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Can you blame natural disasters on three month olds?
If said three month old is, like, the holy infant Thor or something then, like, maybe.
But if that baby is your newborn cousin twice removed or some shit? Yeah, probably not.
Yoongi supposed it wasn’t entirely the baby’s fault. It didn’t ask to be born in September.
And it certainly didn’t ask for Yoongi’s mom to decide that now was a good time to go visit the new little family in Tokyo for the holidays, where his cousin worked for some fashion magazine. According to his mother (and Jeju Air), it was only a two hour flight. At least thirty-two flights ran between Seoul and Tokyo every day across various airlines. No problem, easy peasy. His mom even bought his ticket and he got to spend some quality (frigid) time shopping out in the open (absolutely freezing) air of some of the best shopping on the (completely fucking frozen ) planet. He got some pretty neat gifts to bring back. He probably had frost bite on the end of his nose and was gonna have to have it amputated when he got back to Korea, but he got new headphones so maybe it balanced out??
Even if the baby was only partially to blame, that didn’t change the fact that it was 10:23pm on New Years Eve and Min Yoongi was unquestionably not back in Seoul in time for his company countdown party like his mom had promised he’d be. Because the runway of the Haneda Airport was covered in an unmistakable blanket of white bullshit otherwise known as snow .
Snow that was falling from the heavens where no-longer-a-holy-infant-Thor was undoubtedly laughing at him. Snow that nobody in their right mind would even dare to call ‘flakes’, but rather clumps, or wads, or congregations of frozen hatred. Snow that was showing absolutely no signs of stopping any time soon. Snow, that had piled so high on the runway that the airport staff had given up on battling it twenty minutes ago. He knows.
At 10:03pm on New Years Eve, Min Yoongi had been standing at a very frosty window watching a cluster of very sad, cold little men with very big shovels get literally dog piled on by Mother Nature. Now, at 10:24pm on New Years Eve, the sinking realization that all the planes were grounded for the foreseeable future and that he was gonna be in Tokyo for the New Year had finally managed to stop seeming like a bad dream and was in the process of being accepted accepted by his severely under caffeinated brain as reality .
And maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad; Maybe he wouldn’t be so inclined to blame three month old infants and ancient nordic gods for all his woes if every inch of the terminal wasn’t trying to suffocate him with Christmas. Was it really so much to ask that by December 31st he be capable of walking through a public place without being accidentally festooned with glitter from bumping into an inconveniently placed wreath or choking on the cloying scent of cinnamon and cloves? Shouldn’t he be able to walk into a building to escape the sun and not have to squint more in self-defense of his corneas from the onslaught of red and green and gold and so many lights ? Shouldn’t he be able to go pick up his dry cleaning without hearing the same overdone holiday song sung by twelve different western artists and half a dozen idol groups in a two block radius? Store fronts, cafes, his uber driver, all playing the same Justin Bieber rendition of ‘All I Want for Christmas Is You’.
And now he was here for the foreseeable future, standing in a terminal that smelled like old lady perfume and carpet cleaner, where every chair was wrapped in a shimmering strand of garland, topped off with a bow and little bell that jingled everytime he shifted his weight.
Min Yoongi wasn’t terrible.
He wasn’t, like, a grinch or anything.
He just didn’t get what the big deal was. Why did everyone lose their ever loving minds when it came to Christmas? Why did people drive themselves to the brink of a mental breakdown over gingerbread men and trying to coordinate their wrapping paper to the ornaments on their trees? Why did people blow thousands on gifts for kids they saw maybe once a year? Why did his mom, who hadn’t mentioned his cousin even once since they got the birth announcement in the mail, suddenly decide that seeing them for the holidays was something that they absolutely had to do? Maybe if every square centimeter of the planet wasn’t covered in tinsel, she wouldn’t have had some sort of pine-scented guilt trip and shoved them all onto an airplane without checking the weather.
Back to the severely under caffeinated part of this particular plane of hell he was currently living in; He needed a damn cup of coffee like fifteen minutes ago. He’d been holding out hope that the snow would stop and the plane would take off so that he could get a cup of something cheap and disgusting on the plane, but alas it looked like he was gonna have to shell out the cash for Starbucks. Well, plastic, because who the fuck carried cash? But still. He was gonna have to pay for that shit.
With one last longing look at the powdery apocalypse outside, Yoongi shoved his hands into the pockets of the thirteenth stark black oversized hoodie he’d received from his mother for Christmas since he’d turned thirteen, and slumped off towards the main drag of the terminal. The quirky strains of the Trans Siberian Orchestra piped through the fuzzy speaker overhead as he scanned the terminal map, pinpointing the closest coffee kiosk. Luckily, it was just around the corner.
There was quite a queue of people waiting to order. Other passengers, who had finally accepted their fate as permanent terminal dwellers and then went in search of sustenance, no doubt. Being the one and only Min Yoongi, he had long ago mastered the art of sleeping while standing up. He dosed with his nose nestled in the soft fabric of his scarf. The line would move just the slightest bit and his feet would shuffle forward on auto pilot, drawn by the promise of the bitter salvation contained in the mystical coffee beans ahead.
Two customers from the front he cracked an eye open and pretended to peer at the menu. It was polite to at least consider ordering something new. It made you look less like a mindless zombie looking for your next fix. Even if you knew deep down you we’re gonna order an americano with an extra shot of espresso, you still had to pretend you were gonna at least think about ordering whatever peppermint flavored bullshit the barista was contractually obligated to attempt to sell to you. You at least had to pretend to be human. It was part of living in polite society.
At least that’s what his roommate told him.
He got his americano (the barista had made a really good show of trying to sell him a bag of their ‘christmas blend’. He didn’t know how having a distinct ‘cedar taste’ was supposed to be a selling point, but to each their own.) Then he managed to find himself a tiny one person table in a dark corner of the shop where he’d thought he could drink his coffee in peace, but alas, he should just stop using his brain because thinking was doing him absolutely no good and now there was a man with obnoxiously white blonde hair styled in an equally obnoxious swoop asking him if it was okay to sit down and he had dimples.
And now he was sitting down. Yoongi didn’t remember answering. He remembered grunting, but maybe that was enough of a yes for a guy with hair that looked like an advertisement for L’Oreal and the local ski slope all at once.
“Your flight get delayed?” the man asked in Japanese, his tone conversational and easy as he sipped his coffee, smiling at Yoongi over the rim of his peppermint scented something and Yoongi grunted again, adjusting his grip around the warm ceramic of his coffee cup.
“Sorry, my Japanese is pretty shit.” He mumbled.
“It sounds alright to me. You know the word for shit.” The man smiled even brighter, the syllables of the language dancing off his tongue like prima ballerinas in their prime.
“Aren’t the first words everyone learns in any new language the dirty ones?” Yoongi quips, a small smile tilting up the corners of his mouth.
“Statistically the first word most people learn is ‘Hello’, but I guess swear words probably aren't far behind.” The man said. When he spoke again, it was in Korean. “I’m gonna make a wild guess and say you’re heading to Seoul? This terminal only had two flights leaving and the other was for Sapporo.”
Yoongi nodded, more than a bit relieved to not have to drag his three years of college level Japanese out of the considerably more dusty portions of his brain just to make polite chit-chat over coffee. Once he had been proficient enough to land a solid C average, but other than the occasional business call he rarely used the language anymore. Supposedly, once you have learned a second language using it after long periods of time where you didn’t speak it at all was similar to riding a bike, i.e. you never forget; but the last time he rode a bike he fell off, so what did that say about him?
“Seoul?” He asked, then winced because didn’t he just say the only flight other that Sapporo was Seoul?
“Seoul.” The man confirmed. “Kim Namjoon.”
Yoongi dipped his head in a slight bow, “Min Yoongi."
Kim Namjoon returned the gesture, taking a long sip from his holiday concoction of horror. The smell of peppermint and chocolate was strong enough to drown out the scent of Yoongi’s americano and he couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose at the stench. Before he could stop himself he was blurting out,
“I don’t know how people can drink that shit.” He flushed and quickly corrected himself “-uh, stuff. Too sweet.” He amended.
Namjoon cocked an amused brow, taking another sip of his coffee. He shrugged.
“I like it.” Another long sip. “Keeps the holiday spirit alive.”
Yoongi pouted,
“Wish it would die already.”
Namjoon grinned,
“Not a fan of the holidays.”
Yoongi burrowed deeper into his scarf, avoiding both Namjoon’s gaze and the force of his dimples,
“Just not a fan of all the fuss.” He cleared his throat, “So, Seoul? What’s in Seoul? For you, I mean.”
“Family. My parents live in Seoul. Well, Goyang. They live in Ilsan. So Seoul.”
“My family is from Daegu. I betrayed them by participation in that vast migration of 20-somethings looking for greener pastures in the capital. For the most part they’ve forgiven me, but only if I speak in satoori when I’m home. Seoul dialect is liable to get me disowned.”
“It’s that fiery Gyeongsang blood.” Namjoon agreed, nodding solemnly, but Yoongi could just barely see the way his dimples strained to be free as he suppressed a smile. “So what do you do in your greener pasture, my newly minted Seoulite friend?”
“Right now?” Yoongi shifted his coffee cup, searching out a spot on the ceramic that his palms hadn’t managed to leech the heat out of yet. “Right now I’m teaching piano to trainees at an entertainment company. I’m hoping they’ll let me try my hand at producing a track soon but I’m not holding my breath. Small companies have small budgets and they can’t have too many cooks in the kitchen. I’m just waiting for a bigger company to like some of my demos, then I’m packing up and moving on to the next place. What about you, Mr. Ilsan?”
“My parents live in Ilsan. I live in Hongdae.”
Yoongi wanted to ignore the little lurch in his stomach because he lived in Hongdae, but then again so did a couple thousand other people.
“Do you go to Mobssie Chocolate or Cheesecake?”
Namjoon laughed, loud and bright.
“Honestly? Chocolate. My coworkers tease me about it because they say Mobssie is for girls, but it’s cake? Cake is for everyone.” He said firmly.
“Their lose.” Yoongi shrugged, “The correct answer to the question was both, by the way, on alternating Tuesdays.”
“Why Tuesdays?”
“Because that’s my one afternoon off work.” Yoongi said, trying to be bold about how he was meeting Namjoon’s eyes. At some point his brain had decided to flirt, somewhere around dimples, and Hongdae, and how easy Namjoon was to talk to. He was even willing to forgive him his obvious failures as both a coffee drinker and someone who carried in their heart any kind of enthusiasm for Christmas.
“Tuesdays…” Namjoon repeated, and now his slight little smile had transformed into a slight little smirk. “I think I can manage a few Tuesdays. Maybe I’ll see you there..”
“Maybe.” Yoongi returned his smirk over the rim of his mug.
“So is your disdain for the holidays situational or just like a default state?”
“I think it’s written into my base programing, unfortunately. There’s not a thing about this time of year that appeals to me. The colors clash, the music is too peppy, the smiles are too fake, and the lights are too bright. And my paycheck gets a bonus but somehow I still manage to come out of the end of the year with considerably less money.”
Namjoon shrugged easily,
“Well, I love it. You see the commercialism and I’ll admit that can be the most grating part, but a lot of good comes out of this time of year, too. Charity, for example.”
“Charity should be a moral imperative, though. Not just something you do in light of the ‘holiday spirit’.”
“Undoubtedly, but charity is still charity, someone still benefits from it even if the charitable donation was fueled more by guilt than a genuine want to help those in need. Regardless, I try to see the holidays as a time to share love with one another; being with your loved ones and just bringing overall joy into the lives of others. Think about it. I bet you can think of at least one thing you like about this time of year?”
Yoongi didn’t even know why he was entertaining this conversation. Flirting was one thing. Subtle hinting at a Serendipitous Maybe Date at Mobssie in the near future was another. Having a debate about the meaning of Christmas fifteen minutes after meeting a guy in a crowded airport during a snowstorm? Nightmare fuel.
Yet here he was, Min Yoongi- Thinking Seriously About The Holidays With A Cute Boy.
“Being with friends and family is the biggest one, of course. Gifts aren’t always a bad thing; seeing the face of the person you gave the perfect gift to light up as they open their present is a wonderful feeling on it's own. Just knowing that you're making someone happy… I guess it’s a pretty great feeling. I whined about my check earlier but I kinda love to shop. I love to shop for other people. Think about what they’d want, what they need. It’s a good feeling.”
Namjoon was full blown smiling at him now. His hand slid across the table, his fingers brushing Yoongi’s in a deliberate way. Yoongi felt like he was high, high on the smell of peppermint and chocolate and the sight of a perfect pair of dimples. It was the only logical reason he nudged his hand closer, let this near-perfect stranger run their thumb over his knuckles in a caress that felt warm and kind in the chill of the airport terminal.
“I teach over at Hongik. Poetry. You have a way with words. It’s not flowery or ornate or any of those words people think of when they talk about poetry, but it’s captivating nonetheless. I’ll meet you at Mobssie, Min Yoongi, but if that goes well, I'd like you to know that I plan to take you out on a date.”
Yoongi’s whole face turned red in one giant wave of heat. He sputtered over his coffee, out the cup down out of fear of dropping it. Namjoon watched him, his eyes were kind and fond and Yoongi thought he might have preferred it if he just laughed at him instead of looking just so soft and perfect .
Yoongi stood up from the table abruptly.
“Yeah, totally. A date. I mean, Hongdae is a big place and there sure are a lot of Tuesdays what like fifty-two of them every year? I’m sure we’ll run into each other and then we can eat some cake? Cool? I’m gonna go check the departures board, bye!”
He left his cup on the table and booked it out of the Starbucks, back to the Gate 15 with its festoons of garland and its jingle bells and its piped in Trans Siberain Orchestra and he sat. He sat down hard in a chair and watched with a sense of bewildered exasperation as glitter rained down to coat his shoes as he tried not to think about going on a date with a pretty boy with dimples, a wide, toothy smile, and ski slope hair.
It was a good twenty minutes later when another body settled into the chair next to his.
“Did I push too hard? Sometimes I think I’m being suave but I’m just being a creep. You gotta tell me if I’m being a creep.”
“You weren’t being a creep.” Yoongi mumbled into his scarf because he was definitely one-hundred percent asleep.
Namjoon didn’t say anything else and when Yoongi chanced a glance from underneath his hood he saw that he’d slipped in a pair of airpods and was taking notes as he listened to something on his phone. Yoongi relaxed then. Let himself mold to the plastic and the garland and the glitter that made up the molecular make-up of his chosen airport terminal chair.
He must have really fallen asleep because it seemed like only moments later Namjoon was shaking him awake. Yoongi jerked awake, confusion clouding his mind as he tried to figure out exactly why Namjoon was waking him up. He followed Namjoon’s pointing finger and realized that all the other passengers were gathering around a bank of large, colorful LED screens where the countdown to the New Year was being broadcasted. Namjoon stood up to walk that direction and like a puppet on a string Marionette Yoongi stood and followed him. The crowd was dense and Yoongi, while not a short man, was not a tall man either. Namjoon was a tall man. Namjoon was a tall man who took Yoongi’s hand and pulled him through the crowd to a corner near the bank of monitors that was less claustrophobic.
The countdown flashed on the screen and the airport patrons counted along, their voices echoing around the empty terminal as-
“Three, Two, One!”
People turned to their loved ones and hugged. Colleagues shook hands and wished each other a Happy New Year. A few couples exchanged polite, public pecks on the lips. Out on the tarmac the snow had stopped falling and industrial snow plows were making a path for the salt trucks. An announcement overhead stated that the tentative departure of their flight was scheduled for four o’clock in the morning.
Yoongi turned to Namjoon to wish him a Happy New Year, when he saw it;
A small sprig of green, shiny red berries, and a cheerful red ribbon. Someone had hung it over the departure boards, probably in a kind-hearted attempt to give separating couples one last excuse to kiss good-bye.
“Namjoon…” He said, his voice cracked a bit on the last syllable but he couldn’t help it, just like he couldn’t help the grin tugging at his lips. “I just thought of something else I like about Christmas.”
“Hmm?” Namjoon said, turning away from the window. He followed Yoongi’s gaze up, confused. When he spotted the sprig of mistletoe he froze and Yoongi stepped forward. Maybe his coffee kicked in. Maybe the nap stalled his brain and his system hadn't finished rebooting yet. Maybe he just wanted to kiss a cute boy on New Years Eve under the mistletoe.
Maybe he’d only known Kim Namjoon for collectively about two hours and he already thought he was pretty damn great.
He wrapped his arms around Namjoon’s neck, gave him plenty of time to push him away if this wasn’t something he wanted, but Namjoon’s hands settled on his waist as he pulled his closer and Namjoon’s head dipped down and Yoongi tipped his face up and then they were kissing.
It was sweet, gentle, and soft. A plush press of lips against his and a strong pair of hands gently squeezing his waist that promised more; one day.
“Happy New Year, Kim Namjoon.” He murmured against Namjoon’s lips.
“Happy New Year, Min Yoongi.”
Yoongi wondered if it was inappropriate to write a three month old a thank you card for inadvertently causing a person to get stuck in an airport and meet a cute boy with dimples, a wide, toothy smile, ski slope hair, and the prettiest mouth he’d ever kissed.