... *Feeling decidedly nervous here*
Title: Frequent Flyer Miles
Author: Hoshi
Pairing: Ryan/Colin
Rating: PG? [NOTHING HAPPENS. D:]
Summary: Fluffy friendshippy luff. Ryan hates flying. I can't make it any more coherent than that. @_@
Author’s notes: ... I OWN NOTHING. Except for the dubious grammar. ♥
---
There are many things in life that people can grow accustomed to, but it is the not-so irrational fear of having the plane fall out of the air like only several tons of solid steel would fall out of the sky that keeps Ryan's fingers clutched against the armrest, knuckles a faint shade of white. This is one facet of his jet-set life that he will never get used to -- mostly the 'jet' part, and less of the 'set', really. He tries to keep from grinding his teeth during turbulences, but fails every single damn time -- and past the mindless terror he loathes himself for acting like a bloody fool. Every slight dip pushes his panic button, every minute shift of gravity has him squeezing his eyes shut tighter than they already are, and every time the air stewardess tells him to relax and not worry, he wants to throw the bag of peanuts at her. Or two bags. Whatever.
Fidgeting uncomfortably in his seat, he shoots an anguished look at Colin. He gets an empathetic smile and a helpless shrug in return, and shortly after, an extra pillow behind his back to ease the growing discomfort brought on by flying nerves and cramped quarters. "I don't need it," Colin mumbles and lifts a shoulder in a small shrug that Ryan feels more than sees, the simple white cotton of Colin’s t-shirt rubbing against his sleeved arm. The Canadian then goes back to playing Pac-man on the plane's Nintendo console, looking quite the ridiculous sight, ill-fitting headset half-falling off his head and all.
Colin knows that Ryan hates flying. Most people do. But Colin knows not to make too much of a fuss about it, because Colin knows that Ryan hates the humiliation more than he hates flying.
Ryan knows that.
That is why when during a particularly violent turbulence; he still finds it in himself to grin - a tense twitch of muscles that is barely noticeable if not for the slight upward tilt of his lips, but a real one nonetheless - at his friend. He grabs onto the hand that is already nudging at his elbow and forces his eyelids shut, blowing a hissing breath of air out of his lungs. Oh hell no, Ryan could never get used to this.
But the thought of Colin playing Pac-man one-handedly (“You only need one hand to press on the direction-button thingies anyway.”) beside him makes it a little easier for him to resist the urge to fling peanuts at the stewardess. Ryan is thankful for that, amongst a great many other things, and he tells Colin with a grateful squeeze of his fingers when the shaking tapers off into nothingness, when he finds the courage to open his eyes again.
“… Thanks,” he mumbles.
”No problem,” is all that Colin says.
Sometimes, if you are Ryan Stiles, such a simply-worded reassurance is more than enough to make you smile.
---
Author: Hoshi
Pairing: Ryan/Colin
Rating: PG? [NOTHING HAPPENS. D:]
Summary: Fluffy friendshippy luff. Ryan hates flying. I can't make it any more coherent than that. @_@
Author’s notes: ... I OWN NOTHING. Except for the dubious grammar. ♥
---
There are many things in life that people can grow accustomed to, but it is the not-so irrational fear of having the plane fall out of the air like only several tons of solid steel would fall out of the sky that keeps Ryan's fingers clutched against the armrest, knuckles a faint shade of white. This is one facet of his jet-set life that he will never get used to -- mostly the 'jet' part, and less of the 'set', really. He tries to keep from grinding his teeth during turbulences, but fails every single damn time -- and past the mindless terror he loathes himself for acting like a bloody fool. Every slight dip pushes his panic button, every minute shift of gravity has him squeezing his eyes shut tighter than they already are, and every time the air stewardess tells him to relax and not worry, he wants to throw the bag of peanuts at her. Or two bags. Whatever.
Fidgeting uncomfortably in his seat, he shoots an anguished look at Colin. He gets an empathetic smile and a helpless shrug in return, and shortly after, an extra pillow behind his back to ease the growing discomfort brought on by flying nerves and cramped quarters. "I don't need it," Colin mumbles and lifts a shoulder in a small shrug that Ryan feels more than sees, the simple white cotton of Colin’s t-shirt rubbing against his sleeved arm. The Canadian then goes back to playing Pac-man on the plane's Nintendo console, looking quite the ridiculous sight, ill-fitting headset half-falling off his head and all.
Colin knows that Ryan hates flying. Most people do. But Colin knows not to make too much of a fuss about it, because Colin knows that Ryan hates the humiliation more than he hates flying.
Ryan knows that.
That is why when during a particularly violent turbulence; he still finds it in himself to grin - a tense twitch of muscles that is barely noticeable if not for the slight upward tilt of his lips, but a real one nonetheless - at his friend. He grabs onto the hand that is already nudging at his elbow and forces his eyelids shut, blowing a hissing breath of air out of his lungs. Oh hell no, Ryan could never get used to this.
But the thought of Colin playing Pac-man one-handedly (“You only need one hand to press on the direction-button thingies anyway.”) beside him makes it a little easier for him to resist the urge to fling peanuts at the stewardess. Ryan is thankful for that, amongst a great many other things, and he tells Colin with a grateful squeeze of his fingers when the shaking tapers off into nothingness, when he finds the courage to open his eyes again.
“… Thanks,” he mumbles.
”No problem,” is all that Colin says.
Sometimes, if you are Ryan Stiles, such a simply-worded reassurance is more than enough to make you smile.
---