It was 10:07 am and Sirius was very drunk. That hadn’t been his initial objective; he’d merely wanted to take the edge off in preparation for his flight. He didn’t like flying; he never had— always dragging his feet when his mom and dad had insisted on jetting out to pacific islands and Italian villas for “rest and revival” (exploiting the middle class was apparently quite taxing for them) or to the Hamptons and swanky vineyards in Napa where him and Reg where expected to play in doubles matches and follow them along to client lunches so they’d appear the perfect happy family. He’d been doing an excellent job of avoiding that means of transportation in the last ten or so years since he’d escaped from his cesspool of a family. But James had called him up to beg for an impromptu boys trip out to Vegas and with the full roster of clients he’d been responsible for tattooing yesterday he hadn’t had time to make other transportation arrangements. And he’d always been bad at saying no to James.
So he’d bitten the bullet and bought himself a ticket for a middle seat nested very securely in the back of a large passenger plane, (nothing like those little gnat sized things his parents insisted on taking everywhere for the sheer luxury of it).
His anxiety steadily mounted as he made his way through security and as soon as he was on the other side he made a beeline for the bar where he hastily ordered a shot of dark Bacardi and washed it down with two more for good measure.
That was how he found himself staggering bleary-eyed to his seat sweating bullets and over-conscious of the fact that he smelled like a fraternity. His current state was not helped by the appraising look leveled at him by the man he would apparently be spending the next few hours bumping elbows with. He looked like some kind of young professorial type, with a battered briefcase and a brown leather satchel stowed neatly under the seat in front of him. And he was sexy in a scary way–like he was the type to scold someone while holding a very long ruler.
From his crooked nose to the brassy hair falling into his eyes and Christ,was that a little gold earring in his left ear— to the lithe fingers ending in neatly kept nails. Sirius felt his pants tightening just looking at him.
“Hi,” he said meekly and lowered himself into the seat next to him.
“Hey,” the man said, and then resumed looking out of the window. Sirius contemplated asking him if they could shut it for the take off. The entire flight, really.
As the remaining passengers filtered in and the attendants bustled around Sirius took the time to rummage in his bag for his stress ball and his airpods. He already had Sade’s entire discography downloaded; that woman could induce a state of tranquility in him that no one else could. He only put one airpod in– he was not about to miss an announcement that they were making an emergency landing.
A high-school aged kid in a smart shirt and tailored khakis dropped into the aisle seat. He didn’t look anything like him but something about him reminded him of Reg— the bored look in his eyes as they swept the surroundings, the impeccable posture, the fancy Italian shoes.
Sirius put it out of his mind. Sade was singing sultrily about an angel by her side and he allowed his eyes to drift close and his current surroundings to drop away in favor of a world of his own creation. He was on a beach at sunset, his hair whipping in the summer breeze. His silk shirt was open to the third button revealing a tasteful sliver of chest. As he started pensively out at the horizon, a white horse galloped up the beach to him, a tall man astride it who bore a strong resemblance to the one sat in the seat to the left of him.
“Young man,” came a clipped voice, piercing through his dream world. On instinct— even after all the years and distance, the strides he made in healing from his horrid family, the sound of a cold, disapproving voice still had the same effect on him– Sirius’ head snapped up to address her. So did the head of the kid next to him.
Sirius assumed it was the kid she was speaking to and diverted his gaze– for although he was blessed with youthful good looks and ageless dewy skin at twenty-seven he wasn’t exactly young enough to warrant the patronizing moniker.
“Young man, I’m speaking to you,” came the cold voice again. He chanced a look up; the kid in the aisle seat was staring pointedly down at his lap with his fists clenched and the woman’s hawkish gaze was pointed directly at Sirius.
“Oh–er, sorry, ma’am. Didn’t realize you meant me. Can I help you?”
She smiled thinly like the very notion that he could help her was amusing.
“Yes, I expect so,” she drawled, all the same. “Now– the airline won’t listen to reason. I told them it was of utmost importance that my son be seated with me- but they apparently lacked the competence to handle even that promptly. I’ve been communicating with their management but in the meantime, you are the best means for remedying the situation.”
“Oh,” Sirius said, throat dry. “I don’t think…”
“I’m at the front– business class, I’m sure you’ll find it suitable."
“I–”
“He’s told you no,” came a quiet, stern voice from his left side. He longed to look over at his defender, but his eyes were glued to the face of the woman who was so like his mother. After all these years she still had this power over him.
One manicured eyebrow arched haughtily. “You two young men are traveling together?” Disdain was plain on her face and coming from her mouth it sounded more like “You two young men are fucking raw?” It sent a familiar bolt of fear and anger to Sirius’ chest.
“No,” his defender replied cuttingly. “Though I don’t see how that’s any of your business. He paid for this seat, he doesn’t have to move.”
“I don’t remember inviting you to partake in this conversation,” Not-his-Mother drawled. “Now– I’d be very appreciative.” Her gaze swiveled back to Sirius. “I’m sure you want to do the right thing.”
The right thing. That had always been the way his family had coerced him into compliance, the constant guilt hanging over his head, used against him whenever he failed to immediately fall in line. Don’t you want to do right by your family, Sirius dear? Don’t you want to be a good son?
The front of the plane. He felt sweat pool under his arms–he had gone out of his way to avoid sitting there after his diligent research efforts had led him to the conclusion that the front was the most dangerous part of an aircraft.
“With all due respect, ma’am, I paid for this seat and I’m staying in it. I’m sorry you and your son got split up, but that isn’t my fault.”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
He shrugged, even though his heart was hammering inside his rib cage. “Maybe so. But that’s my choice to make.”
“My son has a serious medical condition. Would you really be so cruel as to keep us apart ?”
Sirius’ brain whirred— Cruel. He didn’t think that word applied to him. He didn’t want to be cruel. He made every effort not to be, but maybe… he was being ridiculous, making a spectacle. He was a guy in his late twenties who was drunk before 12pm because of his childish fear of flying— he should just let it go. He started to rise from the seat— he could order another cocktail when they came around for drinks and try and fall asleep; it wasn’t ideal but if it got him through it–
“Mom,” the kid in the aisle seat hissed. “Stop lying. It was me, alright? I talked to the airline. I told them to change my seat. Didn’t want to sit next to you while you insulted the service and the flight attendants’ looks for five hours.”
The woman recoiled, but quickly rearranged her face into an expression of haughty indifference. For a moment she just stood peering down coldly at them all, and then scoffed.
“Well, it appears I’ve been overruled.” She stalked away, then, her dark balayage lashing against the sharp line of her shoulders.
Sirius felt a wave of relief as soon as she was out of sight, but a sizable amount of residual tension. He wanted to explain why he’d made such a fuss– why he’d been so difficult. He knew he didn’t have to, but he tried to do the right thing and help people when he could and for some reason it was important to him that the man sitting next to him knew that.
“I– I would have, I mean, given her my seat. I– the only thing is I’m deathly afraid of flying. Like–logically I understand it’s backed up by physics and all that but it still feels like it shouldn’t be possible. And don’t even get me started on those tiny private jet deathtraps. But anyways, people on Reddit said that the back of the plane is safer in the case of a crash, and-”
“You don’t have to explain yourself,” the kind, sexy stranger said, cutting him off. Sirius finally allowed himself to look over and meet his warm brown eyes. The man smirked, “I’m glad you didn’t give into her. Anyways she was a right bitch. I think you’ll be much better company.” His smile was all warmth but the flirty undertone was unmistakable.
Sirius smiled back daftly, then looked worriedly around to the kid who was presumably her son still sitting very much in earshot. But the boy’s rigid posture was far more relaxed now that she had gone, just like his own, “Seconded,” the kid muttered after a second. And then peering shyly around at Remus, “I like your earring.”
“That’s sweet of you,” Remus responded and the kid blushed furiously and flipped open the test prep in his lap. Sirius thought same, kid.
“But I am curious– what could get someone who hates flying as much as you do on a plane?” The kid in the aisle seat had his eyes boring down at test-prep, but it was obvious he was listening in. Sirius laughed, a warmth washing over him that had nothing to do with the numerous shots he’d taken.
…
“You have my number,” Remus reminded him at the end of the jetway five hours later, pressing a scruffy kiss to Sirius’ cheek. Let the record show that Sirius walked away at a perfect normal speed thank you very much, and did not squeal at all.
He entered Sin City, a god among mere mortals. He didn’t need such a trivial thing as luck. He was already on fire. He had his best friend waiting for him, Remus’ number in his phone, and a new certainty that he was going to be okay. He and Reg both were.
And if it crossed his mind once or twice over the course of the evening that Remus’s name would look amazing tattooed in black script across his skin, that was his business.