Sunlight filters in through the thin venetian blinds covering the window, and Hoseok wakes with a start, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with a curled fist, memories gradually returning through the fog of exhaustion.

Yoongi's eyes, sharp and curious. Yoongi's lips, pink and pretty. Yoongi's voice, raspy and low and uncertain, all at once. Every memory is coming back to him, and each one leads to Yoongi, but Yoongi isn't here.

The sheets are obviously rumpled, a dip in the mattress where Yoongi slept, and it's the only evidence Hoseok can find to prove that last night wasn't a dream. Yoongi was here, and he'd kissed Hoseok without warning, turning pliant under his touch until they fell asleep tangled together in a mess of limbs and murmured words.

Maybe it shouldn't be as surprising as it is. Yoongi is an enigma all of his own, and Hoseok was just beginning to pick apart the threads of his personality with hope he never should have harboured. It shouldn't be as surprising as it is and yet, disappointment is crawling through his veins, heavy and thick. Perhaps it was too much ask for; Yoongi, curled into him, settled endearingly into the hollow of his body, was more than enough, a dream that was bound to come to an unfortunate end.

With a sigh, Hoseok stretches, spine arching backwards and fingers reaching for the sky, limbs twisting until his joints pop. The hardwood floor is cold under his feet, and he shivers, shrugging a robe over himself before padding into the kitchen.

It's when his hands are curled around a mug of steaming coffee that he catches sight of a post-it note stuck to the counter, scribbled over in scratchy hangul.

Hoseok,

I'm sorry I left without saying anything, but I had to be somewhere today. I'm at the club every friday night though, if you want to drop by and pay me then. If not, I can come by here, just give me a call.

-Yoongi

Hoseok stares at the words, resisting the urge to dial the hastily scrawled phone number at the bottom. He's not sure how he should be feeling right now. Angry, perhaps. Resigned, even, because this isn't a surprise by any means, not really.

More than anything though, he thinks he feels empty.

To Yoongi, Hoseok was nothing more than another customer, another easy fuck to earn money through, a jackpot of dollar bills and loose emotions. It's a difficult thought to process this early in the morning. He feels almost sick when he thinks about what they did because for Yoongi, it was work . It was a chore, a means of getting by with minimal effort, and at the realization Hoseok lets fingers curl over the words to hide them from view, the paper rough against his skin.

He doesn't call Yoongi.

Instead, he tucks the note in the pocket of his robe, takes it with him wherever he goes and eventually memorizes the curve of Yoongi's letters, the scrawled number seared into his thoughts.

Work is mindless; it's mindless and it's boring and Hoseok wants to tear his hair out in frustration because all he can see are sleepy eyes and pink lips, the files in front of his eyes blurring together to paint the ghost of Yoongi's smile. Hoseok almost wants to scoff at how ridiculous this is, because even after finding out Yoongi did this for money , he's still enamoured, still helplessly endeared and in like.

There's a knock on the door, quiet and tentative, and he drums his fingers over his desk, still distracted. "Come in."

Taehyung is soft when he speaks; tentative, unsure."Hyung?"

Maybe it should be a testament as to how snappish Hoseok has been this week, because even Taehyung, sweet, happy Taehyung is more than a little wary around him, uncertain and hesitant.

"What?" Hoseok's head is buried in his hands, shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows and tie loose around his neck. He knows he must look haggard right now but he can't quite bring himself to care, dark eyes and pink lips still heavy in his thoughts.

"Hyung, it's friday night. The rest of the office is empty, if-if you want to go home too."

Hoseok laughs, the sound unpleasantly bitter. "That's okay, Taehyung-ah. It's not like I have anyone to go home to."

Taehyung stares at him in shock and for a moment, Hoseok wonders if he took things too far, an apology on the tip of his tongue until Taehyung shuffles closer, wrapping his arms over Hoseok's abdomen from behind and hunching over to rest his chin in the hollow between his neck and shoulder.

Hoseok stills but Taehyung's touch doesn't fade and eventually he relaxes, leaning back against Taehyung's chest and letting the warmth of another body comfort him.

"Better, hyung?"

Taehyung's breath is warm against his skin and Hoseok nods, hugging the arms around his stomach tighter. " 'mm. You're too nice to me, Taehyung-ah. Thank you, though. I needed that."

There's a breathless laugh before Taehyung steps back, a small smile curling the corners of his lips upwards. "Nonsense, hyung. If anyone deserves kindness, it's you."

Hoseok grins before reaching forward and ruffling Taehyung's hair, trying to lighten the mood between them. The atmosphere is a little bit too serious for his liking and Hoseok doesn't want Taehyung to worry, not when this problem is his and his alone. "Aish, this kid. Flattery will get you nowhere, you're better off trying your luck with Namjoon instead."

Taehyung opens his mouth to protest but Hoseok plows over him, holding up a hand in thought. "Speaking of, why don't you call him? I have a bottle of soju at home that's just begging to be opened, and the new Fast and Furious movie on Blu-ray. You up for a movie marathon?"

Taehyung stares at him before speaking, eyes gentle. "You sure, hyung? You seem really tired, maybe you should just go home and get some rest."

In all honesty, Hoseok is tired. This entire week was hectic and what little free time he's had was threaded through with pale skin and hollow cheeks, an entire mural of ideas painstakingly brought together from useless thoughts and poor decisions. He hasn't slept well since Yoongi left, waking up in fitful bursts and staying awake through the night, drowning in the memories of what could have been, but Taehyung doesn't need to know that.

"I'm sure, Taehyung-ah, and if you call within the next ten seconds, I'll promise I'll let you drive the Audi when we leave." Hoseok tempts, a small grin curling lips.

Taehyung squeaks in excitement before fishing out his phone, fingers flying over the keyboard as he dials Namjoon's number. Hoseok watches him in fond amusement, patient until Taehyung finishes with a cheerful flourish, a carefree "Drive safe, Joonie hyung!" tacked on at the end.

"He said he'll meet us at your place in like, half an hour."

"That's fine." Hoseok grabs his keys before winking at Taehyung, jingling them in front of his eyes in a teasing manner. "Now, do you want to drive my baby home tonight, or-"

Taehyung snatches them out of his hand before he can finish and Hoseok laughs when he gleefully runs out of the office, trailing behind him until Taehyung is sitting in the driver's seat, practically bouncing in anticipation. The engine purrs to life beneath them, and Hoseok settles back and closes his eyes as Taehyung steps on the gas pedal, the sun dipping below the horizon to colour the world into the faded tones of twilight.

It's peaceful, a gentle melody humming through the air and Hoseok is almost lulled to sleep by the time Taehyung pulls into the parking lot. He leans his weight against Taehyung when they make their way to his penthouse, an arm wrapping around his waist and holding him close until the elevator doors shut close behind them.

"Tired, hyung?" Taehyung murmurs, tightening his grip when Hoseok's eyes flutter shut, feet dragging across the floor.

" 'mm. Exhausted, actually. Maybe ask Namjoon to bring some-"

"Hoseok-ssi?"

Hoseok stills, tensing against Taehyung's touch. The voice is raspy and low and uncertain all at once, a beautiful hallucination wrapped in the nightmare of reality, and his eyes open to find Yoongi staring at him, dark gaze swirling with emotion.

It's been a week.

It's been a week, and yet, and yet Yoongi is standing in front of him, delicate features twisted into an unreadable expression, spine hunched over and shivering under the thin material of his coat. Strands of too long silver hair are covering his eyes, and Hoseok has the strongest desire to step forward and brush them back, to touch Yoongi and feel the dip of his skin under his fingers.

Instead, he gives him a wan smile, aware that it doesn't reach his eyes. "Yoongi-ssi. I wasn't expecting to see you again."

There's more than just a trace of bitterness in his tone, more than just a frigid implication that Yoongi is unwelcome here. Taehyung's grip on his waist tightens and Hoseok can feel his curious stare, the echo of his unasked questions already ringing in his ears, but he ignores it in favour of leaning into him and studying the way Yoongi's eyes flit over over their proximity.

"You never called." Yoongi says quietly, boots scuffing against the concrete.

"No," Hoseok agrees, watching Yoongi with apprehension. "No, I didn't."

"Who's this, hyung?" Taehyung asks suddenly, and Hoseok startles, almost having forgotten his presence despite the arm slung carefully over his waist.

Before Hoseok can answer, Yoongi speaks, voice light. "No one important. I was just wondering if I could talk to Hoseok-ssi in private? If you don't mind, that is."

"Actually," Hoseok murmurs, "Why don't we just cancel for tonight, Taehyung-ah?"

As upset as Hoseok is, he'll respect Yoongi's privacy. He's obviously not too keen on telling Taehyung what their relationship is, and even if Hoseok wanted to, he wouldn't take advantage of Yoongi; not like this.

He leans forward to whisper in Taehyung's ear, aware of Yoongi watching them. "I'm sorry, Tae, but I promise I'll make it up to you and Joon-ah later, okay? I'm more tired than I thought I was."

Taehyung stares at him, eyes wide. Instead of nodding, he moves closer and speaks in Hoseok's ear, soft and lilting. "Is he the reason you've been so sad this week, hyung?"

Hoseok steps back and gives Taehyung a small smile, fingers twisting together and fidgeting. "Yeah."

"Okay," Taehyung says, and then he's moving forward to give Hoseok one last hug, arms wrapping tightly over his waist and settling over the curve of his back. "Okay, I'll go, but. Be careful, hyung, please? You deserve the best."

Hoseok nods and Taehyung leaves, waving before he takes off down the elevator, the air dense with tension. Yoongi is expressionless when he turns back around and Hoseok doesn't bother trying to keep up the pretense now that Taehyung is gone.

"Yoongi-ssi. Exactly how much do I owe you?"

Yoongi murmurs a number and Hoseok leans back against the wall, pulling out his wallet to count out the appropriate amount. The money feels heavy in his hand but he gives it to Yoongi with a tight smile, fingers lingering longer than necessary.

"It was nice meeting you, Yoongi-ssi. Thank you for your time."

Hoseok turns to go but a hand catches his wrist before he can step into his penthouse, the grip tight and unrelenting. "What?"

Yoongi licks his lips, and Hoseok finds himself watching the movement, eyes traveling over the gentle dip of his mouth before Yoongi lets go of his arm. "W-why didn't you call?"

He sounds nervous but Hoseok is already wary, and he clenches his jaw before he responds, hands curled into tight fists. "I wasn't aware that what we had was a business transaction. It was more than a little surprising when I found the note you left." The sarcasm in his tone is evident, a lopsided, self-deprecating grin curling his lips.

Yoongi sucks in a harsh breath and crosses his arms over his chest, and Hoseok tries not to think about how small he looks like this, fragile and delicate, just barely more than a wisp of a person. "I thought I made myself clear."

At this, Hoseok lets out a humorless laugh and Yoongi flinches, moving a step away. "When?" Hoseok demands. "When the fuck did you make it clear that I was just another customer, another faceless fuck you needed money from?"

It's harsh. It's harsh and it's mean and he almost wants to take it back when he sees how Yoongi holds himself protectively, eyes trained on the ground. Hoseok runs a hand through his hair and breathes out, trying to keep his temper in check. "I-you know what? Forget it. Forget I said anything."

"You're right." Yoongi whispers and Hoseok startles, staring at him in confusion.

"Excuse me?"

"When you said I never made it clear. You were right." Yoongi's voice is low and uncertain and he stares at Hoseok with dark eyes, head cocked at an angle. "So let me fix it. This is business, Hoseok-ssi. This is business and you're a client. Nothing more, nothing less."

Hoseok shifts his weight off of the door and shoves his hands into his pockets, sending Yoongi a sarcastic grin. "Well, I appreciate the sentiment, even if it's a bit late. Good night, Yoongi-ssi."

"This is business," Yoongi murmurs again, features twisted into an odd expression. "Is it clear enough now?"

"Crystal." Hoseok says tiredly.

"Good. Because then I don't need an excuse to stay away."

Before Hoseok can ask what he means, Yoongi's hands settle over the curve of his waist, and Hoseok unconsciously leans into his touch, fingers curling into the hair at the nape of his neck. Yoongi's lips are soft and warm against his, a breathless moan spilling out of him when their tongues twine together and fight for dominance, slow and unhurried.

Somewhere, in the very back of his mind, he's aware that this is a terrible idea and that there is more reason to push Yoongi away than there is to embrace him, but Hoseok has never been very good with reason, and right now, his heart is telling him that this is his last chance; that this, whatever it is, is something he wants and so he tightens his grip around Yoongi's waist, pulling him in and swallowing the noises he makes.

Yoongi reminds Hoseok of cold winter nights, of hopeless thoughts and weary words, of a life he'd rather forget than remember again, but even so he can feel himself falling deeper with every touch, fire licking its way through his veins to smolder under his skin. Yoongi tastes of empty hope and shattered dreams, of lost love and desperation; he tastes of home, and Hoseok's been wandering for so long, Yoongi is a piece of heaven he can't quite ever see himself letting go of.

This time, Hoseok is familiar with Yoongi's body. It's desperate, the way they touch each other, fingers twisting through hair and running over skin with unknown intent. The air is heavy with unspoken words that finally make themselves known when Hoseok fits himself into Yoongi's warmth, lips unconsciously latching onto his neck and biting softly into the sensitive skin there.

"Stop," Yoongi gasps, breathless and needy under Hoseok's hands. "No marks, I-I have other clients."

"Of course." he murmurs, making his way lower and peppering kisses along the soft skin of Yoongi's belly, ignoring the ache in his chest, an empty feeling spreading through his bones and lingering in his heart.

Afterwards, Yoongi falls asleep immediately, eyes fluttering shut before Hoseok can even attempt to ask him how much longer they're going to keep playing pretend. With a sigh, he wipes the come and lube away from Yoongi's body in tender strokes, brushing soft strands of his hair away from his forehead before tucking him in properly and studying the delicate planes of his features, shadows moving across the gentle slope of his nose and emphasizing the lingering sadness around the set of his mouth.

It only occurs to him later, once he's watched the inky tones of night fade into the pink streaks of dawn, that if this is all he can ever have, that if this is all they can ever really be - then he would be a fool to not ask for more. He falls asleep in the early hours of the morning, curled over Yoongi, an arm slung around his waist and legs tangled together in a mess of limbs, with the thought that maybe he doesn't mind being a fool if it's for Yoongi.

☯

It's an endless pattern.

They never quite talk about it. Hoseok will try, in the late hours of their trysts, to ask Yoongi what it is he wants from this; if for him, there's more than just money involved. Yoongi will stiffen in his arms, turn away and tuck into himself, and Hoseok will be left staring at the tendons of his back, farther away from an answer than he was before.

Every Friday night, Yoongi is his. He'll stay if Hoseok asks him to, and it's inevitable that he would ask, because he thinks he would rather burn himself alive than to not have this singular moment of bliss, this sweet indulgence that leaves him feeling whole, even if only for a little while. In the mornings they'll wake wrapped around each other, the soft whisper of skin against skin echoing in their ears, and Hoseok will pretend, carding his fingers through the strands of Yoongi's hair, that this isn't a lie.

Reality is a fickle thing though, and it beckons with a sardonic grin, shattering the world he's built when Yoongi holds out his hand and Hoseok presses money into his palm, a sour taste lingering in the back of his mouth when he inevitably leaves.

That's not to say some mornings aren't better than others. There are times when Yoongi will grace him with a grin, lips parting so prettily in happiness, and Hoseok will stare at him in awe, more enamoured than he ever knew was possible. Then there are nights where Yoongi will lie still under his touch, more stone than human, and Hoseok will wonder if this is really worth it, if the pain they feel will ever completely fade.

It eats at him, what they're doing. With every touch, with every kiss, he falls deeper and he doesn't know if he can find it in him to stop. Self destruction at it's finest, he supposes, because even knowing that he's only going to come out broken and bruised, shattered beyond repair, isn't enough to deter him. If anything, it's a catalyst. The longer they keep playing pretend, the more time he has to convince himself that this isn't going to end, that one day, Yoongi will settle into his arms and smile at him, face warm with early morning love and eyes bright with hope.

And it's like this, that Hoseok falls out of like and into love.

He doesn't realize it at first. It's a gradual thing, emotions filtering through his veins to settle in his heart, heavy and unrelenting, yet he brushes it off as infatuation; as something that will eventually fade into lingering like until it's nothing at all, but it's in one of the early mornings of their nights together, the space next to him cold to the touch, that he accepts it for what it is.

Yoongi is nowhere to be found but there's a haunting melody floating through the air, melancholic and strangely sweet, the high notes of a piano echoing in his ears, and all at once he remembers the Steinway in the foyer. Gingerly, Hoseok climbs out of bed and wraps a loose robe around himself, following the faded tune until he stumbles upon Yoongi hunched over the keys of a grand piano, moonlight spilling across him and highlighting the sharp jut of his shoulderblades, the quiver of his spine as his fingers fly across the keys in desperation. An unforgettable sense of sadness lingers in the way he plays and Hoseok finds himself remembering a picture of a fallen angel he once saw, of dark eyes heavy with pain, of a hunched figure in an empty field, torn down by one too many years of loneliness.

Leaning back against the door, Hoseok watches him play with too many emotions swirling through his chest, feeling almost overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of his own feelings.

And as Yoongi hunches over the piano, the last arpeggio fading into nothing, Hoseok realizes, with a kind of startling acceptance, that this is love.

He realizes this -this beautiful, silver-haired, dark-eyed shadow of a human being, is someone he's helplessly in love with. He can't quite say for sure when it happened; somewhere between the many late night conversations, between finding out that Yoongi likes his coffee with too much sugar and not enough milk, between holding him close and breathing him in, his heart became more of Yoongi's than it did his own.

It isn't even worth denying. The sheer amount of useless information he knows about Yoongi- that he prefers Kumamon over Ryan, that autumn is his favorite season, that he likes kalguksu and soju more than he likes anything else- is a testament to this. It's the little things that matter the most when it comes to love and, well. Hoseok fell for the little things, unaware of what it meant, and now that he knows, he thinks he wouldn't change it for the world.

If this is love- if this is love, then even if this destroys him, even if this leaves him feeling broken and blue, he'll accept it without regret because Yoongi is a home he never expected to find, a safe haven in a world where he never once felt protected.

He waits until Yoongi is languidly stretching, until he's sitting up and cracking his knuckles, one of Hoseok's white shirts stretched loosely across his shoulders. The neckline dips low, falling across his collarbone to reveal a sliver of unmarked skin, and Hoseok feels his throat turn dry, a confession on the tip of his tongue.

Instead, he swallows it down and clutches his robe around himself tighter before clapping, the sound loud in the sudden silence. Yoongi turns to him sharply, a hand splayed across his chest in surprise, but his features soften into an expression of resignation when he sees who it is.

"Fuck-fuckin' hell, Hoseok, you scared the shit out of me." He rakes a hand through his already disheveled hair, and Hoseok smiles at him, eyes soft with fondness. They'd dropped the honorifics at some point, and it's only now that he realizes how much he loves the way his name sounds coming out of Yoongi's mouth, the syllables dripping with warm satoori.

"Sorry," he whispers, coming forward and wrapping his arms around Yoongi from behind, ignoring the way he stiffens in his hold. "It was a really nice song though. I couldn't help myself."

It's silent before Yoongi speaks, voice small. "You think so?"

" 'mm," Hoseok grins when he feels the tension leave Yoongi's body, his back turning loose to fall against Hoseok's chest. "Who's it by?"

"Me, actually."

At this, Hoseok steps away and sits across the bench from Yoongi, eyes wide with surprise. "You composed that?"

Yoongi laughs and the sound is sweet with how genuine it is. "Composed, arranged, written; whatever you want to call it, I guess."

"Yoongi," Hoseok breathes, more than a little in awe. "Yoongi-that, that's amazing."

"Yeah, well." Yoongi closes his eyes and hunches over the piano, releasing a cacophony of discordant sounds. "Glad at least someone thinks so."

Hoseok stares at him, hesitant to ask any further, because as much as he knows Yoongi, he also doesn't; whatever he's kept tucked away isn't exactly substantial and this is the first time Yoongi's offered him something more, a clear invitation in the form of a loose implication.

"Do you," Hoseok releases a tentative breath, still unsure of where he stands. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"There's not much to talk about, really."

It's more than a little self-deprecating, and Hoseok bites his lip before leaning over to pull Yoongi into his arms, back to front. "Maybe not," he says quietly, resting his chin on the crown of Yoongi's head. "But I'm always willing to listen."

Yoongi sucks in a harsh breath and Hoseok tightens his grip around his waist, tugging him closer. " Have you-have you ever really wanted to do something with your life? And the whole world tells you it's impossible but you keep doing it anyway because even though you know they're right, you just-"

"Want to try." Hoseok finishes, a lopsided smile stretching his lips when Yoongi turns to face him curiously. "You just want to try, because even the thought of giving up something you love that much is worse than disappointing everyone around you."

When Yoongi continues to stare at him, Hoseok laughs, and his words are more nostalgic than anything else. "I used to dance. Hip-hop, b-boying, even ballet at some point. You name it, and I did it."

"What happened?" Yoongi's voice is quiet, legs tangled together around Hoseok's waist and arms looped over his neck.

Hoseok hums, struggling to put his thoughts into words. "Nothing, really. It wasn't a stable career, and even if I could get a job, it wouldn't pay very well, so. I quit. It sucked, yeah, but I don't regret it."

Yoongi's eyes are dark, lips pursed into a tight line. " If you don't have regrets, then doesn't that mean you never really loved it in the first place?"

"No." Hoseok says quietly, eyes never leaving Yoongi's. "No, I think it just means that it wasn't meant to be mine after all."

The atmosphere between them is heavy with tension, crackling with unsaid words, and it doesn't feel like they're talking about dance anymore. It doesn't feel like they're talking about dance anymore and Hoseok isn't ready to have this conversation, not now, not ever, and so he breaks away from Yoongi's gaze and changes the topic instead.

"But this isn't about me. We were talking about you, if I remember correctly?" He opts for a mild tone and internally breathes a sigh of relief when Yoongi doesn't question him.

"I don't know, Seok. For me, it's always been this." He gestures towards the piano and Hoseok nods, rubbing circles over his back in encouragement. "I started when I was really young, and at first, no one said anything. It was a side hobby, a sort of thing my parents could brag about to their friends, an extracurricular that would make my university application look pretty."

Yoongi takes a deep breath, and his voice sounds a little more choked when he speaks, a little more broken. "Until it wasn't."

This time it's Hoseok who stares at him, words soft with understanding. "And?"

"And nothing." Yoongi says unevenly, arms curling tightly around Hoseok's neck. "I did what I had to do. Got out of the house and went to uni by myself. Stuck it out until my second year and, well. It's a little bit hard being thousands of dollars in debt while trying to major in music, I guess."

"You didn't try to ask your family for help?"

"I don't think you really understand, Hoseok. They disowned me, told me if I ever wanted to come back I'd-I'd have to go into fuckin ' medicine, or engineering at the very least, and I can't live like that. Fuck, I won't ever live like that."

"Even if you have to live like this?" Hoseok asks quietly, hugging Yoongi to him tighter.

Yoongi's crying softly into the hollow of his shoulder now, wet tears soaking into the material of his shirt, and Hoseok rocks them back and forth, again and again. He smiles when Yoongi lifts his head to stare at him, swollen eyes puffy and red, yet still startlingly clear.

"Even if I have to live like this." he whispers, and Hoseok pulls him into a kiss, hands finding purchase on the slim curve of his waist, Yoongi's tearstained cheeks damp against his own.

☯

After that, Hoseok treads carefully around Yoongi. There are so many instances where he almost, but not quite, blurts out it out, the words fighting to make themselves known.

He'll ignore it though, and pull Yoongi closer instead, hug him tightly and breathe in the subtle scent of citrus, only to let him go in the morning with a wan smile and an empty goodbye, because as much as Hoseok wants to tell Yoongi, he also doesn't want this to end. He wants to stay here, with Yoongi curled into his arms, the pretty pink of dawn spilling through the window to bathe them in a warm glow.

And even if Hoseok is still just a client to Yoongi, still just dollar bills and loose change, he won't ask for anything more, because Yoongi is an anchor in a world of change, a reprieve from a life he's grown tired of.

But even so, a love like this can never stay hidden for long.

☯

The day he confesses is a warm one.

It's a Sunday. Hoseok isn't doing much except for lazily scrolling through his emails at home, a mug of coffee clutched in one hand. The early morning sun is shining brightly through the window, curtains billowing in the light breeze, and he's skimming through the words on his laptop when there's a knock on the door, a single melody that he's learned to associate with Yoongi's appearance.

It's strange, because Yoongi has never once come to him outside of his designated time slot, and Hoseok can't help but think something is wrong, heart lurching into his throat. Tentatively, he opens the door and Yoongi falls into his arms, shaking violently despite the warmth of the sun.

"Hey," Hoseok says, voice high with alarm. "Yoongi, what-what happened?"

Yoongi doesn't answer, face buried into Hoseok's shoulder, and he can feel his tears soaking into his shirt, tremors running through his body without pause. The silver of his hair has started to dim, dark roots sprouting up, and Hoseok runs his fingers through the strands gently, at a loss for what to do.

Yoongi is clinging to him tightly, hiccups racking through his body, and belatedly, Hoseok realizes they're still standing in the open doorway. He brings Yoongi in, looping an arm under the backs of his knees, and Yoongi curls around him, face still buried in Hoseok's shoulder.

"Yoongi," Hoseok murmurs, sitting down on the sofa with Yoongi still in his arms. "Yoongi, I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong, yeah? Talk to me, please."

The sniffling gradually softens and Yoongi pulls away to wipe at his face with a curled fist, but Hoseok catches his hand, studying the bruised knuckles with worry. They're bleeding, the skin cracked in the middle, and Yoongi holds his wrist at an odd angle, as if it hurts to move it.

Though the damage to his hand is nothing compared to his face.

His left eye is heavily bruised, the edges a sickly purple, and his bottom lip is split, dried blood caked across the curve of his mouth. Hoseok raises a finger to touch the cut but Yoongi flinches away, tucking into himself as much as he can on the small loveseat.

Hoseok watches him for a moment before standing up and moving to the kitchen, Yoongi's gaze heavy on his skin. The coffee he'd made earlier is still there, and he warms it up, adding two teaspoons of sugar and only a quarter cup of milk, hands moving with muscle memory.

Yoongi accepts the mug gratefully, tucking his feet under himself before taking a small sip, eyes fluttering shut at the taste. Hoseok waits until he finishes, taking the cup from between his hands and setting it on the coffee table when he does, the silence between them unnervingly odd.

"Yoongi," Hoseok begins, eyes dark with worry. "Yoongi, can-can you tell me what happened?"

Yoongi takes a deep breath and stares at his hands, fingers tangled together in his lap. "I-it's not actually worth talking about, Hoseok, I just-I was panicking, and I wasn't really aware of where I was going or what I was doing. Thank you for helping me but I think-I think I'll just go home"

Hoseok catches his hand when he gets up to leave and tugs him back down to the couch, expression unreadable. "It's not any trouble, and obviously there's something wrong Yoongi, I'm not an idiot."

When Yoongi doesn't say anything, Hoseok sighs and laces their fingers together, squeezing tightly. "Please," he begs, staring at Yoongi in earnest. "Please, tell me what happened. I'm worried."

Hoseok strokes the back of Yoongi's hand with his thumb, the skin soft beneath the pad of his finger, and Yoongi leans into the touch before he speaks, voice barely audible. "I-I was walking back from a client's house when I ran into a previous- a previous customer ."

"And?" Hoseok prompts, silence stretching between them when Yoongi stills.

There's a quiet, nervous little chuckle, and Hoseok stares at Yoongi in alarm, grip turning slack in his hand. "And, well-well, he wasn't very good the first time-he tried to fuck me without any prep, you know, and I was limping for days afterwards-and so-so, I said no."

He does it again then, the same, half-delirious giggle as before, too high pitched to be real. "You know what he did, Seok-ah?" Yoongi hiccups, and it's not a laugh anymore, not even remotely close. "He-he tried to rape me, said-said I was a whore, a-a fuckin slut who was gonna get what I deserved, that he was gonna make me his cock sucking bitch. "

Hoseok doesn't know what to say. Yoongi's knees are drawn towards his chest, and he's curled into a fetal position, body shaking. Tentatively, Hoseok shrugs out of his robe and drapes it over Yoongi's thin shoulders, and it's only now that he notices the collar of his shirt is stretched obscenely, the button of his jeans torn off.

"Oh, Yoongi ," Hoseok breathes, and he pulls Yoongi closer to him, arms curling protectively over his waist. "Fuck, I don't-are you okay? Do you want to go to the hospital? I can take-"

"He didn't get to me, Hoseok, I-I fought , hell, I fuckin' hit him over the head with a broken beer bottle. There was-there was blood everywhere , God, I just got up and started running and I was so scared fuck, I'm still so fucking scared, Seok, I-"

"Breathe," Hoseok says, cradling Yoongi's face in his hands with alarm. "Baby, breathe, please , you're panicking."

Yoongi nods and tries to take in a deep breath, but a sob wrenches its way out of his throat and Hoseok watches in growing despair, wanting to help but not knowing how to. He rubs circles over Yoongi's back, tears soaking into the material covering his shoulder, and waits patiently until the noises gradually soften and turn into quiet sniffles instead.

Eventually, Yoongi lifts his head from where it had been buried into Hoseok's shoulder and looks at him with watery eyes, red rimmed and puffy. "I'm sorry. Fuck, I'm so sorry, I don't even know what I'm still doing here, this isn't your problem and I-"

"Hey," Hoseok swipes his thumb under Yoongi's eye and catches a tear carefully, the skin soft beneath his touch. "I don't mind Yoongi, yeah? Especially if it's something like this."

When Yoongi doesn't meet his gaze, Hoseok sighs and tilts his chin up, Yoongi's eyes wide with with surprise. "And just so you know, you're not any of those things. You-you're not a slut, or a whore, and you're definitely not-not a cock sucking bitch , okay?"

Yoongi laughs, and it's more than just a little bit bitter, more than just a little bit empty. Pulling away from Hoseok's touch, Yoongi settles back as far away from him as he can and wraps his arms around his knees, words slow and unhurried. "But what if I am? What if this-what if this is all I can ever be, Hoseok? A fuckin whore , used and worthless and-and unwanted. "

Hoseok stares at him, eyes traveling over the delicate slope of his nose, across the gentle curve of his lips, until he meets his gaze, eyelashes casting shadows across the pale skin of his cheeks. Yoongi reminds Hoseok of cold winter nights, of hopeless thoughts and weary words, of a life he'd rather forget than remember again, but even so, Hoseok loves him and it isn't something he can ignore any longer.

"I want you." Hoseok says quietly, so quietly, he's wondering if Yoongi even heard him, but Yoongi startles and stares at him, eyes wide.

"I want you." he says again, louder this time.

"What?"

Hoseok rakes a hand through his hair, and he doesn't care how disheveled it makes him look, doesn't care that he might be ruining the one thing he cares about most. "I want you Yoongi, so, so much. God, it- it hurts, how much I fucking-fucking love you, okay? You're worth so much more than you think you are, and it breaks my heart when you say stuff like that because God Yoongi, you mean so much to me. So fucking much."

Yoongi stares at him with wide eyes, shock colouring his features. "I love you." Hoseok says again, soft and quiet and a little bit sad. "So much."

There isn't a response, and Hoseok tentatively inches closer, hesitant. "Say something." he begs, eyes pleading.

Yoongi seems to startle out of his stupor then, and he unconsciously tucks into himself, curling away from Hoseok as much as he can. "You can't," he whispers, anguish flitting across his features. "You can't Hoseok, I'm-I'm a prostitute , I get fucked for money , and, and I'm filthy, and vile, and disgusting-"

He's sobbing, words drowned out by too many tears, and Hoseok twines their fingers together and tugs him forward, Yoongi coming easily despite his inhibitions. "You're not. You-You're so much more than that, Yoongi. You're so strong and independent and prideful and-and it's not easy surviving the way you do, but you handle yourself so well , baby."

Yoongi beats his fists against Hoseok's chest, but it's weak, and Hoseok can feel the fight leaving him. "I love you." Hoseok murmurs, Yoongi turning slack in his arms, the crown of his head brushing against the underside of Hoseok's chin.

Eventually, Yoongi speaks, and his words are soft with regret, muffled against Hoseok's chest. "I'm not-I don't belong with you, Hoseok. You deserve someone who's as kind as you, someone who'll shower you with affection and warmth and love-someone better than me."

Hoseok pulls away and cradles Yoongi's tearstained face, pressing a light kiss to his forehead fondly. "Yoongi," Hoseok begins, taking Yoongi's hands in his, warm and reassuring. "Tell me truthfully. Do you want this?"

Yoongi seems flustered at the blunt question, gaze trained on his lap. "It-it's not about what I want, Hoseok. I-"

Hoseok cuts him off, and asks again, words soft but firm. "Do you want this."

Yoongi takes in a deep breath and stares at his hands, words spilling past his lips quietly. "So much." he whispers, looking up and meeting Hoseok's gaze with his own, eyes flickering with emotion. "I want this so much."

Hoseok smiles at him, lips parting into a heart shaped grin, wide and happy and sweet. "Okay." he murmurs, leaning forward and kissing Yoongi softly, hands finding purchase on the small of his back to tug him in and bring him closer. "Then I'm yours."

Later, once night has fallen and they've talked things through a bit more, Hoseok finds himself in bed with Yoongi, legs tangled together in a mess of limbs. "Hey," Yoongi mumbles, the words muffled into the crook of Hoseok's neck. "I love you."

Hoseok bends down to kiss the top of his head, hand rubbing soothing circles over the skin of Yoongi's back. "I know." he says softly, breathing in the faint scent of citrus and vanilla, eyes crinkling so prettily in happiness. "I know, baby."

Yoongi reminds Hoseok of cold winter nights, of hopeless thoughts and weary words, of a life he'd rather forget than remember again; but there's so much more to him than there seems to be at first glance. There's a certain kind of warmth in his eyes, a certain kind of passion in everything he does, and Hoseok smiles when he feels Yoongi grin against his neck in fondness, hand finding his easily through the tangle of sheets.

He's finally home.