Yoongi knew it was a weird thing to enjoy, but his early morning trip to the Laundromat tended to be the highlight of his week.
Most 22 year olds would rather do anything besides laundry and would definitely not look forward to spending two hours in a dimly lit room surrounded by empty machines and crappy late night radio. Yoongi loved it though. He loved walking through the dark streets, late enough that the clubbers had already stumbled to their final destination, but early enough that the commuters had yet to take to the road. He loved pushing into the Laundromat, where the lights flickered and the radio cackled with static more often than it spouted words. He loved the symmetry of the rows upon rows of washing machines and driers. He loved that he always had the place to himself, save the worker who was usually napping anyway. He loved sinking to the floor, pressing his back against the whirling machine, and just getting lost in his thoughts as he waited for his clothes to get clean.
It was simple and easy and consistent.
Just like every Monday for the past six months, Yoongi shouldered his laundry bag and made the slow walk to the Laundromat. He hummed softly to himself as he pushed inside, nodding towards the sleepy worker.
Yoongi headed towards his normal washer, not noticing anything was amiss until he came to a halting stop in front of the machine.
For the first time in 26 Mondays, there was another customer in the room.