Charlie
Constantine is frowning as he looks at me. “I think it’s his ears, but I’m not sure. That’s why babies usually cry during take-off, because they can’t equalize the pressure. I know some adults struggle with it too, but I’ve never heard of it being this severe.”
Yes.
That.
That thing.
Thank God.
Nikolaus looks back down at me, worry still carved into every line of his face. “Your ears hurt? Is that it?”
I give the smallest nod I can manage.
His lips flatten into a line. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
I stare at him helplessly.
Because I can’t talk.
Because I don’t know how to climb out of wherever my brain put me.
Because you keep calling me baby and little one and good boy, and every time you do, the words in my mouth get farther away.
Because I forgot how to be a person who asks for things.
Because everything hurts and nothing makes sense.
Nikolaus’s face changes, as if he hears at least some of that without me saying it, and his expression flickers with frustration that does not seem directed at me.
“How do we help him?” he asks.
Constantine unfastens his own seat belt despite the climb not being finished, reaches into one of the nearby compartments, and pulls out a small pack of gum from a side pocket of his bag.
“Here,” he says, already tearing it open. “Gum might help, or we can try having him eat something.”
Nikolaus takes the piece before Constantine can hand it directly to me, unwraps it, and holds it near my mouth.
For a second, I just look at it. It’s such a stupidly normal solution to a pain that feels enormous.
“Open,” Nikolaus says softly, placing the gum on my tongue with careful fingers when my mouth opens, then draws his hand back, watching me like I am made of glass. “Chew, baby.”
I do.
At first, it hurts. My jaw is tight from all the failed yawns, so I chew slowly, then faster when Constantine makes a small, encouraging gesture with two fingers.
“Swallow while you chew,” he says. “Gently. Don’t force it.”
Nikolaus repeats the instruction in a softer voice because he has apparently decided that all information must pass through him before it reaches me. “Chew and swallow, sweetheart. That’s it.”
I chew and swallow over and over, but nothing is happening. One time, I think it’s going to pop, but it doesn’t, and I whimper in pained frustration.
Nikolaus doesn’t once take his eyes off of me, constantly observing my face for signs of change. “Keep going, baby.”
I do, eyes watering, fingers twisting in my blankie as the plane climbs and the gum turns soft between my teeth. I swallow again, and this time my left ear gives a sharp, sudden pop that hurts for half a second before the relief washes through me so intensely that my whole body sags.
A second later, the right ear follows.
Pop.
Sound rushes back in properly, not louder exactly, but clearer, like someone has removed a glass bowl from over my head. The pain doesn’t disappear completely, but the terrible pressure breaks apart, leaving only a dull soreness.
I let out a shaky breath, and Nikolaus lets out one too, nearly at the same time.
“There,” Constantine says, fastening his belt again. “That should settle as we level out. ”
Nikolaus sighs, then asks me, “Better?”
When I nod, his eyes close for a brief moment, and when they open again, the concern is still there, but it has softened into something heavier. Something possessive. Something almost wounded by the fact that I hurt and he did not know how to fix it immediately.
“My poor baby,” he murmurs, bringing his hand up to cup my cheek. My face warms as he strokes the side of my face.
The plane continues climbing, but the gum helps now, each swallow easier than the last. My jaw slowly unclenches from the worst of it, though the episode leaves me wrung out and shaky.
Nikolaus unbuckles the safety strap as the plane finally levels out, then shifts me on his lap until I’m essentially lying on my side along his thighs, facing him.
“Constantine,” he calls.
“Yes?”
“Keep gum with him whenever he flies.”
“I already added it to the list.”
“The list?”
“The ever-growing care and feeding of Charlie document I’ve made on my phone. You can’t expect me to remember everything about him.”
Nikolaus gives him a cold look.
Constantine does not appear particularly moved by it. “What? Ears sensitive during flights. Gum helps. That’s the kind of thing that goes on the list. I can’t trust myself to just know that if I don’t note it somewhere.”
Nikolaus watches Constantine for a moment with a flat expression, then seems to decide this is not worth arguing about, and redirects his attention to me.
I’m still chewing. The gum has gone tasteless, just a soft, pliable thing between my teeth, but the motion of it is nice in a way I don’t want to examine. Rhythmic. Grounding. Something to do with my mouth that isn’t crying.
“You can spit that out now,” Nikolaus says.
I blink at him.
He holds his palm flat and open under my chin, waiting. Just like that. Completely certain I’ll comply, because apparently that is his default setting for every interaction we have.
I do it anyway. I don’t know why I keep doing what he tells me. The gum drops into his palm, and he doesn’t even flinch, just turns his head toward Constantine with an expectant look.
“Trash,” Nikolaus says, like it’s one word.
Constantine glances at the gum in Nikolaus’s palm, then at me, then back at Nikolaus, and something passes between them—not a conversation, exactly, more like a shift in the weather—before he leans across the small aisle, takes the gum between two careful fingers, and drops it into a small waste bin built into the cabin wall.
He does not get up.
Nikolaus does not get up.
I stay exactly where I am, curled on his lap, and the gum is gone, and no one had to move, and the whole exchange took less than five seconds, and I am so tired that even this feels like a kindness.
“Good,” Nikolaus murmurs, and I don’t know if he’s talking to Constantine or to me.
Then his hand comes back to my face, but instead of cupping my cheek, his fingers drift to my lips, two of them pressing gently against the lower one until my mouth opens on instinct, and then they slide inside.
I freeze.
“Just suck,” he says, voice low and easy, like he’s telling me to breathe. “You need something in your mouth, sweetheart. I can see it. It helps you settle.”
I blush furiously, knowing he’s right, and suck on them.
I close my eyes, so I don’t have to see his face while I do it, because there is a limit to how much humiliation I can witness happening to myself in real time. I breathe through my nose and try not to think about what I probably look like to the other man sitting just feet away from us.
But Nikolaus is right, and the sucking helps, in the same way my blankie helps and snuggling close helps.
My whole body sighs around it, the last coiled tension in my shoulders releasing in a slow, involuntary exhale through my nose.
My tongue presses against the undersides of his fingers, and my jaw goes loose, and the floaty place gets quieter and softer and easier to live in.
I hate how quickly I become comfortable.
Nikolaus makes a low, satisfied sound above me, and I keep my eyes shut and focus on breathing, on the weight of his fingers, on the faint hum of the plane around us and the distant sound of Constantine’s phone and the way Nikolaus’s thighs are so warm under me.
Then his other hand moves, and at first I think he’s just adjusting his hold on me, repositioning, the way he does constantly, like he can’t stop touching me even when he’s already touching me everywhere.
But then his palm settles low on my stomach, and my eyes fly open.
Not there.
He’s not supposed to be there.
My body goes rigid under his hand, every muscle locking at once, and Nikolaus’s fingers still in my mouth as he makes a small, shushing sound that vibrates through me.
“Easy,” he murmurs. “Easy, baby. You’re all right.”
His hand slides lower, and I squirm, trying to shift away, but there’s nowhere to go. I’m pinned between his body and the armrest, and the safety belt is off now, but his arm across my back is just as effective, and my hip is pressed into the hard muscle of his thigh, and—
Constantine.
Constantine is right there.
The thought hits me like ice water, and I go perfectly, horribly still.
My eyes dart toward the other seat, where Constantine sits with his phone, and for one terrible second, I’m certain he’s watching, certain he sees Nikolaus’s hand on me, certain he’s going to look up and know exactly what I let happen.
But Constantine isn’t looking at us.
He has headphones on. The sleek, expensive kind that sit over his ears and block out everything. His eyes are fixed on his phone screen, and his expression is the same flat, disinterested mask it always is, and he might as well be on a different plane entirely.
I still can’t breathe.
Nikolaus’s thumb traces a slow arc just below my hip bone, and I realize with a full-body flush of horror that he can probably feel my heart hammering through my stomach.
“He can’t hear us,” Nikolaus murmurs, so low I almost miss it under the drone of the engines. His fingers stay still in my mouth, a gentle anchor. “The headphones are noise-canceling. He’s not listening.”
I know that’s supposed to make this better, but I’m really not sure it does.
“But you should still try to be quiet for me,” he adds, softer still, lips barely moving. “Just in case. Can you do that?”
I stare at the ceiling of the plane because I cannot look at his face right now. The cream-colored panels above us are very smooth, very clean, and utterly unhelpful.
His hand slides lower.
My breath snags on his fingers, and I make a small, involuntary sound against them that I immediately try to swallow back down. My free hand grabs a fistful of his shirt, not pushing him away, just—holding. Holding something. Holding on.