From people around him, they would all say that Yoongi was suffering from depression, or at least something around that. If his friends held such thing called a doctoral degree, Yoongi would probably believe them. Then again, if such friend that he had was Kim Namjoon who proudly presented himself as a man wielding a sexy brain underneath his thick skull, then Yoongi thought the depression-thing was highly hyperbolic. Even when it was Kim Seokjin – another friend who specialized in being so motherly and famous for taking care of every stray cat that he could find – who said that he needed help, Yoongi still wouldn't believe him, disregarding the fact that he chose to spend an entire week without exiting his room as something entirely normal.
No, Min Yoongi was fine. He didn’t need help.
Min Yoongi was perfectly okay.
Even when he couldn’t seem to close his eyes and descend into the slumber he longed for, or even when his head couldn’t do anything else other than ached, he still thought that he was fine. Either it was his head or his room that seemed to rotate and spin around. Funny, he didn’t remember reading ‘perfectly capable of rotating 360 degrees’ in the description when he rented this apartment.
Sometimes he thought that he heard voices, when he realized it was nothing but the clock ticking itself or the water faucet leaking. Sometimes, he thought that he saw silhouettes, only to realize that it was simply his eyes playing tricks on himself.
One day, he really took his friend's words seriously, wondering whether this was really a depression or some sort of mental illness that he was harboring. But then again, nothing had happened to Yoongi to ever send him into a mental breakdown. Depression didn't come out as easily as that, did it? It was't like he woke up one day and was suddenly depressed. No, that was highly unlikely.
It was the third night without any sleep. Namjoon had said something about the possibility of dying when a person didn't sleep for three days in a row, but Yoongi had found it to be clearly exaggerated. Look at him, still alive and doing perfectly well. It was the third night without sleep and almost an entire week since he had last left his apartment. The clock was ticking towards three. Witching hour. The time where ghosts came out to play and the time most likely for supernatural shit to happen according to movies.
Yoongi sighed, sitting on his couch in the living room. He had tried sleeping on the bed, only to look up at the ceiling he had grown too familiar with. By now, he could even count the black splotches and slight cracks on them, painting them by heart. He had then moved towards his couch, sitting there slumped, doing nothing for the last two hours but staring blankly at the TV screen, looking back at his own reflection.
If anyone saw him, they would say how pathetic he looked. His skin had gotten paler, not being underneath the sun for a long period of time. He ate only when he felt hungry (which he rarely did) and he thought that maybe he had lost a significant amount of weight. In the back of his mind, he could imagine Seokjin lecturing him almost too vividly. His gaze were hollow. There was nothing in them. No spark, no emotion, simply nothing. How could he be depressed then, if nothing was simply all that he was right now.
Yoongi looked at the clock again. 3:14 a.m.
His stomach was grumbling. He couldn't even remember when and what did he eat the last time. Walking towards the kitchen, the nothing inside him was replaced by annoyance upon finding the refrigator to be empty. Fumbling towards the cabinet this time, he couldn't even find a single box of cereal. No cookies, absolutely nothing. Seven days inside of his apartment and finally he was running out of food.
He glanced towards the bowl where he kept his keys right beside the door. It would be troublesome, he thought, to walk outside and grabbed something to eat. He should have called take-outs. That was easier indeed. But then again, maybe it was another good reason for him to finally step into the real world. Buying something worth of a month's stock. Wouldn't it be a good idea, then? Not stepping out of his apartment for a whole month. Wouldn't it be sublime?
For a greater cause.
With that in his mind, Yoongi finally went to grab his car key and stepped outside of the apartment, not feeling like grabbing a decent clothes to wear. It was fall and the wind outside would be chilling. Thinking that it wouldn't mean much since he was just going to buy some stuff in the nearest minimarket and went straight home again, he resolved to only wearing an oversized tee and sweatpants. After all, it was 3 in the morning and no one would bat an eye on his choice of wardrobe.
That was how Yoongi exited his apartment the first time for a week. He went down the elevator, tapping his feet on the ground impatiently, feeling the descend agonizing. Everything he did outside of his apartment felt ten times longer. He could sit in front of his TV seeing nothing and felt the two hours as mere minutes. And here he was, waiting for the elevator's door to open again and already felt like dying from waiting.
As he got to the car, Yoongi felt like 2 hours had passed already. He drove in silence, trying to finish the deeds as fast as he could. Apart from the empty road, the only thing that greeted him was red lights, some hobo with carts being pushed around and the most annoying of all, drunk people, flailing their arms on the sidewalk, making loud incoherent noises. He ended up having to stop his car as a few of those drunkards decided to cross the street. One of them, a man, took a glance at Yoongi who was sitting behind the wheel and waved as if he knew him. The man banged his hand on the hood of his car, shouting words he didn't even care to listen. Yoongi tightened his grip on the steering wheel, swallowing the anger that started to bubble from the pit of his stomach. He just wanted to do this as fast as he could and went back to his apartment.
Honking the car, telling them that he clearly didn't want to deal with any shit that the drunk man was trying to pull, Yoongi stomped his feet on the gas and surged on through the night. The drunk man shouted at him in anger though he clearly didn't have to care.
When he finally reached the nearest 24/7 minimarket, Yoongi had started to acknowledged this little sharp pain at the back of his eye, growing more and more vivid, as if trying to catch his attention. It grew even more so, as he stepped out of his car and swung the minimarket's door open, the bright neon light hurting his eyes. Grumbling, Yoongi took a basket and literally threw everything that looked edible into it as he walked down the aisle. The pain had grown into a dull throb as he paid for the groceries, throwing his credit card onto the cashier's desk and ignoring the scowl given to him from his rude gesture. He shoved the receipts into his wallet before walking off.
As he got back into the car, hauling the bags with one trip because he just wanted to get this over with as soon as possible, the pain had turned into a complete migraine, sending his world into a mix of roller coaster ride and really bad hangover combined. Knowing that it wouldn't get any better soon until he returned to the sanctuary of his own apartment, Yoongi turned the engine on and drove back, one hand gripping the wheel, another massaging his temple, hoping that the small gesture would at least be of some relief.
Driving back to his apartment meant trailing back on the road he first took, and it would lead him straight towards the crossroads and the goddamn red light again. At that point, safety was no longer his biggest priority. Eighty kilometers per hour without a seat belt on in the middle of a road was practically a cry for suicide, but Yoongi didn't care much. Three in the morning and the risk of him hitting someone on the road was slim to none, wasn't it?
That shallow thought and rushed judgement was probably the explanation of why such a scene followed afterwards. Not to mention his headache, which only had gotten worse. As he neared the crossroads, Yoongi was perfectly sure that the street was empty. No stupid drunkards trying to cross the road, no homeless placing their hands on the window of his car. The road was empty and he just stomped on the gas, ignoring the red light flashing.
That was when his headache got even worse, he had to close his eyes and pinch that spot right between his eyes hard. The throbbing was too much for him he felt like his head was splitting into two.
He didn't know whether it was his headache he had to blame or be grateful for, but at least he did slow down because of it. Then again, it was the very reason why he closed his eyes in agony the first time, because when he opened them again, what he saw was a figure of a boy, standing dumbfounded right in front of his stupid car.
Everything that happened afterward was pure reflex. He pried his hand quickly from his head and grabbed the steering wheel in a hard grip, before turning the car sideways, rough and sudden. His foot went for the brake, stomping almost too suddenly. The car screeched and turned. The car came to a screeching halt in such an instant, Yoongi managed to stop the car but banged his forehead rather hard on the steering wheel instead, all in courtesy of not wearing any seat belt.
The world spun once again around him. The car stopped but his head still felt like it. His neck was sore and his forehead was probably bleeding. Nausea ran towards him and he felt like vomitting. Yoongi took a deep breath, feeling all the bone in his bodies turned into jelly. It was a red light. He just drove on pass that and there was someone.
The thought got him opening an eye, muttering under his breath. He didn't hit that someone, did he? Yoongi fumbled with the car's door, prying it open, his body still felt like it was about to collapse. The cold night's wind greeted him as he stepped outside. His car stopped right in the middle of the empty crossroads. There was the smell of burnt tires in the air and behind him there was-,
He cursed in his head.
There was indeed someone, sprawled on the street. He walked towards the figure, seated awkwardly on the asphalt, holding his legs. It was a boy. He remembered seeing a boy. The boy was still moving (or at least making some movement that indicated that he wasn’t a mere corpse by now) and Yoongi was glad he didn't kill someone. He would, though, if the boy was gravely injured and would die in matter of seconds. One of his feet was somehow numb and he walked with a limp, trying to inch his way towards the boy. He hadn't even recovered from the shock. His head was still spinning.
"Hey, you're okay?" he said with voice hoarse.
"Do I look like I'm okay?" the voice answered, sounding pissed. To the tone of that, Yoongi concluded that whoever that person would be, he was in condition fit enough to even be annoyed at this point. Great, Yoongi shouldn't really care much, then.
As he got closer, he managed to see the boy clearly. It was indeed a boy, younger than he was. He still had that baby fat on his cheeks, looking a bit chubby. His hair was a shade of brown, typical color and probably a high-school kid running away from home at a motherfucking 3 in the morning. He looked completely fine, not even a scratch on him. The boy was holding his legs, having his hand on his thigh and Yoongi could see, probably the place where his car's headlight managed to nudge him. There wasn't seem to be any blood, which Yoongi was thankful for.
"If you can do as much as complaining than I think you're all right," Yoongi said.
The boy scoffed. He looked at Yoongi and there was this weird feeling of warmness and familiarity that he suddenly felt. This wasn't a deja vu, but he somehow got the feeling that he had once seen the boy before.
"Wait. You're bleeding," the boy said, suddenly sounding more concerned than his actual tone of being pissed off.
"I am?" Yoongi asked, didn't realizing it. He brought his hand towards his forehead and there he saw it, a trickle of red on his finger.
The boy suddenly got up, telling Yoongi indirectly that he was perfectly fine. Good. Yoongi could go home in peace now. After everything that had happened, he still got his apartment in mind. The stranger was fine, so no need to worry.
"You are. It looks bad," the stranger said back, limping towards Yoongi and grabbed him by the shoulder, giving a closer look.
The contact surprised him. He didn’t like being touched and no one had done so for the last weeks. Yet this stranger just came towards him, grabbing him by the shoulder and telling him that he was hurting. Just then he felt the blood trickling down towards his right eye, blaring up his vision. Yoongi wiped it hastily with the back of his palm and turned back towards his own car. The boy was all right, so there was no need for him to really be there more than he should be.
“No, I’m okay. And since you’re okay as well, I’m going back now,” he said, limping back towards his car.
“I’m not!” the boy exclaimed, as if he suddenly realized that he was the one being hit earlier.
Yoongi just mumbled under his breath and walked back towards his car. All that he got in his mind was getting back to his apartment and everything would be fine. The headache hadn’t exactly cleared. It was right when he reached the window of his car did the nausea finally hit again. He was grabbing the windowsill with one hand while the other reached to hold his stomach. Just like that, he puked on the road, right beside his car. There wasn’t much that left his lips, remembering how he hadn’t eaten a decent meal for days, battling the hunger that he harbored in his stomach before he stormed out from his apartment. At least the puking made him feel a tad bit better.
“Hey, you’re not okay, really,” the boy said again. Yoongi kind of forgot for a minute that he was there.
“I’m fine, kid,” he said, entering the car and slammed the door shut.
The boy stood right in front of the door, banging on his window. He just wanted to go home, that was all. He massaged his temple once again, trying to gain the strength that he got left for the short journey home. Looking back at the steering wheel, he got to see the stain of blood smeared on it, right at the spot where his forehead had made contact with the hard texture. Maybe he needed stitches. He didn’t know.
He was about to drive again when the blood started to run back towards his eyes. He wiped it off hastily again with a groan. This time, he was literally going to stomp on the gas before he got interrupted yet again by the passenger’s seat being opened. The stranger peeked inside before he climbed into his car without doing so much as asking.
“What are you doing?”
It appeared that Yoongi forgot to lock it in the first place. He kind of regretted for not doing so.
“I’m getting in and I’m going to make sure that you got home safely.”
That didn’t make any sense to Yoongi. It should have been him, the one who hit the boy, to do it instead, shouldn’t he?
“You’re not making any sense, kid.”
“What if you got a concussion and passed out in the middle of the road? What if you hit another person again? What if you fell asleep and never woke up?”
He groaned. All he wanted to do was a quick run to the minimarket and he had found himself involved in a traffic accident which such an uncanny victim. He looked at the boy’s eyes once again and he looked every bit of serious and determined.
“I’m not taking you home with me,” he said.
“I’m not asking you to ‘cos I’m going to anyway.”
Did he just hear him wrong? Was he being so fortunate right now to hit someone like this boy, who didn’t even feel like suing him or demanding something else, or was he being so unfortunate instead to have such a loud-mouthed, illogical boy to be hit in the first place?
He had too much of a headache to argue. His forehead kept on bleeding and the blood got to his eyes once again.
“If you got a cut on the head, the blood won’t stop as easy as that,” the stranger suddenly said, taking out a handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped Yoongi’s eyes softly with it. He moved then to press the wound very gently. Still, it got Yoongi hissing, both from the pain and the weird feeling of having a stranger touching him in a rather intimate way.
“Stop it. What are you-,”
“I’m helping you,” he said.
Yoongi looked at the boy yet again. This was weird on so many levels and none of this made any sense. Then again, he was too tired and too much in a pain to even put up any fight. The boy looked sincere and if this was some sort of a con, this would undoubtedly be such a weird and unsuccessful one. He sighed before hitting the gas, driving back towards his apartment without saying another word.
Out of the corner of his eyes he could see the boy sporting a smile.
The strange boy told him to keep the handkerchief placed on his forehead the entire time. The moment he got back to his apartment, his whole body felt drained. Who would've thought that going out of his apartment would result in such a scene? Somehow, this convinced him to never set his foot outside of the room ever again. His apartment was indeed the safe haven that it was.
He threw the keys in his bowl and collapsed on top of the couch. His hand was now holding the bloody handkerchief that rested on top of his forehead. He had completely forgotten about the stranger if the boy didn’t make such noises yet again.
“Don’t lie down like that, Crasher-hyung. You have to keep your head higher than the rest of your body,” he said, pulling Yoongi yet again by the shoulder and helped him sit on the couch instead. He groaned, both from the suggestion and the body contact.
But somehow the stranger was right. Everything felt better when he sat like this, his head didn’t feel as heavy and the nausea was finally rid of his stomach. He closed his eyes and tried to breath evenly.
“What did you call me again?” he said after a few seconds passed.
“Crasher-hyung,” the boy answered nonchalantly.
Yoongi groaned. He wanted to comment on how the boy was being too friendly with the 'hyung' being used, but then again, with all the absurdity that the boy was displaying, being too friendly was the least important thing he could protest about.
“What? You don’t like the name? You do crash on me, though. And I think that you’re older than me.”
Reality hit him once again. He did crash his car on the boy. He opened his left eye and looked at the boy sitting next to him. The boy had been limping all the way from his car towards his apartment, standing inside the elevator with one hand supporting himself on the wall. He gazed towards the pants that the boy was wearing. Only after he inspected it closely did he realize the small tear around the right thigh. Yoongi could see the blood soaking the fabric and the ugly scar behind it, still fresh and pink on the boy’s skin. He must be hurting as well.
“Your leg is bleeding,” Yoongi said, taking the handkerchief down from his forehead and inspected the boy’s wound.
“And I think I pulled a muscle there too. No broken bones, which I think is good. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine,” he said as easy as that with the same smile, trying to convince Yoongi that he was fine.
This was far from logical.
“I hit you, I’m sorry,” he said.
The boy shrugged. “No big deal. You’re hurt more than I do. So take that as karma for what you’ve done to me?” he said. Nothing made any sense to Yoongi.
“I’m fine now. I would like to take you home at least, to show you my apology, but I think I can’t right now.”
A part of him wanted the boy to simply say something along the line of, 'Okay then I can go home by myself right now. No need to push it.' The boy would simply say that and he would exit the apartment, leaving Yoongi alone like he wanted himself to be. But what he said next completely threw Yoongi around.
“Good. Then you can take me home tomorrow morning instead,” he said with the same cheerful smile.
Yoongi was dumbfounded. He had never met such a ridiculous kid before. His jaw had probably dropped, hearing the stupid response. If he wasn’t in such condition, Yoongi would have probably let out a yell, making snark comments and giving him the meanest scowl that he had, trying to drive the boy away. Instead, the blood trickled down towards his eye and the headache threatened to make its return. He put the handkerchief once again on his forehead and lifted his head, looking back at the ceiling.
“I’m not offering you a sleepover,” he said, trying to sound mean.
“No need for it. I’m running away from home and I don’t have a place to stay the night anyway. Besides, I have to make sure that you’re completely all right, Crasher-hyung. No concussion, no need for an ambulance call or something,” he trailed on.
He was about to ask why the boy ran away, but then again he realized that he wouldn’t even care. Besides, it wasn’t a very Min Yoongi thing to do.
“What you’re doing now is completely weird, you know that kid?”
“You’re the one who hit me, Crasher-hyung. At least you can let me take care of you instead of suing you. The light is indeed red, though. I’m not the one who broke the law,” he said. The tone of his voice didn’t sound like he was trying to make this matter serious either, so Yoongi just left it like that. Maybe he did need to be grateful.
On that point, at least the boy was right. He was in the wrong here.
“Don’t call me that.”
“Call you what?”
“Crasher-hyung. It sounds weird.”
But then again, everything already was.
“What should I call you, then?”
Somehow his eyelids turned heavy. They hadn’t done so in days.
“I don’t know, something else,” he said, the words coming out more like a mumble to his own ear.
“Okay then Min Yoongi-hyung,” the boy said, sporting the same laugh that oddly felt like he had seen and heard hundreds of times before.
He was so sleepy. This was the effect of losing a lot of blood on the forehead, he thought to himself, disregarding the other question in his mind, something about how the boy got to know his name. The question was at the tip of his tongue before sleep took him and he found himself falling into a deep slumber he had been deprived from for days.
It wasn’t the sun shining through the curtain that woke him up. It wasn’t his headache either. Or maybe it did, but Yoongi was sure it was more of the constant knocking behind his apartment door that got him cracking his eyes open. He groaned. The moment he got both his eyes wide opened, the headache came rushing back. He had fallen asleep on top of the couch, head propped up.
The knock didn’t subside and Yoongi groaned. Getting up, the handkerchief fell from his forehead onto the floor, revealing the red sticky blood that drenched it. Right, his forehead was bleeding. He crashed his car last night and there was this strange boy.
Speaking of strange boy, he quickly turned his head around, scanning the room. The said boy was nowhere to be seen and he sighed in relief. The boy probably had had enough of his own stupid charade and finally left. He looked around and this time thought about the possibility of the boy stealing something from his apartment. He could check thoroughly later. Even if the boy did, he didn’t mind losing something, for it wouldn’t mean anything for him either. He could get a new one as easy as that, and with what he’d been doing lately, it wouldn’t make any different.
Whoever it was that stood behind the door was probably as impatient as Yoongi himself, for he kept on knocking. He didn't really need to think about who it was that would be out there knocking like a maniac. For once, he didn't really have that much friend who cared enough to give him a surprise visit. Second, living in a rather luxurious Gangnam penthouse meant none of those Jehovah Witness or the like of a door-to-door salesman standing stubbornly in front of his door. No one could get on the elevator and stop on his floor if their names were not stated on his permanent guest list beforehand (and Yoongi could count the names listed on his list with only one hand).
Grumbling, Yoongi walked towards the door, opening it up.
“Hyung, I’ve brought you some food. I know you probably haven’t stepped out in like a week and-, holy shit is that blood?”
Namjoon was speaking too much, it started to hurt his head instead at this point.
The younger looked at him with jaws dropped. Namjoon knew him for a long time, he knew Yoongi wasn’t a fan of body contact. Unlike the strange boy from last night, Namjoon just looked at him and ushered Yoongi back in and told him to sit back on the couch. Yoongi did so almost too willingly, only wanting to do nothing but sleep again and get some peace.
Namjoon went to the kitchen and fumbled with the groceries he bought for Yoongi. Deep in his mind, he thought how much of a waste last night’s trip was. He should have held that hunger if he only knew that Namjoon was going to come the next morning and refill his refrigerator.
The Kim walked back into the living room with a plastic filled with ice and a box of first aid. He knelt in front of Yoongi.
“Hyung, what happened? It looks serious.”
Yoongi scoffed. “It’s nothing. I just got into an accident last night.”
“You hit your head on the counter or something?”
He rolled his eyes. Yoongi wouldn’t be that stupid. Namjoon offered to clean the blood that had dried on his forehead, being nothing but sticky now. He wanted to refuse, telling the younger that he could do it by himself, walking towards the bathroom and clean it by himself, only to realize that his body still felt weak and stiff. Usually he didn’t like being taken care off by someone. He could take care of himself just fine, but maybe just this once would he make an exception.
“No, I went out to do some groceries. I hit someone on the road,” he said.
Namjoon gently wiped the blood from his forehead and Yoongi just shut his eyes, wanting it to be over as soon as he could, knowing that the scene itself was weird enough to any eye that dared to venture. To the mention of ‘hitting someone’, Namjoon did purposely (or maybe not) press on his wound rather hardly, leaving him scowling, cursing under his breath.
“Wait. You hit someone? Is he dead?”
“No, dumbass. The kid survives.”
“You hit a kid? Hyung!”
“It’s not like that!”
Yelling only made his headache worse.
“The kid’s all right, okay? Only a few scratches. My wound is actually worse than him,” he said, trying to continue the explanation.
Namjoon sighed in relief. Then again, Yoongi couldn’t think how would it be if he had really hit the boy and took his life. He didn’t know how he could live with that. The younger tended back to his wound. Somehow, he wished it was Seokjin who came. The elder would be softer and gentler than Namjoon. But then again, if it was Seokjin who came, the young man would probably force him to go to a hospital instead.
“What really happened, hyung?” he asked.
“Terrible headache. It was a red light. I should have stopped,” he said.
“And the kid?”
Now that Namjoon asked about him, Yoongi thought about the strange boy once again, the boy who ran away from home at 3 in the morning. He probably walked out of his apartment with the same limp and a bloody thigh. Guilt started to build up at the pit of his stomach.
“He went home with me.”
“Yeah, it’s stupid. But he went home with me. To this apartment. He was gone when I woke up,” Yoongi said.
Namjoon raised his eyebrow, seemingly taking the story hard to believe.
“At least that means he’s fine,” he said again, the words sounding more like a reassurance to himself rather than to Namjoon.
The younger didn’t ask him anymore question, telling him to hold still when he poured the wound with alcohol, it got Yoongi muttering lots of ugly words. He patched him up, bandaging his head. The Kim had said something about going to the hospital, but he had refused, knowing that he would be fine. Namjoon himself had said that the wound didn’t appear to be needing any stitches and for the first time, he really took his friend’s words and judgement seriously.
“You bled quite a lot, hyung,” he said after he was finish, taking the forgotten handkerchief from the floor. Only then, did he realize that he hadn’t given back the strange boy’s handkerchief back. It was his anyway.
The boy did know his apartment by now. Maybe he would come by to take it back? He didn’t know.
Turned out, Namjoon had brought him some chicken and they ate in silence afterwards. Yoongi knew that if it wasn’t for his injury, the boy would come here to give him another lecture of going back to college or going out of his house, be social, and all too goody of a shit that he didn’t have the time to listen to. Yoongi ate in silence when Namjoon started talking about how his friends were doing, how college was and practically all the ‘fun’ that he’d been missing.
Namjoon left around three in the afternoon. He had woken up around twelve which meant he had slept for quiet a long time. Seemed like it took him an accident and a bleeding forehead to be able to sleep peacefully.
“Hyung, you have to get out of this place at some point,” Namjoon said as he walked him towards the door.
Yoongi sighed, knowing that this talk would come out sooner or later.
“The others are worried about you. We all are.”
They always did such unnecessary things. Min Yoongi was completely fine and he could take care of himself. He didn’t need people to worry about him.
“You don’t have to. I can take care of myself. I’m fine,” he said.
Namjoon was about to argue with that before he remembered that a stubborn Min Yoongi wasn’t such an easy opponent to defeat after all. He turned his back and walked towards the hallway. Yoongi watched as his best friend took his steps towards the elevator before he remembered something.
The young man turned around.
“Don’t tell Seokjin-hyung about me having an accident, okay?”
He didn’t want Seokjin to be worried. Out of all his friends, Seokjin would be the one pestering him so much about this little accident, telling him to go to the hospital and got a CT-scan and every test possible to determine that he was fine. To that sentence, Namjoon let out a small smirk and somehow Yoongi realized that he had said the wrong thing.
“I won’t if you promised to go out of that apartment.”
Yoongi groaned. He didn’t make any promise, only making a hand gesture that practically told Namjoon to quickly leave. His best friend just laughed in return.
“Don’t forget to wash the boy’s handkerchief!” he said, before disappearing towards the elevator.
Yoongi closed his door after that, sighing. Finally, he got the apartment for himself. The absence of people in it gave him comfort. Even having Namjoon there felt like overstepping the sanctity of the place. He walked back towards the couch and sat there, doing something he loved the most. He looked back towards the television in front of him, seeing his own reflection, pale-looking and completely horrible with such an expressionless face. He looked so pathetic indeed.
Glancing towards the coffee table next to him, he could see the bloody handkerchief being neatly folded.
Sighing, he got up again, taking the handkerchief with him and went to the sink. He did need to give it back when the boy came. Washing came first, though. He could stare at the wall as much as he liked after that.