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.
His eyes travel to the pale expanse of Yoongi's neck. The curve of his jugular, the hollow tube of elastic fiber pulsating beneath his skin. It would be easy to kill him, slice it and he's gone. Only human. And the turmoil melts crimson.
"Why exactly do you want to take me home?" He asks.
Yoongi sighs.
"I just want to help you, Hoseok." Yoongi's hand comes to sit on his lap. Cold.
"I don't need your help."
And Yoongi, with that cat-smile on his face, looks more like a tiger than anything as he reaches into his pocket and pulls his wallet out. Hoseok follows his rough fingers as they move into the leather and come out with five one-hundred dollar bills in their grip.
The air is tense as a taut bowstring. Hoseok stares down at his own hands. His fingers almost seem to blend into themselves, melt under the scrutiny of Yoongi's expression.
"I said two hundred."
Yoongi smirks.
"And I said I wanted to take you home."
Hoseok glares at him. He doesn't know what he feels, he doesn't know what the buzzing just beneath his skin means, but when Yoongi's fingers disappear into the leather again – Hoseok knows it all.
"Here," he says, Hoseok feels like he might throw up. "One thousand, but only if you come with me."
Greed.
His fingers vibrate. A tingle runs down his spine, into his thigh bones and down to his feet. Run, his mind tells him. Run, he's going to kill you.
At that exact moment, as if the world is watching them on Broadway, the sky rips apart and thick sheets of water hurl down against the car.
And as the rain drowns everything around them, suffocating any sane thoughts Hoseok might have had, he thinks; not if I get to him first.
-
The cold is a gentle cusp against his cheek, easing its way through the crevices of the car as Yoongi drives down the highway. Hoseok feels oddly numb, like nothing has quite reached him yet. A jet-lag of sorts, living by his own time. He is glossed over, floating, and through the haze, everything is still in order.
Suddenly, Yoongi cuts the wheel carelessly and Hoseok's head spins. He clenches his fists, wills the strange nausea away as best as he can. He snaps his eyes open, and from the window, he sees the sky is a deadened tombstone grey, everything outside an ungainly shape of nothingness through the streaked glass. He feels the rain roaring on the pavement, and it almost seeps into his skin. But, inside the car, there is nothing but a stifled sort of silence.
And Yoongi.
-
When they stop, they do so in front of a large gated house. Hoseok looks around, at the whiteness of all the other houses down the street. Yoongi speaks up next to him. Hoseok had almost, almost forgotten the sound of his voice.
"We're here."
He waits, doesn't want to leave the car first. Yoongi sighs and steps out, comes around to open Hoseok's door that's still locked from the inside.
Hoseok gets out, heart beating against his chest as Yoongi closes the door and looks at him. The grey water falls in slanted sheets, neither of them rush to the door.
Hoseok avoids his eyes, stares around and feels miserably out of place among the manicured lawns, the landscaped gardens and expensive cars. He doesn't belong here. It is too white, too clean, too affluent. He's a sewer rat amongst pet hamsters, and Yoongi's staring a hole into his neck.
