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Yukio is sitting in the window seat, it seems like the plane is full tonight (funny because whenever he travels it always is). As people parade through the aisle he eyes them all nervously, each one a potential neighbor.
His right food tapping on the floor, he always seems to get the worst people next to him; drunkards, religious preachers or extremely-obese-you’re-taking-up-my-seat fellows. His hopes are up when he sees this cute red-head stop right at his seat, he pulls up his suitcase to place it in the overhead bin and his shirt rises up just enough so he can see perfectly toned abs, Yukio looks away in embarrassment and crosses his fingers – then he turns to the other side of the aisle and sits next to a teenage girl.
He trembled when the smelly guy he bumped into while waiting to board stops, he intends to sit next to him… then the flight attendant rushes over and points out that he has the wrong seat, so Yukio sighs in relief and the man moves on.
He is sure he is going to get a creepy person next to him, all the normal looking ones have already distributed throughout the plane. He decides to stop worrying because he won’t change the outcome by thinking about it, so he leans his forehead on the window and hopes to sleep all through the flight.
“Excuse me,” someone calls out. He figures it’s not for him so he doesn’t bother turning around. “Excuse me,” they try again.
He turns around to meet six foot two of perfection. Blond hair slightly disheveled and honey colored eyes, his smile is polite and his porcelain skin doesn’t even wrinkle as he frowns, noticing Yukio won’t reply. The blond assumes he’s dealing with a foreigner and speaks out real slow, “you’re in my seat,” he cries and points to the place where Yukio is sitting.
“No, I specifically requested a window seat,” Yukio replies and shrugs. “No, it says 30B and I’m looking at this symbols here and it’s perfectly clear…” he trails off and Yukio stands up, his face inches away from the stranger’s as they try to stand in the narrow aisle, “ actually, 30b is the aisle, look,” Yukio points at the drawing and sits back down.
“Fine, you’re tough,” the blond smiles and sits next to him.
Yukio nearly asked the guy to check his ticket. He couldn’t possibly be his neighbor. Totally forgetting he had just pointed him where his seat, 30b, was.
“So, do you go around stealing other people’s seats?” Yukio asks as he fastens his seatbelt.
“Well, I had to try,” the blond shrugs and battles it out with his seat belt, Yukio looks at him like an exasperated parent and leans over to fasten it for him. The scent of the blond’s cologne invades his nostrils and he pulls back as soon as he realizes what he’s done.
“So, do you go around fastening other people’s seatbelts too?” the blond arches a brow.
Yukio blushes, “sorry, habit,” he replies and crosses his arms, looking away.
“Habit?”
“Let’s just say that I take care of people,” Yukio admits and looks out the window, but manages to catch the blond’s reflection, he was smiling.
“Ah, I see. Well I don’t think I need a lot of taking care of, I’ll be fine,” he winks playfully and Yukio shrugs.
The announcement for safety during flight begins and Yukio feels the impatience creeping up again, he’s heard it one too many times. He is dying to get home; he takes out the magazine in front of him, as he is flipping through the pages he comes across a fashion ad for jeans, the model has an uncanny resemblance to the blond sitting next to him.
He glances sideways and he’s staring at him, he shifts and hovers over him to look at the magazine, “not one of my finest moments, what will all the mud covering my body,” he continues.
“I’ve never met a celebrity before.” Yukio says and flips the page, feeling nervous under his gaze. Did he have no concept of personal space?
“I’m hardly a celebrity… yet,” he puts his hand atop Yukio’s to keep him from flipping the page again and turns it back to the ad.
“Hold on, let me see it! I didn’t get a chance to see it printed.” His face transforms as he adopts a stern look upon his face.
Yukio doesn’t get a chance to reply as his phone rings, he jumps in his seat and rummages his pockets to find it. The blond snatches it away and answers, “we’re on a plane and I don’t want us to die because someone didn’t turn off their phone, do you want to leave a message?”, he nods and proceeds to hang up.
It took Yukio all he had to not slap the guy sitting next to him, he breathed deeply and clenched his fist. No matter how attractive the guy next to him was, he’d never put up with his sort of humiliation.
“You really have no concept of personal space, do you?” Yukio snatches the phone back and the blond stays quite through take-off, in pure curiosity Yukio did glance sideways (just barely though) and could have sworn he saw the blond cringe a little when the plane took off, he gripped the arm rest.
“So, what’s your name?” Yukio said in an attempt to distract him. He remembered the first time he got on a plane… it wasn’t a good experience. It had been a year since then, going back and forth to the States to meet with professional teams interested in bringing him.
“It’s Kise Ryota,” the blond said and Yukio nodded in his best attempt at bowing while sitting down. “What’s yours?” he went on.
“It’s Kasamatsu Yukio,” he replied.
“Stop that,” Ryota said and pointed at his face.
“Stop what? And don’t point your fingers at people, it’s rude,” Yukio scolded him.
“Your brows are furrowing, don’t do that because you’ll get more wrinkles,” Ryota said and pointed at his own forehead to display the lack of wrinkles. “See, not a wrinkle to be found,” he declared proudly.
“Yeah, well, I don’t live off my face,” Yukio replied, though it didn’t sound quite right and perhaps a bit more offensive than it should, Ryota let it go.
“What do you live off? You look like a teacher, maybe a businessman?” Ryota tried to guess but Yukio just laughed. “Do I seem that average?” he mock-frowned.
“No, I just, I mean that you’re like a very serious guy,” the blond consoled and shrugged it off.
“It’s fine… I’m actually a basketball player,” Yukio corrected him.
“Eh? Really? I would’ve never guessed, but shouldn’t you be taller?” the blond inspected him; now that really did it, Yukio hit the armrest and kicked his foot, the blond flinched.
“What’s the matter? Scared of planes” Ryota flashed him a business-like smile, pearly whites in perfect place.
Yukio rolled his eyes, “offense non-taken,” he said lowly and turned around to look out the window again, giving Ryota his back.
“It’s just… shouldn’t you be taller?” the model insisted.
“Height doesn’t always play a big role in this, there’s other things that matter,” Yukio replied and hoped that the blond would just drop it. “Now try to get some sleep, or you will get jet lag since we’ll arrive at noon.” Yukio shifted in his seat, leaning his forehead against the window pane.
“Yes, Mom,” Ryota teased and reached down to get an eye-mask, some ear-plugs and one of those ridiculously-looking neck pillows.
Yukio woke up a few hours later, when they were delivering the meals, he felt something wet on his shoulder and looked down to find himself covered in model drool. He figured the guy would look gorgeous sleeping, but it was quite the spectacle to have him drooling on his shoulder, the thought about snapping a picture for future tabloid material but decided against it, instead he pushed him softly, “wake up,” he said barely above a whisper.
Ryota mumbled something, “Aominecchi, don’t,” and grabbed onto Yukio’s shoulder.
Oh no, not the shoulder grab. Yukio moved away abruptly and Ryota’s rib hit the armrest. His eyes flung open and he wiped his drool, very angry gray eyes met drowsy-honey colored ones.
“Beef or pasta,” the flight attendant inquired and both men said beef in unison, the woman cracked a smile at them and Ryota gave her a flirtatious smile back, her cheeks tinted red and she pushed the food trays in their face, scurrying away to move onto the next passenger.
“You owe me a new sweater,” Yukio said in a serious face and Ryota’s cheeks blushed. “Please tell me you didn’t take any pictures,” he pleaded with his best puppy dog impression.
“I don’t think anyone would recognize you in that creepy eye-mask and ridiculous neck pillow”
“Now that was uncalled for,” the model said, laughing discreetly.
“Your fans will know that Kise Ryota is a drooler,” Yukio pointed his fork menacingly and Ryota feigned hurt. “Just don’t drool on me anymore, now eat your beef,” Yukio instructed and dug in his own plate.
“Say, what teams did you interview with?” Ryota asked as he sliced up his meat carefully.
Yukio wondered if he ever shut up, but found himself strangely amused. “Just tell me not the Lakers, not the Lakers.” Ryota said, more to himself than to Yukio.
“The Lakers,” Yukio replied, his face dead-serious.
Ryota suppressed a pout and an awkward silence took over the atmosphere. ‘Ah, I see,” the blond said, pretending to keep cutting the already tiny pieces of meat.
“Just kidding,” Yukio answered and began eating, the rest of the meal was shared in silence.
“How many more hours?” Ryota whined and stood up to stretch. “Let’s take a walk or you’ll get cramped,” he said and waved his hand at him.
“Fine,” Yukio stood up to slide over between the seats and tripped on his own leg, as he realized it had gone numb.
Ryota’s fast reflexes caught him, and there it was again, a faint smell of cologne. “I told you, we should walk around,” the blond scolded him and held Yukio up. “You’ve got to move your leg, move it! Move it!,” he said and tried to push Yukio forward.
“Ow, Ow, stop!” Yukio pleaded and pushed the blond away, losing his balance in the process and nearly toppling over an old woman. He apologized and Ryota stood two steps away as he suppressed his laughter.
“Come on, Kasamatsu-san, let’s walk around,” the blond stretched out his hand and Yukio took it hesitantly.
The ogling was evident, they kept staring at Ryota, his height was something uncommon in a Japanese man, and people didn’t bother to hide their amazement. After two laps around the plane, they stood in the lounge area, Yukio excused himself to hit the restroom and Ryota said he’d wait for him.
When he finally got out of the restroom, Yukio found the blond chatting away with the flight-attendant from before, she had a magazine and held it up to Ryota’s face, asking him to sign it. The blond obliged.
Yukio slid back to his seat, he allowed himself to think of home, of how he missed his family. This year had been a roller coaster, flying back and forth to the states and going almost broke with all the presents he’d had to buy for his friends getting married. He knew he’d never quite manage to do the same.
There were a lot of upsides to leaving Japan, and being more open about his sexuality was probably what he found more appealing –money was never a big deal for him and as long as he could keep playing Basketball he was fine.
“It’s rude to leave someone waiting, Kasamatsu-san,” Ryota said, and slid in next to him.
“Ah, I figured you were doing your thing,” Yukio replied.
“Do you not like girls?” Ryota asked.
Yukio’s breath hitched in his throat, he panicked, he turned to meet Ryota’s eyes, his own cheeks tinted red.
“I was joking...” the model said, but the way Yukio was acting, maybe he was spot-on.
“It’s okay if you don’t like them though,” he coaxed and Yukio slapped his forehead in desperation.
“Where do you get off asking all these personal questions?” the basketball player muttered, he wanted to leave his seat, heck the plane, he wondered if they had parachutes available for emergencies. Suddenly the idea of dropping 20 thousand feet through the air seemed like a much better option than having this conversation with a total stranger.
“I like both you know,” the model replied, calm as ever. “So I don’t really care if you don’t like girls or if you like them,” he continued.
“Guess it’s not that uncommon in the fashion world,” Yukio finally spoke.
“That’s very judgmental of you, Kasamatsu-san. Then again being shunned in the locker rooms wouldn’t be a field day, huh,” Ryota said, attempting to get an indirect answer.
“The guys aren’t like th-“ he tried to stop mid-sentence but he was already more than halfway through, he cursed and sighed. Was he letting down his guard?
“Haha, you’re a funny guy, you know, you should let me buy you dinner,” the blond cooed.
“Get some sleep!” Yukio said exasperated and threw the blanket over Ryota’s face.
“That’s the third time you’ve ordered me around today,” the model pointed out, words hardly audible under the blanket.
Yukio laughed at the scene, like a bad ghost-disguise, the blanket covered him, a talking blanket.
“Is this funny,” Ryota asked, bringing his face closer to Yukio’s, the blanket still covering him.
“That’s the seat you’re talking to,” Yukio said and continued to laugh.
And then it happened.
Ryota took off the blanket and honey-colored eyes were staring at him.
It lasted but a second, but that’s how these things happen. Both pulled away and turned around, Yukio facing the window and Ryota the aisle. “I should get some sleep,” Ryota said and nestled on the seat, this time facing opposite Yukio.
The blond’s sleep-time was abruptly interrupted by a pair of teenagers, their staring woke Ryota up, but they blushed and turned away as soon as he opened his eyes, Yukio –still pretending to be asleep sneaked a peek at the scene, what came next surprised him… he smiled as brightly as he could and softly asked, “yes?”, his voice a bit hoarse, having just woke up.
The girls said something inaudible to Yukio but held a camera in their hands, they probably wanted a picture.
Yukio figured they’d “wake” him up, so he turned around and closed his eyes again, he waited but nothing was said, after some time he heard a Thank you and steps shuffling away. He half-yawned and pretended to wake up, “Sorry, did I wake you?” the blond asked.
“Kind of,” Yukio lied. If that had been Yukio, he’d have been irritated and frankly a bit worried at being stared at while he slept, but this guy handled it gracefully. If there ever was a doubt about him being a PRO, it dissipated into thin air.
Before Yukio could say so, a man –in his forty’s- interrupted them, and stood in the aisle, Did this guy’s fans know nothing about demographics?
Ryota smiled but didn’t say anything, “excuse me, are you Kasamatsu Yukio? You play for Kaijou, right?” the man said and Yukio’s eyes widened in surprise, he’d been recognized before but never over-seas.
“Ah, yes” he admitted and took a page from Ryota’s book, managing a relaxed smile.
“I knew it! You’re the best Captain that Kaijou’s ever had! Is it true you’re leaving for the NBA? It must be true since you’re coming from Los Angeles, right? Man I can’t believe I’m talking to you, I’m like your biggest fan!” he squeed and went on by himself, Yukio waited for him to quiet down and Ryota giggled, trying to cover his mouth. The man finally quieted down and looked at Yukio expectantly.
“Thank you, please keep supporting Kaijou,” Yukio said and half bowed from his seat.
“Ah, yeah, but truth is if you leave I’m following your new team,” he chuckled.
“How about a picture?” Ryota intervened, a devious smile on his face.
“Ah, no way, I wouldn’t want to bother you, I just wanted to say hello, but if you don’t mind then maybe an autograph? I’d love one!” the man said and put up his hands. “Sure, but I don’t have anything to write on,” Yukio replied.
“Ah, then why don’t you sign my jersey?” the man asked and took off his coat, to reveal Kaijou’s jersey underneath.
“I don’t have a marker...” the basketball player said and felt much too excited at the sight of his team’s shirt.
“I do,” Ryota said and pulled one out of God knows where.
“Thanks, man,” the fan said and stretched his shirt for Yukio to sign, when he was done he bowed and thanked him again, he rushed to his seat, a goofy grin on his face.
“Looks like I’m not the only one with fans around here,” Ryota said and nudged Yukio. “Oh, Kasamatsu-san pleas sign my shirt,” the blond mocked.
“Oh Ryota-kun, please let me watch you while you sleep,” Yukio replied in a sing-song tone.
“So you were awake, and here I was trying to salvage your sleep, you’ve tricked me, how low,” Ryota whined and faked a pout. “So,are you going to invite me to one of your games when you’re famous, Kasamatsu-san?” the blond said, the mocking tone gone from his voice.
“I thought you said you disliked the Lakers,” Yukio reminded him.
“I was joking, please send me tickets,” the model offered a polite smile.
“Sure,” was all Yukio could muster.
The second round of food came around and they kept quiet for most of the remaining hours.
“So, how long are you staying?” the blond finally broke the silence.
“I don’t know, I guess a lot of things still have to be decided, and you?” Yukio asked.
“I only came for Kurokocchi’s birthday,”’ the model smiled from ear to ear, leaving Yukio wondering who exactly that person was. Yet, as if reading his thoughts, Ryota explained he was a good friend since middle school. “You know, I also have a friend that’s playing in the States right now, well mostly Kurokocchi’s partner.. His name is Kagami Taiga,” Ryota explained.
“Ah, I’ve never met him but he’s good. So you know your way around a court, huh?”
“Well, I used to play but that was a long time ago,” Ryota said, feeling a bit embarrassed.
The announcement for landing interrupted their conversation. “Wow, we’re here?” Ryota sighed.
As landing took place they practically missed each other, getting of the plane with the crowds, they didn’t see each other until they were waiting for their bags.
“So, thanks for taking care of me, it was definitely the fastest flight I’ve been on,” Ryota said cheerfully, standing next to Yukio.
“Uh, sure, you still owe me for the dry-cleaning though, remember how you drooled on my sweater?” Yukio said slightly irritated. “You still owe me tickets to a game, so I’m sure we’ll meet again,” the blond jested and ran to the other side to pick up his bag.
“I’ll see you on television, Kasamatsu-san,” the model waved and dragged off his suitcase.
“Sure,” Yukio said and waved, embarrassed at the attention they were getting. He watched him disappear in between the people and sighed disappointedly, he didn’t even ask him for his number, though, would he have given it? He was a model after all. Was he being judgmental again?
Just as Yukio continued to self-deprecate, he felt someone tap his shoulder, he whirled around and Ryota’s lips were on his own, it was quick and innocent.
“Sorry, I’d been dying to do that,” he admitted and almost on instinct, Yukio kneed the guy’s stomach.
“Ow, don’t worry I’m not going to hit and run,” the blond doubled over slightly and held out a piece of paper.
“Call me,” he said and skipped away when he regained his composure.
And Yukio just might.