“don't mind seokjin from now on"

Seokjin paced around his room, a tirade of curse words running from his mouth. He was walking around in circles, practically stomping. The mobile phone pressed to his ear, the guy was calling Yoongi for the nth time.

“I’ll ing end your life when I finally get to you, you ing piece of ,” he growled into constant ringing on the other side of the line, “Who do you think you are, you little ? There can be no end. Not until I want it!”

Without getting any answer again, Seokjin’s fury just grew and he needed a great willpower not to smash his phone into the ground. The brunet grunted loudly, going through his wardrobe to find a jacket. Derogatory words dripping from his mouth one after another, the brunet rushed down the hallway and threw the front door open just to be met by a fist held in the air, whoever was standing outside were obviously just about to knock. Seokjin lurched to the left just a little bit to see the owner of the hand. To his disdain, Namjoon was staring at him with the most scornful face ever.

“ off,” the brunet spat out, trying to make his way past the guy.

However, even after shutting the door behind and taking a few steps, he didn’t get to go far, because Namjoon pulled him back by the edge of his jacket collar. Seokjin yelped, stumbling backwards and was introduced by a sharp pain in his face when he turned around. The male stumbled again and crouched from the pain, looking up to meet Namjoon’s eyes.

“What the are you–” he began to curse but the blond cut him off mid-stence with another punch, this time straight to his stomach.

“This is for Yoongi,” he said curtly and kicked Seokjin’s side when the man fell down right at the doorway, “This one is for Suga and this,” the blond grabbed the struggling youngster by the shoulders and shoved him into the door, satisfied with the sound created by the dumb head hitting the wooden surface, “This is for being the narcissist.”

Seokjin found it hard to breathe, just with three punches the blond managed to knock all the air out of his lungs. The hurt man didn’t register it first, but suddenly his phone was in Namjoon’s hand and the standing male was clicking something away in a haste. He coughed, his throat sore from the action, and tried his best to speak up but the other beat him to that.

“I hope my message is clear,” Namjoon somewhat smiled, “If not, then I might as well just be as rough with you as you were with Yoongi.”

Then, Namjoon threw the phone into laying guy’s lap, turned around and sprinted away without sparing the defeated guy another glance. Seokjin grunted, his face and torso aching terribly. He clutched his phone in one hand and crawled back into the house. To him, this wasn’t the endgame. The blond might have scored in the battle, but the outcome of this little war was in Seokjin’s hands, or at least that’s what he chose to believe.

Meanwhile, with a small but victorious smile on his face, Namjoon strolled down the street to get into subway. His head was pounding, his heart felt heavy and his knuckles stung a bit, but the smile decorating his face grew wider and wider with each step he took. Not minding the stares of other people, he walked into the tube chuckling to himself and the guy wasn’t even sure anymore what kind of laughter that was, the truly funny one or the one you force out when you are just that miserable. In Namjoon’s case, it probably was the latter.

When in early morning Yoongi declared he had something to say to the blond, there wasn’t much