A/N: title reads as "Hikoki" in Japanese, the word for airplane.

He glanced at his watch impatiently. The flight had taken off on time according to the airport authorities. But Minho had been waiting at the arrivals barricade for more than two hours and there was no sign of any passengers from flight number KE801. It was cold outside but sweat beaded across his forehead and over his neck, thoughts racing in the worst circles.

What if something’s not right… he managed to frighten himself.

He glanced at his watch impatiently. Their pilot informed them arrival would be on time because the route was exceptionally clear of traffic today. But that announcement had been made three hours ago, and there was still no sign of dropping altitude. Taemin shifted uncomfortably in his seat when they flew through another series of bumps and disturbances.

What if we don’t make it… he clutched at his arm-rests.

The lady walked up to him and he steeled himself for bad news. “Sir, do you have a friend or relative on the flight from—?” he cut in and nodded his affirmation, hoping to learn something as soon as possible. But when she sighed, he gripped the railing beside him with all his strength. Suddenly he didn’t want to know.

"Sir, I’m very sorry to inform you, we’ve lost contact with the flight," she bowed her head. "It’s a technical difficulty, we’re trying our best to re-establish a—"

"W-what…" he felt his throat work weakly around the words. "What does that mean for the passengers?"

The air hostess clawed her way through the seats towards him, the gangway tilting when they made an alarmingly steep dip. “Sir, do you have a friend or relative waiting for you in Seoul?” she bent down, her face pale and her forehead colored with perspiration. He nodded.

"Sir, I’m very sorry to inform you, we’ve lost contact with ground staff," she touched his shoulder. "It’s a technical difficulty, we’re trying our best to re-establish a—"

"W-what…" he shifted around some more in his seat, the belt straining against his stomach. "What does that mean for the passengers?"

As if it would help in some way, he stood right in front of the LED board displaying the flight numbers and their status. Some were delayed others were cancelled owing to the weather conditions. He scrunched the parking ticket in his pocket, thinking at dizzying speeds and driving himself a little insane with worry.

If something happened to Taemin I’d—

As if they would move faster, he switched his screen over to the aerial view of the world map showing their flight’s current position. The people across the aisle from him threw him matching smiles of discomfort and anxiety. He did nothing but look away from them, crossing his arms to the front in a weak defense against his own dismal thinking.

If I never get to hold Minho again I’ll—

"Yeah, they’re saying they’re trying over and over, but there’s no response from the sky so…" Minho explained to Taemin’s parents over the phone. "Abonim, please don’t worry, I’m sure it’s just a minor glitch and—yes, I’m going to be here as long as it takes. I’ll keep you updated—yes, abonim, I’ll call you back as soon as he’s here." He helplessly slumped when he ran out of consolations for Lee aboji, mouth falling dry.

He saw other families shifting from foot to foot in the arrivals area, equally unnerved my the situation. But all anyone could do at the moment is wait and nothing more. Everyone’s hands were cut off.

"Yeah, I think they’ll tell us if they make any progress… hopefully it’ll be before we run out of fuel…" Taemin said to the old woman sitting next to him. "Please don’t feel scared, eomoni, we’ll make it though this together. we all will" She continued to shiver on and off until he smoothed open his blanket and draped her shoulders with it. She spoke a toothy blessing for his soul before continuing to shudder some more.

He saw the tears in her eyes, recalling mentions of a pregnant daughter and two young grandsons waiting for her back home. They could do nothing but look out the windows for now.

At one point in the seven hour-long wait Minho rushed into the washrooms and locked himself in a cubicle. He leaned his forehead against the back of the door and felt his patience crumble to give way to bottomless despair. Nails scratching along wooden laminate, he silently wept for himself, for the Lees, and for the only person that meant anything in his life.

At one point in the overly extended and tiring flight Taemin flicked open his tray and thumped himself against it in defeat. He shook his head and closed his eyes, grit his teeth and fisted his hands. If he had to go this way, he didn’t want to see or feel any of it. He didn’t want to be reminded of what—and who—he was leaving behind.

"Your attention, please" the speakers suddenly shot forth. Minho stood on his tip-toes, biting his knuckles with anticipation. He already felt happier for some reason. "Contact with flight KE801 has been reestablished. Estimated time of arrival is forty three minutes. We apologize for all inconveniences caused."

People hugged one another, letting out little rejoicing yells. Minho fell to his knees and said a long and teary prayer to the ceiling of the airport. When he could finally stand with the help of one of the attendants, he immediately pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed the last called number. “Abonim,” he grinned, sniffing. “Good news~”

"Good evening, passengers," the pilot’s voice sounded a lot lighter than it had the last time. Taemin automatically sunk into his backrest, feeling a smile speed towards his face. "Contact with ground facilities has been reestablished. Estimated time of arrival is forty three minutes. Our sincerest apologies for the inconvenience caused."

The passengers breathed a collectivize sigh of relief, some ladies sitting closer to the cockpit as far as bursting into tears. Taemin wanted to clap his hands and jump up and down with excitement, but the seat-belt light was back on and well… he’d be home soon enough to do all that with Minho anyway. He grinned wide.

Many hours later that night, on a narrow bed made only for one, two sets of hands clung to each other as if holding onto dear life.