What They Carried Forward

Jonas woke before his alarm, the quiet hum of the room settling into his bones before he was fully conscious. For a moment, he stayed still, eyes half-open, staring at the ceiling where a faint crack ran diagonally toward the corner. The room smelled faintly of last night’s takeout soy sauce and something fried, mixed with the sterile cleanliness of hotel detergent. He swung his legs off the bed and sat there, elbows resting on his knees, hands loose.

His suitcase stood half-packed near the chair, clothes folded with the kind of care that came from habit rather than thought. His race uniform lay neatly on the bed, already prepared, like it always was. From the other side of the thin wall came Elias’s voice.

“…I’m telling you, it froze completely. Just went dead.”

A laugh followed. Someone — probably an engineer, muttered something under their breath. Jonas huffed quietly and stood. He didn’t bother responding. Elias didn’t need it. They’d been teammates long enough to read each other’s silences just as well as words. He moved through the room on autopilot. Folded yesterday’s clothes. Slid documents into a folder. Checked them once more even though he knew there’d be nothing new. The phone on the desk buzzed.

“Yeah,” he said when he answered, already knowing who it would be.

Team management. Flight confirmation. Luggage check. Transport timing.

“Got it,” Jonas said, voice steady. “I’ll be down in ten.”

He hung up and poured himself coffee from the small machine by the wall. It tasted burnt, as always. He stirred it anyway, spoon tapping softly against ceramic. He picked up his jacket and folded the sleeve properly before setting it over the chair. The phone lay beside the mug. He glanced at it. His thumb hovered.

Later.

He told himself that without any real conviction, then leaned against the window and looked down at the street below. The city was already awake. Cars moved. Someone hurried across a crosswalk. A delivery truck idled with its hazard lights blinking.

Nothing special. Nothing urgent. Just another morning.

Clara zipped her suitcase slowly, pressing down on the fabric to make it close properly. She adjusted the strap, then opened it again just enough to reposition her laptop so it wouldn’t shift during the flight. Passport. Boarding pass. Headphones.

The jacket lay folded on top.

She paused with her hands resting on it. The fabric was still warm, not warm from him, not really, but from the room, from being handled, from being worn. She noticed it and nothing more. No thoughts followed. No spiral. Her phone vibrated against the desk. Departure confirmed. Shuttle in thirty. She replied with a short acknowledgment and slipped the phone into her bag.

Breakfast with the team was quiet. Not awkward, just efficient. Coffee cups clinked. Someone scrolled through their phone. Someone else asked if anyone had seen the charger they’d left by the window. Clara ate her toast, listened, nodded when needed. When she stood, she adjusted her sleeves and slung her bag over her shoulder. The jacket stayed folded on top, visible but unremarked.

Outside her room, the hallway buzzed with movement. Wheels rolling. Doors closing. She stopped for half a second, drew in a breath, and stepped forward.

Jonas slid into the van seat beside Elias, dropping his bag at his feet. Elias leaned back immediately, stretching his legs out.

“I’m not moving for the next six hours,” he said.

“You will,” Jonas replied. “You always do.”

Elias grinned. “Unfortunately.”

The van pulled away. The city passed by in fragments through the tinted windows. Someone up front was already on a call, voice low and businesslike. Another teammate scrolled through race footage with earbuds in. Jonas rested his hands in his lap. His phone buzzed once. He glanced at the screen without unlocking it.

Across the city, Clara’s shuttle moved in a different lane, heading toward a different terminal. She had her headphones in, music low enough that she could still hear announcements when needed. Buildings blurred past. Traffic lights shifted from red to green. She adjusted the strap of her bag. The jacket shifted slightly. She nudged it back into place and looked out the window.

The terminal smelled like coffee that had been sitting too long and something sharp, clean, almost medicinal. Jonas noticed it the way he always noticed these things — without thinking about them for more than a second. Check-in moved the way it always did. Not fast, not slow. Just… steady. Someone from management passed out boarding passes, calling names out of habit rather than necessity.

Jonas took his, glanced at the time printed on it, and slid it into his pocket without comment. Bags were weighed. Tags slapped on. Wheels rolled forward again. They stood in line for security, the floor marked with scuffed arrows and faded tape. Elias shifted his bag to his other shoulder and sighed.

“Slower than usual today,” he said, not really complaining, just observing.

Jonas hummed in response and shrugged. “Happens.”

That was enough. Elias leaned back against his suitcase and started scrolling on his phone. Someone ahead of them fumbled with a tray. A guard repeated the same instruction he must’ve said a hundred times already that morning. A kid suddenly bolted past, shoes slapping against the floor, laughter echoing behind him. Jonas stepped aside instinctively, one hand lifting as if to steady someone who wasn’t there. A moment later, a shoulder brushed his. Hard enough to notice. Not hard enough to matter.

“Sorry,” Jonas said automatically, already moving on.

Security came and went. Shoes back on. Belt rethreaded. Bag zipped. By the time they reached the gate, the noise had settled into a low, constant hum. Announcements overlapped. Screens flickered as departure times updated. Jonas dropped into one of the chairs and leaned back, his bag pulled close, hands curling around the straps without thinking.

He let his eyes close for a second. Just a second.

Enough to feel his chest rise and fall. Enough to let the tension in his shoulders ease, even if only a little. When he opened his eyes again, his phone was already in his hand. He didn’t remember picking it up. The screen stayed dark. He turned it over and rested it against his thigh instead, gaze drifting toward the windows where planes moved slowly across the tarmac.

Her terminal was louder. Not chaotic — just full. Voices layered over each other, rolling suitcases cutting through gaps, announcements bleeding into conversations without anyone really listening. Clara stood with her team in line, the weight of her bag pulling slightly at one shoulder as she shifted her stance, heel lifting and settling again.

Someone ahead laughed too loudly. Someone behind complained under their breath about security. It all blended together. The team manager moved closer, clipboard tucked under his arm. “Boarding’s on time,” he said, voice calm, practiced. “No rushing. Just keep an eye on the screens.” A few nods followed. Someone murmured agreement. Clara nodded too, sliding her boarding pass back into her pocket instead of holding onto it like she had earlier.

Paper crinkled softly as it disappeared, like she was finally allowing the moment to move forward. Her jacket stayed folded neatly over the top of her bag. She hadn’t unfolded it since the hotel. Hadn’t needed to. Still, her thumb pressed into the fabric once, then again, as if checking that it was really there. The material was warm under her touch, familiar in a way she didn’t quite have words for.

“Careful,” one of her teammates said lightly as the line shuffled forward. “This place eats jackets. You blink and they’re gone.”

Clara held it a little closer. “Not this one.”

They moved again. Slow steps. Stop. Another pause. The rhythm of waiting settled into her body, grounding her. Somewhere nearby, someone argued gently with a child about snacks. A woman on the phone laughed, then lowered her voice as she walked past. The manager glanced back again. “Once we’re through, stick close. Gate change is possible.”

“Got it,” someone replied.

Clara adjusted the strap of her bag, the jacket shifting slightly. She steadied it with her hand, fingers lingering longer than necessary before letting go. Her shoulders relaxed only after it was secure again. Security came and went in fragments, bins sliding, shoes tapping against the floor, the soft thud of bags landing on belts. Clara moved through it without much thought, her body doing what it had done dozens of times before.

At the gate, the team spread out instinctively, claiming seats, leaning against rails, stretching legs that had been tense for no obvious reason. Clara took a seat near the edge, close enough to hear the announcements but far enough to feel a little separate. She set her bag down carefully.

The jacket remained folded on top.

One of the mechanics nearby was talking about the flight, about how short it was, about how he hoped he’d finally get some sleep this time. Another teammate laughed and said that was optimistic. The conversation drifted, easy and unimportant, exactly the kind of talk meant to fill space rather than meaning. Clara listened without fully listening. She leaned back and exhaled slowly, the kind of breath that came from deep in her chest.

Her gaze lifted to the departure screen overhead. Rows of destinations. Times ticking closer. Their flight still steady. Still waiting. For a moment, her fingers brushed the edge of the jacket again. Not tightening. Not clutching. Just there. She looked up at the screen once more, then let her eyes rest somewhere neutral, somewhere quiet, letting the noise move around her instead of through her.

Jonas took the aisle seat without comment. He always did. Elias dropped into the middle seat with a sigh that came from habit more than discomfort, knees angling outward as he tried to make space where there wasn’t any.

“They design these for optimism, not reality,” Elias said, adjusting his backpack under the seat.

Jonas smiled faintly. “You say that every flight.”

“And one day it’ll stop being true,” Elias replied, already loosening his seatbelt again before fastening it properly.

The overhead bins slammed shut in uneven rhythm. Jonas rested his hands on his thighs and waited. Once they were settled, Elias leaned into the aisle slightly. “You want coffee or whatever they’re calling coffee today?”

Jonas nodded. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Elias stood when the light went off, stretching like it mattered. Jonas watched the aisle fill briefly, then empty again. Outside, through the window across from him, the runway lights blurred as the plane began to creep forward.

The coffee arrived warm and forgettable. Jonas wrapped both hands around the cup, more for the heat than the taste.

“Appreciate it,” he said.

“No problem.”

They drank quietly. The plane taxied. Engines hummed, then dipped, then rose again. Jonas followed the movement outside without really tracking anything specific. His phone buzzed in his hand. He looked down this time.

Boarding on my end.

He didn’t rush. He finished his sip, set the cup down, then typed back with his thumb.

Same.

He didn’t add anything else. Didn’t need to. He locked the phone and slid it face-down onto his thigh just as the safety announcement began. Elias leaned back. “At least this one’s short.”

Jonas nodded once.

Clara had chosen the seat near the emergency exit without thinking much about it. More legroom. Less conversation. She stowed her bag carefully, making sure nothing shifted when the bin closed. The jacket stayed on her lap. She could have put it away. She didn’t. She fastened her seatbelt and settled back, shoulders rolling slightly as she adjusted. Her headphones rested around her neck instead of over her ears, cord tucked neatly into her jacket pocket.

Her phone vibrated. She glanced down, read the message, and let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. A small smile appeared, barely there and faded just as easily, like it had done its job and left. She set the phone screen-down on the seat beside her thigh.

The plane lifted cleanly. Jonas felt the familiar pressure, then the slow release as the ground fell away. He exhaled and rested his head against the seat, eyes tracing the small cracks in the ceiling panel above him. Elias shifted beside him, stretching his neck. “It’s going to be one of those stretches,” he said. “No real breaks.”

Jonas hummed. “Yeah.”

They talked quietly for a few minutes. Scheduling. Media days. Timing changes. Things that mattered, but only in the way routine matters. Nothing lingered long enough to become personal. Jonas looked out the window again. Clouds spread below them, uneven and endless.

On another plane, Clara adjusted her seatbelt slightly as the engines evened out. The vibration settled into something steady, almost comforting. She closed her eyes for a moment, fingers resting lightly against the folded jacket. She didn’t think about anything in particular. Just let the quiet hold.

Two planes moved through the sky, unaware of each other. Two phones lay face-down, untouched. Nothing was unresolved. Nothing was finished either.