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It’s ridiculous, getting this worked up over a two-hour flight. Hoseok knows it’s ridiculous. But, unfortunately, knowing something doesn’t mean you’re able to change it, so here he is. Seated next to the most beautiful man on the plane as he sweats through his shirt.
The guy looks over at him, smiles a little, and then returns to stuffing his bag under the seat in front of him. Honestly, it’s kind of unbelievable that someone with a face like that is flying economy.
Hoseok doesn’t recognize him, so he’s probably not an actual celebrity, but he’s got the look of someone who’s about to be scouted on the street at any moment. The flight attendant has already come over twice to ask if they need anything, and the plane hasn’t even taken off yet.
Having succeeded in securing his bag, the guy sits back up and smiles like he’s going to try and make conversation. Hoseok tries to smile back, but he’s not sure how well he succeeds.
It’s a little hard to look natural when he’s actively trying to hold back vomit, but Hoseok performs for a living, so he gives it his best go. This guy is so beautiful that it’s hard not to feel like he’s being made into the butt of a joke.
It seems to defy plausibility that someone who looks like that would also be earnestly trying to make small talk, and yet—
“Is Seoul your final destination?” the beautiful man asks, looking horrifyingly sincere.
“Yes,” Hoseok snaps, because it’s still a bit of a sore subject, and also because opening his mouth for too long is risky in his current state. If he throws up on this beautiful man, he’ll never be able to forgive himself.
“I see,” the guy says, looking a little hurt at Hoseok’s brusque demeanour. “I’ll leave you alone now, I’m sorry.”
Hoseok winces as the plane starts to move, a slow crawl away from the gate, and forces himself to swallow. He should have brought some of that weird herbal shit Yoongi swears by, or maybe just a tranquilizer.
“No, I’m sorry,” Hoseok manages, finally, after an uncomfortably long pause. “I’m not trying to be rude, I swear, I’m just a nervous flier.”
“Oh,” the guy says, eyes widening. “Is there anything I can do?”
“Hold the barf bag?” Hoseok laughs nervously.
“Okay,” the other man says seriously, and then, unbelievably, turns towards the seat pocket in front of him and actually starts digging for it.
“I was joking,” Hoseok blurts out hastily, reaching to still the guy’s hand. It’s a really nice hand. Hoseok blinks for a moment, distracted by the guy’s sparkling rings and extremely neat manicure, before he gets control of himself and continues his sentence. “I mean, not really. I might actually need it. But I don’t need you to hold it for me.”
“I wouldn’t mind,” the guy says. Hoseok squints at him in disbelief.
“Really?”
“I used to take care of my little siblings a lot,” the guy says casually. “Vomit doesn’t really bother me.”
“Then I think we’re going to be excellent seat partners,” Hoseok says, smiling as warmly as he can, under the circumstances. Talking may have distracted him a bit, but the nausea is still lurking.
“Great!” the guy beams at him, not put off in the slightest. “It’s nice to meet you! I’m Kim Taehyung!”
“Jung Hoseok,” Hoseok responds, bowing his head a little in greeting.
“Do you want me to ask for some water or something? The flight attendants seem really helpful,” Taehyung asks, craning his neck to peer into the aisle behind him.
“That’s okay,” Hoseok says. “We haven’t even taken off, I don’t think they can give drinks yet.”
But Taehyung isn’t listening, already twisting in his seat to wave someone over.
Hoseok watches, fascinated, as he explains to the flight attendant that his friend is very ill and he knows it’s a terrible inconvenience, but is there any possible way she could bring him a can of cider before takeoff?
Taehyung alternates impressively between wide-eyed pleading and bedroom-eyed smoulder, and Hoseok can’t blame the flight attendant one bit for caving immediately, whispering that she’ll see what she can do and just to be careful at takeoff, okay?
Hoseok thanks Taehyung weakly.
“You’ll have to hold it,” Taehyung says apologetically when she comes back, reaching for the can to hand it to Hoseok. “You definitely can’t put the tray table down yet.”
No fucking kidding.
“So, Taehyung-ssi,” Hoseok starts, once he’s taken a fortifying sip of his illicit sparkling water. Nothing threatens to come back up, so he deems it safe to continue. “How long were you in Japan?”
“Eight years,” Taehyung responds, and Hoseok blinks in surprise. That’s much longer than he expected. “What about you?” Taehyung asks hastily, before Hoseok can ask any follow-up questions.
“Three weeks,” Hoseok says, wincing a little just thinking about it.
“Oh!” Taehyung says brightly. “Vacation?”
“Work, actually,” Hoseok responds carefully, but Taehyung doesn’t seem to find that strange. He just nods, looking interested, and leans in even further.
“What do you do?” is, of course, the logical next question. Hoseok hesitates, just for the briefest moment, and Taehyung raises a conciliatory hand. “If that’s not too forward,” he adds, eyes widening apologetically.
“It’s not,” Hoseok says, smiling graciously, even though it kind of is. “I’m a choreographer.”
Taehyung’s eyes get impossibly wider, this time sparked by interest rather than concern.
“That’s so cool,” he breathes. “Do you do workshops and stuff?”
“Sometimes,” Hoseok says. “But mostly I work with artists.”
“Wow,” Taehyung says, looking much more impressed than Hoseok deserves. It’s pretty flattering, but it also makes guilt twinge in his stomach. Or maybe that’s just nerves again—the plane has stopped its slow taxi across the runway, which means that they’ll be taking off any moment now.
Hoseok’s eyes flick out the window, and Taehyung’s follow. He grimaces sympathetically.
“Do you want to hold my hand?”
Hoseok stares at him, taken aback.
“Like, at takeoff,” Taehyung explains, completely casually. “To make you less scared.”
“We just met,” Hoseok says slowly. Taehyung only shrugs in response.
“It’s just a hand,” he says, like it’s nothing. “If I wasn’t here, you’d hold the armrest, right? It’s basically the same thing.”
It isn’t, but Hoseok feels like if he takes the time to explain that he’s going to seem like the weird one, so he just nods and forces a smile. If Taehyung thinks it’s not a big deal, then it doesn’t have to be a big deal.
“Sure, then,” he says, transferring his drink to his left hand and holding out his right. “Hit me.”
Taehyung laughs, reaching for his hand immediately and giving it a friendly squeeze. His hands are bigger than Hoseok’s—palms broader, fingers longer. Hoseok can feel Taehyung’s rings starting to dig into his own fingers, the pressure just shy of uncomfortable.
“See?” Taehyung beams. “Don’t you feel better like this?”
Hoseok opens his mouth to respond, but before he can say anything the plane starts to move and he lets out an undignified yelp instead. Taehyung squeezes his hand reassuringly.
Hoseok tries to smile in thanks, but it comes out more like a wince. He’d like to tell Taehyung that he’s fine, really, and that this is all very unnecessary, but he’s pretty sure his clammy death grip would give him away.
“You’ll feel better once we’re at flying altitude,” Taehyung says, raising his voice to be heard over the sound of the plane’s engines.
Hoseok really isn’t sure that’s true. He smiles weakly rather than trying to respond.
Taehyung keeps holding his hand, grip firm and steady, until the plane stops ascending, and then he lets go with one last firm squeeze.
Hoseok thinks, a little hysterically, that maybe he'll try to make conversation for the rest of the flight, but Taehyung just gives Hoseok one last pleasant smile and reaches for the tablet he’d tucked into the seat pocket when he sat down.
He’s probably reading something really artistic and deep, Hoseok thinks, a fresh wave of self-loathing washing over him.
He digs out the airpods he’ll probably have to resell for rent money once he’s back in Seoul, flips through his phone until he settles on his loudest playlist, and lets the heavy bass soothe him as he stares at his own feet, fingers tapping out the rhythm against his thigh.
It’s a short flight from Tokyo to Seoul, and Hoseok could probably make it—not letting himself look out the window, breathing shallowly through his nose, letting the beat in his ears drowning out the noise of the cabin—if it weren’t for the patch of turbulence they hit barely 20 minutes after takeoff.
Hoseok lets out a yelp at the plane’s first dip, scrambling to stop the music. The plane dips again just as he’s pressing pause, and his hands jerk so sharply that his phone slips from his grip and tumbles to the ground.
Taehyung is swooping down to grab it before Hoseok can gather his wits enough to register what just happened, holding it out with a sympathetic smile.
The plane hits another rough patch just as Hoseok reaches to take it from Taehyung, and he finds himself closing his fingers around Taehyung’s entire hand instead in a feeble attempt to steady himself.
Taehyung doesn’t let Hoseok pull away, just smoothly twists his hand so they’re holding hands normally, using his free hand to take Hoseok’s phone and tuck it into the seat pocket.
It all happens so quickly that Hoseok doesn’t even have time to protest.
“I should probably hold onto this, huh,” Taehyung says kindly, giving Hoseok’s hand another squeeze.
Hoseok smiles weakly, but before he can respond the plane lurches, and Hoseok’s stomach drops with it. He’s going to throw up. He’s going to die.
He’s going to throw up and then he’s going to die.
“I got fired,” he blurts out before he can stop himself. “That’s why I’m coming back to Korea.”
“Oh,” Taehyung says, eyes widening in surprise, but Hoseok isn’t finished.
“I don’t even know why they hired me in the first place,” he continues, unable to stop himself. “My style didn’t fit what they wanted at all, they hated everything I came up with. They’re going with someone in-house instead.”
It’s the first time Hoseok has said it out loud—the humiliation is still fresh, and admitting it stings.
But Taehyung doesn’t say anything to make it worse, just squeezes Hoseok’s hand. He really does have nice hands—warm, dry, a firm grip. No clammy skin, no weird dry patches.
“I got in a fight with my best friend right before I left,” Hoseok keeps going, because the plane is still rocking and Taehyung’s face is still so open, and he’s helpless against his own fear. “I was an asshole about it, and I haven’t talked to him since I’ve been gone. I have nothing to come back to. No job, no friends, no apartment, and it’s all my own fault.”
Taehyung just nods, taking it all in. Incredibly, there’s no judgment on his face, just that improbable sympathy.
“I’ve wanted to come back for eight years,” he says slowly, after a moment. “But now that I’m on the plane, I’m terrified. I don’t know if there’s anything waiting for me either.”
Hoseok stares at him, confused.
“We’re sharing uncomfortable personal information, right?” Taehyung says seriously. Hoseok pauses, thinks about it. Realizes that it does make him feel a little better, not being the only one who’s oversharing.
“I think you should tell me more,” he says, finally, trying out a shaky smile. “I really unloaded on you just then.”
“Okay,” Taehyung says, even slower this time. He bites his lip for a moment, frowning like he’s deciding how much he wants to share. Hoseok wonders if Taehyung will tell him the truth. He hopes so, even though he won’t really know if Taehyung is lying.
“I feel like my parents gave up on me,” Taehyung says, voice serious. “They gave me away to my aunt because they couldn’t take care of me, and I’m worried they don’t want me to come back.”
“Why wouldn’t they want you?” Hoseok says, taken aback.
Who wouldn't want Taehyung? He’s already the loveliest person Hoseok’s ever met, and they haven’t even known each other for an hour.
“They sent me away,” Taehyung points out. “They’ve barely talked to me since I turned eighteen.”
“Maybe they’re embarrassed they couldn’t provide for you,” Hoseok counters. “Or maybe they just don’t know what to say.”
Taehyung frowns, like he’s really thinking it over.
“Maybe,” he says slowly, and then straightens in his seat. “Maybe it’s the same for you and your friend,” he says, brightening up a bit.
Hoseok snorts, remembering his last fight with Jimin.
“I called him jealous and pathetic, and then he called me a heartless opportunist,” Hoseok admits.
Taehyung winces.
“Oh. Yikes.”
“Yikes,” Hoseok agrees, grimacing as he remembers it.
“Was he wrong?”
It’s the strangest thing: Taehyung doesn’t even seem judgmental, just curious. Hoseok squints at him as he thinks about it.
“No,” he says, finally, dragging his gaze away. He focuses on the clouds outside the window, an endless fog of grey, so he doesn’t have to look at Taehyung’s face. “I don’t think he was.”
“Were you wrong?” is Taehyung’s next question, and Hoseok flushes.
“Yes,” he says, much more quickly this time, because he was. He knows he was.
“Then why are you waiting for him to reach out to you?” Taehyung asks.
“I don’t know what to say,” Hoseok says, which is only half-true.
He knows Jimin isn’t going to reach out first, just like he knows Jimin isn’t the one who was wrong. But the idea of begging for Jimin’s forgiveness is so excruciating that no matter how miserable he’s gotten, Hoseok still hasn’t been able to make himself do it.
So, the real truth is that Hoseok isn’t really waiting at all.
It’s cowardly, and it’s humiliating, and Hoseok isn’t sure he can say that to anyone—not even a stranger—so he just shrugs instead.
Taehyung raises a skeptical eyebrow, like he knows Hoseok is full of shit. Hoseok deflates a little.
“I’m scared,” he admits, so quietly he’s not sure Taehyung will be able to hear him in the noisy cabin—and if he’s being honest, he hopes Taehyung won’t.
Taehyung nods immediately, dashing that feeble hope.
“It’s scary,” Taehyung agrees, which Hoseok really should have expected.
Taehyung has been nothing but kind to Hoseok since the moment he sat down, even when Hoseok was threatening to throw up all over him. It doesn’t make sense to assume this would make him suddenly change his mind.
“You can do it, though,” Taehyung continues. “Even if it’s scary, I think you can still do it.”
Hoseok blinks at him.
“You can talk to your parents, too,” he says, because he really does believe that. If Taehyung can speak so openly with someone he just met, surely he’ll have no trouble connecting with his own parents—and if he does have trouble, it definitely won’t be his fault.
“It’s not your fault if they feel uncomfortable,” he adds, just in case no one has told Taehyung that. “It’s their loss, not having you in their life.”
Taehyung blinks at him, mouth parted just slightly.
“That’s really kind of you, Hoseok-ssi,” he says, after a moment. Hoseok flushes at the sincerity in his voice, squirming a little.
“It’s just the truth,” he says.
“Hoseok-ssi,” Taehyung says again, voice very serious.
“We just held hands for almost the entire flight,” Hoseok laughs, a little flustered by the intensity of Taehyung’s stare. “It’s okay for you to call me hyung.”
“Do you want to get coffee sometime while we’re both in Korea?” Taehyung asks, and Hoseok blanches, taken aback by the sudden change of topic.
“Are you serious?” he asks, before he can stop himself.
“Why wouldn’t I be serious?” There’s a little crease between Taehyung’s (admittedly, very impressive) eyebrows, a frown pulling at the corner of his mouth that just makes him even more handsome.
“I don’t know,” Hoseok says, a little flustered. “Because your face looks like… that?”
He waves his hand in Taehyung’s general direction. Taehyung’s eyebrows just furrow even further.
“So? Your face looks like that,” Taehyung says, gesturing back towards Hoseok with the exact same movements. There’s an appreciative glint in Taehyung’s eye, unexpected but undeniably flattering. Hoseok feels very, very out of his depth. “What’s that got to do with it?”
Honestly, Hoseok usually considers himself to be a fairly self-confident person, but this is ridiculous.
“I’m just very…” he stops to look down at himself, all sweaty and clammy. He’s gotten up to pee three times in the past forty-five minutes, and he’s pretty sure he smells like sick person. This is quite possibly the most disheveled he’s ever felt in his life.
“I’m not sure what you’re trying to tell me,” Taehyung says slowly.
“I’m sorry, I’m not usually like this,” Hoseok says, because he’s really not. This entire plane ride has felt surreal, like any moment now he’s going to wake up back in his own bed in his shitty room in Tokyo, alone and miserable. “It just feels like this is some kind of joke,” he admits, finally.
“That would be a really mean joke,” Taehyung frowns.
“It would be,” Hoseok agrees. He can’t bring himself to say anything more, too absorbed by the wave of humiliating self-pity that washes over him—that is, until it hits him how what he said could be interpreted.
“It didn’t have anything to do with you,” he rushes to clarify. Taehyung raises a single, intimidatingly perfect eyebrow.
“It seems like it’s a little bit about me,” he says, and then doesn’t say anything more as the full impact of his words sinks in. Hoseok cringes.
Since Taehyung sat down, Hoseok has been assuming that he doesn’t know how beautiful he is—that by some freak happenstance he’s managed to make it to adulthood without realizing the effect his face has on others. That he’s only so kind because he doesn’t know he has the power to be cruel.
So it hits him like a slap in the face, the realization that Taehyung knows exactly what he looks like. It’s obvious in the way he tilts his chin up, now, colder than he’s been since Hoseok met him, waiting for—for what, Hoseok isn’t sure. An apology? An explanation?
Hoseok has never felt so cowed in his life.
“Let me start over,” he begs, biting back whatever’s left of his pride to try and salvage—whatever this is. A tentative friendship? Something more, if Hoseok hasn’t fucked it up too badly. “Please.”
It’s fascinating to watch Taehyung’s face soften almost immediately, the haughty façade melting into something much more open. He nods, the barest tilt of his head, and Hoseok takes a deep breath.
“This has been the worst month of my life,” Hoseok says. “I got fired, all my friends hate me, and I had about two weeks’ worth of rent saved up before I bought the ticket to come back home. And then I got on this plane, all sweaty and disgusting and broke, and you sat down next to me, and I just thought—it had to be a joke, right? A big cosmic joke.”
He takes a deep breath, trying to organize the rest of his thoughts into something coherent enough that he can say it out loud.
“What’s the punchline?” Taehyung is frowning, now, looking confused and—concerned, maybe? Hoseok laughs, helplessly.
“Forty-five minutes ago I would have said the punchline is how beautiful you are,” he says.
“But not now?” Taehyung asks slowly.
“You’re being so nice,” Hoseok says helplessly, feeling pathetic. “I just don’t understand why you’re being so nice.”
The furrow between Taehyung’s eyebrows gets even deeper, his mouth opening in confusion.
“I’m not like, some saint, you know,” he says slowly. “I talked to you when you sat down because I thought you were really hot.”
“Oh,” Hoseok says faintly, blinking in surprise. It takes him a moment to process that. “Would you think even less of me if I told you that’s a huge relief?”
Taehyung barks out a startled laugh, his mouth opening wide with the force of it. Hoseok still can’t understand how one person can be so enchanting.
“No,” Taehyung smiles. “I’d appreciate your honesty.”
“That’s good to know,” Hoseok says, a little breathlessly. “I was being very honest.”
“I also think you’re nice,” Taehyung says quickly. “In case that wasn’t obvious.”
“Thanks,” Hoseok says, overwhelmed both by the speed and the totality of Taehyung’s forgiveness.
“And I’m broke, too,” Taehyung offers. “If that helps any.”
Hoseok laughs, startled.
“It doesn’t,” he says. “If we’re both broke, who’s gonna pay for coffee?”
Taehyung grimaces.
“Maybe we should go for a walk in the park instead,” he amends, and Hoseok laughs even harder, charmed.
“I’d like that,” he says. Taehyung straightens in his seat immediately, that big bright smile reappearing on his face.
“Really?” he asks, like he really thought Hoseok would say no.
“Of course,” Hoseok smiles, and Taehyung smiles back even harder.
“I’m really glad you sat down next to me,” Hoseok says abruptly. “I would have missed out on so much.”
“Yeah, there would have been no one to hold the barf bag,” Taehyung agrees gravely. Hoseok swats his arm with a squawk.
“That’s not what I meant,” he protests, laughing. He’s still trying to come up with a way to properly convey his sincerity when a sharp jolt startles him, scattering his thoughts. Hoseok whips head around to look out the window, a knot of anxiety already forming in his stomach, only to find—
Huh.
“We landed,” Hoseok says, surprised. He stares at the hulking grey of the airport, watching for a moment as the plane slowly taxis them to the gate, before he looks back at Taehyung.
“We did,” Taehyung says, smiling, his voice fond. “You made it.”
“Thanks to you,” Hoseok says honestly. “I never would have made it without you.”
“You can pay me back by getting coffee with me,” Taehyung winks, brazen. Hoseok can’t tell if it’s a cheesy joke or if he really means it, but something flutters in Hoseok’s chest either way.
“A walk in the park with you,” he corrects, smiling, and Taehyung laughs that big, open laugh.
“Right,” he agrees. “We’ll start with a walk in the park.”
There’s a soft ding as the seatbelt light blinks out, their fellow passengers starting to move in their seats immediately. The flight attendant is speaking over the PA system, thanking them for their business.
Hoseok ignores all of it, keeps smiling at Taehyung instead.