Sleepy eyes and silver hair, chapped lips and pale skin, shivering hands and a raspy voice.

"Please," he croaks, and he's shaking, a sheer black top and tight jeans useless against the chill of a winter night. "Please, I- I promise, I'll make it worth your while."

"No."

Hoseok tries not to feel too guilty as he says it.

"Please," he murmurs, as if repeating it one more time will make Hoseok change his mind.

Hoseok doesn't want to do this. It's too late, too cold, and he bitterly finds himself thinking about how he could be settled in the warmth of his own home by now instead of dealing with this , with sunken cheeks and hollow eyes, too similar to his own to ignore.

"For the last time," Hoseok says, voice low and thrumming with annoyance, "No. I just want to go home, I don't want to spend the night with some-"

"Yoongi." Hoseok startles into silence, words caught in his throat. "My name is Yoongi. I would prefer it if you could call me that instead of a whore, or a slut, or whatever else you were going to say."

Yoongi's voice is oddly emotionless when he speaks and he stares at Hoseok with empty eyes, head cocked at angle, arms crossed tight over his chest and Hoseok feels uncomfortable under his heavy gaze.

"Sorry," Hoseok mutters, fingers tight on the steering wheel. "Sorry, Yoongi, but I'm still not interested."

"You won't regret it." Yoongi pleads and he sounds so broken. Everything about him reminds Hoseok of cold winter nights, of hopeless thoughts and weary words, of a life he'd rather forget than remember again.

Hoseok studies him, eyes traveling over Yoongi's delicate features, the gentle slope of his nose and the shadows of his cheekbones, lingering on the pale column of his throat before slipping back up until he meets Yoongi's gaze, empty hope shining through.

"Okay," Hoseok says quietly, revving the engine. "Okay."

Yoongi clambers into his passenger seat gracefully, lithe limbs folding together in the small space, and it's then Hoseok notices how thin his clothes are, body curled tight to keep from shivering.

Hoseok isn't heartless. "Cold?" he asks softly and Yoongi turns to him, fists clenched tightly.

"Yes," he answers curtly, and Hoseok hums in response, wordlessly turning up the heater.

Yoongi doesn't talk much, Hoseok notes. He sits still the entire drive to Hoseok's penthouse in Gangnam, arms curled tight over his body and eyes trained on the blurry world outside, flashing lights and dark skies passing them by until Hoseok pulls into the parking lot of his building, Yoongi's footsteps padding lightly behind him.

He almost forgets his presence until the elevator dings and Yoongi scuffles forward, gaze trained on his shoes. Hoseok clears his throat and places a hand between his shoulder blades, leading him to the door and punching in the passcode with practiced ease, breathing a sigh of relief when he drops onto the couch in a flurry of tangled limbs.

"Nice place you got here."

Yoongi's dark eyes flicker over the living room with avid interest, lingering on the glittering chandelier and sweeping over the french coffee table, gaze traveling across the hardwood floor and the expensive rugs, before he gingerly toes off his shoes by the door.

"Thank you," Hoseok murmurs, eyes fluttering shut. It is nice, he supposes, nice for business gatherings and cocktail parties, not so much for drowning in comfort and and having a place to call his own.

Yoongi is shrugging off his coat when Hoseok speaks again.

"Listen," Hoseok says, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, voice low. "I-I'm still not interested in sleeping with you. I figured you could stay in the guest bedroom for a night and then-"

He cuts off abruptly when Yoongi begins to walk towards the door. "Where are you going?"

"Home." Yoongi's voice is dead, suddenly harsh in the grating silence.

Hoseok falters. "Why? I said you could stay here, it's not a problem-"

"I'm not some fucking charity case; I don't need your fucking pity." Yoongi is staring at him with dark eyes, an angry red flush staining the tips of his ears. "Either you pay me for a good fuck or I'm getting on a bus back home."

"Okay," Hoseok says uncomfortably, gaze trained on the plush rug beneath his feet. "Okay, we-we can do that."

At the very least, Yoongi won't have to go back out into the cold.

It's quiet for a few minutes before he glances up, clearing his throat softly and pointing. "Come on, the bedroom is over there." Yoongi nods, feet shifting and eyes downcast.

Hoseok stands with a sigh, a heavy breath that shudders through his lungs and leaves him feeling a little bit lighter than he's used to, and shuffles his way across the floor, throwing his tie to the ground and leaving his shoes scattered by the door.

There's a cough suddenly, a quiet, light little sound, and Hoseok turns to find Yoongi shyly curled into himself, arms crossed tight over his chest. "Can I, um, use the bathroom? Please?" His voice is small, almost as if he expects him to say no.

Hoseok merely nods and points to the door at the other end of the bedroom, the sound of footsteps padding away somehow managing to echo in his ears long after they've faded.

He's settling himself against the pillows when Yoongi makes his reappearance, the sheer black top unbuttoned and hanging loose over his shoulders.

Painted in the dim glow of bedroom lights, Hoseok can't help but notice how pretty Yoongi is, with his small frame and calculated movements, with his sleepy eyes and pink lips, with his silver hair mussed in an artful disarray, and Hoseok wants nothing more than to touch him; he wants to feel soft skin dipping beneath his fingertips and to hear an even softer voice spilling through the air.

"Yoongi." Hoseok's voice is quiet, muttered and hoarse, and it's only a name, one small, insignificant noun and yet it holds so much meaning, heavy and full of implications, that Hoseok doesn't need to say anything more for Yoongi to understand.

Hoseok finds there's a certain kind of softness about Yoongi despite his initial demeanour, a certain kind of vulnerability in the way that he holds himself and keeps his voice low and plays with his hands, as if he thinks he can fade away by making himself smaller.

Hoseok isn't stupid. He knows Yoongi doesn't want this, that the only reason he's here at all is because Hoseok is supposed to pay him after it's all said and done, but even so, he doesn't want to do anything Yoongi is uncomfortable with.

"Hey," Hoseok says, tipping Yoongi's chip up, bringing him closer until their chests are flush together, until they hit the bed, until Hoseok is hovering over Yoongi's body, arms on either side of his head. He slides the black material off of Yoongi's shoulders, revealing soft, pale skin, the kind he wants to press his lips against in a chaste kiss. "This is okay, right?"

Yoongi nods slowly, eyes glinting dark, and he lets Hoseok treat him however he wants, not a single word slipping past his defences. When Hoseok touches Yoongi, he does so gently, with light fingers and murmured questions, leaning down and mapping his way across the dips and valleys of Yoongi's body, breathing him in and swallowing the noises he makes.

He's drizzling lube over his fingers when Yoongi's eyes find his again, surprise spread over his features. "W-what are you doing?"

Hoseok glances at him in confusion, thinking the answer should be obvious. "I was going to stretch you." He says slowly, choosing his words carefully.

"Why?" Yoongi sounds suspicious and suddenly he's sitting up against the pillows, arms crossed tight over his chest. He's delicate like this, blankets languidly falling across his shoulders in a silken waterfall, knees hugged to his chest.

"I didn't want to hurt you." Hoseok murmurs, hands fiddling together anxiously.

Yoongi stares at him, gaze traveling over the planes of Hoseok's face with intense concentration, picking his intentions apart and putting them back together before he finally nods, settling back carefully, blankets spilling forward and gleaming gold.

"Okay," he acquiesces, fingers picking at the loose threads of the comforter wrapped around his legs. "You don't have to, though. I already prepped myself in the bathroom earlier."

Hoseok wants to ask why, but somewhere, in the very back of his mind, he knows exactly why. He swallows, adam's apple bobbing as he does so, and smiles a soft, sad smile, lips stretched tight over gritted teeth.

"I want to," he says quietly, and when Yoongi turns to him with an unreadable expression, eyes dark and heavy, Hoseok only trails his fingers over the skin of Yoongi's shoulder, watching as his eyes flutter shut again.

Hoseok touches Yoongi with gentle hands, feather light kisses pressed against the column of his throat, fleetingly left in the dip between his clavicles and over the soft skin of his stomach. He slides into Yoongi's warmth, Yoongi curving around him and fitting into the empty spaces with graceful ease, legs locked tight around his waist as sweet little moans slip past his lips; they're breathless and stuttered, settling into the grey areas of Hoseok's brain, a warm memory to be remembered in the chill of a lonely night.

Later, when they're lying in bed and Hoseok is watching Yoongi shrug on his shirt, he murmurs something, soft and hesitant. Yoongi turns to him curiously and Hoseok repeats himself, words uncertain. "You-you can stay, if you want. It's cold outside and the buses aren't running at this time of night, so. You can stay. If you want."

Yoongi's face is carefully blank, head tilted at an angle, eyes dark and unreadable. "I'll pay you in the morning," Hoseok adds, fingers twiddling together anxiously.

"Okay." It's said softly, muttered and unsure.

Hoseok nods and Yoongi settles back against the pillows, top still unbuttoned, loose over his thin shoulders and stark against his skin.

He clears his throat softly and when Yoongi hums, Hoseok tries to keep his voice blank. "I-I'm gonna go change. I'll be back in a few, yeah?"

Yoongi doesn't respond, silently curled into himself, and Hoseok rises, making his way into the bathroom and grabbing his clothes from where they're crumpled together in a pitiful pile on the floor.

He slips into his sweatshirt and tugs on a pair of loose pyjamas, staring at himself in the mirror, studying the features of his own face. Dark eyes, empty and unfeeling; high cheekbones and black hair, pink lips pursed tightly together in resignation. He asks himself, really asks himself, what he's doing.

A quiet voice in the back of his mind tells him he's being very, very, stupid and for once, Hoseok finds himself agreeing.

When he shuffles back out, relatively cleaner and feeling more like himself than before, he finds Yoongi lying on his side with the comforter pulled up to his chin, sleeping soundly in a bed meant for more than one. He looks almost elfin, with his delicate features and silver hair, limbs languidly folded together to keep warm.

Like this, Yoongi is unguarded, relaxed and open; like this, Hoseok is free to take in his dark under eye circles, the unhealthy pallor of his pale skin, his hollow cheeks and his chapped lips.

Yoongi reminds Hoseok of cold winter nights, of hopeless thoughts and weary words, of a life he'd rather forget than remember again. He slips under the covers gently, the mattress dipping under his weight and shifting when he turns, the warmth of another body almost tangible.

"Good night, Yoongi," he murmurs softly, drawing his knees forward and wrapping his arms around himself, eyes fluttering shut before he hears the quiet reply.

"G'night, Hoseok."

☯

Yoongi leaves the next morning with a fistful of crumpled cash, shoulders hunched over to avoid the chill of a cloudy winter day. Hoseok watches him go without much fanfare, a quiet goodbye lingering on his lips until Yoongi turns the corner and slips away from Hoseok's world and back into his own, fading away with the wind to be remembered as nothing more than a single memory.

At first, the weeks pass slowly; Hoseok sits in his office, in his expensive, leather chair, an Armani suit fitted tight across his shoulders, and tries to forget about dark eyes and pink lips, about breathy moans and soft voices.

He tells himself that Yoongi was an accident, and in all honesty, he was. Hoseok hadn't meant to pick up a prostitute in the sleaziest part of Seoul, and he definitely hadn't meant for Yoongi to stay the night.

Yoongi was an accident, but in all honestly, he didn't feel like one.

He felt like home.

Home for Hoseok wasn't a warm fireplace and a bright smile, wasn't a full stomach and a soft bed; home for Hoseok was always tired eyes and sunken cheeks, always cracked lips and empty words, and Hoseok misses it.

Home was never conventional, never convenient or easy, but it was what he came to call his own, and right now, in his high end, tenth floor office, Hoseok misses it.

Hoseok misses home and he misses the warmth of Yoongi underneath him, the warmth of another body in a bed too big for one, but he won't make the same mistake twice. In a way, he's happy he won't see Yoongi again because somewhere, in the very back of his mind, he knows that if he did he wouldn't be able to let him go.

It was difficult enough to watch him leave the first time and it's infinitely more difficult to forget him, even now, even after a month has passed, the soft beginnings of autumn chipped into the harsh edges of winter.

A heavy knock filters through the room and Hoseok reluctantly turns away from his thoughts, leaving the view of the city skyline behind to find Taehyung curiously poking his head in, a bright smile spread wide across his face.

As the secretary of a CEO, one would expect Taehyung to be courteous, demure even, in the presence of Hoseok. Taehyung, however, believes in familiarity and warmth and it shows in the way he bounds over to him with the air of an overly excited puppy, orange hair wildly sticking up in too many directions.

"Hyung," he crows happily, and despite his initial thoughts, Hoseok finds himself smiling at Taehyung's antics.

"Mr. Jung, Taehyung," Hoseok corrects softly, though this far into their relationship, Hoseok knows it won't make a difference.

Taehyung ignores him and wraps his arms around Hoseok from behind, hooking his chin over his shoulder and giggling lightly.

"Hyung! Joonie hyung and I were talking, and both of us noticed that you've been super stressed lately, so we were wondering if you want to go clubbing with us after work today? Huh, hyung? Please come with us, Namjoon hyung only wants to go so he can see that cute bartender again and I don't want to be the third wheel."

Hoseok laughs and gently pries Taehyung's arms off of him, teasingly pretending to think about it while Taehyung pouts. "I'm not sure, Tae. I really do have a lot of work-"

" Hyung !" Taehyung whines, foot coming down to petulantly stomp on the floor before Hoseok gives in, his own smile blooming wide across his features.

"Okay, okay, I'll come. We'll leave at eight?"

Taehyung grins and nods feverishly, excitement bright in his eyes. "I'll drive!"

Hoseok shakes his head and smiles again, gently nudging Taehyung towards the door. "No, I'll drive because I don't trust you or Namjoon with a car. Now, I meant what I said before about having a lot of work to get through, so if you would be kind enough to let me finish it in peace, I would be much obliged."

He stares meaningfully towards the door and Taehyung pouts, wiggling his fingers in a goodbye. "You're no fun, hyung," he sighs dramatically, a hand splayed across his chest. "But fine, I'll let you get to it. Call me if you need anything!"

Hoseok nods and watches Taehyung bounce out of his office with as much energy as he had coming in, collapsing on his leather chair the moment the door shuts behind him. A minute later, the phone rings and Hoseok rubs his face with his hands before tiredly leaning over to answer it, the shrill tone echoing in his ears long after the noise has faded.

The day passes in a flurry of too many papers and not enough coffee, hues of violet streaking the sky by the time he makes it back to his penthouse. Hoseok takes a shower and towel dries his hair while staring in defeat at his walk-in closet, rows and rows of suits, ties, collared shirts, and patented leather shoes mocking him. It's almost comical how stunted he feels before he begrudgingly lays down his pride to call Taehyung and ask for help.

Taehyung answers on the third ring, voice cheerfully bouncing through the receiver. "Hobie hyung! How may I be of service?"

Hoseok laughs nervously. "Um, I was wondering if I could wear a suit tonight? Or would that be too formal for where we're going?"

It's silent for a few seconds before Taehyung answers, words slow. "A suit. You want to wear a suit. Is this why you never agreed to come out with us before, hyung?"

"Just answer the question, Tae."

"No, hyung, you cannot wear a suit unless you're willing to get alcohol and sweat all over it."

Hoseok sighs and rubs his forehead with the heel of his hand. "Okay, then yes Taehyung, this is why I never agreed to come out with you before."

"You know hyung... you and Namjoon are pretty much the same height, you could easily fit into his clothes."

Hoseok considers it for a moment before halfheartedly agreeing, wondering where he went wrong in life.

It's only an hour later that he's staring at himself in the full length mirror with Taehyung standing behind him, a proud rectangular grin curving the corners of his eyes, that Hoseok realizes this is exactly where he went wrong.

"Taehyung," Hoseok moans, staring at his reflection in horror. "I look like a fucking university student trying to get laid, not like the CEO of a well-to-do company."

"Hey," Namjoon sounds affronted when he speaks, almost as if he's having trouble accepting Hoseok's blatant lack of respect towards his clothes. "I'll have you know those leather pants got me quite far during my university days, thank you very much."

The leather pants in question are, quite accurately put, stitched onto Hoseok's thighs, the thick muscle of his quads straining against the skin tight material. Taehyung had somehow managed to wrestle him into them, pairing the atrocity along with one of his own blazers and a plain black v neck, clavicles prominent against the low neckline. A choker is delicately wrapped around the curve of his throat, a tiny blue pendant tugging the thin piece of black velvet down.

Taehyung whistles through his teeth, coming forward to gel Hoseok's hair into place. "Hobi hyung, I'm not gonna lie. If HR didn't have that clause in our contract stating I'm not supposed to date you, I would definitely-" he stares meaningfully at Hoseok's ass now, fingers still caught in thick strands of dark hair. "- definitely tap that."

Hoseok ignores him, distractedly glancing at Namjoon through the mirror. "How did you even manage to fit into these? I'm leaner than you and I already think they're cutting off my circulation, I'm not sure if I can even feel my thighs anymore."

Namjoon sniffs. "Beauty is pain and pain is beauty, my friend. Now hold still so I don't poke your eye out with the liner."

Hoseok seriously doubts this but he nods anyway and attempts to stay calm when the thin tip of an eyeliner pencil presses against his lid, successfully still until Namjoon finishes and steps back triumphantly, clapping his hands together in excitement.

"Tada!"

Hoseok tentatively opens his eyes and scrutinizes his appearance, fingering his hair curiously. Taehyung had done something to it while Namjoon had been working on his face, the normally limp strands fluffed and full of life against his forehead, artistically tousled in an intentional bedhead.

"You like it, hyung?" Taehyung asks, his own hair strategically sprayed to perfection.

"Taehyung," Hoseok says slowly, staring at his heavily lined eyes in the mirror, the edges smoked into a dusty golden. "I look like I just got fucked ten ways to Sunday."

"He likes it!" Taehyung whispers excitedly, and Namjoon grins, dimples deep enough to swim in.

"Yeah, he does," he agrees, and Hoseok groans in defeat.

☯

The club is packed with too many writhing bodies, the scent of a cloyingly sweet perfume heavy in the air, and Hoseok is officially ready to go home. They've been here for hours already, and the back of his shirt is damp with sweat, the material sticking to his skin uncomfortably, blazer long discarded in the heat of a moment.

Hoseok finds Taehyung relatively easily, ass out and shaking with effort against the body of a stranger.

"Tae!" Hoseok calls and Taehyung somehow manages to hear him through the noise, eyes finding his through the throng of bodies. He points to the exit and gestures, hoping Taehyung understands he wants to leave soon and Taehyung nods, shooting him finger guns before Hoseok takes off.

It's blissfully cold outside, the Seoul city skyline glittering in the distance, and Hoseok lets his shoulders sag against a pillar, eyes fluttering shut when a gust of wind carries past. A vague pulse of music hums through his blood, and he taps his fingers to the beat gently, sliding down the pillar to sit at the base with his arms drawn tight around his knees, alone with his thoughts.

"Fuck off, asshole!"

Hoseok's eyes fly open at the familiarly raspy tone, ears ringing with the faint echo of satoori. He catches a flash of silver hair disappearing quickly down a secluded alley behind the club, footsteps padding lightly down the concrete despite the heavy-set stranger following behind, and before he can tell himself not to, Hoseok is dusting himself off and running after them.

It's a little bit funny how worried he is at the thought that it's Yoongi being chased, funny because he doesn't have any obligation towards him. Funny because when Hoseok hears the heavy thud of a body hitting brick, he runs faster, a feeling of dread bubbling through his veins.

The alley reeks of urine, and empty beer bottles litter the ground, graffitied walls closed in tight to form a dead end. Yoongi is crowded against one of them, a muscled pair of arms blocking almost all of him from view, but Hoseok would remember those eyes anywhere.

"I said fuck off, didn't I?" Yoongi growls, a waver in his tone despite the defensive stance. He's vulnerable pressed in like this but he holds his ground and spits at the moron's face, words heavy with contempt. " Back off."

The loud thud of a fist meeting skin bounces off the walls and Yoongi crumples to the floor in a heap of limbs, a foot coming forward to kick him in the stomach. The stranger speaks, and Hoseok's skin crawls with disgust at the words.

"Fucking bitch, think you're too good for me?"

Another kick, this one against the base of Yoongi's spine. "Huh? Answer me you fucking slut, you don't think I can fuck you good enough? Is that it?"

Before he can hit Yoongi again, Hoseok steps forward, voice calm in the dead silence. "Kick him one more time, and see what happens."

The bastard glances at Hoseok sharply, and he continues, fingers clenched tight into fists. "You have less than a minute to leave before the cops get here."

Hoseok is scared; Hoseok is scared, terrified even, because Yoongi is lying on the ground, curled into a fetal position, silent and still after being kicked into submission, strands of silver hair touching the concrete beneath his back.

"Either you leave," Hoseok says carefully, "or you get arrested. Your choice."

The son of a bitch stares at Hoseok impassively before eventually shouldering past him, spitting his words one last time before he's gone. "Fuckin' whore ain't worth it."

It's filthy the way he says it; as if he truly believes Yoongi, with his pretty eyes and pink lips, with his lithe frame and delicate features, sells himself for the fucking fun of it. Hoseok waits until he leaves, until the heavy sounds of his clumsy footsteps turn the corner and fade into the night before rushing forward to gingerly cradle Yoongi in his arms.

"Hey," Hoseok shakes Yoongi's shoulders gently, the bones fragile under his hands. "Yoongi? Yoongi, can you hear me?"

The skin around Yoongi's left eye is heavily bruised, a cut on the side of his cheek where he was slapped. His lip is swollen too but Hoseok ignores it in favour of tentatively reaching forward to touch the thin gash, tiny pinpricks of blood welling up and dripping down the pale skin of his cheek.

"Fucker was wearing a ring," Yoongi mutters, eyes still firmly shut despite the words leaving his mouth. Hoseok watches the shapes his lips make as they curve around heavy syllables, voice raspy with rough consonants, a loose drawl evident against the much more refined dialect of Seoul.

Even his accent reminds Hoseok of home.

"I can see that." Hoseok says eventually. "Can you walk?"

Yoongi groans, eyes fluttering open to stare at Hoseok impassively. "You didn't actually call the police, did you?"

Hoseok grimaces, brushing his hair out of his eyes. "Of course not. Assault may be illegal, but so is prostitution."

There's a bitter smile curling around the edges of Yoongi's lips, features drawn tight with pain. "Should've called them." He says softly, barely audible against the muted noise of congested traffic.

Instead of acknowledging him, Hoseok asks again. "Can you walk?"

Yoongi hisses when he tries to stand, hands clutching his stomach as he doubles over in pain. Hoseok considers him for a moment, eyes traveling over the curves and edges of Yoongi's thin body before dropping to his knees in a low crouch.

"Get on," Hoseok says lightly, already anticipating Yoongi's answer.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

There it is, Hoseok thinks wryly. "Please," he murmurs, trying not to let his desperation show. "You're bleeding in the middle of the night; it isn't safe. Please."

Hoseok waits anxiously, breathing a sigh of relief when he feels Yoongi clamber onto his back, arms loosely wrapping around his neck. He grasps his thighs and gently hitches Yoongi higher before rising, strands of his soft hair tickling the sensitive skin of Hoseok's jaw when Yoongi clings to him tighter.

He fits into the empty curves of Hoseok's body like he was made for them, head resting in the hollow between his neck and shoulder with unconscious ease, legs tangled together to sit comfortably around Hoseok's waist. Yoongi is lithe, his delicate frame warm against Hoseok's skin, and Hoseok absentmindedly finds himself relaxing into Yoongi's touch.

"Where are you taking me?" Yoongi asks, voice muffled against Hoseok's shoulder.

"The hospital."

Yoongi jerks against his back and Hoseok swears, his grip inexplicably tightening around Yoongi's thighs. "No," Yoongi says vehemently, anxious tone ringing out. "No, they-they'll ask too many questions, and run too many tests and I can't-I can't risk that."

"Oh." Hoseok murmurs. He unconsciously rubs his thumb across the material covering Yoongi's thigh, considering their options before tentatively voicing his thoughts in a nervous question. "We can go back to my place, if you want."

Yoongi stiffens and Hoseok hurries to reassure him, mentally berating himself for his stupidity. "N-not like that! I just meant Gangnam isn't too far from here and it's easier than going to the hospital so I figured-"

"You're rambling," Yoongi interrupts softly. "And it's fine. I don't mind."

"Okay." Hoseok says, turning his head to send Yoongi a small grin, startling when he finds how close they are, a pair of dark eyes searching his curiously. Hoseok swallows and licks his lips, acutely aware of Yoongi's gaze even when he turns back around. "Okay."

They make it to Hoseok's Audi with relative ease, Yoongi settled comfortably over the curve of Hoseok's back despite his earlier reservations. When Yoongi slides into the passenger seat, body curled tight to keep from shivering, it's so reminiscent of the first time they met that Hoseok finds himself at a loss for words, too many questions running through his mind for any one of them to be substantial enough to ask.

Instead of speaking, Hoseok fiddles with the controls, turning the heater on and revving the engine before halfheartedly attaching the aux cable to his phone, selecting a song at random. The first strains of a gentle melody flood the air, and Yoongi turns to him in surprise, arms crossed over his chest.

"You like Yiruma?"

Hoseok blinks at him. "Of course. You know him?"

Yoongi snorts, the sound harsh against the soft notes of a high refrain. "Of course," he mimics Hoseok, voice low. "Anyone who's ever learned piano knows him."

"You played the piano?"

Yoongi stares at him with an unreadable expression, and Hoseok wonders if he ventured too far, asking questions that weren't his to ask. An apology is on the tip of his tongue when Yoongi answers, eyes passing over Hoseok's features with caution. "Play," he corrects quietly, slouched into himself, as if he doesn't want to be where he is. "I still play."

"Oh." The conversation feels unfinished, maybe because it is; Hoseok is tactile, though. He understands what the set of Yoongi's shoulders means, the emptiness in his eyes as he turns away from Hoseok to stare at the blurry world outside.

When the music fades, Hoseok tentatively passes his phone over. "Pick a song," he says lightly, trying to diffuse some of the tension between them. "I don't mind."

Yoongi fiddles with the playlists, selecting one after careful consideration. It's another piece by Yiruma, this one softer and more lilting, a faint sense of melancholy spilling through to linger in the high notes.

"Time Forgets?" Hoseok guesses, turning the corner and pulling onto the street below his penthouse.

Yoongi nods and Hoseok waits patiently, letting the notes run into each other one last time before the melody filters into nothing, silence settling between them when it does. It feels almost surreal, if Hoseok is being honest; the picture of Yoongi sitting next to him, small hands tangled together in his lap, lips pursed into a thin line, feels more like a dream than anything else, and Hoseok wonders how much time he has before it turns into a nightmare.

"C'mon," Hoseok says, fighting to keep his tone neutral. "It's late, we should get inside."

Yoongi murmurs his assent before languidly unfolding his limbs, hissing when he tries straighten his spine. Hoseok studies the way he breathes past the pain before making his way to the other side of the car and opening the door, offering Yoongi a hand with an uncertain smile.

"You can lean on me," he murmurs when Yoongi stares at him, eyes unfathomable. "It's not a problem."

Yoongi's palm is warm against his, fingers threaded through Hoseok's longer ones. Hoseok helps him up, guiding him out of the car with gentle touches, carrying most of Yoongi's weight until they hit the elevator, the silence between them heavy.

The penthouse is dark when they make their way inside, Hoseok fumbling around for a bit before finding the lightswitch, the chandelier glittering to life and illuminating the sharp planes of Yoongi's face with heavy shadows. Like this, his bruises are more defined, almost ghastly against the unhealthy pallor of his skin, and Hoseok closes his eyes, trying to ignore the sudden rush of memories flooding his thoughts.

Yoongi reminds Hoseok of cold winter nights, of hopeless thoughts and weary words, of a life he'd rather forget than remember again. It's more than a little disconcerting, if he's being honest, more than a little bit disturbing; terrifying, even.

He opens his eyes to find Yoongi watching him curiously, lips pursed in thought. Hoseok tries to smile at him, though he's fairly positive it comes across as more of a grimace than anything else, and gestures towards the bedroom with a timid hand.

"Go, make yourself comfortable. I'll be there in a minute, I just need to find the first aid kit."

Yoongi limps away and Hoseok waits until he turns into the bedroom before calling Taehyung, fingers drumming anxiously against his thigh.

"Hello?" Taehyung sounds breathless, heavy bass from the club leaking through the receiver to echo in Hoseok's ear.

"Hey," Hoseok says hesitantly, unsure of how to word this.

"Listen, I, um-I left?" It comes out sounding more like a question than a statement, and Hoseok hurries to clarify, apologetic. "I'm sorry, I bumped into someone and it-"

Taehyung cuts him off. "That's alright, hyung, I don't mind taking the bus back. Namjoon is still flirting with the bartender though, so I guess I'm the only one going home by myself tonight."

Hoseok can almost hear the pout in Taehyung's tone."Are you sure, Tae? I can always come back to pick you up, it's not a problem."

"Nah, I wouldn't want to intrude. Just remember hyung, safe sex is the best sex!"

Hoseok splutters. "Taehyung, no , that's not what I meant when I said I bumped into someone."

"Right," Taehyung says knowingly. "Anway hyung, I gotta go but have fun!" He hangs up and Hoseok groans, making his way towards the bathroom to find the first aid kit.

Yoongi's hunched over himself when Hoseok sees him again, perched on the edge with his hands splayed across his knees, thin fingers picking at the loose threads of his black jeans. Hoseok quietly settles next to him, methodically pulling out a cotton ball and soaking it in alcohol before hesitantly bringing it to Yoongi's face, voice unsure.

"May I?"

Yoongi nods, a single, barely imperceptible movement of his head, and Hoseok smiles before coming forward to gently touch Yoongi's cheek. The sting of alcohol has him flinching away, and Hoseok waits until he settles again, watching him with a patience he didn't know he had.

The second time is easier, Yoongi holding still under his touch when the cotton ball grazes blood. Hoseok blows on the torn skin when he finishes, Yoongi shivering once, twice, three times before Hoseok pulls away.

"Do you like Kumamon, or Ryan?"

Yoongi startles, eyes wide when he meets Hoseok's gaze. "What?"

Hoseok sends him a small smile, lips curled around the edges. "The band-aid. Do you like Kumamon, or Ryan?"

"Kumamon," Yoongi whispers, fingers drawing patterns over the material covering his thigh. "Please."

Hoseok's fingertips are gentle when they press the band-aid over Yoongi's cheek, gentle when they trace the shape of his lips, lingering on the curve of his cupid's bow before settling over the swollen skin at the bottom.

"What happened here?" Hoseok asks, Yoongi's lip quivering beneath his touch.

"Piece of shit backhanded me at one point."

Hoseok stares at him, at the pretty red flush crawling over his cheeks, the wrinkle in his nose as he scrunches it in distaste. "I think that must've been before I found you, right?"

"Maybe," Yoongi murmurs, voice hitching before he mumbles something else, words too low for Hoseok to actually hear.

"What was that?"

Yoongi stares at him, eyes dark with emotion. "I-Why am I here, Hoseok?"

"Excuse me?" It's the first time Yoongi's said his name, dripping with uncertainty, hollow and uneven.

"You don't know me," Yoongi says, hands anxiously tangled together in his lap. "You have no idea who I am, so why the fuck am I sitting here? You have no obligation towards me, we've fucked once and I haven't heard from you since. You paid me for sex because I begged you to sleep with me, and that's fine, it really is, but it doesn't explain what I'm doing here."

Hoseok stares at him, speechless.

"Do you want to fuck me again? Is that it? Because if it is, you don't need to sit here and pretend like you actually give a damn. As long as you pay me, we-"

" No ," Hoseok interrupts, struggling to keep the anger out of his voice. "God no, Yoongi, that's not why. You were assaulted in the middle of the night, and chances are that bastard would've fucking raped you if I hadn't shown up. Do I really need more of reason than that?"

Yoongi's voice is quiet when he speaks, thoughtful when he curls into himself. "I wouldn't know."

Silence settles over them, heavy and thick, teeming with tension. "Listen," Hoseok mutters, "I'm sorry that you thought I was doing this for sex, because I promise I wasn't."

"You promise?" Yoongi asks, voice oddly calm. He's gazing at Hoseok with dark eyes, head cocked at an angle.

"Yes." Hoseok says carefully, startling when Yoongi shifts closer.

"Promises don't really mean a lot where I'm from. I do appreciate the sentiment though, even if it is worthless." Yoongi smiles then; it's not much, just a slight upturn of his lips, but it's the first time Hoseok's ever seen him express a sincere emotion. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Hoseok murmurs, only a little flustered. He scrambles for the bruise cream, the tips of his ears burning red when Yoongi's eyes follow him.

He swallows before turning to face Yoongi again, the tub of cream held gingerly in one hand. "If you want, you can do this part yourself, but I don't know if you'll be able to reach all of the bruises."

"You can do it," Yoongi says quietly, shrugging his shirt off before drawing his arms around his knees and pulling them forward, the pale expanse of his skin marred by the purple violets blooming along the base of his spine. "I don't mind."

Hoseok leans forward, dipping his fingers into the cream before rubbing gentle circles over the bruises, the pad of his thumb brushing along the dimples of Yoongi's back. Yoongi holds still, spine curling forward when Hoseok finishes, skin stretched tight over fragile bones.

When Yoongi turns back around, Hoseok's replacing the cap on the cream again, fingers methodically twisting the round lid in clockwise circles. Yoongi's gaze is heavy on his skin and when he speaks, Hoseok pauses, letting his words filter into the air.

"Did you mean it?" Yoongi asks, voice thrumming with an odd undertone.

"Mean what?"

"When you promised you weren't doing it for the sex. Did you mean that?"

Hoseok stares at him, at the curl of his lips, the slope of his nose and the curve of his jawline before nodding, words certain.

"I promised, didn't I? I wouldn't go back on my word."

"You wouldn't?"

"No," Hoseok says, watching Yoongi with curious eyes. "No, I wouldn't."

"Okay then." Yoongi breathes and suddenly he's bridging the gap between them completely, falling forward to catch Hoseok's lips in a gentle kiss, and Hoseok's fingers curl over the nape of his neck, the taste of surprise heavy on his tongue.

It's different than the first time, he thinks. Yoongi's lips are soft against his, traveling along his jawline until they reach the curve of his throat, a single kiss gently pressed into the skin there. Strands of silver hair tickle the bottom of his chin when Yoongi moves lower, fingers ghosting over the neckline of his shirt and dipping under the hem until they graze the sensitive skin of his abdomen.

Hoseok turns loose under his touch, falling back against the pillows when Yoongi moves to straddle his lap, legs thrown over Hoseok's in a languid tangle of limbs. "Are you sure about this?" Hoseok asks, heart stuttering rapidly against his chest when Yoongi pushes the blazer off of his shoulders, the material pooling low near his waist.

"No," Yoongi answers, fingers running over the skin of Hoseok's forearms, tracing the veins there. "I'm not sure at all."

Maybe they shouldn't be doing this, then. Yoongi is bruised and bloody and unsure and maybe they shouldn't be doing this but he's kissing Hoseok with soft lips and Hoseok finds himself leaving all rational thought behind when Yoongi's fingers skim over the skin of his stomach and curl over the swell of his hip.

Yoongi reminds Hoseok of cold winter nights, of hopeless thoughts and weary words, of a life he'd rather forget than remember again. But right now, with their bodies tangled in each other, with the whisper of skin against skin echoing in their ears, Yoongi is nothing more than himself, an entity for Hoseok to lose himself in until morning comes.

They shouldn't be doing this but they are, and even if it's by chance, a fickle mistake of fate that they found each other again, Hoseok drowns himself in the warmth of pretty dark eyes and pink lips, forgets the world when Yoongi clenches around him with a soft gasp spilling past his lips.

A breathless whimper pierces the air when Yoongi comes, black lashes casting long shadows across the pale skin of his cheeks, and Hoseok traces the delicate features of his face with hesitance, Yoongi loose and pliant under his touch.

They shouldn't have done this, Hoseok thinks. They shouldn't have done this, but Yoongi is fast asleep next to him, legs tangled together in a mess of limbs, soft and warm and settled into the curve of his body, and Hoseok is glad they did.