Work Text:
Kostas squints at the pretty stewardess who, he presumes, is explaining exactly why their plane is still stuck to the ground when the doors were shut and sealed more than ten minutes ago; whatever she’s saying, it sounds like jabbery made-up words with way too many syllables to him, and it’s making him feel bad about his Spanish.
The stewardess’ speech ends on a tight-lipped, apologizing smile. She folds her hands behind her back, the coach tells her something Kostas doesn’t hear, and then she’s turning away and walking the short distance to the cockpit.
Kostas bites his bottom lip before leaning a little into Juan Carlos’ personal space and asking in a whisper, “What did she say?”
Juan Carlos doesn’t even lift his eyes from his lap where he’s untangling the earbuds’ chord. He smirks a little, though.
“We’re waiting for another plane to land,” he explains, loud enough that Joey, sitting behind them, can hear too. “Then we can go.”
Kostas frowns. “They forgot about this other plane or what?”
Juan Carlos chuckles. “Nah, it was going to Lisbon but there’s bad weather on the way.”
“Ah, I thought I heard her say something about Portugal.” Kostas smiles, totally proud of himself; Juan Carlos rolls his eyes the tiniest bit, fondly, then fishes out his iPhone and switches the wireless connection back on.
“So, are you good at Candy Crush?”
Kostas’ grin is so broad he could fit both his shoes in it. “Just the bestest.”
Group: FANTASTIC FOUR YES GOOD (we can go the distance <3)
huertas9: ugh bored
cjw3rd: aw babe whassup
cjw3rd: thought you were heading out 2 istanbul?
huertas9: yeah we should be
huertas9: except we’re stuck on the plane
cjw3rd: owww
cjw3rd: put an eyepatch on joey and make him say “i’ve had it with these motherfucking players on this motherfucking plane”
cjw3rd: bc he kinda looks like samuel l jackson?
huertas9: dude i’m pretty sure that’s racist
huertas9: also he doesn’t have the eyepatch in that film
“No, put together the stripy green one and the one that explodes… yes!” Kostas throws his arms up as the deadly combination of candy wipes away four rows worth of evil chocolate squares; it’s so impressive that even Juan Carlos lets out a surprised, surprisingly loud laugh, and they high five over the throaty voice of the game complimenting their skills as they pass the level.
“Okay, one more,” Juan Carlos says, blithely. He’s been saying that for the past six levels, but it’s not like Kostas is ever gonna point that out. Jesus, he’s even starting to hope the other plane never lands so they can never leave.
“So,” he starts, leaning in while Juan Carlos tries and fails to swipe through the story part of the game. “Who’s Victor talking to?”
Juan Carlos looks up and past Kostas’ shoulder for a brief moment. Victor is balled up in his seat, back to the plane’s wall with his feet perched up on the cushion, and, earbuds in, he’s staring at his knees — at the phone he must be keeping behind them, really — with a soft, slightly shy smile. He’s being so quiet and focused that he might as well just be watching a movie, except once in a while he’ll mumble something or look away or make a rude gesture at the screen, and that pretty much gives away the fact that he’s talking to someone.
Juan Carlos raises one eyebrow at Kostas. “His girlfriend?”
“Hah. Nice try, but he doesn’t have one,” Kostas says, rather smugly. “Marce is always trying to make him go to blind dates.”
Juan Carlos chokes on a laugh. “Who told you that?”
“Victor,” Kostas replies, tilting his head to the side. “So? Who d’you think he’s talking to?”
Juan Carlos shakes his head. “Why don’t you ask him, if you’re so interested?”
“I’m not interested in that,” Kostas says, leaning in closer, eyes wide. He licks his lips and tries not to be too disappointed when Juan Carlos’ only reaction is to blink a little slowly. “I’m interested in gossiping with you, really.”
Juan Carlos’ tight expression loosens just a tad. “I think it’s his brother, because I’m boring like that.” He waves the phone a little. “Now go on, I’m never gonna win this thing on my own.”
Group: FANTASTIC FOUR YES GOOD (we can go the distance <3)
huertas9: can i still change my bet?
cjw3rd: what why what’s happening
huertas9: nothing
huertas9: can i change it?
cjw3rd: ughhh i guess?
jingles7: NO WAY
huertas9: aww please?
jingles7: pool is closed
jingles7: no marce no amount of pouty selfies will make me change my mind
jingles7: you’re a gorgeous motherfucker but no
huertas9: L
cjw3rd: wait so is something happening?
cjw3rd: ON THE PLANE?
huertas9: yah kinda
cjw3rd: dude ARE YOU BONDING?
cjw3rd: WITHOUT US?
huertas9: eh
jingles7: jesus christ
jingles7: now i wanna know who’s getting juanca
huertas9: no cheating remember?
jingles7: oh shut up and tell us
cjw3rd: YES TELL US WHO WINS
huertas9: it’s kostas
cjw3rd: SERIOUSLY? NO, NO I DON’T ACCEPT THIS UGHHH
cjw3rd: NACHBAR HOW COULD U FAIL ME
xrbsda: lol pay up bitches
cjw3rd: NO I WANT EVIDENCE FIRST
“What the heck’s happening,” Sergi laughs, his voice half-drowned in the noise of the phone’s vibration.
“Sorry,” Victor huffs, pouting a little. “Someone’s texting me with a machine gun. It’s probably Joe.”
Sergi smiles, looks down for a moment. “D’you wanna see what he’s saying?”
Victor doesn’t answer straight away; he’s busy trying to shut up the vibration without ending the call. He fiddles with the buttons on the phone’s side and after a few tries, it stops buzzing, and Victor sighs.
“Okay, we’re good now. Sorry again.”
“It’s fine,” Sergi says. “In fact, if you wanna check—”
“No, no, it’s okay. He’s probably out of ketchup or something.”
That was a very weak joke at best, but Sergi still laughs like Victor just said the funniest fucking thing in the world; it never fails to tug the corner of Victor’s mouth up a tiny bit.
“I’m not gonna ask why he calls you when he’s out of ketch—” Sergi is stopped mid-sentence by a loud crash on his side of the conversation; he looks over to the side, alarmed, but then his face softens and Victor’s frown vanishes too.
“Is that Tzar?”
“Yeah,” Sergi says, a lazy grin spreading on his lips like spilled water. There’s another thud, and then a dark, furry shadow eats up the lower margin of Victor’s phone. “The king of the house finally woke up. Say hi to Victor, Tzar.”
Tzar turns around and tilts his head to the side, squinting at Victor; after a second, he lets out a happy bark which earns him a vigorous rub by Sergi and half a laugh from Victor.
“Hey, buddy. I miss you,” Victor says, wriggling his fingers at the camera. Tzar barks again, tries to reach him by throwing himself at Sergi’s iPad; there’s a small struggle then as Sergi tries to save the expensive piece of technology from his overenthusiastic, oversized pet, and Victor giggles as he listens to Sergi’s grunts and muttered swearing. He can’t really see much, Sergi is waving the iPad around gracelessly to keep it out of Tzar’s reach.
Eventually they settle; Sergi is laying back on the couch now with Tzar’s head on his chest, safely held in place by a hand that, Victor knows, can feel larger than life.
“Sorry about that,” Sergi says with half a grin.
“It’s okay. I guess he misses me too?”
Sergi sighs. He’s scratching behind Tzar’s ear with one thumb, and he’s uncharacteristically serious when he says, “Yep. Us both, Vic.”
Victor does his best not to blush, but he’s not really confident about the outcome.
Group: FANTASTIC FOUR YES GOOD (we can go the distance <3)
cjw3rd: okay i’ve been trying to get pictures of this juanki/kostas abomination of a bromance from victor
cjw3rd: but he hasn’t even looked at my texts
cjw3rd: dunno why he’s not dropping everything he’s doing to help really
cjw3rd: this is like, the most important thing ever
huertas9: he’s on skype with llull’s dog
cjw3rd: …
cjw3rd: i don’t even wanna know
