Bangtan's Baby | 18+

eight*ੈ✩‧₊˚exhaustion

Author's Note:

Buckle up for some angst, comfort, and smut! I know. It's your three favorite things ever.

Li's POV

Jimin taps the granola bar that he placed on my lap ten minutes ago. I look down at it, blinking a few times before lifting my eyes to his.

He releases a small sigh. "You need to eat."

Our conversation this morning revolved around my lack of eating, ending shortly when I quietly refused to open up more about it, only responding with, "I'll eat more." I think he could tell that something else was going on, but I didn't want to talk about. I just wanted to go to work, do better than the day before, and come home to see him and the others. Then, and maybe then, I can relax until I have to do it all over again.

I clasp my hands together, shifting my gaze to the surroundings we drive past on the way to work. "Sorry. I'm not used to eating in the morning so I'm not really hungry."

"Which is why you need to eat," he returns decidedly. "You shouldn't get sick after a few bites of food."

The bar's wrapping crinkles in my hold. "Sorry."

"Baby, I'm going to need you to take out the bar and eat it."

I peel back the wrapping, trying to ignore how my stomach protests. It's too early to digest anything and I've never had a soft spot for 6 AM.

His tone softens. "Come on, Li. We're almost there, and I want you to have something in your stomach."

"I had coffee."

"I want food in your stomach."

I nibble on the chocolate chips covering the bar. I peek up at him. "I'm doing it."

He shakes his head, keeping his eyes on the road. "Eat a little more than the chocolate chips."

I bite back a sigh, my stomach churning at the thought. "I will."

"Go ahead."

I release the sigh, narrowing my eyes at the order before following it. Slowly but surely, I choke down the nasty granola. My stomach gurgles, upset with me, and I scowl, equally as upset with it.

Jimin holds his hand out for the wrapper and I hand it to him, watching him push it into his pocket as he questions, "How does your stomach feel?"

I slump in my seat. "Mad."

"I don't think stomachs can feel mad, but I'll take your word for it."

"Thank you. They can."

He motions to the water bottle, shifting his eyes away from the road to offer me one of his soft smiles. "Try to drink something."

The sight relaxes me, and I return his smile as I grab a bottle of water to drink.

Throughout my day, my limbs are exhausted and my mind is mush. I want to sleep, and I almost do during several meetings.

By the time I get home, I'm in a zombified state, mumbling to myself about things I can't understand.

I open the door at 9:30 PM, and I try to pull the keys out of the doorknob, but my fingers keep slipping. I huff, jostling the doorknob aggressively. When this doesn't work, I dig my shoes into the floor, step back, and pull as hard as I can. My keys fall to the ground with me.

I yelp with surprise, but before I can consider standing, I realize the floor feels very nice. Very comfy and, on further inspection, absolutely perfect for a napping spot.