TAEGI SMUTS [ᵃᵒ3]

Just Want You For My Own

Ao3 by : allways_always

Summary :

Christmas in Tokyo sucks.

Correction. Christmas alone in Tokyo sucks.

Yoongi travels for work on Christmas day, completely forgetting he was traveling on one of the biggest couples’ holidays in the region.

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Christmas in Tokyo sucks.

Correction. Christmas alone in Tokyo sucks.

Objectively speaking, Christmas in Tokyo is delightful. Storefronts glitter with red and gold decorations. The sounds of American Christmas songs piped through the streets feel like you’re walking through a holiday movie. Giant Christmas trees mark nearly very public square, the lights glistening against oversized shiny ornaments.

And then there’s all the romantic stuff. The stuff that has sent Yoongi deep into the narrow walkways of Piss Alley. In spite of its name, it’s a charming labyrinth of bars and noodle shops, and it’s far enough away from the mayhem of shoppers and couples packing the sidewalks near the train station.

Without hesitation, Yoongi had hopped a plane to Tokyo for a freelance gig later in the week. He found a cheap flight on Christmas day and made his way to the airport, completely forgetting he was traveling on one of the biggest couples’ holidays in the region.

Half-asleep and slurping lazily on an iced coffee, he tried to hide his scowl as he walked through baggage claim, dodging men with oversized bouquets and women clutching teddy bears. He just wanted to get to the hotel, relax, grab a drink, and get ready for the project he’d been assigned. He didn’t know he’d have to push through throngs of happy, lovey dovey idiots along the way.

After he dropped his stuff at the hotel, he ventured out toward Shinjuku, becoming increasingly agitated at the holiday jingles, the unusual public displays of affection, and the restaurant hawkers shouting about couples menus.

In short, Christmas alone in Tokyo sucks.

Now, he’s seated at the far end of a bar, sipping whisky and scrolling through his phone idly. He still had Tinder installed from his last trip.

He’d met another musician–Namjoon, was it?—when he traveled to Hong Kong, and they’d hit it off after a few beers, even when the guy started rambling about Plato and the definition of love. He was chatty, adorable, dimpled, and slipped into an easy Ilsan accent after he was properly buzzed. Yoongi had immediately been drawn to his warm personality, the familiarity of a Korean accent among other international travelers in the airport bar. Yoongi feels a small pang of regret for never calling him again, but he quickly dismisses it. No need to agonize over a long-lost stranger. But he was cute. And great in bed. Sigh. 

The whisky is sharp and cold, and Yoongi appreciates the generous pour of the bartender. Perhaps Yoongi looks desperate or pitiful, and the bartender took pity on him. Yoongi had tried not to gawk when he watched the bartender’s long, bejeweled fingers wrap around the neck of the bottle, tipping it to pour more than the double shot Yoongi ordered. He’d winked and slid it toward Yoongi without a word.

“Another one?”

The bartender appears in front of Yoongi now, leaning forward on the bar, eyes gleaming with something Yoongi can’t name. He’s flawless in a way that makes him look unreal, like he must wander the world with this filter of perfection laid over him. He pushes his shaggy mop of dark hair out of his eyes and smiles–wide and boxy, not at all mocking.