It's a little late for a Christmas fic, I know, but just bear with me. Snowflakes and Christmas trees everyone. :)

Simon watched his flight number on the airport terminal smorgasbord of flights. His flight number was blinking on the screen. He wasn't exactly sure what that meant but he wagered his last mint Aero bar that it wasn't good.

He sighed and sank back into his seat – his rather painfully, uncomfortable seat. Penelope was going to jinx his food to taste like nylon socks if he was late for Christmas dinner again. It wasn't like she could blame the freezing rain on him. Then again, most things could be turned inside out to be his fault and he found Penelope had a knack for turning things inside out.

"It's with utmost love," Penelope would say on those occasions. "You'd have to be a very important person in my life for everything to be your fault."

Simon wasn't quite sure he followed that line of logic.

Simon leaned down and dug around in his carry-on bag until his fingers found the hard contours of the book he'd packed for the flight. He pulled it out and, with one more sigh at his blinking flight number, he cracked the spine – the best sound in the world in his opinion – and settled in.

He was snickering to himself at something one of the characters said when brisk footsteps entered his awareness. With a huff the person sat down next to Simon in the crowded terminal and pushed his carry-on luggage next to his chair with his foot.

Simon glanced over and Crowley he wish he hadn't.

The stranger's slender fingers – artist's hands – pushed his black hair away from his eyes as he scanned the departure board looking for his flight. His eyes held an intensity that robbed Simon of his next thought. It was as if the stranger was watching the world burn away instead of looking at the flight board in an airport. The man's features were combined together in a way that made Simon think of white marble – cold and perfect. Simon was positive his fingertips would burn if he were to reach out and touch the man. Something in his gut pulled.

The corners of the stranger's lips pulled upwards and his eyes slanted to look at Simon. Simon whipped his head back to his book just as the stranger turned to look at him. He busied himself with his book but who was he kidding. His eyes went through the back-and-forth motion of reading but it may as well have been written in Swahili. He could feel the burn of the stranger's scanning eyes. Just when Simon was about to start twitching from being so unabashedly analyzed, the stranger settled back into his seat and combed both hands through his hair and pulled one ankle up to rest on his knee.

By this point all the characters in the book could have died and been resurrected while holding hands and chanting Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star buck naked around a campfire and Simon wouldn't have blinked twice.

There was an undeniably handsome man sitting next to him.

His flight didn't look like it was going to be coming any time soon.

Penelope was going to turn him into a human stocking stuffer.

And Simon was being completely daft because he had to retrain his lungs how to breathe again and his mind how to think again and all because of the man sitting next to him.