Okay, another thing from this, couldn't get a little snippet out of my head.
Accidentally picked the wrong seats in an airplane/theater au
Sidney always takes the aisle seat on flights. Always. So he knows that this impossibly tall, lanky guy is folded uncomfortably into Sid's seat. He doesn't even have to check his boarding pass--except he does anyway, just a quick peek to double-check.
Yep. 18B, right there in black ink.
He chews his lip, floundering a little. Instinctive Canadian politeness wars discreetly with his implacable urge to conform to routine. Surely it's just an honest mistake. Surely Sidney can just stick his hands in his pockets and bring it up casually. Oh hi, sorry, I think you've got the wrong--? Sorry, I can't help but notice you're--? Hey, I'm so sorry, do you think you could--? ...And maybe duck his head to take the sting out of calling the guy on it? That would work, right?
He has to do it, though, has to sit in the aisle or else--god knows what. Maybe visions of flaming engines and tragic emergency news coverage are melodramatic, but the last time he broke pattern he also broke his jaw, and Sidney doesn't see a reason to tempt fate, okay.
He's just gearing up to say something, when--
When the man hunched in Sid's seat looks up, hang-dog expression shifting into a sheepish smile, and Sid's tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth. The guy starts to speak instead, then makes a face and yanks off his cap like he's at dinner and has belatedly realized it's impolite, giving long fingers a neatening run through messy brown hair.
There are little creases at the corners of his eyes, Sidney notices helplessly.
The guy gestures quickly up at the overhead seat numbers and fumbles out, "Is ok? Need room for legs," with a thick, warm accent and a hopeful smile. Sid glances down mutely and yeah, okay, he's--a lot of leg. Miles, even. One is cramped up with his knee pressed into the seat in front, but the other is stretched into the aisle, long and skinny and--very long.
"Oh yeah, y'know. Don't worry about it," Sidney hears himself say. "I don't mind the window."
That tentative smile widens into a beam, and then it's not even a lie.