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“I’m not gonna pay for your fuckin bike” Hoseok chuckles, shaking his head and throwing his racing jacket over his shoulder. Yoongi growls, thinks he’s going to lose his god damn mind if this douche bag doesn’t give him the money. He huffs before he exclaims, “YOU are the one that keyed it! And for wh-“ “because you don’t play fair, gloss,” Hoseok interjects, “How do you expect me to win one of the most highly bid on races of the year if you try to spike my wheels?” he says nonchalantly, tracing the bright new silver streak with his finger. The heat in older man’s chest builds, he’s ready to explode.The racer takes a deep breath for moral support before grabbing Hoseok by the collar and pushing him against a table in the auto body shop. “Listen Sol, you’re either going to give me the cash to fix my motherfucking bike, or I’m gonna key your esophagus,” he growls, hesitates, then spits on man’s face.Hoseok chuckles and wipes the spit off with a gloved hand, smirking as he locks eyes with the man holding him down. “Oh gloss, if you really wanted me like this, you could have just asked” he coos before shoving him away. He rolls his eyes and pulls out a thick wad of cash that makes Yoongi’s mouth water. He keeps a careful eye on the bills, counting every piece of paper that comes in contact with the man’s fingers. Eleven..twelve... thirteen hundreds, seven twenties, and four ones. Enough to make it worth it to find this asshole again later.“Here,” he mutters, throwing three of the hundreds on the ground to which Yoongi pounces on, afraid they might go away as quick as they come. Hoseok laughs too loud and kicks the stand off his bike, putting on a bright yellow helmet to match his bright yellow bike. Yoongi has always hated the color and the cheesy sun decal sticker. What a fuckin pussy.Yoongi straightens up and shoves the money in his pocket, safe. Hoseok gives him a last glance before he adds, “Maybe if you get on your knees next time I’ll give you four hundred instead,” he taunts, clicking his tongue once before speeding off into the city.Yoongi sighs, fingers the bills in his pocket. It’ll be enough to fix the bike, but also more than enough to get him the new contacts he’s been needing. As much as he wants to fix his flaming red baby, he needs to see to win more money. He shakes his head as he runs a finger over the paint scratch. “Sol.. that dirty son of a bitch.”————————Yoongi’s mouth was tingling.The pain of his lips stretched so wide he can feel his top lip split was enough to send him over the edge. And not in a good way.“God what a waste of my fuckin money” the man snarles, thrusting up one more time into Yoongi’s face before grabbing his jaw and throwing him to the ground. He tucks his dick (still wet... gross) back into his pants before he spits at Yoongi’s crumpled frame on the ground. “Wasn’t even worth it if YOU payed ME,” he snarles, slamming the door shut. Yoongi doesn’t move, he doesn’t even flinch. When the next knock on the door comes, he still doesn’t have the energy to look at the next abuser he has to put up with. He’s too tired, too emotionally drained. His cheeks are wet and burning. Why couldn’t he just be successful like his parents had wanted? Why did he have to waste his life away being passed from man to man to get enough money to even ea-“Gloss?”Oh fuck that.Yoongi lifts his head and sees the one person he would probably rather kill himself than be presented to. The older man groans as he rolls over and slowly stands up, stumbling, but catching himself on the railing at the end of the bed. The drugs can only intoxicate him for so long before he loses complete control and it’s coming time to clock out.“What did you order?” he says tiredly, his voice cracking. Sol clears his throat and steps toward him, noticing every strained muscle so detailed underneath the other racer’s porcelain skin. Besides his rather intense desire to get his dick sucked, he couldn’t possibly make the weak man suffer more than he obviously is.“Gloss.. gloss are you okay?” he whispers, bending his knees a little to accomadate the man’s shorter stature. “Hey” Hoseok says gently, cupping Yoongi’s cheek. He keens into the touch, relishing how tender it truly is. How soft Sol’s hands are. The thought is only a guise against how much he wants to just fucking end it. He jerks away (even though that’s the last thing prostitutes are supposed to do) and blinks back the tears still prodding at his eyes. “Just tell me what you want! And leave!” he exclaims, like Hoseok is just wasting his time. His softened demeanor, to Yoongi’s surprise, stays unwavered. “How about... I clean you up,” he says softly, stepping back into the uncomfortable bubble that always surrounds the smaller man. Hoseok takes off his gloves (for once in his god damn life) and uses the back of his hand to wipe off the spit and precome of the last customer. Yoongi whimpers, feels like he would like nothing more than for Sol to take care of him tonight. To ice the bruises littering his neck and arms and kiss away the pain in his jaw.But he knows that’s not how real life works.And that’s how Yoongi knows he’s popped too many pills. Because as soon as he reaches for Sol’s hand, it morphs into an ugly, ugly monster. A man who has grabbed Yoongi by the hair and lifts him almost an inch off the ground. “Are you gonna do your fucking job whore?” the man asks, sucking along Yoongi’s pulse point until it feel so like he’s biting directly into his jugular. Yoongi groans lowly, the only sound he can possibly make. And so, he pretends that his delusion of Sol trying to help him, protect him.. had happened. He pretends that everything is okay when the customer fucks him with something of a vengeance before he releases all of his aggression into his ass before slamming the door closed. Yoongi pretends like he doesn’t mind the way his body quivers when he eventually cleans himself up and takes the money from his pimp. He pretends to feel safe in the dingy hotel room he lives in. Pretends to feel warm and comforted by the thin blankets that cover his frail body. If he won’t pretend, who will do it for him?
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“Cmon joon don’t fucking do this to me right now,” he grumbles, landing another devastating blow to the amateur kickboxer. The younger man’s crumbles as soon as Hoseok’s foot connects with his temple. Namjoon hurriedly comes into the metal cage and checks his pulse. There, definitely, but the poor bitch is out cold. He sighs and carries him away, giving an even more exasperated sigh to the younger man. “Couldn’t you do something that doesn’t involve hurting people? Or is that all you're good at?”“Say that again Joon and I might just stop funding your little hobby” Hoseok grins as he begins to peel off the tape keeping his hands stabilized. Namjoon looks up from where he’s halfway bent over, dragging the limp man. “Oh haha, you’re so funny,” he deadpans, continuing to move the kickboxer. Even though he liked to put pressure on Namjoon, make him think he would sell him out, Hoseok never would. Sometimes it was a good wake up call for Namjoon when he threatened to take away his coke. He wondered what his friend would do if he wound up after a long day with nothing to inhale. ‘Probably go on a rampage’ Hoseok thought to himself. He wouldn’t use it against Joon, never. Unless... he had to, of course.
See, here’s the thing. Time and time again, it seemed like nobody could get under Hoseok. He was the best driver in the world, the best liar in the world, the best manipulator in the world. He was pretty good looking too (at least, that’s what all the guys on Grindr told him). And yet, there’s still one person he hasn’t gotten control of yet..“Can someone other than a sixty-year-old man call me a sexy twink?” Yoongi whimpers to himself, tucking his phone away for the hundredth time as his boss walks by. “I hope you weren’t on that gay app again,” his manager says lowly, tapping his butt as he walks by. Yoongi fights the urge to regurgitate right there on the spot. He wants to hiss every time his boss comes near him. Always asking for extra help long after his shift at the shop should’ve been over. He hated the way the man’s mouth somehow felt greasy on his. How he always had to obey. Sometimes, Yoongi wonders if his boss was had some kind of fetish for power. He tries to forget about the things he’s forced to do though, always chalking it up to whatever pays the bills. .“I really don’t think he’s gonna suck your micropenis even if you gave him a million dollars,” Joons snorts, relishing how upset hoseok is seeming to get. “Oh yeah, real rich Namjoon. As if I didn’t just catch you trying to fuck that whore that counts off before the race." The older man throws his hands up, “There’s a reason they put her in a bikini and stilettos, Hoseok. You wouldn’t understand since you’re so busy mentally fucking Gloss,” he spits. Hoseok glances up from his smile, it quickly turning to a thin line. “So what if I’ve been mentally fucking him? I’m gonna do it soon anyways. He seems like the type to do it for a pack of crackers,” he drawls, running his fingers over his neck, squeezing lightly. That’s exactly what would get him out of this horrid losing streak to the only other racer that was decent enough to be cast into's Seoul's underground spotlight. He would have to sleep with his rival. Joon looks up from the floor and cocks his head at the other man. “I hope... I hope you’re not serious seok. That could be really fuckin dangerous for you,” he says carefully, as if any wrong word will make Hoseok kick the shit out of him. He knows the damage it’s done to his friend before. He knows Hoseok's being watched.
“As if I even fucking care at this point,” he admits, plopping down in front of Namjoon on the floor. “The only thing it could do is give me a bad reputation and I’m too far past that point. If I fuck him well enough, he won’t try to ruin me on the asphalt anymore,” he explains, thinking briefly how the organization would take to another scandal. He considers how they didn’t even want to sponsor him because he was gay. Was sleeping with a rival going to hinder him more than it was going to help him?
Namjoon seemed to have a knowing look as Hoseok met his eyes. “You’re going to need to do it quietly,” he tells the man, crossing his arms. Hoseok grins and leans back on his hands, tsking. “You know I get loud,” he snorts as Namjoon rolls his eyes. “Dunno why I ever started helping you.”
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It's getting harder to sleep.Six hours after work with no relief. Maybe it's his budding excitement for the national race, or the residual coke from the previous client, but he feels on edge. His toes curl at the delusions of last night. Is he subconsciously trying to find comfort in his opponent? He supposes it’s about the closest thing he can equate these feelings into. He sniffles a little, remembering the trauma that has poisoned his life. “Ah.. but not now,” he mutters, shaking his head of the thought. There’s only one thing to focus on. He’s gone over it countless times, 500 million won on the line for, give or take, 7 minutes of racing. Yoongi grinned thinking of all of the bikes he could buy with that kind of money. He could really get some insane clutch mods -or! Or that new anti-seize piston he’s been reading so much about… He shakes his head again and scoffs. “Do you even know who you are?” he asks the stale air around him. Food… Food was the first priority, then a house, and then bike mods. He seems satisfied with himself as he hums, scratching notes into a loose piece of paper. Even without all the formal education his peers got, Yoongi still understood that knowing calculations could get you anything you wanted. ‘Calculations’.. He thinks, instantly contorting his face. ‘Calculations of the robbery’.Yoongi couldn’t even help himself but think back to the time his best friend tried to rob a woman to get the money for his first race entry. He had calculated everything down to the millisecond to make sure he was successful. Taehyung had even bragged to Yoongi, “less than 10 seconds”. And it was true.=He used to cry all night if Yoongi came back to their dorm with a bruised lip and cuts down the back of his thighs. It killed Taehyung to know that someone was hurting him. Yoongi was skeptical at first, “Isn’t stealing like… a one way ticket to hell?” he pondered while Taehyung scoffed. “Hyung,” he used to whine, “Have you forgotten what your “shifts” look like?” Yoongi would blush, embarrassed that even one person who knew him this closely also knew his biggest secret. “Aish Tae.. it is what it is,” he would mumble.It started off small; pickpocketing watches and small bills from the pockets of a passerby. They were fine with this to begin. Enough money for rent each month and a little left over for food. This was do-able. But Yoongi knew it was going out of control when Taehyung started installing credit card scanners on ATMs and hacking into Bitcoin accounts. He should’ve stopped it then.. told Taehyung that it wasn’t worth it. But God, the lust for money drove him crazy. Soon enough they had no debt and ate out at a different steakhouse every night. Taehyung loved to adorn his neck and wrists with glittering gold, a nice contrast to the stark black of Yoongi's brand new racing bike. They lived like this for a while before growing even hungrier off the small taste of luxury they had acquired. Yoongi yearned for a chance to compete in the famous “Seoul Cross Race”, one of the largest competitions in the city. The 4 million won entry fee bit Yoongi in the ass as he looked over the flyer. Taehyung wide-eyed him from across the room. “You should do it hyung. I’ve seen how good you are,” he quips, gulping down the rest of his beer. “Maybe if it wasn’t this fuckin expensive,” Yoongi scoffs, tossing the paper to the side. Taehyung sighs, waltzing up to his Hyung’s bed and flopping on him. “Have you forgotten who we are?”=At that point, Yoongi really wishes Taehyung would have forgotten all about who they were and what they had done. He feels hollow, empty. He should’ve said something.. Told Taehyung that that woman’s husband was behind him with a gun to the back of his head. But Yoongi… Yoongi couldn’t say a word. Nothing came out of his mouth as his throat constricted and his eyes hardly even registered the murder of his best friend.. his brother.. his taehyung.Two years ago seems like a lifetime ago to Yoongi. But not long enough for the pain to subside. In some sort of cliche way that Taehyung would’ve made shit out of him for, he needed to win for him. At this point, it didn’t matter if Yoongi died from starvation or aids or any other thing this inexorably awful world threw at him. It was carved into every inch of his skin and cemented in his bones, he would win the national race no matter how he would have to cheat or lie or steal or kill. The trophy belongs to Taehyung, and not even Sol will hinder him from his promise.
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Hoseok spends the month before the race in solitude, hermitted away from the rest of the world to focus on his next big win. He does not want any press attention whatsoever, that will only distract him… “How does that sound seok?” Namjoon calls, scribbling down notes on a piece of paper, figuring the best way to give the reporters banging at his door at 4 am something to write about. Hoseok strolls into the living room, martini (dry.. of course) and his velvet blood-red Hugh Heffner-esque robe. “I.. I think that’s wonderful,” Hoseok slurs, letting it waterfall onto Namjoon’s brand new work bag. He throws the notepad on the ground and punches the glass top of the table so it shatters. Hoseok’s eyes widen, but he doesn't speak, he already knows what his problem is.“Hyung, just...just relax. I’ll slow down a little...and I can buy you some more line,” he says carefully. Hoseok knows that he probably shouldn’t be so reckless in this short period before nationals. He knows just how serious Namjoon takes it for him; so much that he gave up coke for the past week to focus on getting the right kind of exposure that Hoseok would need to get more donations.“Really? Really? Now you wanna act responsible!” he screams, picking up handfuls of glass and throwing them back down on the ground. Hoseok gulps, he’s seen the rage fits Namjoon can get into if he hasn’t blown in a while, but he’s never seen it get bad enough to where he’s actually afraid.”You have been busting my ass since day one Hoseok, you know that? Do you even fuckin realize what you’ve put me through!” ‘It’s just intensifying…’ Hoseok thinks, quickly thanking himself for always keeping a reserve just in case something small would set Namjoon off on such a tangent.Instantly sober, Hoseok sighs and nods, “Hyung, I know you don’t think I do but… I really appreciate you. I have some of the California Rush left from a buy I did a while ago off of the brothel girl I was telling you about… Anyway, I had it tested. It’s safe, it’s potent, it’s fucking good. I want you to.. take a break for a while, okay? Let’s just relax tonight.” Hoseok thinks he’s never seen someone switch so quickly. After half a dime bag worth of powder, Namjoon is nearly knocked out. His feet seem clunky and his body too dramatic. He picks up a piece of the shattered glass Hoseok is trying to sweep up and makes a long superficial cut from wrist to elbow, admiring how the blood beads up before it seeping out quietly. Hoseok groans as he rips it out of his hands and puts it in the garbage bag.“Jesus Christ Namjoon,” he mutters, watching his hyung drag his finger through the blood. He shutters before trying to bandage him up. He hums softly as he works, trying to figure out the next course of action. He can’t play around forever. He thinks of all the work concealing the illegal mods he’s going to have to put into his bike since playing fairly won’t win him shit. His phone vibrates next to his thigh and he has to stop himself from grinning as he picks it up, half expecting it to be the girl from the previous night. “Another round already? I would half expect that you’d be too afraid to call me back, especially after how badly I blew your ba-”“Jung Hoseok.”He halfway chokes, clearing his throat. Hoseok can almost feel the sweat slick the surface of his skin. Is this an investor? They always call Namjoon because he knows how to handle them best. “Yes… this is him.”The man on the other line scoffs, like he already knows everything about Hoseok. It feels like a test, and he doesn’t like the feeling. “I wonder… how bad would it look to reporters, and more important the donors…. If they knew your manager had such a problem?” he asks. Hoseok freezes, who the hell is this guy? How does he know… is someone outside his house? He runs to the blinds, making sure to shutter the rest of them. He has a gate around the entire property with security… how would someone get in? Is he just hallucinating? “I.. I really don’t know what you’re talking about. Of course we’re stressed about the upcoming race if anxiety is what you’re referring to,” he laughs nervously, pacing back and forth. “Oh sweetheart,” he replies, voice sticky with honey and so, so triggering to Hoseok. “You think I don’t know. How cute, how innocent, right?” he giggles, tapping with the window with his index finger, watching the racer scramble inside of his house. Who knew it would be so easy to get Sol this flustered. “And I would just like to mention, I’m not very interested in your sex life, so I would appreciate if you didn’t make that a point of conversation with me again,” he sneers.Right now, Hoseok wishes he was dead.“Alright, so what exactly is the purpose of this call?” Hoseok asks angrily, he feels fear shake his body while bile rises up his throat. “I don’t even know who you are,” he mutters distantly while checking his phone. UNKNOWN NUMBER. Nice, of course it is. “You’re going to drop out of the race. Clearly, you two can’t handle the stress or responsibility of being Korea’s best racer. But if you are so insanely prideful you refuse to, I’d be more than happy to release the pictures of Namjoon looking like he’s in another dimension cutting himself, the lines that were on the now broken table, and you. You with your slutty little self waltzing around the house like you just can’t wait to be bent over and fucked like you deserve. But you’re a tough guy, right? You have too much pride. I’m going to take away that pride from you, Jung Hoseok. Every last fucking drop.”“I..I..” he stutters, tears brimming while he shakes. “I won- can’t drop out of the race. Please, anything but that,” Hoseok is overcome with emotion, he’s never begged and his life and now he’d do anything to make this stop. “I guess now you see what it’s like to get bullied. Then, let the race begin ”“Wha- What? But… I-” Click .
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The next seven or so hours of Min Yoongi’s life went as per usual. He takes a long, drawn out toke and tosses the roach on the scathing sidewalk as he walks home from the pimp’s house. Just under a million won will keep his stomach full and clothes on his back, but he knows he needs more. Realistically, winning this race would mean he’d never have to crawl back into that shit hole ever again. He sighs, thumbing the notes in his pocket like some kind of good luck charm. He starts getting deep in thought over how many meals he’ll have to give up to mod his bike. He never did get the scratch fixed, but Yoongi is smarter than to put priority over the aesthetics of the bike rather than the performance. He’s so busy in his head that he trips over the curb and ends up staring into his own reflection on the ground. And if Min Yoongi wasn’t already ready to die, he sure was now. Cameras lineup in his face, lights searing the entirety of his corneas as he groans. “Gloss! Gloss!! What do you think about Sol admitting he’s considering dropping out of nationals? Does this give you hope for a big win?” They shout so loud Yoongi swears his eardrums just burst altogether. “What.. What are you talking about?” He scoffs, scheming innocence. He picks himself up and brushes off the asphalt pieces. The reporters mutter among themselves like they already can’t wait to leave. “Kim Namjoon, Sol’s manager has put out a press statement claiming he’s having second thoughts,” a small woman explains, butting through the rest of the reporters so that she’s standing at neck level with the racer.Yoongi smiles and shrugs, cocking his head a little as they inch in more intently. “What can I say? He wasn’t much of an issue before, but now I’m sure that I’ll win it. It's sure a shame though.. I did like a little competition. But based on his last few races, I can tell he’s way too in his head to compete in something so.. serious. Really, we can’t have a professional racer like that representing Korea.”The reporters clamor even closer, now drawing genuine interest in his words. “You’ve been watching his past videos? That’s a little concerning for investors isn’t it? It would tell me that you’re too insecure in your own abilities… so you have to watch for flaws in others to win,” a man scoffs, taking a video with his phone as he probes him. Yoongi almost doubles over in laughter. “Clearly you’ve never once been in a competition have you, Kim Seokjin?” he says slyly, almost… almost turning his cheek in a subtle effort to expose himself for a chance to get decked. “While we’re all listening, I think it’s important to point out that the only thing this ‘reporter’ really is...is a fanboy. Believe me Seokjinnie, we all know how weird you are when it comes to Sol. This isn’t KPOP my love, it’s street racing. Now go back to your weverse shit, the adults have to talk.”The others gasp and slowly turn towards the man in question. Seokjin smiles crookedly, doing a little clap before nodding. “Ah, you just keep surprising me Min. I guess we’ll see what the next two weeks bring.”Yoongi waves him off as he leaves, but he can’t help but think back to what the man said. Is he looking too much into it… or is he planning something? --------------------------------- “Did you see the news?”“No Namjoon I don’t concern myself with the trivial matters of this world.”“It’s gloss… he’s talking about you…”“WHAT”Namjoon pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs while Hoseok paces the conference room. “We only made that announcement.. What? 10 minutes ago? Has he been waiting to make a statement? Do you think HE WAS THE ONE WHO WAS OUTSIDE THE HOU-”“Hobi, I watched the video coverage, they ambushed him after he.. tripped I guess.”“That totally could’ve been set up so he looks inconspicuous,” Hoseok replies, his hands continually raking through his hair. “I just.. have a feeling it’s him. He’s really my only competition.”“I don’t think he’s smart enough to do that to be honest. Just take a breather and I’ll figure it out.”“I’m gonna go see him.”“I’m sorry, come again?”