Sasquatch to the Moon

5: Plane Buddies

Rocket nudges me with his elbow, I glance over, wondering if he did it on purpose or if he's just trying to get comfortable. 

He frowns at me like he's asking a question and when he realizes I have no idea what he means, he opens his mouth. "You okay?" 

Uh. I short circuit. "Fine." 

He nods like he suddenly gets it. "You're pale." I can't tell if it's a dig or if he's concerned.

"What?" 

"Pale. You look sick." 

I frown, trying to get him to elaborate. 

"No offense, but you look like Nico dug you up and reanimated you. I can't tell if you're that sick of me that you're physically sick or if you're afraid of planes" There's the dig.

I pause. "I'm fine." 

"If you're sick, don't cough on me, I can't be getting sick during the preseason, that's a no-no." 

I pick at a hangnail, not at all planning on responding to him. 

"Alright," he sighs, settling into his sleeping position. "Tell me if it gets bad, can't be having my oh-so-friendly assistant captain throw up on me." 

I think about responding, but before I can come up with anything, he's closed his eyes.

I let my eyes rest on him, barely, just the parts of him I can see without turning my head to gawk. He's skinny but strong, the straps on his forearms defined enough to be seen despite their relaxed state. His athletic fit t-shirt is folding and falling perfectly across his stomach, landing so I can see a trace of his abs from here. His fingers are long and agile, wrapped idly around his beat up phone, veins scattered across the backs. 

It floods back to me, The rest of grief feels different once you've come to terms with it. Don't deny it, denial will kill you from the inside out.

I'm not in denial that I'm gay. I've gotten over that. I've- I'm there. Maybe I'm in bargaining, or guilt. Or anger. Probably guilt. 

He's giving more expressions in his sleep than I've ever seen on anyone before. Little scrunches of his nose, furrows of his eyebrows, a twist in his lips here and there. The more expressions he makes, the longer I find myself watching. When his lips pull, you can see a full set of straight teeth, sharp on his canines, I would bet getting bitten by him would hurt like a bitch, but I hope he doesn't bite me. His lips are full but not big, well rounded and evenly sized, but he's still slavic, so they don't make too much of an appearance on his face. His skin is phenomenal, completely unmarked except a few acne scars by his hairline on his cheekbone and a little nick out of the skin on the end of his nose, an old cut, perhaps. His jaw is sharp, same as his nose, two harsh lines, both coming to almost complete points. His brow is just about as defined and when his face is resting, his cheekbones the same. However, the second he smiles, and he smiles all the time, every harsh line softens up and gets so warm that you can't help but smile back.

The trip to Minnesota is short, considering we're a private flight, we get to go direct, Regina to Twin Cities, it takes two and a half hours. Rocket sleeps the entire time, which is alright, I guess.

But then, of course, it kinda takes a turn for the worse: I have to wake him up. And, I don't catch myself before I start so I can make sure I'm being sort of a dick to him while I do it. I can't just... I can't be a dick to him while he's sleeping. He's got to be awake and cohesive before I feel comfortable being mean. Then, at least, he knows context. 

I start by poking his arm.

"Rocket." I mumble, putting a hand on his shoulder and shaking. I'll give him credit, when I first met him I wondered how he could even keep up with us because he seems to lack any muscle weight, now that I've got a pretty decent grip on his shoulder, apparently he just doesn't bulk up.