Laundromat Machine

was

When Namjoon left his house that exact same evening before his mood wasn't on a good wave, his blood was boiled and he felt how his hands automatically pressed it's fingers inside his palms and made fists.

Namjoon wasn't too happy about the way Yoongi had left him, he felt betrayed in a way at his rough way of leaving when in the end he had misstreated the male all the years before so the least Yoongi could do was leave him after being kind of abused.

No not kind of, he had been too much in love with Namjoon to realize the male had nothing good in mind for him, there had been no love, it was just using Yoongi, because he was close leaning against his bed.

But maybe Yoongi was comming to his senses, a few scratches on his back had just hurt him too bad, however he still didn't want to admit anything, he didn't want to feel guilt, even though his mother had been right when she told him that Namjoon had wicked eyes.

'I hope he ends up being a good friend to you.'

She had told her son with an undertone of suspicion and Yoongi hated it then, because he was seven and ignorant, childish and just happend to pick the wrong friends when his mother was busy taking every shift she could get in the hospital.

She had some kind of experience she had never wished upon her worst enenmies and surely not on her precious-honey-bun-sweet-jewel or whatever name she gave Yoongi.

Yoongi was in that night standing infront of the wash saloon, staring inside it, when suddenly two feet approached him and a heavy breathing voice mumbled, cursed him to death and Yoongi flinched when he met the eyes of the person the eyes belonged to.

He was scared, but he told himself it was the nervousity, the butterflies in his stomach were just flying around too wild when infact they were exploding, being shot by Namjoon's looks and being shattered, leaving back a bloody mess mixed of guts and popped eyes before it hit Yoongi.

Namjoon grabbed him by the collar and punched him, right in the face, threw him to the ground and stepped on him.

As if he hadn't done that before, hilariously painful were his punches, they were just the realization of the metaphor their friendship had developed to if you could still call it one, nevertherless, it didn't hurt Yoongi at all.

It was more like seeing Namjoon getting pleasured by other women had hurt more, because it left a way bigger scar on his heart. That night it were just a few more punches, nothing Yoongi wasn't used to. Namjoon punched and punched and it was like that has it been, Yoongi seemed to be fine with that, because a small so god damn fucked up part of his brain thought he had to and if he upset Namjoon, well he just had to tae the consequences, because he loved Namjoon.

In fact, nobody had ever cared about Yoongi like Namjoon, it was like he was theonly one actually acknowleding his existence, so Yoongi really didn't care in which way he did it, he was just glad to breath and be useful to at least one, to be seen by at least one.

But he had forgotten that he wasn't the only one doing his laundry in that hour.

It was getting blurry at the end of the night for Yoongi and he couldn't really hear a lot.

It was like the slowly rising sun was mixing itself with the crimson red blood that flew from the nose, the so familiar nose, it was like never had Yoongi seen those nostrils not being floaded with blood streams.