Heavy limbs, burning eyes, and cloudy thoughts. It has been exactly one month and three days since you last slept through the night. You have had only four hours total in the past three days.

You have been told, by many people in many ways, that this little “habit” of yours is bad for your health. Sleep is how the body heals itself. You are falling apart.

You don’t know why you can’t seem to sleep anymore. Prior to one month and three days ago you had a loving relationship with the all forms of sleep; you didn’t always get those recommended eight hours, but you more than made up for it with lazy weekends and frequent naps.

So what changed?

You can’t pinpoint when it first began, but you have this creeping feeling that something is...off. Somewhere in the mess of your mind something has gone askew, and it has left you with a constant sense of unease. Everywhere you go there is something missing, someone you should be looking for, some place you should be instead of where you are.

You float through the day on auto-pilot. Your body is far past the point of running at full capacity, so you spend each day drifting in a detached state, unable to fix it, too tired to care.

And that’s the worst part. You are tired.

Oh god, you are so tired.

But that doesn’t help you in the darkest hours of night when you’re staring up at your ceiling trying to keep up with your jumbled thoughts that always seem just out of your grasp of comprehension. You have this itching feeling of always being on the verge of something; some brilliant idea, some insightful revelation. But really you are nothing but numb.

Sometimes your body can’t take it anymore, humans weren’t built to run 24/7 after all, and you are forced into a sleep that drags you so deep into the darkness that you don’t remember where you are or who you are when you wake up.

Those are the only brief doses of relief you receive.

Well. Maybe not the only doses of relief.

There is one bright upside to this dark cycle that is quickly spiraling out of control.

His name is Min Yoongi.

Your boyfriend of eight months has been the biggest advocate for a change, any change, in your current sleeping habits. He tries to let you handle it on your own after the two of you had a very lengthy conversation concerning the fact that you are a grown adult and you can handle your own sleep schedule, but it has become more apparent with each passing day that it was a blatant lie that you told to him and to yourself. So, while he no longer verbalizes his concerns, every time he sees you lately he has a tightness in his eyes and a stern set to his mouth that betrays his true feelings on the matter.

It pains you to do this to him, and if you knew a solution to the problem you would fix it in an instant to save him from having to constantly worry about your health. Unfortunately, you have no idea how to cure your insomnia.

___

“What are you doing here?” Your voice is soft because you lack the energy to raise it above a monotone mumble.

Yoongi ignores your question and shoulders his way past you and into your apartment. He looks around and sighs at what he sees.

Your apartment has always been a little...odd in terms of organization, but it has reached a new point of eccentricity on account of your recent increase in free time. It’s amazing what you’ll do to distract yourself when you suddenly have another ten hours added to your day.

Hazardously tall stacks of books litter every available table and half started sketches and other various craft projects are strewn about the entire apartment. And then there are the sticky notes. Everywhere, sticky notes. On the TV, on the wall, on the light switch, on the takeout container from last night. Some contain messy sketches, but most contain phrases. In your exhausted, delirious state of mind you often get random bursts of inspiration that lead to nothing more than a few hastily scrawled sentences, but your writer’s mind can’t stand to waste any possible material. Sticky notes became the holders of your thoughts since your mind has taken a leave of absence regarding most thought processes. Nearly every surface in your apartment is covered in the strange aftermath of your mind.

“Jesus, Y/N.” Yoongi’s low voice fills the air. Shaking his head slightly, he turns and looks at you with an almost parent-like look of concern on his face that clearly asks the question he won’t say out loud, ‘what am I going to do with you?’

You feel your guilt twist your features into a frown and you release a shaky sigh, “I know, Yoongi.”

He sighs and takes a step closer, his arms reaching to grab at your sides and pull you close for a tight hug. You cling to him and shut your eyes tightly as you bury your face in the space between his shoulder and neck, the familiar sting of exhaustion burning across your eyelids in the process.

This is your dose of relief: the feeling of his arms holding you upright so your body can get a reprieve from the task, the smell that clings to his skin and clothing that is uniquely Yoongi, and the sensation of his steady breathing in hot puffs of air on your neck.

Your constant stream of consciousness has screwed your sense of time all to hell, so you have no idea how long the two of you stand in the middle of your apartment apologizing and comforting each other with your presence alone. Though, eventually Yoongi pulls away slightly and raises one hand to gently cup your cheek in his palm.

“I can’t stand to see you like this.” He says as his thumb ghosts over the skin under your eye where you know your lack of sleep has stained your skin purple and blue.

“I know, Yoongi. I-” You automatically turn to one of your overused excuses, but Yoongi cuts you off by speaking again.

“So, I’m here to help.”

The words cause you to pause, your brain struggling to attach meaning to the phrase. When you are able to process his declaration you breathe an almost laugh, “Yoongi, I love you for being so concerned, but you’ve tried to help before. Nothing has worked.”

One corner of his mouth quirks up for a brief second before he replies, “Yes, but before I tried taking you to the doctor. This time, I’m going to help.” And before you can question him he is already pulling you towards your couch. “Sit.” He commands, pointing to the middle of the three cushions. You raise an eyebrow at the sudden request but follow his instruction and sit.

The second you come into contact with the worn leather, Yoongi spins on his heel and, to your confusion, begins to clean.

You fail to see how picking up your mess will help you sleep, but your exhaustion prevents any inquiries you may have and you resign yourself to just watching your boyfriend dart around your living room.

___

The two of you don’t speak again until all of the sticky notes have been carefully gathered into a neat pile and all of your projects have been either discarded or placed in the large box that Yoongi had seemed to materialize out of nowhere.

When order is restored to your apartment, Yoongi goes to the door and calls out that he will be right back before he disappears into the night.

At this point you still have no idea what he is trying to do, so you stay still on the couch, waiting for him to return.

Then he is back, and he carries with him a burst of cold air. The smell of the cold night clings to his clothing as he enters the living room and he is now carrying a plastic shopping bag. You reach for it out of curiosity, but he turns to you with his signature deadpan look, his lips pressed into a flat line and his cheeks dimpling at the corners of his mouth, and waves his finger at you in a ‘no, no’ gesture.

You roll your eyes and relax back into the couch to watch his next move. He reaches into the bag as if feeling for something, but sets it down beside your TV without removing anything. He then disappears for a second before reappearing with several somethings in his hands; you try to sneak a peek at the objects, but he angles his body in a way that hides them from your view as he walks to your bedroom. Several minutes pass and you hear sounds of cables being rearranged, making scraping sounds as they come into contact with the wall that separates your bedroom and the living room.

At this point you’ve gathered that he is installing something in your room, but other than that you are still thoroughly confused.

When he emerges from your room, Yoongi is grinning. He grabs your hand to pull you up off the couch; he doesn’t release your hand as he grabs the plastic bag and leads you into your room.

“Yoongi what are you-?” You’re question remains incomplete because you get distracted by the new additions to your room.

Where before had been just your TV and cable box, now sits a sleek black box and two matching speakers on either end of the stand opposite your bed.

“What do you think?” Yoongi asks after letting you inspect his gift for a moment.

“You...installed a sound system in my room?” You say, your tone making the end into a question.

“Yup.” His eyes are bright with excitement, though you don’t quite understand the situation yet.

“And... This is going to help me sleep?”

“Yup.” He responds, not helping you out at all.

You look between him and the speakers several times before leveling him with a questioning look.

His deep laugh fills the room and he reaches into the plastic bag. A few seconds later he pulls his hand out to reveal a plastic CD case. He holds it up proudly and waits for your reaction, but when you just continue to stare at him he sighs. “It’s a CD.”

“Well no sh-” You start, but he cuts you off.

“Wait, wait I wasn’t finished. It’s a CD...that I made...for you.” And with that he drops the bag to the ground, opens the case with a pop of plastic, and slides the CD into the newly installed player.

There is the sound of whirring inside the machine as it starts to read the disk. Yoongi turns and grabs you by your wrist. He pulls you toward the bed and practically dives under the covers. You hadn’t noticed earlier, but he arrived wearing sweatpants and a plain t-shirt, his usual sleep attire. He gestures for you to get in beside him; you are skeptical, but you follow his lead and soon you are under your plush comforter and Yoongi’s arms are snaking around your waist.

“I appreciate the effort Yoongs, but I don’t thi-” You are once again cut off as Yoongi shushes you and pulls you closer to his side.

“Just listen.” He says, his voice reverberating throughout his chest and vibrating against your cheek.

Not even a full second after he spoke, music starts to fill the room. You settle against Yoongi with a sigh, doubtful but curious as you begin to listen.

By the time the first note plays you recognize the sound of Yoongi’s song고엽, from Bangtan’s most recent album. You give Yoongi a curious glance. It is your favorite song off the album, but you’ve tried music before and it doesn’t help you sleep.

Nonetheless, you enjoy as the voices of your friends fill the room and Yoongi begins to rub circles lightly on your back.

By the time고엽draws to an end, your breathing is in time with Yoongi’s and you have to admit that lying in the darkness with him and the music is calming. The music distracts you from your rampant thoughts and Yoongi’s presence fills the odd void that has been almost constant as of late.

When the second song starts, your eyebrows scrunch in confusion as an unfamiliar strain of music fills the room. And your confusion only

increases when Yoongi’s voice is added to the mix.

He is rapping, but it is different from his usual style. It is soft and slow to match the almost lullaby mood of the music.

“What song is this?” You whisper softly to Yoongi, not wanting to miss a second of his recording.

You can almost hear the smile in his voice when he replies, “It’s a song for you.” His arms tighten around you briefly, “I know I haven’t been able to spend as much time with you because of work. I’ve felt kind of terrible, especially since you haven’t been sleeping, so I started writing and...this CD happened. About half of it is made up of my old songs and a few BTS songs. The other half is made up of new songs that I...uh...wrote...for you.” He almost sounds embarrassed near the end and his face is buried in your hair to avoid your gaze.

You can do nothing but stare at him. “Yoongi, you...wrote songs, as in plural, just to help me sleep?” You manage to squeak out, not believing it.

He nods against your neck and you close your eyes in an attempt to avoid crying at the sweetness of the gesture.

You shift your position so you are facing him and your arms are around him as well, “Yoongi, look at me.”

He hesitates, but turns his head to look at you, it’s dark but you can just barely see his bashful expression in the dim light coming from your bedside clock.

You lean in and press soft kiss to his cheek, “I don’t even know how to say thank you.” You whisper, your voice tight with emotion. “I love you, Yoongi.”

You feel his cheeks lift and you picture his gummy in your head, “I love you, Y/N. Now, pretty please try and get some sleep.” He leans forward to give you a quick peck before snuggling closer to your side and you can’t help the smile that spreads across your face.

For the first time in one month and three days you feel your eyes grow heavy and your thoughts are silent as you drift off to sleep to the sound of Yoongi’s music.