withering leaves ❁ yoonmin

VIII

When Jimin woke up, he was tucked into his bed, the blinds drawn tight so the room was dark. Despite the lack of sunlight, Jimin had a throbbing head, and his chest hurt when he tried to push himself up into a sitting position.

His throat felt dry and scratchy. He blindly reached for the bottle of water that was always placed on his bedside table and downed half of it in one breath, not even realizing he didn't refill it himself the night before. He dropped his head a tiny bit and just sat there breathing and trying to get his heart rate down. He suddenly felt like he had just finished a 4-hour dance practice, as his muscles were aching the exact same way and his lungs were screaming for air. There was also a coppery taste on his tongue that felt almost foreign.

The lamp wasn't on, but he was somehow still able to see in the dim light of the room. He could faintly make out the pile of clothes in the corner of the room and the trash bag next to his bed. He had absolutely no recollection of the night before, but the clock on the table displayed the big, bold red numbers "10:26". Whether that was in the morning or the night, Jimin had no idea.

What he did know was that he felt like shit and his breath tasted like shit and he was so goddamn hungry that he could literally eat shit.

Shit.

He swung his legs out from the covers and letting out a groan at the muscle cramp that shot through his thighs at the sudden movement. He pulled the blankets over his shoulders and legs which had risen with goosebumps when they were exposed to the cold air. He tried to stand up, but his entire body protested the move and he collapsed to his knees with a startled gasp, clutching his chest.

The door slowly opened, which brought stinging light into the room, and Jimin hid against the side of the bed in an effort to shield his eyes.

"Jimin?" There was a gentle whisper. They came around the side of the bed, wrapping Jimin tighter in the bundle of blankets, helping him onto his feet.

"Hyung," Jimin whined, recognizing Seokjin's soft cologne and turning into the comforting scent as best he could.

"Shhhh, I'm here, Jiminie," the elder soothed. "C'mon, let's get you to the kitchen. You need to eat something."

He helped Jimin along every step of the way, whispering encouraging words to him as they slowly made their way to the couch. When the two maknaes saw him coming into the room, they both scuttled off the couch and made room for Jimin to sit. When he got comfortable on the couch, they both surrounded him with warmth, Jungkook setting his chin on his shoulder and Taehyung laying down so his head rested on Jimin's stomach.

Hoseok came into the room, carefully handing Jimin a bowl of soup. If it were up to the older dancer, he would be spoon feeding the younger himself, but he knew how much Jimin hated being coddled. He raised Taehyung's legs and sat down on the couch, placing the younger idol's calves in his lap.

Namjoon stepped out of the kitchen, a mug of coffee cradled in his hands. It looked like he needed it, too. Jimin felt bad. He probably stayed up all night just looking after him.

With reddening cheeks, Jimin hid his face in the blanket and coughed out a single flower. The syndrome was only going to get worse, according to all the (most likely unrealistic) dramas he had seen. But he should not be coughing up as many petals as the previous night. The first day and the last day were always the worst.

He felt a hand carding through his hair and he peeked his eyes out of his blanket burrito and glanced up to be met with Yoongi, who had taken a seat on the armrest of the couch and was sipping his own cup of coffee. Jimin wanted to ask for one himself even though he hated the bitter liquid, but he couldn't get his voice to work properly. He just wanted more water.