They were about as different as two people could possibly be, but somehow they fit. If someone had asked Yoongi what it was about Hobi that had made him fall so hard for the boy, he couldn't have said.

Everything, maybe.

Hobi was sunlight, warm and bright and gentle. He was a breath of fresh air in a smoky sky, a gulp of cool water on a burning day. Everything would be the only right answer, Yoongi thought. He loved everything about the boy—his frequent white-bright smile, his easy laugh, his dark kind eyes, his graceful hands, fingers long and slender, the way he moved, forever a dancer on winged feet. The way he gasped softly when Yoongi kissed him, the taste of his skin, the feel of his soft dark hair between Yoongi's fingers. The sound of his voice, like a song Yoongi had always known but forgotten until Hobi spoke.

He didn't know what Hobi saw in him, but he didn't ask. Everything about them was tenuous, balanced on the edge of a knifepoint; if anyone saw them, caught them, if anyone knew or even suspected...it would all be over.

And so they allowed themselves only hurried stolen kisses and quick secret embraces in the dark where no one would see them. Other times they found chances to touch in the most casual of ways: a whisper-soft brush of hands as they passed one another or handed something between them, a fleeting glance across a crowded room, a hand resting for h