Dollar

Shadow

As he lies there, back bent over the steering wheel, a stranger collapsed on top of him, limp inside of him, it's as if everything has temporarily stilled. He feels it acutely, beneath his skin, the difference of the night that has approached too quickly to be real. What time is it? He doesn't find it in himself to ask out loud, what with Yoongi crushing his lungs and all. Around his neck, the belt hangs loosely.

The steamed over windows blur the outside world, distorting it – locking him in this car forever. He raises his hand, palm flat against the glass, and with a single swipe; the world is suddenly clear and understandable, carved out of ice just for him.

But then the glass frosts again, and everything turns grey.

"Sorry," Yoongi groans, lifting himself up and leaning back against the seat. He's exhausted, running his hands over his face as if that will energize him. "I think I went a little overboard."

Hoseok's entire body aches, his brain not doing any better if not, in fact, worse. Yoongi's hand comes up to rub gently at his collarbone.

"Are you okay?" He asks, sweet sugar-plum voice dripping venom into Hoseok's ears. He slowly slips the belt off Hoseok's neck, lets it fall to the floor with a soft clink.

Hoseok doesn't look up, keeps staring out the window, letting his hand swipe across the glass again, and again, relishing in short moments of omniscience.

"Can I go home now?" He asks, and Yoongi is quiet.

The air is sticky, bloated, neither dares to take a breath. There's an invisible clock ticking between them, as if they have a live countdown for something important. Perhaps it's their deaths. Perhaps it's something else.

"No," he says, and now Hoseok looks up.

"What do you mean no?"

The look in Yoongi's eyes, like part of him is floating away, tilting him off his axis and stiffening something fundamental within him, is so unnerving that Hoseok can feel the panic settle in the pit of his stomach. Like grains of sand sinking to the bottom of a jar. Like his shadow striding behind him at a different pace.

"No," He repeats simply, and Hoseok knows something has changed. "I want to take you to my house."

It's as if the glass windows shatter. Hoseok sits up suddenly, curses in pain because he forgot Yoongi was still inside of him. Even as he topples over, gripping his lower back with a shaky hand, he cannot contain the anger pumping through him.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" He hisses, and Yoongi quickly takes a hold of Hoseok's hips, tries to help him ease off slowly and move gently to the passenger's side.

Hoseok shivers, clenches his jaw and pries Yoongi's hands off of him. "I can do it myself!"

Yoongi gnaws at his lip, watches Hoseok race to get his pants back on. His mind is shuffling through strategies and the right thing to say, anything to keep Hoseok in the car and willing to listen.

"I'm sorry, I just thought you couldn't be living too well if this is what you –"

Hoseok doesn't let him finish.

"Drop me off somewhere I can recognize," He spits, bent over and hastily putting on his shoes. "Or I'm calling the police."

Yoongi chuckles at that.

"And telling them what?" He mocks. "Oh hi, 911? Yeah, I was prostituting myself because I'm broke and this guy tried to offer me a place to stay, please won't you arrest him?"

Hoseok glares at the other, doesn't bother with the laces and stuffs them into his shoes. He tries to keep his nostrils from flaring, Yoongi doesn't need to know how angry he is, but when the other pushes a button and locks the doors from the inside, he can't help the rage bubbling up inside him.