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Ian first spots the guy when they’re waiting to board. It’s early, way too early in the morning, and the guy is pretty much nodding off in his seat, one hand resting on his suitcase, the other hanging onto a battered diaper bag.
His kid, on the other hand, is totally awake, and running circles around the whole boarding area, only stopping to climb carefully over people’s legs, muttering “’Scuse me, ’scuse me,” in a soft voice.
On the kid’s third circuit, he stops close to the window that looks out onto the runway, staring with wide eyes at the planes rolling by. He mushes his nose and hand up against the glass, and leaves a greasy little smear.
The guy jerks his head up and looks around blearily. “Yev,” he says. Then, sitting up and realizing he doesn’t know where the kid is, he says louder: “Yev!”
Ian leans forward enough to make eye contact, then nods and points to the window. The guy sees his kid and slumps back into the seat with relief, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. “Shit,” he mumbles. Then he seems to remember Ian, and gives him a nod. Ian smiles. The guy looks exhausted, but yeah . . . still pretty hot.
“Hey, c’mere, buddy,” the guy calls quietly to his kid, and Yev turns around and runs back to him, excited. The guy opens his arms, and Yev scrambles up into his lap.
“Dj'you see the planes?” Yev says, pointing.
“Yeah, man, I saw ’em,” the guy says.
“Gonna go up in a plane?” Yev offers. He reaches out and feels at the guy’s face, mushes his cheek back and forth.
“Yeah, in a little while,” the guy says, with a lot of patience for someone’s whose face is being reshaped like Play-Doh. “Hey, you want a snack, buddy? Or juice?”
“No! Planes!” Yev replies loudly.
“Yeah, yeah, OK, everyone’s got it, thanks, man. You’re ready for the plane. Right there with ya.”
Ian smiles. It’s cool when people just talk to their kids like they’re talking to one of their friends or something. Lip says it’s better for encouraging language skills anyway, but they all baby-talked the heck out of Liam, so whatever.
(Actually, Fiona still baby-talks him sometimes, and Liam’s bringing home long-division worksheets for his math homework these days.)
Yev is squirming on his dad’s lap, but the guy is starting to nod off again.
Ian gets anxious when he travels, so he couldn’t sleep right now if he wanted. He kind of wants to go say hi to the kid, offer to keep him amused while the guy gets some sleep. He really looks like he could use it. But is there a non-creepy way to say, “Hey, I just met you, and this is crazy, but you look fucking wrecked, so let me baby-sit your kid, maybe?"
Probably not.
Luckily, before he can get any further into his head about it, the woman over the loudspeaker announces their plane will start boarding in ten minutes. Yev shrieks a little with excitement—his dad winces and covers his ear with one hand—and starts bouncing up and down.
“Hey, hey, chill out, OK?” the guy says, but not like he’s pissed. “Hey. Yev.” His voice is still calm, but serious, and Yev stops bouncing and turns to look at him with wide blue eyes. “Good behavior while we get on the plane, OK?”
Yev nods, looking equally serious.
“Awesome. Thanks, man.”
The guy smacks a kiss on the kid’s cheek, and Yev giggles and smashes his cheek some more. The guy makes some faces, which Yev obviously loves from the way he claps and grins. Ian can’t help smiling at how happy they both look.
The woman announces family boarding, and the guy scoops up his kid, his bag, and his suitcase, somehow managing to steer all three over to the airline employee and through the gate. Ian watches him go, admires the view a little, kind of regrets not saying something, even though the guy clearly had enough to deal with right now and probably didn’t want some random guy hitting on him at 5:30 in the morning.
The flight is open seating, but Ian ends up boarding close to the end, because he slept through his alarm and checked in at the airport. It’s probably not a coincidence that the middle seat behind Yev and his dad is one of the last empty ones. Everyone knows to get as far away as possible from the potential screaming kids.
Ian slides his backpack under the seat, and settles in with his headphones. He zones out through the safety talk and finally starts to doze right before they take off. But the dull engine roar and the pressure in his ears keeps him wide awake once they’re cruising, and his music is doing nothing to chill him out.
He sighs and reaches for the screen in front of him, thinking he’ll look for a movie, when he sees a bright blue eye watching him from between the two seats in front of him.
How Yev managed to get into that position is anyone’s guess, but his dad is clearly out of it. Ian sneaks a look at the people on either side of him—a sleeping businessman and a skinny woman with big headphones who looks like a hippie, totally absorbed in her paperback novel.
Ian glances back up, and takes out his headphones. Yev is still staring at him fixedly, so Ian smiles and gives him a little wave. Even through the narrow gap in the seats, Ian can see the huge smile that splits Yev’s face. Then the kid climbs farther up—onto the armrest, maybe?—so his whole head pops over the top.
He waves enthusiastically at Ian, then makes an ambitious but doomed effort to grab Ian’s hair, which is probably sticking up and a total mess, since he literally rolled out of bed and ran for the bus to get to the airport.
Ian intercepts his reaching hand, and gives him a high-five instead. Yev giggles, and reaches out again, so Ian gives him another one.
“Nice!” Ian says. Then he curls his fingers into a fist, waits until Yev copies him, and gives him the world’s gentlest fist bump. Ian explodes it, making a soft “blowing things up” noise with his mouth.
This is apparently the raddest thing Yev has ever seen, because he climbs up his dad’s arm and looks like he’s about to make a break over the top of the seats to get to Ian.
“Whoa, buddy!” Ian says, reaching out to nudge him back, just as the guy sitting front of him finally jerks awake and tugs Yev back down into his lap. Then he turns around, and looks at Ian.
“What the hell, man?” he says. His eyes are bleary from sleep, but they’re also this amazing, intense dark blue, and Ian’s thoughts kind of stutter.
“Uh, sorry,” he mumbles. “I was just, uh—trying to keep him entertained.”
The guy makes a cranky face at him, then looks at Yev, who is still staring at Ian like he’s the second coming of Christ.
“Were you giving him trouble?” the guy says, and after a second, Ian realizes he’s asking Yev, not him.
Yev looks away from Ian long enough to stare solemnly at his dad and shake his head, one fist now half jammed in his mouth.
“No? You sure about that?”
Yev nods.
“He really wasn’t,” Ian says. “I mean, when my little brother was that age—”
“It’s cool, man, don’t worry about it.” The guy cuts him off and turns back around pretty rudely. Ian stops short, blinks.
“OK . . .” he says. “Just trying to help.”
“Well, I’ve got it. Thanks,” the guy snaps, not even bothering to turn all the way around this time.
“Jeez, OK,” Ian mutters. Clearly Yev didn’t get his sweet temper from his dad.
The guy is leaning down, rummaging in his bag for something, half mumbling to Yev, who’s gone back to staring at Ian through the seats. Ian smiles at him. It’s not Yev’s fault his dad is an asshole.
“Here you go, man,” the guy says, handing Yev some kind of toy, which he promptly sticks in his mouth and gets really spitty. Then he reaches through the seats to hand it to Ian. It’s a green army man.
“Oh for the love—Yev, cut it out,” the guy says, and now he just looks embarrassed. From what Ian can see of the side of his face, he might even be blushing.
Ian leans forward and takes the army guy, spit and all. “For me?” he says. “Wow, thanks, man. It’s awesome.” Yev grins, and Ian grins back.
“Can I get you guys something?” the flight attendant says, and Ian jumps a little.
“Oh! Uh, orange juice, thanks,” he says.
“And for the little guy? We have apple juice or milk.”
“Oh, I’m not—” Ian says at the same time that the guy starts with, “He’s not—”
“Oh! Oh, my god, I’m so sorry!” she says, looking flustered. “I just saw you guys playing, I shouldn’t have assumed!”
“It’s fine,” Ian says. Now he’s the one who’s blushing. What the hell, he says to himself. Now they both think you’re crazy. And he’s stuck holding an army man covered in slowly drying toddler spit. Nice.
“We’ll both have milk,” the guy says. “Yev, can you deal with a big-boy cup?”
“Yeah,” says Yev, sounding offended. Ian has his doubts. Liam always had a lot more confidence in his cup skills than was actually warranted at that age.
“Yeah, OK, we’ll see about that,” the guy says darkly. He’s clearly been down this road before.
“Uh,” Ian says awkwardly when the flight attendant is gone, poking the toy through the seats. “D’you—d’you want this back?” He not sure who he’s asking. Yev is distracted by his milk, and the guy is apparently ignoring him.
“What do you think, Yev?” the guy finally says after a second, and it actually sounds like he might be smiling. “You’re the one who started this whole Secret Santa gift exchange b.s. You want your army dude back or what?”
“Santa?!” Yev says.
“Oh, sh—crap,” the guy says.
“Rookie mistake,” Ian says. “Bring up Christmas in July, and you’re in for a really long summer, man.”
“Yeah, well,” the guy says, grabbing the army dude, wiping it clean on his sleeve, and handing it back to Yev. “It’s better than hearing about”—he pauses—“H-A-L-L-O-W-E-E-N for the next four months. I never want to see another fun-size piece of candy, man. Never again. He was climbing the walls like Spider-Man—and it wasn’t ’cause his costume was real good, either.”
“Look,” the woman next to Ian cuts in, lowering her book and taking off her headphones. “Do you guys want to sit together or what? You could have just asked to switch when you boarded, you know. No one wants to split up a family, especially if you’re traveling with kids.”
Ian opens his mouth, then looks at the guy, who’s equally frozen. “Yeah, OK,” Ian finally says. At this point it’s probably less awkward than having to explain, right?
The woman stands up and switches with the guy and Yev and all their stuff, so they can keep the aisle seat. As the guy settles in, his leg an inch away from Ian’s, he leans forward and whispers into his ear, “I’m Mickey, OK? Uh, in case Woodstock up there, like, asks for our marriage license or whatever.” Ian feels his heart kick up a notch at how close the guy—Mickey—is leaning.
“Got it,” he says. “Ian.” Mickey smiles.
“Ian!” Yev announces, and throws the army guy in his face.