Airplane Angels (Yoonmin Soulmate au)

Meeting the plane pal

The second the door slams and the keys have clicked on the lock, Yoongi slowly slides down the door to the floor, resting his forehead on his knees.
The plastic bag is held tightly in his left hand, his fist gripped so firmly that small red slits, courteous of his nails, have been carved into the pale flesh of his palm.
He takes a deep breath, drawing a large supply of oxygen into his lungs.

For fucks sack. You're 24 Min Yoongi. And you're still afraid of leaving your house to go to the blinking grocery store?!

Mentally slapping himself, he drags himself to his feet, his knees trembling slightly. The kitchen seems farther away than usual, and he eventually chuckles in relief as his feet hit the cool tiles.

The plastic bag makes a loud thud as he drops it onto the counter. He proceeds to tug out the abundance of frozen meals and ramen packets that should last him a couple of months. The ice crystals sting the array of fresh cuts on his hands.
The fridge is practically empty, a half-empty carton of milk, some random margarine and a giant can of ground coffee. The freezer isn't much better, containing a few frozen items, such as pizzas, which are the very essence of his diet.
He tutts his tongue, shoving the new boxes into the icy hell, slamming the dooe to keep the frozen air inside.

He briefly rinses his hands under the tap, hissing lightly as the cold water seeps through his skin. He roughly dries the wounds, slapping a few mini circular band-aids onto his palm before making his way down the corridor, bolting towards his safe-haven - his bedroom.

Opening the door, a feeling of calmness washes over him, and a small smile tugs at his lips.
The double bed is shoved against the wall. On the wall opposite to the bed, a window overlooks the bustling street below. The desk, placed carefully on the right side of the doorway, overflowing with paper and pencils, smothering the silver laptop. And his waredrobe, cramped on the left, between the edge of his bed and the wall.

He breathes in the familiar, musky scent of his room, only to blink in confusion. A strange, foreign scent is wafting around the room, causing his chest to tighten. His eyes flicker to the window, and the realisation that the glass pane is open hits, the thin, white curtains lapping in a faint breeze. He blinks slowly. He is almost positive that he had shut it. No, that he hasn't opened it in years.

His eyes move to the pale covers of his bed, and his eyes widen slightly as he locates the source of the heavenly scent. Slowly, he moves forward, his fingers grazing over the object.

A paper airplane.

He scoops it up and parts the paper, only to have his senses overrun with that strange scent.
Hot cinnamon rolls. Fresh out of the oven, dripping with sugary icing and filled to the brim with cinnamon, brown sugar and melted butter. Crispy pastry that flakes apart in the mouth.
And coffee. The rich aroma of coffee beans, with the faint scent of cream, seconds away from being combined.

Yoongi's skin feels hot. An intense hot buzzing that vibrates under his skin, sending waves over his body. A horrible irritation. His mind is swamped with dizziness, and black spots start to cloud his vision as he staggers, collapsing down on the bed. He closes his eyes tightly, trying to overcome the sudden wave.

After a few minutes of deep, controlled breathing, he opens his eyes and carefully unfolds the plane, trying to avoid inhaling the aroma. The paper contains a few words, written in neat black writing. It actually has a return address - the window over the street, the one with the small cactus on the window sill. The airplane presents a tiny, simple message.

Hi :)