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Minho enjoyed flying. The freedom of looking out the window and seeing nothing but the ariel view of towns and mountains, yhr blue sky and fluffy clouds- yeah, he enjoyed flying.
It wasn't an often occurance, he was a salaryman, for a decent company. He was payed enough to live comfortable in Seoul, without travel. So a few times a year he was splurge and fly somewhere.
This year, he was flying to Roma, Italia. He was pretty stoked- since it was his first time in Italia, and only his second time in Europe. He rolled his suitcase up to a open bench in his gate and sighed as he sat down. He had a baggy pair of sweatpants on with a random T-shirt he got from his company maybe 3 years ago. He glanced up, the large scaled board showing times of departures and gates. It read:
Roma, Italia : A75 : 10:00
It was currently 9:00 after security and check-in. Minho begrudgingly got up and looked around. He was hungry, and wasn't keen on buying more airplane food than necessary. He settled on a small café that wasn't terribly packed. He ordered a cappuccino and a muffin before sitting down at a two seater table. A minute or so later, his items were delivered smoothly and all he could do was smile and enjoy the window view. As time passed, the area for more and more crowded, leaving almost no space for anyone new to sit. Just as Minho was about to start his muffin, someone tapped his shoulder. He looked up from his muffin to see a man- probably his own age, in a flight attendant suit and a Red and navy blue tie. He had a stewardess’ hat tucked under his arm and a roller bag beside him.
And he was- perfect. Perfect facial harmony, perfect posture and smile which he was looking at Minho with.
“Excuse me, is this seat reserved?” He asked lightly, Minho closing his mouth only to open it again to speak.
“No, please go ahead.” He gestured to the seat in front of him. The attendant smiled and happily sat down with the coffee he had picked up from the café prior. Minho stayed silent as the man sipped his drink. He didn't know if it was appropriate to say anything, but man, he looked like an angel.
“Are you,” Minho started a bit quiet. “A flight attendant?”
The man looked up and nodded. “I am,” He smiled. “Where are you heading?”
Minho looked down at the table. “Roma,” He said after a moment. “Italia.”
The man nodded. “I’m attending one of the Roma flights today. It’s a lovely place. Italia in general.”
Minho looked at the man's eyes and nodded. “How often are you overseas?”
A hum came from the man before he finally spoke. “I usually do domestic flights. Maybe once a month I go to Europe or to the U.S.”
Minho let out a “Ohh,” sound quietly before nodding. He was still entranced by this man- but there was something so warm about him that made him comfortable.
Minho looked at his watch briefly, the flight attendant following his actions. He let out an “oops”, and stood up. “Sorry, I should get going.” Minho looked up at him, and nodded.
“Right, I hope you have a good rest of your day.”
The attendant nodded but before walking away he held out his hand. “I’m Han. You are?” Minho reluctantly met the other's hand in a shake. “Lee. Minho.” He added.
Han smiled and let go, turning around. “Have fun in Italia!” He said happily before walking away. Minho took his last sip of his cappuccino before he stood up grabbing his luggage. He threw his trash away and walked calmly to his gate once again. He sat down in a chair near the front desk and pulled out his phone.
Danceracha
Minho: Guys, I just saw the hottest man I’ve ever seen in my life.
And not even a few seconds later, the group chat exploded.
Felix: What?!
Hyunjin: Where???
Hyunjin: I thought you were at the airport!
Felix: Is it one of those guys who sit nonchalantly and look pretty in the chairs beside their gate? 😍
Hyunjin: Wtf? Why so specific?
Minho snickered to himself.
Minho: No, he was a flight attendant. Even better. Uniform.
Hyunjin: Oh my god not the uniform kink again
Felix: LOLOL i agree w jinnie
Felix: What's his name?!
Minho: Han is his name, that's all I got
Hyunjin: Oh cute name though
“Priority boarding for light 0268 Roma Italia has begun,” A voice rang through the gate, alerting Minho. Through his job, he gets priority flights for Korean airlines almost every time.
Minho: Sorry i’m boarding now, tell you guys more later
And with that he shut off his phone and got into line.
Han hustled into the plane, meeting with his coworkers for a quick brief before the passengers started boarding.
“This is a flight to Roma, Italia,” The pilot said, laying back and flipping through the manual like he’d done this a hundred times. “Remember your announcements and honestly,” He looked up. “Nothing else. You know how to do your jobs.”
Han nodded along with the other attendants, eventually they all dispersed to their different places. Han stood up front with Hanna to welcome passengers on board before he would have to close the door and do the safety instructions.
“You okay Hannie?” She asked suddenly, as they stood waiting for passengers. “You look a bit dazed.” Han looked down at her before sheepishly smiling. “Don’t worry. I’m okay,” He said, giving a small fist.
She couldn't help but laugh. “Oh come on. I’ve flown with you so much to know your little ‘fighting!’ trick.” She mimicked his actions of pumping his fist.
He couldn't help but sigh. “I met this guy this morning.” He said quietly, cheeks turning slightly red.
Hanna covered her mouth. “My! You’re kidding.” She laughed. “What was he like? A pilot?”
Han shook his hands. “No, passenger. He said he was also going to Roma. I hope he’s on this flight. His name is Lee Minho,” He smiled. “He was so pretty- like a model. I thought he was but he was all alone.”
Hanna hummed. “Okay, I’ll check through the rows to see if I can find someone strikingly handsome. Plus, if he is on this flight, you have like 13 hours to strike a conversation!” She giggled.
Han shoved her lightly, clearly embarrassed.
“Han, open the door.” The pilot said, peeking out from the cockpit unimpressed.
“Oh, right.” He cleared his throat and opened the slightly complicated process of opening the aircraft door.
And as Han stepped back and waited a few minutes, priority passengers began their way into the plane. Han and Hanna began on their constant wave of “Welcome in” or “Welcome aboard”. That was until about half way through the group, Han paused. He flipped his head over to Hanna and whispered.
“Him! Sweatpants and navy blue t-shirt. Brown hair. That’s him!” He then very quickly switched back to greeting passengers.
Hanna looked back and behind about 10 people in the terminal to the aircraft and she could only see the top of peoples heads. “Huh? Where?” She whispered, up on her tiptoes.
Han cleared his throat as finally, he did approach. Han watched as Minho’s eyes widened for a moment and he smiled in a way that made Han’s knees weak.
“Nice to see you again,” He said with a small wave.
“S-same here.” Han barely managed to get out before smiling and gesturing in the aircraft. “Welcome aboard.”
Minho smiled and nodded, looking back at his boarding pass to reaffirm his seat number.
“Gosh, you were right!” Hanna keyed her elbow into Han’s side. “He is gorgeous.”
“Shush,” He said under his breath, walking towards where the cart and all the food and drinks were held. As much as he did wish Minho would be on his flight, he didn’t actually want it to happen. Now Hanna would make him do everything as she watched and giggled. Great, just what he wanted to be doing.
As priority boarded, non-priority started filing in. He was banished from welcoming and instead would stand at the front and observe the lanes to make sure everything was flowing efficiently. Of course, this was actually Hanna’s way of “hooking up” Han with his new infatuation– As he didn’t know where he sat. Fortunately, or unfortunately, Han’s eyes quickly found Minho’s in the aircraft. He was five rows down in the middle of the plane. He sat on the aisle, Han’s aisle, and he gave a soft smile. Gosh, of course this would happen to Han. He had to meet the hottest guy wearing the ugliest uniform known to man. The aircompany he worked for, Uni-Korea, was doing a promotion for some other company and they had limited edition uniforms.
He was wearing grey dress pants with a royal blue stripe along the side of them. His shirt, also grey, was tucked in by a black belt. His name tag was royal blue as well, highlighting HAN JISUNG in bold black letters. Okay. Maybe he was exaggerating. It wasn’t the worst– but his normal solid, sleek black uniform made him look more professional.
“What are you thinking about lover boy? You should get on announcements.” Hanna’s eyes were shaped like crescent moons as her smile got wider. In every domestic flight, Hanna or another attendant would make announcements. But on international ones, Han did. He knew several languages, and one of those happened to be Italian.
He groaned, but grabbed the PA system phone and pressed it to his ear.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Uni-Korea’s flight A75 to Roma, Italia.” He spoke into the microphone with eased perfection. “This flight will be 13 hours and 40 minutes, and you will be arriving at 4:40 pm in Roma. Your captain is Woo Jeongwon and co-captain is Seong Mark.” He eyed Hanna and looked back at the ground. “Your attendants are Kim Hanna, Han Jisung and Lee Hyeori. Please ring the attendants button if you need any help. Enjoy your flight.”
Hanna clapped quietly as Han pulled out a small notepad. He had written down the Italian for the announcements. Just because he can speak it doesn't mean he’s fluent.
“Signore e signori, benvenuti a bordo del volo A75 della Uni-Korea diretto a Roma, Italia. Il volo durerà 13 ore e 40 minuti e l'arrivo a Roma è previsto per le 16:40. Il vostro comandante è Woo Jeongwon e il copilota è Seong Mark. Gli assistenti di volo sono Kim Hanna, Han Jisung e Lee Hyeori. Vi preghiamo di premere il pulsante di chiamata se avete bisogno di assistenza. Buon volo.”
He spoke in a rushed tone, slight Korean accent, but he finished. The passengers started clapping once he put the phone back on the stand. He kind of hated giving announcements, being the center of attention. It was never his forte– He just liked languages and somehow that back fired on him.
“Woo! That’s my multilingual Hannie.” Hanna smiled and clapped his back. “I’m such a fan.”
“Stop it,” Han said grumbling. “You suck.”
“I know.”
The plane taxied for what felt like forever, the seatbelt sign glowing steadily overhead while the safety video played on every seatback screen in three different languages. Minho watched it out of habit more than necessity, he'd flown enough times to know the routine, the oxygen masks, the flotation devices, the exits that may be behind you.
What he didn't expect was for his eyes to keep drifting five rows up, where he could just barely see the crown of Han's head bobbing between the aisle seats as he checked that trays were stowed and seatbacks were upright.
He looked good doing his job. Annoyingly good.
"Sir, could you stow your bag fully under the seat in front of you?" Han's voice carried down the aisle, polite and practiced, and Minho smiled to himself at how different it sounded from the soft, slightly shy tone he'd used at the café.
By the time the plane leveled out somewhere above the clouds, the cabin lights dimmed to a warm amber, and the seatbelt sign clicked off with a small chime. Minho stretched as much as his seat allowed and pulled his phone from airplane mode just long enough to check the group chat one more time before he'd lose signal for the next thirteen hours.
Danceracha
Hyunjin: did u get on the plane??
Felix: did the hot flight attendant carry your bags onto the plane personally 😩
Minho: he's literally working my flight
Minho: I think the universe hates me
Hyunjin: WHAT Hyunjin: explain. now.
Felix: MINHO
Minho: he's an attendant on THIS flight. to Roma. I saw him when I boarded
Felix: oh my god Felix: oh my GOD
Hyunjin: this is fate. this is literally fate hyung
Minho: it's a 13 hour flight hyunjin not a fairytale
Hyunjin: 13 HOURS???? thats so much time to fall in love
Felix: HSJSJSJ
Minho: I'm turning my phone off before you guys give me a heart attack
He smiled despite himself as he switched to airplane mode, tucking his phone into the seat pocket in front of him. The man beside him, an older gentleman with reading glasses perched on his nose, had already fallen asleep against the window, a paperback open on his lap.
Minho settled back, glancing toward the front of the cabin where the attendants were beginning their first beverage service. He could see Han pushing the cart, leaning slightly to ask each row their preference, his expression friendly and easy with every single passenger— which, Minho realized with a small twinge of something he refused to name, probably meant nothing about this morning had been special. This was just who Han was. Warm. Open. Effortlessly kind to strangers in cafés and strangers on planes alike.
It took nearly twenty minutes for the cart to work its way back to Minho's row.
"Something to drink?" Han asked, not yet looking up from the tray he was preparing, voice falling into the same polished customer-service cadence he'd used with everyone else.
"Surprise me," Minho said.
Han's head snapped up so fast Hanna, working the opposite side of the aisle, had to bite back a laugh.
"Oh-" Han blinked, and then the professional mask cracked into something much more familiar, much warmer, the corner of his mouth tugging upward. "You're really going to make me work for this."
"You said you usually do domestic flights," Minho said, resting his elbow on the armrest, chin in his palm. "I figured I'd test how good you actually are at surprises."
Han huffed, but he was smiling, reaching for a can. "Orange juice. No ice, since it's already cold enough up here." He poured it into a plastic cup with the kind of care most people reserved for cocktails, and set it on Minho's tray table along with a small packet of pretzels. "There. Surprised?"
"A little disappointed there wasn't more drama involved," Minho said, but he picked up the cup anyway, tasting it. Orange juice, no ice. Exactly what he would have ordered if he'd been asked, truth be told.
"I have a knack for reading people," Han said, straightening the cart. "Occupational hazard."
"Is that what they teach you in flight attendant school? Reading minds?"
"No," Han said. "That's just talent." He winked, an actual wink, ridiculous and a little dorky— before pushing the cart forward to the next row, Hanna shooting Minho a look over her shoulder that he couldn't quite decipher, somewhere between delighted and exasperated.
Minho sipped his orange juice and tried very hard not to grin like an idiot in front of a stranger who happened to be asleep beside him.
⊹˚₊
Dinner service came a few hours later, the cabin filled with the low clatter of trays and the smell of reheated food that never quite tasted as good as it looked on the menu card. Minho picked at his bibimbap, mixing the gochujang in slow circles, when he noticed Han crouched in the aisle beside his row, voice hushed.
"How is it?" Han asked.
"Airplane food," Minho said simply, and Han laughed, quiet enough not to disturb the sleeping man by the window.
"Fair. For what it's worth, the chicken's usually better than the beef on this route."
"Good to know for next time," Minho said, and then immediately regretted how it sounded, like he was implying there'd be a next time, like he was implying anything at all. But Han didn't seem to mind. If anything, something flickered across his face, pleased and a little shy, before Hanna called his name from up front and he had to straighten and excuse himself.
The hours blurred the way long flights always did. Minho watched half a movie he couldn't remember the name of, dozed for what felt like ten minutes and turned out to be nearly four hours, and woke to the cabin lights dimmed even further, most of the windows shuttered against a sun that didn't exist at thirty-five thousand feet somewhere over Siberia.
He stretched as quietly as he could and made his way to the back of the plane, past the galley, where he found the lavatory queue mercifully short. When he emerged, Han was there, leaning against the counter in the small galley space, a paper cup of what smelled like instant coffee in his hands, looking somewhere between exhausted and wired the way people only get on overnight flights.
"You're still up?" Minho asked.
"Long flight, short crew rotation," Han said, rubbing at one eye. "I get a break in about an hour. You should be sleeping."
"I slept already. A little." Minho leaned against the opposite counter, careful not to get in the way of Hyeori, who slid past them both with an armful of blankets. "Don't you get tired of all this flying back and forth?"
Han considered the question seriously, like it mattered, like it wasn't just small talk in a cramped galley at three a.m. cabin time. "Sometimes," he admitted. "It's strange. You meet hundreds of people and you'll never see most of them again. You learn their coffee order or what makes them nervous about turbulence, and then they walk off the plane and that's it. Gone."
"That sounds lonely."
"It can be." Han's eyes flicked up to meet his, something quieter in them now than the easy charm from before. "But sometimes you meet someone in a café before a flight, and they end up sitting five rows back, and suddenly thirteen hours doesn't feel that long."
Minho felt his ears go warm and was grateful for the low cabin lighting. "That's a very specific scenario."
"I have a vivid imagination," Han said, but his voice had dropped, softer, like he wasn't sure he should have said that out loud.
The intercom crackled faintly from somewhere up front, turbulence warning, seatbelt sign, the captain's voice low and unbothered. Han straightened immediately, all business again, tossing his coffee cup in the small trash bin.
"I should go check the cabin," he said. "You should get back to your seat. Just in case."
"Right," Minho said, though he found himself reluctant to move. "I'll see you in…" he checked the small clock above the galley mirror, "-six more hours, apparently."
Han smiled, the tired kind that was somehow more genuine than the customer-service one. "I'll surprise you with another drink."
⊹˚₊
The turbulence was minor, a few bumps that had Minho's seatmate stirring awake with a small startled noise before falling promptly back asleep, paperback sliding off his lap. Minho picked it up and set it on the empty tray table, and settled back himself, scrolling through downloaded photos on his phone since the wifi signal had long since dropped.
It was nearly an hour later when he felt someone crouch beside his seat again. Not pushing a cart this time, just Han, off-duty for his break apparently, hair slightly less neat than before, jacket discarded somewhere in favor of just the dress shirt with sleeves rolled to his elbows.
"Hey," Han whispered, careful not to wake the man by the window. "Can't sleep either?"
"Not really," Minho admitted. "Don't you have a break? Shouldn't you be resting?"
"I have a crew rest area in the back, but it's basically a closet with a curtain," Han said, wrinkling his nose. "I'd rather not."
"So instead you're bothering passengers."
"Just one passenger," Han corrected, settling onto the floor of the aisle, knees bent, looking entirely too comfortable sitting cross-legged in a darkened cabin at four in the morning Korea time. "The one who said I should surprise him."
Minho glanced down at him, something fond curling unexpectedly in his chest. "You're going to get in trouble."
"Probably," Han agreed cheerfully. "Worth it."
They talked in hushed voices for what felt like both five minutes and an hour, about nothing important, really. Han talked about growing up in Seoul, how he'd almost gone into music production before falling sideways into this job through a friend who worked for the airline. Minho talked about his job, dry and unglamorous compared to flying across continents, though Han seemed genuinely interested anyway, asking follow-up questions instead of letting the conversation die the way most people did when he mentioned spreadsheets and quarterly reports.
"You said you don't travel much," Han said at one point, chin propped on his knee. "Why Roma, then? Why now?"
Minho thought about it. "I don't know. I saved up, I had vacation days, and I always wanted to see it. My friends kept telling me to just go before I talked myself out of it again." He shrugged. "So I did."
"I'm glad you did," Han said, quiet enough that it almost got lost under the hum of the engines.
Minho's heart did something complicated and inconvenient in his chest. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," Han said, and then, like he'd caught himself being too honest, he cleared his throat and glanced toward the front of the cabin. "I mean— it's nice. Meeting passengers who actually want to talk instead of just demanding extra pretzels."
"I also want extra pretzels," Minho said.
Han laughed, louder than he probably should have for the hour, quickly muffling it with his hand when the sleeping man stirred again. "Noted. I'll smuggle you a whole bag."
"Bold promises from a man on his break."
"I follow through on my promises," Han said, mock offended, and something about the easy warmth of it, of him- all of him, sitting on an airplane floor at four in the morning just to talk to someone he'd known for less than a day, made Minho feel distinctly, dangerously fond.
"Han Jisung," Minho said slowly, testing the full name out loud for the first time. "Why does that sound familiar?"
Han raised an eyebrow. "Should it?"
"I don't know. Maybe I've seen your name tag in a dream," Minho deadpanned, and Han pressed a hand to his chest like he'd been wounded.
"That's the smoothest thing anyone's said to me on a plane and it was also the weirdest."
"I contain multitudes."
A soft chime sounded from somewhere near the galley, Hanna's voice, faint, calling Han's name with clear amusement in her tone even from a distance. Han sighed and pushed himself up off the floor, wincing as his knees protested.
"Duty calls," he said. "I'll come find you before we land. Promise."
"You said that about the pretzels too."
"I meant that one especially," Han said, and with one last glance- lingering, soft, a little disbelieving, like he still couldn't quite believe this morning's café stranger had ended up five rows back on his flight, he disappeared back up the aisle.
Minho sat there in the dim cabin a while longer, the hum of the engines steady beneath him, his orange juice long gone and his pretzels unopened on the tray table, and thought, with the particular clarity that only comes at four a.m. somewhere over a country he couldn't see, that this might be a very inconvenient way to fall for someone.
⊹˚₊
The next several hours passed in the strange suspended way that long-haul flights always did. Meals he barely remembered eating, a second movie he watched without absorbing a single plot point, brief snatches of sleep interrupted by the captain's intermittent announcements about cruising altitude and expected arrival time. Somewhere over what the map on the seatback screen indicated was Eastern Europe, the cabin lights came back up to a simulated dawn, soft and gradual, and the smell of coffee began drifting from the galley.
Han reappeared with the breakfast service, looking marginally more rested than he had during his break, hair re-styled, uniform jacket back on, tie straightened. But the moment he reached Minho's row, the polished customer-service smile dropped just slightly into something more familiar.
"Morning," he said, setting down a tray. "Coffee, tea, or another orange juice surprise?"
"Coffee," Minho said. "I think I'm going to need it."
"Rough night?"
"You kept me up talking on the floor of an airplane," Minho pointed out, and Han had the decency to look at least a little sheepish about it, even as Hanna snorted from somewhere behind the cart.
"Worth it though, right?" Han said, pouring the coffee with a flourish.
"I'll let you know after I've actually slept."
"You'll sleep in Roma," Han said, like it was obvious, like he'd already decided this. "Where are you staying, by the way?"
Minho hesitated. It was such a simple question, but something about answering it, giving away that detail, opening a door that might never close again, made his chest feel tight in a way that had nothing to do with turbulence. "Small hotel near the Trevi Fountain. Nothing fancy."
"That's a good area," Han said. "Lots of good gelato near there too, if you're interested. There's this place two streets over from the fountain, I always go when I have a layover."
"You have layovers in Roma?"
"Sometimes," Han said. "Not every flight, but-" He paused, like he was working up to something, glancing briefly toward the front of the cabin where Hanna was very obviously not paying attention to anything but very obviously listening. "This one, actually. I have a thirty-six hour layover before the return flight."
Minho's pulse did something unhelpful. "Oh."
"Yeah." Han rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking less like the easy, confident flight attendant from the café and more like the slightly nervous boy who'd asked if a seat was taken. "I don't know. If you wanted- I mean, if you're not busy, or if you have other plans already, that's totally fine too, I just thought-"
"Han."
"-gelato's really good there, is all I'm saying, and I know the city pretty well by now, so if you needed someone to show you around-"
"Han," Minho said again, more firmly this time, and Han finally stopped talking, looking at him with an expression that was equal parts hopeful and terrified of having overstepped. Minho let the silence sit for one beat too long, just to watch Han's face fall slightly, before he smiled. "I'd like that."
The relief that washed over Han's face was almost comical. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," Minho said. "Gelato sounds nice."
"Great." Han beamed, then seemed to remember where he was, glancing around at the half dozen other passengers waiting for their coffee, and cleared his throat, straightening into something more professional. "I mean- enjoy your coffee, sir. I'll, uh. I'll come find you before landing. To exchange numbers. For the gelato. Logistics."
"Logistics," Minho repeated, amused.
"Shut up," Han whispered, even as he was already turning to push the cart forward, ears bright red beneath his dark hair, and Minho heard Hanna's stifled laughter the second he was out of earshot.
⊹˚₊
By the time the seatbelt sign chimed on for final descent, the cabin bathed in the warm gold light of an Italian afternoon streaming through the window shades, Minho had exchanged numbers with Han in a rushed handoff near the galley, Han scribbling his number on the back of a cocktail napkin because there hadn't been time for anything more elegant, the pilot's voice already announcing their descent into Fiumicino.
"Text me when you land properly," Han had said, pressing the napkin into Minho's palm like it was something precious. "Not from baggage claim with sixteen people listening."
"You're very particular for someone who works in customer service."
"I contain multitudes," Han said, echoing Minho's own words back at him with a grin, before Hanna called him back to his jump seat for landing.
Minho settled into his own seat, the napkin folded carefully into his passport holder, and watched out the small window as the patchwork of Roman countryside rose up to meet them, terracotta roofs and green hills and, somewhere beyond the haze, the outline of a city he'd wanted to see his whole life.
His phone buzzed the second it found a signal, the moment the wheels touched down and the cabin filled with the soft thud of turbulence from the runway.
Danceracha
Hyunjin: did u land???
Felix: TELL US EVERYTHING
Felix: did anything happen with flight attendant guy
Minho: his name is Han Jisung
Minho: and he's free for the next 36 hours
Minho: and we're getting gelato
Hyunjin: …………………
Hyunjin: MINHO
Felix: SCREAMING. CRYING. THROWING UP.
Hyunjin: I TOLD YOU IT WAS FATE
Minho: it's not fate it's a coincidence and an exchange of phone numbers
Felix: it's literally a rom com is what it is
Hyunjin: "we met in a cafe and then i was on his flight" is not a normal sentence minho
Minho: I'm aware
He glanced up the aisle as the plane taxied toward the gate, passengers already shifting in their seats despite the seatbelt sign still glowing overhead, and caught Han's eye three rows up where he stood near the jump seat, watching him with a small, private smile that had nothing to do with customer service at all.
Minho smiled back, and outside the window, Roma waited, golden and warm and entirely unaware that it was about to play host to whatever this was beginning to become.
⊹˚₊
Customs took longer than Minho expected, the line snaking back and forth through the arrivals hall under signs in both Italian and English, and by the time he'd collected his suitcase from the carousel and changed enough euros to get a cab, nearly an hour had passed. He checked his phone the second he had a signal, half expecting nothing, half hoping for everything.
Unknown Number
Han: landed safe? 🙂
Han: i have to do a debrief with the crew but it shouldn't take long
Han: text me when you're settled into the hotel
Minho saved the number immediately, just "Han" for now, though Felix would no doubt insist on something more dramatic the second he found out, and typed back as the cab wound through unfamiliar streets, sunlight slanting gold across buildings the color of old paper.
Minho: just landed. cab now
Minho: this city is insane already and I haven't even left the airport road
Han: wait until you see the actual city
Han: i'll come find you once i'm done here. should be a couple hours
Han: get some sleep if you can, you'll want energy for tonight
Minho: bold of you to assume I'm not already exhausted enough to die
Han: die later. gelato first
He smiled at his phone the whole rest of the ride, ignoring the cab driver's curious glance in the rearview mirror, and didn't stop smiling even as the car pulled up outside a narrow building with flower boxes in every window, the Trevi Fountain glittering somewhere just out of sight at the end of the street.
⊹˚₊
The hotel room was small but charming in the way Minho had hoped for. Creaky wood floors, a window that opened onto a view of terracotta rooftops, a key that was an actual brass key rather than a card. He dropped his suitcase by the door, kicked off his shoes, and collapsed face-first onto the bed for exactly four minutes before his phone buzzed again.
Danceracha
Felix: SO. tell us about the hotel. tell us about the city. tell us about HIM
Hyunjin: is he there yet
Hyunjin: is he THERE
Minho: I just got here ten minutes ago calm down
Minho: he has a debrief thing first
Felix: a DEBRIEF
Felix: this man has a JOB and a UNIFORM and a DEBRIEF
Felix: I'm obsessed
Hyunjin: ok but for real. are you nervous
Minho stared at that message longer than he meant to, thumb hovering over the keyboard. He thought about Han's hand on his shoulder in the café, the ridiculous wink during drink service, the way he'd looked sitting cross-legged on the floor of a darkened airplane cabin at four in the morning like there was nowhere else in the world he'd rather be.
Minho: a little
Minho: it's stupid. I met him yesterday
Hyunjin: it's not stupid
Hyunjin: sometimes you just know
Felix: hyunjin telling minho about "just knowing" things is sending me. you cried for a week over the guy from your chem class
Hyunjin: THAT WAS DIFFERENT
Hyunjin: i was right tho. we've been together for two years
Minho: not helping my nerves jinnie
Felix: just be yourself hyung!! you're disgustingly charming when you try, the man already gave you his number unprompted on an airplane
Felix: he's already smitten. you don't have anything to worry about
Minho set his phone down on the nightstand, breathed out slowly, and let himself drift for what he intended to be a short nap.
He woke nearly two hours later to the soft late-afternoon light slanting through gauzy curtains and a text waiting on his lock screen.
Han: debrief's done. you alive?
Minho: barely. give me twenty minutes
Han: take your time. i'll be outside the fountain. you can't miss it, it's just. a giant fountain
Minho: very helpful directions
Han: i contain multitudes, not maps
⊹˚₊
The Trevi Fountain was louder than Minho expected, not the water itself, but the crowd, dozens of tourists clustered along the marble edge with phones raised, a few tossing coins over their shoulders with theatrical flourish. He scanned the crowd twice before he spotted Han near one of the side columns, out of uniform now, in a soft cream sweater and dark jeans that made him look like an entirely different person from the polished flight attendant of the day before. His hair was different too, less styled, falling slightly over his forehead, and somehow it made him look younger, more like the stranger who'd shyly asked if a café seat was taken.
"You look different without the tie," Minho said, walking up beside him.
Han startled slightly, then broke into a grin so immediate and unguarded it made something in Minho's chest go soft and stupid. "You look different without the airplane seatbelt sign reflecting off your face."
"That's not a real difference."
"It's the only one I had ready," Han admitted, laughing at himself. "I had like four hours to think about what to say and I still came up with that."
"You thought about what to say to me?"
"Extensively," Han said, with the kind of easy honesty that should have been embarrassing and instead just felt warm. "Hanna had opinions. Strong ones. Mostly about how I should stop being so awkward and just ask you to dinner properly instead of mumbling about gelato logistics."
"I liked the gelato logistics."
"Good," Han said. "Because that's genuinely all the game plan I have. Come on."
They walked away from the fountain crowd, weaving through narrow cobblestone streets that smelled like fresh bread and old stone, the late afternoon sun warm against Minho's shoulders. Han talked the entire way, pointing out a church with a door he liked, a tiny shop that sold handmade leather goods, a balcony two streets over where, he swore, an actual opera singer practiced every evening around sunset if you waited long enough.
"You really do know this city," Minho said.
"I've had a lot of layovers," Han said. "And nothing to do on them except wander around by myself, so." He shrugged, a little self-conscious. "I got good at finding things."
"That sounds lonely too," Minho said, echoing the words from their conversation on the plane, and Han glanced sideways at him with something soft in his expression.
"It used to be," he said. "Less so now, I think."
The gelato shop was exactly as small and unassuming as Han had promised, tucked between a bakery and a shuttered antique store, with a hand-painted sign in fading gold letters. The man behind the counter greeted Han by name, clearly recognizing him, and rattled off something rapid in Italian that made Han laugh and respond in kind, his accent rougher than his Korean but earnest.
"He's asking if you're my boyfriend," Han translated, ears going faintly pink. "I told him we met yesterday."
"What did he say to that?"
"That Italians fall in love faster than that, so I have no excuse for being slow." Han cleared his throat and turned back to the counter, ordering two cones in Italian Minho couldn't follow, before handing one over, pistachio for himself, and something Minho hadn't even chosen, a deep ruby red.
"What is this?"
"Amarena. Cherry. Trust me."
Minho took a bite, the cold sweetness blooming rich and tart against his tongue, and found, annoyingly, that Han had been right again. "How do you keep doing that?"
"Doing what?"
"Knowing exactly what I'd like before I do."
Han smiled around his own cone, something a little shy and a little proud all at once. "I told you. Talent."
They walked along the river afterward, the Tiber catching the last of the late sun in a long ribbon of gold, gelato slowly melting faster than either of them ate it, conversation drifting easily from nothing into everything— Han's family back in a small apartment near Hongdae, his younger sister who texted him updates about her cat with alarming frequency, the three years he'd spent training to be a music producer before realizing he liked people more than studio booths. Minho talked about his own quiet life, the job that paid well but never excited him, the friends who'd been pestering him for months to take a real vacation, the baseball games on weekends that were the closest thing he had to passion outside of work.
"You play baseball?" Han asked, delighted. "Like, seriously? On a team?"
"Don't sound so surprised."
"I'm not surprised, I'm impressed. What position?"
"Shortstop," Minho said. "Don't ask me to explain the rules in detail, I just like hitting things and running fast."
"That's the most you energy I've heard all day," Han said, laughing, and Minho found himself laughing too, easy and unselfconscious in a way he hadn't been with someone new in longer than he wanted to admit.
⊹˚₊
By the time the sun dipped fully behind the rooftops and the streetlights flickered on one by one along the river, they'd wandered without any real direction into a small piazza where a handful of restaurants had set out tables beneath strings of warm yellow lights. Han hesitated at the edge of it, glancing at Minho almost shyly.
"I know this wasn't, like, the plan," he said. "But are you hungry? We could— I don't know. Actual dinner. If you wanted."
"Han."
"Yeah?"
"You've been nervous all day," Minho said, not unkindly. "Why?"
Han let out a breath, running a hand through his hair, the easy charm from the plane finally cracking just slightly to reveal something more honest underneath. "Because this is weird, isn't it? I met you yesterday morning. You were a stranger in a café and now I'm walking you around my favorite city like we've known each other for years. I don't usually do this. I don't ask passengers for their number, I definitely don't rearrange my entire layover plan around someone I met twenty-four hours ago. So yeah. I'm a little nervous, because I really, really hope this isn't just me being an idiot."
Minho considered him for a long moment, the soft lighting catching the worry in his expression, the way his hands had stilled at his sides instead of gesturing the way they usually did when he talked. "For what it's worth," Minho said slowly, "I told my friends about you before I even knew your last name. And I've spent half this flight wondering if it would be insane to ask if you wanted to do exactly this."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." Minho reached out, not quite touching, just close enough that Han's breath caught. "So if this is you being an idiot, I'm right there with you."
Something in Han's shoulders eased, like a held breath finally released, and the smile that spread across his face was different from every other one Minho had seen that day, less performance, more relief, more real. "Okay," he said. "Dinner, then. Properly. Like people who aren't idiots."
"I didn't say we weren't idiots."
"Fair," Han laughed, and reached for Minho's hand, fingers lacing together easy and natural, like he'd been wanting to do it since the airport and had finally run out of reasons not to. "Come on. I know a place. Best carbonara in Roma, and before you ask, yes, I have opinions about carbonara, and yes, they are strong."
"I would expect nothing less."
They found a table near the edge of the piazza, close enough to the small fountain at its center that the sound of water mixed with the chatter of other diners and the distant strains of someone playing accordion somewhere out of sight. Han ordered in Italian again, more confidently this time, and the waiter brought a carafe of house wine without being asked, setting it down with a knowing little smile that made Han's ears go pink all over again.
"They think we're on a date," Han muttered.
"We are on a date."
"Right. Yes. Obviously." Han poured them both a glass, hands slightly unsteady, and Minho found the nervousness endearing rather than awkward, a reminder that underneath the easy charisma and the perfect uniform was just a person, hoping just as much as Minho was that this wouldn't turn out to be nothing.
The carbonara, when it arrived, was as good as promised— simple, rich, the kind of dish that made elaborate explanations unnecessary. They ate slowly, talking less now and just existing in the same warm orbit of lamplight and wine and distant accordion music, occasionally trading bites off each other's plates without asking, like it was already something they did.
"Can I tell you something embarrassing?" Han asked eventually, swirling the last of his wine.
"Always."
"I almost didn't sit down at your table yesterday. I saw an open seat, and then I saw you, and I almost just turned around and found somewhere else to sit because I thought you'd think it was weird, a random stranger asking to sit across from you."
"What changed your mind?"
Han shrugged, a little sheepish. "You looked lonely. In a good way…like you were enjoying being alone, but also like you wouldn't mind company. And I don't know. I just wanted to know what your voice sounded like."
Minho's chest did something warm and complicated. "And now you know."
"Now I know," Han agreed softly. "Was it worth the risk?"
"You tell me. You're the one who rearranged a thirty-six hour layover around it."
"Worth every second," Han said, without hesitation, and the certainty in his voice settled something in Minho that he hadn't realized had been unsettled, some small worry that this had all been too fast, too easy, too good to be anything but temporary. But Han's eyes, warm in the lamplight, said otherwise.
⊹˚₊
They walked back toward the fountain afterward, slower this time, in no hurry, hands still loosely linked between them. The crowds had thinned considerably with the late hour, leaving the square almost peaceful, water catching streetlights in soft, shifting gold.
"Tomorrow," Han said, as they came to a stop near the same column where they'd met that afternoon. "I have the whole day before my flight back. If you wanted to actually do touristy things instead of just wandering— Colosseum, Pantheon, whatever you want."
"I'd like that."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," Minho said, smiling at the way Han's face lit up like he hadn't expected the answer to be that simple, even after everything. "I came all this way to see Roma. Might as well see it with someone who knows where the good gelato is."
"I know where everything good is," Han said, mock offended. "I'm basically a local at this point."
"A local who lives in Seoul."
"Details," Han said, waving a hand, and Minho laughed, the sound carrying soft across the square.
For a moment they just stood there, the fountain glowing gold and white behind them, and Han's gaze dropped, slow and a little uncertain, to Minho's mouth before flicking back up, like he was asking permission without saying anything at all.
"Han," Minho said quietly.
"Yeah?"
"You're allowed to kiss me. If you wanted."
Han laughed, breathless and a little disbelieving. "You're very direct for someone who spent thirteen hours being shy on a plane."
"I wasn't shy. I was strategic."
"Sure you were," Han murmured, already leaning in, and when their lips finally met, soft, unhurried, tasting faintly of wine and cherry gelato— it felt less like the beginning of something new and more like the quiet click of something finally falling into place.
When they pulled apart, Han was smiling so widely it looked like it might hurt. "Okay," he said, a little dazed. "Okay, that was…yeah."
"Eloquent."
"Give me a break, I just kissed someone in front of the Trevi Fountain like a complete cliché." Han laughed, pressing his forehead briefly against Minho's. "My coworkers are never going to let me live this down."
"Tell Hanna I said hello."
"Absolutely not, she'll frame it and put it on the crew room wall."
Minho's phone buzzed insistently in his pocket, and he didn't even need to check to know exactly who it was.
Danceracha
Felix: MINHO. ARE YOU OKAY. ARE YOU ALIVE. ANSWER US
Hyunjin: it's been HOURS
Hyunjin: did the date happen. is it happening RIGHT NOW
Minho glanced up at Han, still close enough that their noses nearly brushed, fountain lights catching gold in his dark eyes, and found himself smiling in a way that felt entirely new and entirely inevitable all at once.
Minho: yeah
Minho: it's happening
He turned his phone face-down on the marble ledge without waiting for a reply, and let Han pull him gently back toward the warm, lamplit streets of a city that had, somehow, in less than two days, started to feel a little bit like the beginning of something he hadn't even known he was looking for.