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Will has always hated flying, especially across the county. He was also just unlucky enough to end up with a middle row seat all the way in the back of the plane. He can’t complain too much, he’s going to visit his brother in New York City and also attend Comic Con—something he’s dreamed of since he was little.
Will waits as late comers trickle onto the plane, selfishly hoping the people who are supposed to board next to him won’t make it in time. He starts to dig out his headphones and his sketch book, ready to try and dissociate for the whole trip.
It’s not until he’s deeply ingrained in his music selection that he sees someone in the corner of his eye, shuffling up the aisle and standing right in his row. He’s ready to huff in annoyance and stand up, but he stops when he makes eye contact with the late passenger.
Will’s in trouble the second he smiles at him.
Not real trouble, obviously. Just the kind that makes his stomach do something weird and inconvenient.
The guy is cute.
Annoyingly cute.
His backpack slung over one shoulder and curls sticking out from beneath a beanie. He mutters an apology as Will stands up for him to squeeze between Will and the seats in front of them. He flashes Will a sheepish grin that probably shouldn't be as effective as it is.
"Sorry," he says, nervously adjusting his bag under his seat.
"It's fine."
It is fine.
Will would probably stand up twenty more times if it meant getting smiled at like that again.
The thought makes him immediately want to throw himself out of the emergency exit.
The guy settles into his seat beside the window, still looking mildly flustered from rushing through the airport. Will turns his attention back to the sketchbook in his lap before he can embarrass himself any further.
He manages about thirty seconds.
"Wait."
Will glances up. The stranger is staring at the drawing he had open in his sketchbook.
"Is that Han Solo?"
Will blinks slowly, looking down at his page and then back to the stranger. "Yeah."
The guy's face lights up like someone flipped on a switch behind his eyes.
"Oh my God, did you draw that?” He asks.
The guy's name is Mike, Will soon learns. He's twenty-six, originally from Indiana but living in San Francisco now. His sister lives in New York City and he is also heading to New York Comic Con for the first time.
He's dressed casually enough that Will wouldn't have guessed he was into the same nerdy stuff, but apparently, appearances are deceiving. Within ten minutes, they're deep into a debate about comic adaptations.
Mike argues passionately. Will discovers very quickly that he likes listening to him.
A lot.
Maybe because Mike talks with his entire body, hands moving animatedly whenever he gets excited. He's funny without trying to be. And, every time Will says something, Mike listens like it's genuinely important.
Most people don't do that. People are often too caught up in what they will be saying next that they don’t pay attention.
Mike pays attention.
By the time the plane is cruising above the clouds, they have already covered what they are excited to do at Comic Con and then some. Mike is attending a panel on indie comics, has an embarrassing collection of fantasy novels, and has accidentally insulted three different fandoms while trying to defend his favorite superhero.
"You realize half the people at Comic Con would fight you for saying that?"
Mike shrugs. "I'm brave."
"No, you're wrong."
Mike laughs. The sound settles warm in Will's chest.
"See, now you're just attacking me,” Mike accuses lightly.
"You started it,” Will defends, throwing his hands up. He rolls his eyes, but he's smiling.
Suddenly, Will understands exactly why people write poems about pretty boys. This is ridiculous, they’ve known each other for less than two hours. But, Will can’t ever remember when he’s clicked so well with someone before. Of course, his sister Jane and her girlfriend Max all get along amazingly well. But, Will doesn’t feel butterflies dancing in his stomach when they look at him.
The flight attendant dims the cabin lights and Mike's voice grows softer with exhaustion. Will finds himself wishing the trip were longer.
Mike stifles a yawn midway through a story, soon followed by another.
"You should sleep,” Will laughs.
"I'm not tired."
Will raises an eyebrow.
Mike immediately yawns again. "Okay," he admits. "Maybe a little."
"A little?” Will questions.
"Don't judge me."
"I'm absolutely judging you."
Mike laughs, shaking his head. Their banter comes quick and easy, like they’ve known each other for longer than this. He relaxes his head against his seat while he continues his conversation with Will.
A few minutes later, Mike's eyes drift shut.
Will pretends to focus on sketching, but he can’t help being distracted by how close Mike has been this whole time. They are trapped in the hell that is economy seats, but for the first time, he isn’t complaining about it.
He can take in more than just quick glances of Mike’s face now that he’s asleep. Will can see the faint freckles scattered across his nose, a small scar across his cheek, his lips.
Mike's head tips sideways, slowly—
Will has exactly enough time to realize what's happening before Mike's head bumps lightly against the space between Will’s neck and shoulder. He settles there, fast asleep. Will completely forgets how to breathe, his entire body goes rigid.
He looks down carefully. Mike's curls are brushing against Will’s neck. His expression is soft and peaceful in sleep, all the confidence from earlier replaced by something unexpectedly sweet.
Something that makes Will's chest flutter.
He should move, maybe.
Instead, he stays exactly where he is. This lasts for the majority of the flight. Waking him up feels cruel. And because, if he's being honest, he kind of likes it.
When the plane finally begins descending, Mike stirs awake with a confused blink at the change in pressure. For one brief second, he looks comfortable. But then, the realization of what he’s been laying on hits.
His eyes widen. "Oh my God."
Will immediately starts laughing.
"I fell asleep on you,” Mike says in a horrified but hush voice.
"You did."
Mike covers his face with both hands, "I'm so sorry."
"It's okay,” Will smiles.
"No, because now you think I'm weird."
"I already thought you were weird.”
Mike peeks through his fingers, “Rude."
"A good kind of weird,” Will reassures.
The smile that appears afterward is so bright it almost hurts to look at.
The plane lands soon after People begin standing, antsy to stretch their legs. The moment starts slipping away. Will hates how disappointed he feels about that. Except, Mike hesitates before stepping into the aisle.
For the first time all afternoon, he looks seriously nervous. He’s fiddling with his fingers, not even looking directly at Will.
"Hey,” Mike says. One of his hands goes to rub the back of his neck. "So, this might sound stupid."
“It probably will, knowing you,” Will teased.
Mike laughs, "Wow."
"Sorry.”
"No, keep doing that."
Will feels heat crawl into his cheeks.
"Would it be weird if I asked for your number?" Mike asks boldly.
For a second, Will just stares at him.
The noise of de-boarding seems to fade into the background. Rolling suitcases, overhead compartments opening, people squeezing past them in the aisle—it all blurs together around the edges.
Because Mike is asking for his number. The cute guy he'd spent the last five hours trying—and failing—not to stare at. The guy who'd somehow turned a boring flight into the most fun Will had experienced in months.
Will was already been preparing himself for the disappointment of saying goodbye. He'd been telling himself not to be ridiculous, not to get attached to a stranger just because they happened to click. People meet people all the time.
But apparently, Mike hadn't been planning on letting him disappear into the crowd. The realization sends a warm rush through Will's chest. There’s a chance he isn't the only one feeling whatever this is. The lingering smiles and easy conversation hadn't all been in his head.
Maybe Mike had been looking for excuses to keep talking, too.
"Not at all." Will answers, trying to not smile too wide but failing.
Mike's grin returns instantly, a pink blush fanning over his cheeks. "Okay, good."
They exchange phones while the line shuffles forward, making a promise to meet up at the Con. By the time they're walking toward baggage claim, they say their goodbyes.
As Will walks away, his phone vibrates in his pocket.
Mike Wheeler
just checking that you didn't give me a fake number
Will looks up. Mike is a few yards ahead, watching him expectantly.
Will can't help smiling, he texts back instantly.
wouldnt dream of it
A second later, Mike's phone buzzes. His answering smile could probably power the entire city.
As they disappear into the chaos of the terminal, Will catches himself checking his phone again. Mike's contact is still open on the screen, a new message sitting beneath it.
Mike Wheeler
see you tomorrow :)
It shouldn't make his chest feel this light. They've known each other for less than a day. Less than a flight, really.
Will texts back quickly.
can’t wait :)
And yet, as Will slips his phone into his pocket and follows the signs, he can't shake the feeling that something important has just happened to him. Something small enough to fit between a window seat and a middle seat thirty thousand feet in the air, but big enough that he knows he'll remember it years from now.
Tomorrow suddenly can't come fast enough.