Chapter Text
chapter one
“Is it bad that I don’t feel bad?”
Steve adjusts his neckerchief tie, tucks the pointed ends into the collar of the tight, white shirt that is crisp and clean. “Does this look straight?” he adds, turning to Robin.
Robin, who is wearing the exact same silk tie and white shirt, is going through their checklist before boarding. She pulls the metal cart out of its cubby hole in the wall, opens the top drawer and starts to count the packets of chips. She sighs.
“Does Heather ever, ever top up the chips? Ever?”
“No. She doesn’t.”
Robin glances up at him, “and does what look straight? The neckerchief? Yes. You? No.”
Steve laughs. She sticks her tongue out at him then tops up the chips drawer.
“And no. It isn’t bad that you don’t feel bad. I feel like you were over it before it even ended.”
Steve folds his arms, leans back against the door to the cockpit. Robin doesn’t even sigh at him even though she could probably do with the inventory help. The passengers will be boarding soon.
“I think you’re right. It just…it didn’t even hurt to end it. Not even the tiniest, single bit. That’s not normal, right?”
“I’ve said it once, I’ve said it twice. I’ve said it many, many times. Tommy is a grade A asshole. He hurt you enough times to make you numb to breaking up with him. I’m proud of you.”
Robin doesn’t even look at Steve as she says it. She’s so good at multitasking, so used to Steve using this time together alone before their shift starts to rant that it’s kind of part of their routine.
“Thank you,” Steve says quietly, genuinely appreciative of Robin’s pride and good faith in him.
She stops what she’s doing, stands straight, and says, “you did the right thing.”
“I know.”
“What kind of boyfriend ignores you on your birthday? Tells you what you can and can’t post on Instagram? Makes you feel bad for doing anything with anyone but him?”
Robin is fierce. Her bright blue eyes are so animated, so electric they kinda shock Steve every time she looks at him like this.
“The shitty kind.”
“The shitty kind. Exactly.”
She moves back to the cart, adding mini bags of popcorn to the second drawer.
“That always confused me. The way he didn’t want me to spend time with anyone but him and yet he didn’t want to give me any attention, like ever.”
“It’s a control thing,” Robin says, opening and closing the drawers then pushing the cart back into its cubby hole once she’s satisfied. “Think we’re gonna be serving any alcohol this morning?”
“Ugh. Hope not,” Steve groans, rolling himself off his leaning post and sliding past Robin to check the bar stock.
Robin is asking the question because you would think not. It’s 8am on a Friday morning. But it’s also a business class only flight. They’re small, domestic planes from the outside but on the inside they’re nicer than Steve’s apartment. And Steve hates these flights.
Full of businesspeople flying business class for their stupid businesses. They hardly say a word but when they do they’re usually short and rude. And they are renowned for drinking, no matter the time of day.
Steve checks the tiny bottles of alcohol, as he says, “I’m ready for something new.”
“Some thing? Or some one?”
“Both. Either. Just…it might be kinda thrilling. Being single.”
“God. Tell me that in a year's time when it’s cuffing season.”
“Robs! Don’t scare me.”
“I’m joking. Being single is great. I like it. Honestly, I don’t know if you will-”
“Robs! What did I just say?” Steve laughs, smacks her lightly on the arm as he shimmies behind her to check the telecom system.
“Oh, come on. You’re the first person to admit you hate being alone. But trust me, it’s better than being with that fucking cretin.”
Steve laughs out loud. Can’t help it. Robin comes up with the best nicknames for Tommy.
“I do hate being alone,” Steve admits, not for the first time to Robin, out loud. Tommy will be out of their apartment by the time they land. He’ll be living alone. He’s not had to do that since he lived at home with his parents and they were never there. It makes his stomach drop, this nervous, gut-wrench widening slowly through his torso. It’s a strange feeling. The unknown of being alone. He shakes himself. Tries to bring the thrilling feeling back to the surface. It’s been coming and going the last couple of weeks during this whole long-winded break up process. But last night was the definitive end. Steve made sure of it, this time.
He presses the buttons on the PA system, “testing testing” he says through the phone, hears himself loud and clear through the cabin. Their coworkers Nancy and Jon at the tail end of the cabin throw a thumbs up to him. “Thanks guys,” he says over the system.
“But I guess…I was alone when I was with Tommy. I think it’s the most alone I’ve ever felt. And like…I’d quite like the attention.”
“Attention from who?”
“I don’t even know. Just…from hot guys.”
Robin laughs. “Men,” she mutters to herself purposely loud enough for Steve to hear, rolling her eyes.
“Is it too much to ask, Robs? Huh?”
“Is what too much to ask?” she asks, with a tone like she is dreading the answer. She probably should be. God, he has so many desires he wants to confess. So many feelings stacked and layered like a mille-feuille dessert that Steve is waiting so patiently to indulge on.
“Is it too much to ask for some tall, dark, handsome guy to just…to just look at me with deep, brown eyes like they wanna eat me alive?”
Because maybe his ex is handsome and does have deep, brown eyes but he never gave Steve the attention he so badly craved. Their sex life was good for four whole weeks after they made it official and then…
Well, then it all turned to shit. For four years Steve was subjected to mind games and mind less sex.
And Steve knows he’s being dramatic and okay, he’s partly joking. Partly. So it’s funny when Robin shoots him her usual I am equally disgusted as I am amused look.
“First of all, Steven, let the record show that I don’t want to hear about anyone eating anything of yours. Second of all, you’re a horny mess and I think you just need a nice rebound.”
Steve laughs, and just when he’s about to respond, his walkie is buzzing and their airline check-in assistant Argyle on the other end is saying, “passengers ready to board, my dudes! Boarding iiiiin progress.”
And with a look and a nod from Robin, a thumbs up from Nancy down at the end of the aisle, Steve responds, “we’re ready, man. Send ‘em up.”
Boarding doesn’t take long on these flights. There’s very few passengers compared to a normal economy flight. Steve and Robin are seasoned flight attendants, but still fairly new to the trade compared to their Purser, Nancy, who has been doing this for six years already despite being their age.
Steve’s job at this stage of the process is to stand and look pretty. Something that he is apparently good at doing, not that he believes that in the slightest. But anyway, Steve likes this part. He likes to greet each person, and analyze their reactions, make little stories in his head about who they are and why they’re traveling and how much of an asshole they’re going to be during this flight.
The first five passengers ignore him completely. All wearing suits of various shades of blue and gray underneath layers of duck-feather-filled gilets and woolen overcoats draped over their forearms. So predictable. Luckily today’s flight is only two hours, 45 minutes long, if the weather doesn’t fuck it up, so he won’t have to endure them for too long.
“Welcome. Hi. So pleased to welcome you on board today. How are you? Hi. Welcome.”
It’s a repetition. It’s the beginning of a well-rehearsed script that he’s learned over time. Robin, too, who repeats her own version. Smiles and nods at the passengers even when they ignore her existence.
“We’re missing one,” Robin says under her breath to Steve when the boarding slows and most of the passengers are now in their seats getting comfortable. She’s been counting them as they board, knows the number of expected passengers, probably their names and where they’re sitting.
“You sure?” Steve asks.
“Mhmm.”
“Probably too busy getting jacked up in the first class lounge bathroom,” Steve mutters, turning his back to the passengers and standing behind the partition so he can call Argyle.
“Hey, man. Any stragglers?”
“Was just about to call you, dude. Got one guy coming your way now. He wasn’t in a hurry.”
“And that’s the last?”
“That’s the last.”
“Great, thanks, man.”
“Be safe on the wings, my friend.”
“Yep, catch you later,” he puts the walkie away, won’t need it anymore. Then turns to Robin, who is standing pleasantly at the top of the aisle, hands crossed in front of her. Steve joins her, stands side-by-side, facing forward.
“One straggler coming up.”
“Knew it.”
Nancy walks towards them down the aisle, smiling at the passengers, saying her hellos in her usual polite and pretty way. None of them really give a fuck but Steve has to swallow down the sour taste in his mouth when he spies some of the guys staring down after her, way too far south for his liking.
“All good?” Nancy asks, standing next to Steve.
“All good. One more passenger to board and then we’re ready to go.”
“Sounds great. I’ll let Henderson know.”
Nancy turns, heads to the cockpit, and is swiftly let inside.
Steve turns to Robin so he can make a bet with her about how many neat whiskeys on the rocks they’ll serve this morning when he is simply surged forward from the weight and movement that is unmistakably somebody stumbling on board the plane and straight into Steve.
Robin catches him. Holds onto his biceps with a firm grip for one second before Steve balances himself and turns, in shock.
“Woah, woah,” the straggler says. Steadying himself, patting down his leather jacket. He’s wearing sunglasses.
It’s a dark, November morning in NYC.
No need for sunglasses unless you’re hungover or on drugs.
Steve’s guess is that it’s probably both, as he eyes the last passenger all the way up and down. Dressed head to toe in black. Oversized bomber jacket, tailored trousers, chunky black Dr Martens with silver buckles.
“Kinda in the way there,” he has the nerve to say. And Steve wants to bite back, oh he does. But Robin knees him gently in the leg. Nudging him into professionalism.
He grits his teeth. Then smiles as sickly-sweet as he can. “Sorry about that, sir. Welcome aboard.”
And the passenger should just smile back. Or ignore him. That’s what they would usually do. Not that a passenger has ever fallen onto the plane and into Steve before.
So, Steve shouldn’t be surprised, when this asshole slides his sunglasses off his nose, folds the arms together with two quick clicks , puts them in his jacket pocket and says, “an apology and a sir? I like that.”
His tone is low, gravelly. There’s nothing suggestive about it, more matter-of-fact, simple. Like they’re gonna become friends. Which they definitely are not . Because he also sounds like he was drinking yesterday or maybe even this morning. He smells like cigarettes and expensive cologne.
“Just doing my job, sir. Do you know where your seat is?”
The guy shrugs. It makes the leather of his jacket creak. His face is serious, dark circles under his eyes like he hasn’t slept in days. “Maybe you can point me in the right direction.”
Steve would quite like to point him in the direction where he just came from. He wouldn’t mind throwing him back down those stairs, actually.
Instead, Robin steps in. Saves him from losing his job. “You’re in seat 14A.”
“Is it a window seat? I like a nice view.”
“They’re all window seats. This is a business class flight,” Steve states coldly. Not that he would have a choice even if they weren’t. This guy. This fucking guy. Does he even know where he’s going? Doesn’t seem like it.
Nancy appears behind him in perfect timing.
“Hello, sir. Can I show you to your seat? We’re about to take off.”
This guy gestures with his arm for Nancy to lead the way. Then he turns to Steve.
“See you later…”
The straggler tilts his head, eyes boring into Steve, waiting for him to tell him his name. Then his eyes drop to his chest, spots the name tag and Steve internally curses his airline’s uniform policy, not for the first time in his life.
“Steve.”
Steve forcefully pulls his mouth into the quickest smile of his life and when 14A turns away with Nancy, the fake smile drops instantly.
“Asshole,” Steve mutters under his breath.
Nancy returns and has to do the passenger announcement before Steve has a chance to ask her how that went.
“ Good morning and welcome aboard this 8.15am flight to Chicago. I’d like to welcome you on behalf of myself and my fabulous crew. My name is Nancy and you have the pleasure of the company of flight attendants Robin, Jonathan and Steve who will assist you today. There is no hot food service today but you can enjoy an all inclusive open bar and cart service. Please pay attention to the following security demonstration, and have a safe flight. ”
Steve stifles his giggles as he watches Robin mime the whole thing from behind the partition. Then she passes Steve the security kit and they’re heading down the aisle as is routine.
Steve takes the middle. Jon at the tail end, Robin at the front. This is the part of his job he dislikes the most. All eyes on him, doing a routine like it’s a little dance. It took him so long to learn the security demonstration. He practiced every night in front of the bathroom mirror and had Robin quizzing him every day to the point where he would be doing it in his dreams. Like naked in a coffee shop with the inflatable around his neck kinda dreams.
So even though he’s been doing this for two years now, it still sends sparks up the back of his neck and his palms get a little sweaty. And as much as he hates to admit to himself right now, it doesn’t help that he’s standing…right infront of seat 14A.
“Please direct your attention to the crew who will be demonstrating the emergency procedures.”
Steve stands in position with the kit folded on the floor next to him. He stares forward, right at the back of Jon’s head. He can feel that 14A has well and truly directed his attention . Just…focus on the back of Jon’s head.
“ On the screen in front of you, you will see the safety card displaying the emergency precautions. There are three emergency exits on this aircraft. Note that the exit closest to you may be behind you.”
Steve signals with both hands. Avoiding eye contact with 14A.
“Should the cabin experience sudden pressure loss, stay calm and listen for instructions from the cabin crew. Oxygen masks will drop down from above your seat.”
As is procedure, Steve leans to his left, reaches up with an oxygen mask, taps where it would fall right above… 14 fucking A. Steve can feel the straggler’s eyes burning into his chest. And it naturally makes Steve…nervous? He looks away, tries to brush it off, refraining with every morsel in his soul to roll his eyes. Even though he could get away with it, Nancy can only see the back of his head.
“Place the mask over your mouth and nose. Pull the strap to tighten it. In the unlikely event of an emergency landing and evacuation, leave your carry-on items behind. Life rafts are located below your seats and emergency lighting will lead you to your closest exit and slide.”
Steve waves his hand down the aisle, signaling where the lights are, and that’s his first job done. He gathers the items from the kit, then checks the seats of the passengers around him.
“Excuse me, sir. Hi. Could you turn your phone off now? And seatbelt, please. Thanks. Sorry, sir can I just see if you’re wearing your seatbelt? That’s great, thank you.”
Steve turns back up the aisle, one seat left to check.
“While we wait for take off, please take a moment to review the safety precautions detailed on the screen in front of you. Seatbelts must remain on whenever signaled on the light above you.”
And Steve should have known that he wouldn’t have his seatbelt on.
“Hi. Could you put-”
“Hi,” he answers back. He’s wearing his shades again.
Steve inhales through his nose, smiles for one second, before saying, “hi,” again. And this guy is just…just sitting there. Sunken into his seat, hands in his lap, knees fallen apart because of course this fucker is a manspreader .
It’s a shame he is pretty hot this up close. Not that it matters, Tommy would kill him for even having these thoughts.
Oh wait.
“Could you put your seatbelt on?”
“No sir this time? Have I lost the right?”
“Yes,” Steve says because he can’t keep it down. Which makes the guy laugh and okay. Steve didn’t expect to like that.
“You’re funny.”
“Mhmm. I moonlight as a comedian.”
“You do? Where? Can I catch a show?”
Steve does roll his eyes this time. He really can’t help it. He doesn’t care how much money this guy has, which is clearly too much if he’s willing to pay for a business class flight for such a short journey. He doesn’t care who he is. Where he’s going. He doesn’t care that he’s actually quite nice to look at. He plans on never seeing him ever again once they land.
“Oh, you wouldn’t be able to afford a ticket.”
“Maybe you could come to one of my shows. We could trade.”
“That sounds delightful. Could you put your seatbelt on? We’re about to take off.”
“Since you asked so nicely,” he says, sounding a little sarcastic himself. Steve waits as patiently as he has been trained to be for the seatbelt to click. When it does, the guy says, “happy?” And Steve says, “very,” before swiftly turning on his heels and striding back up the aisle, meeting Robin at the top of it.
“Cabin crew prepare for take off,” Captain Henderson sounds over the tannoy. Nancy and Jon strap in at the back, Steve and Robin together at the front.
“Is it too much to ask, Steve?” Robin whispers next to him, staring forward but leaning in to get close to his ear.
“What?”
“God. Is it too much to ask for a million dollars?!”
“What are you talking about?” Steve laughs, clicking his own belt into place.
“Sorry, I thought we were just asking for things and getting them.”
“What do you mean?”
“The straggler. Tall, dark, handsome. Brown eyes. Looking at you like he wants to eat you.”
“What?”
Steve cranes his neck around so he can get a better view of the passengers. In particular the ignorant guy dressed in black who definitely does not want to eat him.
His head is resting back against the chair, chin tilted up, lips slightly parted. Steve can see tattoos sprawling up his neck. He’s still wearing his shades. Steve wonders if he’s maybe asleep already.
Steve pulls a face at Robin, “oh shut it, Robs.” And she giggles next to him. She was clearly joking. But it still sends that strange thrilling feeling through Steve’s core.
Breakups are fucking weird.
This constant yo-yo effect. Scared. Excited. Anxious. Charged. There’s no denying that Tommy was controlling. That their relationship was toxic. Steve lost a lot of who he once was. He used to be charming. Passionate, courageous, flirtatious, too. He liked to flirt, especially once he came out. When he could stop hiding who he really was. But Tommy changed all of that. They flirted and it was passionate and Tommy was charming. But that quickly changed as soon as their whirlwind romance became official and Tommy moved in and realized that Steve could be molded to how he wanted.
And over the last two weeks of attempting to break up, Steve has felt himself coming back, a little. Even Robin has noticed, she probably did before Steve. She was laughing at his jokes again because he was telling them again.
The aircraft speeds down the runway, and Steve waits for the lift and pull. The tiny moment of feeling weightless that is almost addictive. He loves to fly, he always has. It’s the best part of the job. It's why he's got this job.
They sit quietly for the next ten minutes as they take off, until crew are signaled to undo their seatbelts and prepare for drinks service.
“ Good morning passengers. My name is Dustin Henderson and I’m your captain this morning on this HawkinsAir Flight to Chicago. If that is not your required destination then…I’m sorry but it is now.”
There’s a rumble of quiet laughter from the passengers. They always respond to the captain this way. Dustin could say anything and he would receive a warm reception. Their lives are in his hands, after all.
Steve prepares the bar cart as Dustin continues, “ my co-captain Lucas Sinclair and our wonderful crew, who you have already had the pleasure of meeting, welcome you aboard and wish you a safe flight.”
The seatbelt sign dings and the quick echo of metal pings through the cabin, as each passenger undoes their belt and gets comfortable. Many put headphones on, flip open their laptops, start to read their books. Everyone is quietly occupied when Steve starts bar service.
Everyone, that is, except 14A.
The first few passengers decline a drink, by simply ignoring Steve, which he is used to. The next lot take coffees, breakfast teas.
“Any hot or cold drinks, sir? A coffee. Of course, with milk? Sure.”
He approaches row 14.
“Any hot or cold drinks, sir?” Steve asks, looking down at the guy who could be asleep right now. But he wouldn’t know for sure because of the sunglasses.
He cocks his head, slides the sunglasses up so they’re resting on his head, pushing back the mass of dark waves away from his face.
He blinks his big, brown eyes up at Steve. Glazed. Tired.
“I missed that.”
Steve takes a breath, gestures at the cart, “a drink?”
“You have spirits behind all those teabags?”
“We do.” Predictable.
“I’ll have a whiskey, neat, on the rocks.”
Steve nods, keeps his professionalism intact. Anyway, who is he to judge people who drink at this hour? Maybe it’s to numb flying nerves. Maybe he wants to take advantage of the free bar.
“Do you have a preference?”
“To what?”
“Whiskey.” What the fuck else?
“Didn’t think I’d get one. I do have a preference. Have any single malt?”
“We do.”
“Then I’ll take a single malt.”
Steve opens the ice drawer, uses the tiny shovel to add cubes to the plastic cup. He passes it to him, then the little bottle of golden whiskey.
Steve hasn’t even taken two steps before he gets a tap on his shoulder.
He turns around.
14A is wiggling the bottle, now empty, at him.
“I’ll have another?”
It’s half question, half demand.
Steve sees that the cup and ice is still fresh, whiskey-less. He must have necked it straight from the bottle.
Steve doesn’t say anything. Just takes a fresh one from the drawer and passes it to him.
“Not going to pour it?”
“Would you like me to?”
“This is a bar service, no?”
“Well, I thought you preferred it straight from the bottle.”
They’re staring at each other and 14As expression is unmoving. There’s a tiny moment where Steve forgets that he’s at work.
So, he smiles. Brings himself back. Steps back towards him with a fresh miniature whiskey bottle in his hand and twists off the cap. He pours it into the cup and watches as it slides off the ice until they bob in the liquid.
Steve feels eyes on him but he tries to ignore it. Tries to push any inappropriate, unprofessional feelings aside. And he doesn’t wait for a thank you, either. Steve hasn’t had the pleasure of any niceties such as please or thank you since this flight began.
And he doesn’t expect that he’ll get one, even when they land.