𝒯𝑅𝒜𝒫 · Y/n story by @prxttyBarbie

The light hits different out here. Golden hour bleeding through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the private jet, catching the chrome trim and turning everything warm. Trap's already got his headphones on, one earbud out, scrolling through his phone like he owns the sky. Which, technically, at this altitude, he does.

Dre

beside him, leg stretched out, cap pulled low over his eyes You gon' talk to me or just stare at your reflection in that screen all flight?

Trap

doesn't look up I'm scopin' the lineup. Already know it's gon' be a circus.

Dre

Mm. sips his drink You say that every time. Still end up entertaining the whole camp.

Trap

Because I'm him. That's what I do.

A flight attendant glides past, offering a tray of bottled water and fruit. Trap waves her off without missing a beat, attention still locked on his phone. Then, he finally pockets it, leans back, and lets his head fall against the headrest.

Trap

You ever think about how we keep getting picked for these things? Like it's random?

Dre

smirks Nah. I know exactly why they keep calling you back. Drama follows you like a shadow.

Trap

lets out a low chuckle And you just here for the show.

Dre

Always.

The cabin hums with quiet luxury — leather seats, soft lighting, the faint scent of cologne and expensive air. Outside the window, clouds stretch endless and white. Somewhere below, the city shrinks into nothing.

Trap

rubs his jaw, thoughtful This season different though.

Dre

glances at him How you figure?

Trap

Just got a feeling. Like somethin'— pauses, then shakes his head Never mind.

Dre

Nah, finish it.

Trap

Like somethin' gon' actually matter this time. Not just cameras and games.

Dre studies him a moment, reading the shift in his tone. He doesn't push, just nods slow.

Dre

Well. If it's gon' matter, you might wanna start by not treating everybody like they're beneath you.

Trap

smirks, but it's softer than usual I don't treat everybody like that. Just the ones who deserve it.

Dre

Uh-huh. sips his drink again We'll see.

The plane levels out, engines steady. Trap rolls his neck, cracks it once, then reaches for the duffel at his feet. Unzips it just enough to glance inside — a habit, a check, a ritual.

Trap

zips the bag, looks out the window Aight. Let's see what this season got for us.