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Yoongi is not a graceful traveler. He often gets anxiety stomachaches before flying anywhere, and he feels too-public and exposed in airports no matter how loud he turns up the music in his noise-cancelling headphones. It seems like something always happens at the last minute to prevent him from packing until he's doing it in a rush, and then something always happens to make him late to the airport, and something always happens to delay him getting through security, and his plans always seem to be teetering on the edge of disaster until his plane has touched down at his destination.
Today is no different. Yoongi is sweaty and tense by the time he finally reaches his gate, huffing after traversing what must have been this whole terminal while tied down by his two huge carry-ons. His flight starts boarding in five minutes and he hasn't had anything to eat since the convenience store breakfast he snagged on his walk of shame back to his hotel room this morning. He collapses into the only seat left at the gate, his eyes closed as he breathes and reminds himself that he didn't miss his flight, it's okay, it's going to be okay.
When he opens his eyes, the person sitting cross-legged on the floor next to his row of chairs is staring at him.
Yoongi stares back.
"Oh my god, oh wow," the guy says. "It's Yoongi, right? Park Yoongi?"
"Uh," Yoongi says. "Min Yoongi. And... Taehyung?"
Taehyung nods enthusiastically several times, his messy brown hair swinging in front of his face. He pushes his hair behind his ears and his tongue darts over his lips, a gesture that looks childlike instead of sexy when he follows it with a goofy grin. Yoongi last saw him about four hours ago. "Wow! What a coincidence, right?"
The reason--one of the reasons--that Yoongi almost missed this flight was he woke up hungover in a hotel room that wasn't his own, a hotel room that was in fact across the city from his own. He and Taehyung had said their goodbyes, and Yoongi had felt awkward about how he seemed to be the only one of them that felt awkward about it. Taehyung acted like he had sleepovers with guys that he met in foreign clubs all the time. Maybe he did, looking like that.
He looks different now. He's not wearing any makeup, no trace of last night's smoky eye or body glitter, and he's dressed like a normal person flying home for the holidays instead of all the leather and the flashy tank top. In his checkered scarf and long pea coat he looks cozy, touchable. He'd looked touchable last night, when he had lured Yoongi off the dance floor and backed him up against the wall, but in an entirely different way.
Throughout the entire night they'd spent together and the morning, Taehyung hadn't mentioned anything about flying out of Hong Kong today. Then again, neither had Yoongi, so he supposes he doesn't have much of a right to the indignant sense of near-betrayal he's feeling upon this surprise.
"Yeah, wow," Yoongi agrees, feeling hollow. He's uncomfortably aware of the sweat at his temples, at the small of his back, of how overheated he is in the winter clothes that he's flying in because Daegu in December is going to be fuck-off cold. He knows he looks like shit. He'd known that he looked like shit when he woke up this morning in Taehyung's hotel bed, keenly aware that this was one of the main reasons he never spent the night on the very rare occasion that he managed to actually pull at a club.
