Chapter Text
Will Poindexter impatiently tapped his fingers along to the rhythm of the tune playing in his headphones, his attention focused on a plane slowly docking into a jetway outside the window. The sky outside was dark and black, despite the light illuminating from the airport and the runways. It had stormed pretty badly in the past hour, causing a few delays ( why couldn’t one of those have been his plane? ) and immediate stopovers.
He still could not believe he had missed his first flight and had to take the red eye. He was 100% sure if he hadn’t been so upset with himself, his sister would have torn him to shreds over the phone when he called to tell her.
“Will, please. You can catch a later flight,” she tried to reassure him. “It could happen to anyone.”
“Yeah, well. It didn’t happen to anyone. It happened to me.”
“Okay. So you miss the rehearsal dinner. You’ve rehearsed eating dinner so many times. I’m sure it’ll come naturally to you. What matters is you’ll be here tomorrow.”
He sighed into his phone. “Right.”
“Tomorrow is what matters, bro.”
“I know, I know. You know I wouldn’t miss it,” he paused, and briefly wondered if leaving earlier and driving down to New York would have been a smarter decision. “I’d start crawling there now if I had to.”
He could almost hear her smile over the phone. “I know you would. Love you. Have a safe flight.”
“Thanks. I love you too. See you soon.”
He replayed the conversation over again in his head. She hadn’t been disappointed like he’d anticipated, but… in a way, that disappointed him even more. He was the one who forgot his blazer in the garment back in his room and had to turn back for it, causing him to miss his goddamn flight by five minutes. Literally five minutes. And now he’d been waiting for the next flight out for almost three hours now. He didn’t live close enough to Portland Airport for going home to wait it out to make logical sense.
He wasn’t in the mood to have to deal with his brother right now, anyway. That was a potential disaster he’d save for his return on Monday,
The woman seated two seats over from him let out an audible groan as her four year old daughter tossed crayons at a guy seated across the aisle, who was too busy scribbling furiously in a black notebook to dodge her assault.
The young man looked up from his work when a red one hit him right in the center of his forehead.
“I am so, so sorry,” said the little girl’s mother, wrapping her hand around her small wrist. “She’s not good with sitting still for long periods of time.”
The little girl’s target laughed. “It’s cool. She’s got an arm on her.” He collected the crayons that had fallen around his feet and walked across the aisle to return them to the woman. “You may have a major league pitcher on your hands.”
The woman laughed and thanked the stranger for returning the crayons. He returned to his seat and his work, glancing over at Will, who hadn’t realized he’d been staring until then.
He blinked and looked away instantly, feeling the heat pooling in his face. The man - boy? Will couldn’t exactly put an age to him - seemed to just smile and shake his head.
His flight wouldn’t be boarding for awhile, and Will was starting to get hungry. The food court in the airport was ridiculously overpriced, but being that the flight to New York would take just over an hour, he doubted he’d be served more than a bag of peanuts once they were in the air.
His hunger trumped the ever-present voice of reason in the back of his head. Shelling out a few extra bucks on food would be worth it - he was missing dinner, after all.
Reluctantly, he rose to his feet and turned to the woman beside him, whose daughter was now engrossed with her mother’s cell phone.
“Would you mind watching my bag for me? I’m gonna run to-”
The woman shook her head. “I’m sorry, no.”
“I’ll be like, five minutes. Tops.”
She frowned. “You know, it’s illegal, and there are cameras all over the place. I don’t want to risk any trouble.”
Will sighed. “Alright, thanks anyway.”
He began to gather his things; he hadn’t packed much - just his best suit (neatly ironed and pressed and kept in a garment bag), a small bag filled with one change of clothes and clean underwear, and his laptop case. But it was still too much to lug around with him across the gate and terminal.
The guy across the aisle slipped his notebook into a knapsack, which he then slung onto his shoulders, and picked up his rolling suitcase.
“I’ll give you a hand,” he said, offering him a friendly smile. He picked up Will’s garment bag and gently hung it over his shoulder.
"Uh, thanks,” Will replied, his voice breaking. “I’m just heading over to grab a slice of pizza.”
“Sounds great. I could use a bite eat,” the helpful stranger said in return, as though Will had invited him, as opposed to him having technically invited himself.
“So where to are you headed?” the guy asked after they arrived at the food court, taking a place in line behind Will.
“JFK. New York.”
“Cool,” he said. “Me too. I’m Derek, by the way. But friends call me Nursey, so feel free.”
“Nursey?” Will asked, arching an eyebrow.
“It’s a hockey nickname.”
“Oh? You play?” Will asked, surprised. This guy - Derek/Nursey/whatever - didn’t really look like the hockey-playing type, with his fitted jeans and obscure band t-shirt.
“I play for a private school back in New York, actually. Do you play?” Nursey asked him.
Private school student. So he must be around his age, then. It was kind of hard to tell; the dude had about as much facial hair as Will's uncle did.
Will nodded. “Yeah, I do.”
“Sweet! Kindred spirits and whatnot.”
Will nodded, unsure of how to respond. Social interactions weren’t exactly his forte, and this guy struck him as the chatty type.
“So are you from around here?” asked Nursey, to which Will responded with a nod. “What is bringing you to New York City?”
While he realized this guy was just making polite conversation, Will felt somewhat… annoyed by his questions. Couldn’t he just order a slice of pizza and eat it in peace?
“My sister is getting married tomorrow,” he said, offering him no more information than that.
“Aw, cool. Explains the suit bag here. How long will you be in the city?”
“Just the weekend,” Will replied. He was next in line, grateful for the opportunity to try and drop this conversation.
He ordered his pizza and a can of soda and headed to a small table, Nursey trailing closely behind. He pretended not to catch a glimpse of the dark skin beneath the hem of his shirt as he leaned over to place his suit neatly on an empty chair. Because that would be a weird thing to stare at.
The airport terminal was filled with the sound of busied footsteps, ringing cell phones, and mix-matched conversation. It was enough to make someone’s head spin. Will thought for a moment about slipping his headphones back on, but that was rude given the fact that he had company.
Maybe he didn’t flourish in social situations, but he liked to believe he knew enough to not be a complete dick.
“So, uh, you’re from New York then?” Will began, after suddenly feeling weird about the silence that had fallen between them. “What brought you to Maine?”
“My sister actually got married here.”
Will felt his eyes grow wider at the coincidence before Nursey let out a laugh.
“I’m just kidding. I flew up to Canada to spend the weekend with an old friend of mine and some of his new teammates. We were literally in the air for like, not even a half hour when that storm hit and we had to make an emergency stopover here.” He explained. “Your face just now was priceless, though.”
Will bit back the urge to roll his eyes and into his slice of pizza.
“So, we’re on the same flight, then.” Nursey deduced. “Where are you sitting?”
Digging into his bag, Will pulled out his ticket and placed it on the table. “17-B,” he told him after swallowing a piece of pizza.
“Shut the fuck up,” Nursey exclaimed, eyeing Will’s boarding pass. “I’m 17-C.”
“No kidding,” Will said, trying his best to hide his utter annoyance. He was stressed out enough about this flight as it was, and this chatty hipster, it seemed, was about to make it worse.
The two of them made more small talk as they finished their meals, and Will learned that Nursey was in fact his age, that they were both considering one of the same schools for the following fall, and that he spent the past four days playing hockey in Canada with some students who went there. Most of this was enough to be a recipe for an instant friendship, but that wasn't the kind of thing that just happened for guys like Will. Besides, this guy was too chatty for Will's liking.
It wasn’t until they made their way back to the gate that the conversation finally dwindled, ending with a warm “I’ll catch you on the plane!” from Nursey. Will was able to return to somberly looking out the window with his headphones in.
He pretended not to notice himself glancing over at Nursey’s direction every now and then, watching him continue to furiously scrawl into his notebook, only stopping once to take out his phone and type something into it.
What kind of hockey player writes so much? Will wondered, turning back to watching the planes outside.
✓✓✓✓
About thirty minutes later, and his flight was finally boarding. He shuffled his way onto the plane and found his seat, storing his things into the overhead compartment. Nursey joined him a few minutes later, and as he squeezed through the cramped space between the coach seats to his spot near the window, he bumped his head on the overhead and fell directly into Will’s lap.
“Shit, sorry!” Nursey hurriedly collected himself, visibly embarrassed, struggling in the limited space to get back on his feet.
Will’s brain was in a whirlwind. Thoughts ranging from “what the fuck get the fuck off” to “what the fuck there’s a guy in my fucking lap ” raced through his mind and seemed to reverberate off the walls of the plane, shouting into his ear.
After what seemed like an eternity, but in reality was most likely about twenty-five seconds, Nursey managed to get himself off of Will and into his seat, his face a deep shade of red Will had never seen on anyone before.
At least his face wasn’t the only one to change color for once.
The next hour and ten minutes were, without a doubt, going to be the longest hour and ten minutes of his life.