Work Text:
patrice is trapped at the airport, to put it plainly. right now, he’s supposed to be on a flight home, supposed to be anxiously awaiting landing to see his family waiting for him at the airport.
instead, he’s sitting in the world’s most uncomfortable chair with a cup of cold coffee in one hand, his head in the other.
inclement weather, which was the nice way of putting it, because there are heaps of snow settling on the tarmac outside, and it’s so dark and white that patrice can barely make out the shape of the plane through the window beside him, stalled and empty.
the passengers around him aren’t very happy about it either, though some are more angry than others. a woman had stood up earlier and bickered with the flight attendant, only sitting down in petulant exasperation after security had threatened to pull her away.
there’s a small kid across from him sitting on the floor in front of the chair, an oversized ipad clutched in his tiny hands, absorbed in some kind of game, his mother speaking tiredly with someone on the phone.
it’s been an hour already at least, and he’d called his mom to explain, though he still feels the need to update the family group chat about every five seconds.
going to stretch my legs. hopefully they don’t leave without me.
he contemplates adding an “lol” but fortunately changes his mind before he presses send.
he stands up, pausing for a second to stretch, feeling the stiffness in his body already, before he eyes the disgusting coffee and decides a delay would be a good excuse to try and hunt down another. he has all the time in the world, anyway, so he starts toward the tiny restaurants crammed between as many gift shops as possible, until he manages to find a donut place tucked away in a corner, and it seems to be his best option.
so he stands in line, staring up at an overcomplicated menu that just makes him want a plain black coffee, and there’s a sudden tap on his shoulder.
patrice turns around to see this guy standing behind him, and he has a sort of funny smile on his face, the kind his friends got before they’d knotted a teammate’s laces together when they were teenagers, a kind of smile that makes patrice suspicious and sort of starstruck all in one.
“could you watch this for me?” the guy says, gesturing to the suitcase beside him, and he doesn’t even wait for an answer before he gives a nod, breaks into a grin, and gives a “thanks” before he turns and disappears without ever getting confirmation from patrice, who’s standing there blinking in surprise.
the woman at the counter has to get his attention, abruptly reminding him that oh, yeah, he’s doing something.
and the entire time he’s ordering, he can’t stop glancing at that suitcase. order. glance. pay. glance. say thank you. glance.
against his better judgement, he has to actually touch the thing to move out of the way to wait for his coffee, but what else is he supposed to do?
there’s a minute or so before the guy reappears, the same grin on his face like no time has passed at all, and he opens his mouth to say something before patrice beats him to it.
“you shouldn’t leave your stuff with random people,” he says, raising his brows at him, and though it’s said seriously, this guy must have all the levity in the world, because he laughs.
“you looked trustworthy,” he replies, giving a small shrug, and patrice can’t help but blink at him incredulously.
he’s going to say that they don’t even know each other, but something in this stranger’s face says they’re about to.
patrice’s suspicions are confirmed when he — brad, he introduces himself as — tells him to wait a second while he strides up to the counter and orders himself a coffee, and it isn’t until he walks back over that patrice realizes it’s a peppermint mocha. not that he’s going to say anything about it, but a small smile finds its way across his face.
brad grabs his suitcase and motions for patrice to follow him, and they end up sitting in the waiting area for what definitely isn’t patrice’s flight.
“is that where you’re going?” he asks, pointing up at the screen, and brad looks up, eyes finding what patrice is referring to. halifax.
“yeah,” brad says, nodding as he sits down beside patrice in those godawful chairs, taking a small sip of the coffee that is presumably still scalding. “i’m going to see my family.”
“oh, me too,” patrice says, almost too excited. it’s not like visiting your family around this time is unusual, but he thinks for a second that maybe brad’s smile is a little wider.
and that’s where it starts, because for the next few hours, patrice feels like brad might know him too well.
he knows about the time patrice bleached his hair and it came out a bright yellow and when he’d gotten rejected for prom, and they were both laughing so hard that brad said he must’ve bruised a rib.
it starts to get late, and patrice hasn’t texted his family any updates for a while, but he’s basically forgotten with how good of a distraction brad is proving to be. in the best way possible, of course, because he’s the only thing making this bearable.
outside, the snow is seeming to settle, and he hopes it won’t be long now before he can go home.
“i’d make snow angels if i were out there,” brad says, looking out the window for a moment before he turns back to look at patrice. “right on the runway where everyone can see them.”
“that’s why the airport would never hire you,” patrice says groggily, looking up at the screen to check the time. 11:32.
he shuts his eyes for just a second, but there’s a moment of surprise as he thinks brad has leaned his head on his shoulder, though he’s too afraid that if he opens his eyes now, he’ll have made it up in his head, so he waits a minute or two before he looks, and he has to be as still as possible because he knows brad must be exhausted.
so he closes his eyes again, and it seems like no time has passed when his phone vibrates and wakes him up. disoriented, he reaches for his phone — a text that his flight is ready for boarding.
“brad,” he whispers, because his head is still on patrice’s shoulder. “brad,” he says again, a little louder this time, and he receives a small “hm?” in reply. “my flight. it’s leaving.”
“oh,” brad says, sitting up, blinking tired eyes as he tries to string a sentence together. “i guess that’s it, then?”
“yeah,” patrice says, feeling his throat tighten, and they both stand up, like they’re waiting, expecting something, and suddenly brad is throwing his arms around him, squeezing him tightly like he doesn’t want to let go.
it occurs to him once he’s on the plane that he’d forgotten to ask for brad’s number, or any method of contacting him, for that matter, because patrice is an idiot, and the thought of doing so had never even crossed his mind.
and it’s with this sinking realization that patrice looks out the window, away from the snoring elderly man beside him and down at the tiny people on the tarmac, as small as ants, and the brightness of remaining snow, and he wonders if brad is doing the same.