 

There are paper planes folded from old flight charts, matchbox cars that roll perfectly straight, doodles of balloons carrying houses into the sky. Once, he left a candy bracelet with a note that read “emergency fuel for daydreamers.”

You keep them all in an old mint tin beneath the register when no one’s looking, like souvenirs from a trip you haven’t taken yet. 

You’ve never told him how you’ve always wanted to fly, not just in the air, but somewhere. Somewhere big. Somewhere small. Somewhere with him.

Every afternoon, his biplane hums above the diner roof, sunlight catching on the red wings like a wink. He always dips to one side before disappearing over the cliffs. Always. You wave even though he can’t see you. Or maybe he can.

And you wonder, maybe tomorrow, maybe the next time he walks through the door smelling like wind and sand and sky, maybe you’ll ask him to take you with him.

Just once.

Or maybe you’ll ask him to stay.

@bernardsbendystraws for the dividers!!

a/n: never seen top gun and i'm scared of heights, but matt talking about the movie up, and him in that balloon and now the plane,,, this felt right and how i interpret pilot!matt sdjbhffsdjb :>

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