The artificial lights of the airplane cabin flicker to life, rousing Hokuto from his light slumber. Bleary-eyed, he glances at his watch — just past 9 pm, New York time — and settles back into his window seat, craving more sleep before the twelve-hour flight to Tokyo.
Around him, the economy cabin bustles with activity as passengers shuffle down the narrow aisle, hoisting bags into crowded overhead bins. Hokuto observes them idly, lamenting the size of his own carry-on squeezed under the seat in front of him. He had packed in haste this morning, his organized routines disrupted after a last-minute schedule change extended his business trip by two days.
A woman with a toddler smiles apologetically as they brush by his knees. The child clutches a stuffed rabbit, eyes wide as he takes in the plane’s interior. Hokuto returns the smile politely before turning his gaze back to the glow of lights outside his window, contemplating the long journey ahead.
If he’s lucky, he can sleep at least seven of the twelve hours in the air. That would help ease the pending jet lag when he lands back home tomorrow evening, Tokyo time. As a data analyst, Hokuto always calculates these minor logistics, accounting for all variables to optimize efficiency and productivity.
He’d stay up a little later tonight to adapt. Push meetings to later tomorrow to catch up on sleep. Drink coffee, ignore the cobwebs in his mind. He’s used to functioning on little rest anyhow, always focused on the tasks at hand.
As other passengers settle into their seats, Hokuto catches snippets of conversation around him — a couple bickering lightheartedly, a family organizing snacks and iPads, a woman chatting in rapid French on her cell phone. He observes them curiously, marveling at how at ease they seem in the cramped quarters, socializing as if in their living rooms instead of 35,000 feet in the air.
Hokuto has never shared that casual air travel persona that other business travelers exude, conducting meetings and bantering enthusiastically in airport lounges and luxury class cabins. He prefers to work alone, detached from the noise and chatter, lines of data and code filling the screen before him. Quiet, orderly, controlled.
Still, he can’t deny the subtle thrill that comes with crossing continents and oceans in just hours, breaching borders and boundaries inaccessible to most. He enjoys watching the world shrink before him through an oval window, picking out cars creeping along highways like ants and trying to glimpse famous skylines between breaks in clouds.
As he finishes logging into the plane’s spotty inflight WiFi, a flash of movement catches Hokuto’s eye. Another passenger stands in the aisle, hoisting a leather duffel bag into the overhead bin. Hokuto notes the man’s attire — a cashmere sweater over probably a white dress shirt, leather oxfords polished to a shine.
As a frequent business traveler himself, Hokuto approves of the ensemble’s refined nonchalance and decorum crossover. The man turns slightly, smoothing back windswept chocolate brown hair from his eyes, and Hokuto feels an odd tingle down his spine. Objectively, he knows it’s due to surprise at this stranger’s delicate features — wide eyes, pale skin, sculpted cheekbones that seem almost aristocratic in the harsh lighting.
Subjectively … Hokuto doesn’t quite know how to define the sudden quickening of his pulse or why he sits up straighter when the man flashes a polite smile in his direction. Hokuto returns it awkwardly, hoping the overhead lights don’t accentuate his own windswept hair and rumpled clothes too obviously. Jet lag must already be clouding his judgment if he feels self-conscious around this striking stranger.
Clearing his throat, Hokuto breaks eye contact and pointedly opens his laptop, hoping the man takes his cue to stop conversing. To his dismay however, the stranger hoists his bag once more and Hokuto realizes with a sinking feeling that the empty seat beside him is this fellow passenger’s assigned location.
Of course. Because it’s not as if Hokuto will get any real sleep on this red eye anyhow, not with his racing thoughts and pounding heartbeat. He takes a bracing breath, steadying his nerve as the man sits down gracefully next to him, long legs crossing casually at the knees into Hokuto’s leg room. Hokuto presses closer to the curved wall of the plane unconsciously. Proximity to beautiful men tends to make him anxious.
“Hello there. Kyomoto Taiga,” the man says politely, holding out a slender hand in introduction as he gets settled. His voice flows like honey, smooth and sweet, and he’s speaking in Japanese. “Apologies for intruding on your personal space for the next twelve hours.” He smiles again, eyes crinkling up in mirth.
Hokuto decides the cabin’s strange vertigo sensation must be due to their rapid ascent, not the heavenly glow now surrounding this earthbound angel named Taiga. He realizes he’s staring dumbly as Taiga keeps holding out his hand, waiting for Hokuto’s overdue response.
“Matsumura Hokuto,” Hokuto manages finally, taking Taiga’s hand and giving it a perfunctory shake. Taiga's palm feels smooth like expensive leather. Hokuto swallows hard as their hands linger together a second too long before separating.
“It’s nice to sit beside a fellow countryman,” Taiga remarks congenially. “You live in Tokyo?”
“Yes, I live in Tokyo, though I’m from Shizuoka initially,” Hokuto confirms. “I’m just returning from a business trip to New York. And you?” he asks, hoping the conversing ends swiftly. He fixes his eyes determinedly on his laptop screen, fingers poised over the keyboard.
“Yes, born and raised in Tokyo,” Taiga exclaims. “I was on vacation actually. First time in New York?”
The word bubbles out of Taiga’s mouth like fine champagne, frothy and effervescent. Vacation. Such a foreign concept to Hokuto's vocabulary, filled as it is with productivity metrics and deliverables. He wracks his mind, trying to recall his last true holiday sans a laptop or looming deadline. Last summer perhaps, when his colleague Jesse dragged him to a beach town in Enoshima for a long weekend. Between proofreading presentations on the train ride there and intermittent calls from the office, Hokuto retains little memory of the trip. No wonder the word sounds so exotic and enticing coming from this cosmopolitan, globetrotting stranger lucky enough to devote weeks fully unplugging from responsibility.
“Just a few times for work,” Hokuto answers Taiga distractedly, fingers still hovering over his keyboard. He should begin drafting client reports, maximizing these twelve hours productively.
Taiga seems to have other intentions, however, relaxed and chatty beside him.
“You should come back and actually see the city then,” Taiga exclaims enthusiastically. “It’s marvelous isn’t it? The skyscrapers, the galleries, the shows … I saw three Broadway musicals this trip!” He sighs, a dreamy look in his eyes. “Such an electric atmosphere, like a moveable feast for the senses.”
Hokuto nods vaguely, captivated himself by the sudden animation in Taiga’s features. In truth, he has mainly seen New York through the windows of his company’s downtown office, eyes glazed from staring at columns of data late into the city’s glittering nights. He stays in nondescript business hotels a subway ride away, frequents the same few restaurants catering to expense account clientele. A movable feast … how utterly romantic.
“I’m sure you know it far better than me,” Hokuto concedes, feeling suddenly wistful. “Maybe when I actually take a vacation, I’ll see it through your eyes.” It comes out more earnestly than he intends, and Taiga looks both touched and amused.
“Well, lucky you — you have a personal tour guide sitting right next to you for the next half a day,” he quips. “I’ll be sure to convince you New York is worth properly exploring.”
He playfully bumps Hokuto’s shoulder with his own, and Hokuto shivers as Taiga’s cashmere sweater brushes his arm. He risks another longer glance at Taiga, taking in his intelligent eyes, his angular jawline with a hint of five o’clock shadow, his starched white button-down undone at the collar as if he just tugged loose his tie …
The captain’s announcement crackling overhead startles Hokuto abruptly back to attention. As flight attendants demonstrate safety protocols, he sits ramrod straight, resisting the temptation to lean into Taiga’s warmth beside him. What is happening to his usual erect posture and restraint? He came here to work, not indulge in small talk or daydream about embracing random strangers, no matter how winsome and handsome.
As the plane taxis down the runway, Taiga falls silent too, the imminent takeoff shifting his buoyant mood. Hokuto notices him grasping the armrest tightly in anticipation through the corner of his eye, knuckles strained white. He feels an odd protective instinct well up, resisting the urge to lay his own hand comfortingly over Taiga’s.
“So do you travel overseas often?” Hokuto asks instead, hoping distraction will calm Taiga’s nerves as the plane accelerates faster. “You seem rather at ease navigating alone.”
Taiga laughs shakily, the sound punctuated by the jolt of wheels leaving tarmac. “More out of necessity than nature,” he admits, exhaling in relief as their ascent angle evens out. “I’m an auditor, so I get sent on assignments worldwide. Airports and hotel chains have become my second homes.”
“Ah, numbers and finance,” Hokuto acknowledges with shared camaraderie. “What firm?”
His eyes widen in surprise when Taiga replies that he just made senior associate last year at a top global firm.
“Very impressive,” Hokuto says sincerely. “You clearly have talent to rise up so quickly there. I work in data analytics myself, so I can appreciate the dedication your field requires.”
Taiga flushes at the praise, a becoming shade of pink. “It’s more obsessive studiousness than brilliance, I’m afraid,” he demurs. “But I enjoy the complex puzzles each new client presents. The thrill of the challenge keeps me engaged.”
“Me as well,” Hokuto agrees. “I should let you catch up on sleep then since you’re no stranger to red eyes.”
Taiga acknowledges the truth in this with a sleepy smile, his adrenaline fading after takeoff. “Please don’t restrain yourself on my behalf though,” he counters politely. “I sleep soundly on planes somehow — audit rooms have conditioned me to grab rest whenever possible.” His mouth curves into a smirk. “Don’t let me keep you from being productive.”
The glint in Taiga’s eye makes Hokuto’s breath catch unexpectedly. Does Taiga imply Hokuto would be distracted by his mere presence? Surely Taiga doesn't presume Hokuto finds him that captivating after just exchanging professional pleasantries?
Flustered, Hokuto turns hastily back to his laptop screen, nearly knocking his water bottle to the floor in his flurry. “I should at least outline some client reports while I’m trapped here,” he mutters half to himself. Out of the corner of his eye, though, he still tracks Taiga shifting to recline his seat, pulling a slim eye mask over his face to block out the overhead lights.
Hokuto waits for Taiga’s breaths to slow into sleep’s steady rhythm before allowing himself to relax slightly, rolling his stiff shoulders to release gathering tension. But despite his best efforts at focusing, he finds himself unable to re-immerse fully in his work, senses heightened with Taiga’s commanding aura beside him. He steals another glance at Taiga’s handsome profile, peaceful in repose, before quickly looking away once more.
Several hours pass uneventfully. Between reviewing spreadsheets and compiling status updates, Hokuto occasionally pulls up the flight tracker map, watching their progress inch across the North American continent through the inky night skies. He nibbles on packaged snacks, sips bitter coffee, listens wistfully to the couples and families around him converse and laugh as though in their living rooms.
Taiga remains silent the entire time, mask still secured around his eyes. But Hokuto swears he can feel Taiga’s warmth penetrating his right shoulder, seeping steadily into his skin. He rolls up his sleeves, blaming the stale cabin air for his rising temperature.
Around 1 am New York time, the cabin lights dim for the red eye overnight portion of their voyage. Flight attendants pass through, distributing packaged pillows and blankets. Hokuto eyes both items skeptically, fairly confident neither has been adequately sanitized from previous occupants. But as the passengers around him begin shifting sleeping positions, exhaustion tugs more persuasively at his own consciousness.
Taiga stirs, too, stretching lithely before removing his eye mask. He glances at his watch, then smiles drowsily at Hokuto beside him. Hokuto feels suddenly shy under Taiga’s direct gaze, unsure what acceptable airplane etiquette dictates about interacting with your neighbor mid red eye.
“I hope I didn’t disturb you earlier when I drifted off,” Taiga says apologetically, correctly interpreting Hokuto’s awkwardness. “I’m quite skilled at sleeping anywhere thanks to my job. Are you sure I’m not distracting you now though?”
There’s that piercing look again, and Hokuto feels certain Taiga sees right through him, recognizing exactly how attuned and distracted Hokuto has felt by his presence for hours. He swallows, mouth dry. “No, of course not,” Hokuto manages. “I was just finalizing some client reports anyway.”
“At one in the morning?” Taiga raises a skeptical eyebrow before giving Hokuto a sympathetic half smile that makes his stomach flutter dangerously. “You really should rest, especially with the time change ahead of us in Tokyo. Here—"
Before Hokuto can react, Taiga reaches across him to snag the spare pillow and blanket tucked by the window. Hokuto inhales sharply at their sudden proximity, Taiga’s hips nearly brushing his shoulder as he stretches. He smells vaguely of cedar and soap and some warm, intoxicating scent Hokuto can’t quite place. Sandalwood maybe, or burning embers … it reminds Hokuto simultaneously of temples and campfires and feels equally holy and profane.
Taiga settles back gracefully into his space, holding out the bundle to Hokuto encouragingly. “I promise not to disturb you now if you want to sleep,” he says gently.
Too thrown to argue logistics, Hokuto accepts the offering wordlessly.
Taiga pulls his eye mask back down, a clear indication he plans to resume his own rest. Taking his cue, Hokuto reclines cautiously back, pillow cushioning his head against the plastic contours of the headrest.
He closes his heavy eyes, the cabin fading away. But Taiga’s electric nearness still singes his senses, keeping Hokuto suspended in that fitful phase between waking and dreams. Each small shift and breath Taiga takes seems to echo through Hokuto like a shockwave, rattling his composure. He doesn’t know how Taiga can possibly sleep so soundly in such confined quarters beside a stranger. Though maybe Hokuto is the only one so affected … maybe other people often fall asleep next to Taiga this easily.
The thought sends an unexpected pang through his chest.
Mentally scolding himself out of absurd possessiveness towards someone he just met, Hokuto grits his teeth and deliberately slows his breaths, determined to rest and recover reason. But just as he finally slips into blissful unconsciousness, a sudden weight on his shoulder jolts him back awake.
Hokuto’s eyes fly open in alarm before he realizes the source — Taiga has slipped down in his sleep, head coming to rest gently on Hokuto’s shoulder. Hokuto watches the rise and fall of Taiga’s chest for a stunned minute, heartbeat hammering in his ears, afraid to move and risk breaking this spell.
Hokuto holds himself perfectly still, not daring to shift positions. Taiga smells like honey and amber, his hair unbelievably soft where it tickles Hokuto’s neck. Hokuto wants nothing more than to run his hands through the silky strands, pull Taiga closer …
Lost in his yearning, Hokuto almost doesn’t notice Taiga beginning to stir. He freezes, panic rising as Taiga nuzzles unconsciously into the crook between Hokuto’s neck and shoulder, breath warm on his throat. Desire wars alarmingly with propriety in his mind before Taiga’s eyes finally flutter open.
Taiga seems to need a long second to get his bearings, still emerging from whatever lush dreamland his subconscious created. When cognition returns though, he springs back with a sharp inhale, nearly hitting the seat in front of them in his scramble to sit up.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” Taiga rushes out, clearly mortified. “I can’t believe I fell asleep on you like that!” His porcelain cheeks flush that endearing pink shade again and he scratches his head ruefully, avoiding Hokuto's eyes.
“It’s no trouble, really,” Hokuto manages hoarsely. His shoulder instantly misses Taiga’s warmth. “It was actually rather …”
He searches for a polite word to encapsulate the peace and thrill of Taiga’s nearness without sounding like a smitten fool.
“Comforting,” he finishes eloquently.
Taiga looks up cautiously through his unfairly long lashes. “Are you sure?” he asks hesitantly. “I admit I tend to cuddle in my sleep … roommates used to ban me to the couch.” He tries for an easy grin, but Hokuto senses real shame beneath the nonchalant words. His naturally tactile nature at odds with this guarded, personal space obsessed era they occupy.
The open vulnerability in Taiga’s expression emboldens Hokuto to offer reassurance. “I promise it’s fine, Kyomoto-kun,” he says gently. “I didn’t mind at all.”
Taiga visibly relaxes at this absolution, regarding Hokuto now with unveiled curiosity. “Have you ever seen the northern lights, Matsumura?” he asks randomly.
Hokuto blinks, caught off guard by the abrupt conversational detour. “I … no, not in person,” he admits, confused but willing to follow Taiga’s lead. “Just photographs, of course.”
Taiga nods knowingly. “I saw them recently in Alaska — really ethereal and otherworldly. Like staring into heaven itself.” His gaze turns distant, and Hokuto senses him reminiscing through some profound memory. “We stood for hours on a frozen lake in the darkest wilderness. The cold seeped into our bones but it ceased to matter — we had entered a celestial dreamscape.”
Hokuto tries picturing this scene — the frigid majesty of Alaska under endless stars, brilliant ribbons of emerald and violet shimmering across the sky as awed wanderers looked on in worship below. He imagines Taiga there among them, bundled in fur and fleece, breath frosting the air … so beautiful he could be one of the archangels in an old Renaissance painting.
“It sounds magical,” Hokuto says softly.
Taiga’s eyes refocus, meeting Hokuto’s with searing intensity. “It reminded me that some spectacles humble all our human rigidity around touch and intimacy. We fear the vulnerability of physical closeness so deeply, yet we crave it all the same.”
He holds Hokuto’s gaze, voice hushed but fervent. “Don’t you think within our short lives, we should embrace more of those fleeting chances for human connection? Like witnessing the northern lights … we never know which opportunity might be our last.”
Hokuto stares wordlessly back, stunned by Taiga’s inexplicable candor and conviction. Who was this stranger next to him, speaking like a poet philosopher under Aurora’s spell? Had he cast some hypnotic magic on Hokuto too? Taiga seemed to peer directly into his soul, drawing forth yearnings and questions Hokuto barely acknowledged himself.
“I suppose you’re right,” Hokuto concedes finally, mouth dry. “We deny ourselves touch and affection so easily out of decorum. But what do we gain from such restraint?”
He thinks of all the casual brushes and playful nudges couples exchange that he enviably observes daily. Even the toddler two rows ahead freely hugged his parents and neighboring passengers in delighted oblivion of social stigma.
When had Hokuto last touched someone tenderly without hesitation or motives? When had he himself been touched with genuine affection?
Taiga is still studying Hokuto closely, head cocked gently aside as if to carefully catch each nuance of meaning behind his words. Hokuto holds very still under that penetrating gaze. Without conscious thought, he finds himself slowly leaning closer towards Taiga, neck craning up towards unknown light.
Taiga moves at precisely the same moment, hand coming up to cradle Hokuto’s jaw with infinite care. Hokuto shivers at the contact but holds Taiga’s stare defiantly. If this is his single chance at heaven’s glory, he will not waste the opportunity.
Taiga’s thumb brushes Hokuto’s bottom lip, touch searing as a branding iron. “If you want me to stop—” he begins hoarsely.
But Hokuto surges up, closing the scant distance between them.
Taiga inhales sharply as their lips meet but responds instantly, kissing Hokuto back fiercely.
Any lingering doubts or hesitation vaporize in the face of this mutual hunger, and Hokuto clutches at Taiga’s sweater to pull him impossibly closer. Taiga tastes like the night sky and arctic sunsets and forbidden dreams — overwhelming in his ardency yet tender in the way he cradles Hokuto’s jaw, angling them into an even deeper embrace.
They kiss until Hokuto is dizzy and breathless, drunk on the sweetness of Taiga’s mouth. His nerves spark with relentless electricity everywhere their bodies make contact.
When they finally break apart, Taiga looks beautifully disheveled, eyes glazed nearly black with desire. Hokuto wonders wildly if he looks similarly debauched and desirable.
“Well, that wasn’t quite what I expected when I bought my plane ticket,” Taiga huffs out unsteadily. The quip breaks the tension and Hokuto laughs, still reeling.
“Neither did I,” he admits. “But I’m certainly not complaining.”
Understatement of the century. He wants nothing more than to dissolve again into Taiga’s searing kiss. Wants to trace every contour and plane of Taiga's exquisite body, learn what other incoherent noises of pleasure he can coax from those sculpted lips. Heady visions he hardly dared entertain about another man before this celestial one crashed unexpectedly into his stratosphere.
Taiga grins, reading Hokuto’s transparent longing easily. “Well, luckily, we have eight more hours to … continue getting acquainted,” he says suggestively, nudging Hokuto’s ankle with his shoe.
Hokuto swallows thickly but gamely slips his own loafers off, intertwining their legs more intimately from thigh to calf.
“I look forward to that immensely,” Hokuto murmurs.
And surrendering fully to reckless desire, he draws Taiga back into another dizzying kiss under the airplane’s artificial constellations.
Taiga deepens the kiss, fingers tangling gently in Hokuto’s hair. Hokuto sighs blissfully, the cabin around them fading away. He traces his hands down Taiga's back, thrilling at the lean muscle shifting beneath the cashmere fibers.
When they finally separate for air, Taiga regards Hokuto through hooded eyes, lips kiss-swollen. “So do you have any other hidden talents besides kissing, Matsumura?” he asks playfully.
Hokuto huffs a laugh, drunk on endorphin highs. “Sadly, data analytics doesn’t provide much outlet for creative expression,” he admits.
Taiga makes a contemplative noise. “Somehow I suspect you have untapped depths beyond spreadsheets and codes though.” His gaze travels appreciatively down Hokuto’s frame and Hokuto shivers.
“Well I do enjoy reading philosophy and listening to jazz,” Hokuto offers, trying not to sound too boring.
But Taiga’s face lights up. “What a coincidence — I love jazz too! Who are your favorite musicians?”
As they delve enthusiastically into a debate over classic jazz compositions, Hokuto marvels at how they keep discovering these unexpected shared passions. He tries picturing Taiga in a smoky club, sipping bourbon while lost in soulful trumpet riffs. The image makes his chest constrict for some reason.
“We should visit some jazz bars together in Tokyo,” Hokuto suggests impulsively.
Taiga smiles, slow and sweet like golden honey. “It’s a date,” he agrees, twining his fingers loosely with Hokuto’s.
Hokuto watches their hands interlocked together, Taiga’s palm smooth against his own calloused skin. He wants to immortalize this quicksilver moment in amber — the way Taiga looks at him like he’s the most captivating person on the planet, how every point of contact between them ignites showers of sparks across his nerve endings.
How long they talk, bodies woven together in easy intimacy, Hokuto doesn't know. But gradual fatigue seeps into his bones as midnight melts to dawn outside the windows. Their conversation meanders then lulls.
Taiga eventually dozes off again, head cushioned on Hokuto’s shoulder trustingly. Hokuto tilts his own head against Taiga’s, breathing in his warm scent. He has never felt this comfortable with someone so quickly, conversation and silence coexisting beautifully without expectation.
The next few hours pass dreamily, wrapped in Taiga’s reassuring presence. They trade lazy kisses, listen to music, watch the in-flight map trace their path across the endless Pacific. Tokyo inevitable grows closer though until the captain announces final descent preparations.
Hokuto blinks groggily back to full alertness as Taiga stretches beside him with feline grace. He already mourns the loss of Taiga’s skin against his own, but rationale resurfaces through the haze of sentimentality. Whatever spell they cast upon each other over this endless flight can’t possibly transcend into their orderly worlds awaiting below.
Can it?
But even as Hokuto braces for a graceful goodbye, Taiga interlaces their fingers again lightly. “Will you let me take you out to dinner sometime this week?” he asks softly. “I’d love to see you again outside this magic airplane bubble if you’re willing.”
The simple request sends relief flooding through Hokuto’s chest. “I’d like that too,” he confirms, squeezing Taiga’s hand.
Through the anticipation of navigating this new, exhilarating attraction on solid ground, Hokuto realizes with quiet awe that Taiga gazing back at him feels suddenly even more like coming home than the Tokyo skyline now glittering closer through their window.