Anything?

Summary: It's finals week and you're more than stressed out, but if you can make it through one more test, Bobby will do anything you ask.

“Could you just chill?” Bobby huffs in frustration. He’s sitting at his desk trying to pencil down a few lyrics before he heads off to practice, but the way you’re pacing back and forth is distracting him. “I told you, baby: everything’s gonna be fine. You’re gonna kill that test.”

It sounds so easy when he says it. In reality you’re only 60% ready and no matter how many times you try to convince yourself you've got this under control, the voice in the back of your head reminds you that you haven't even attempted to prepare for this exam. How were you supposed to when you had a test every day this week and you had to finish a 2000 word essay you put off until the last minute?? Okay, so the last thing may have been your fault, but hey, you tried to stay on top of all the work. Halfway through reviewing your notes though, a YouTube notification interrupted your study session (and then a tumblr notification, and then a snapchat notification, then even your email started blowing up).

“It’s not my fault every idol decided to have their comeback this week, Bobby. I blame BTS. Suga has no respect for my life.”

He scoffs at the lame excuse (he's Jimin trash) and turns around in his chair, watching tiredly as you continue to walk in circles. “Would you stop doing that? You’re making me anxious.”

“Nope,” you march on, “I’m too stressed to sit, too stressed to study, too stressed to do anything but pace. I just wanna get to class so I can flunk this test as soon as possible. Hopefully there’s still an open seat in summer school.”

“Ya,” Bobby chides, “You are not going to fail. You told me just last night that you read through all your notes and that you felt okay about the test.”

“Of course I said that,” you burry your face in your hands, “But obviously I was just trying to convince myself that I was ready. I wasn’t really reeeeealy ready.”

“... You make no sense.”

“Well,” you trudge over to the chair beside him and throw yourself down heavily, “It worked last night, but I’m not buying it today. I’m for sure going to bomb this test and it’s my fault for wasting all that time I had to study.”

He contemplates this for a second, taking in your rumpled appearance and creased brows. “Maybe you won’t do that bad, who knows? You always think you’re gonna fail but you usually end up doing okay.”

“Bobby,” you grit, voice tight, “I’m going to fail.”

He nods solemnly, preferring to stay quiet rather than to keep poking at the issue. You’re short selling yourself like always, and though it drives Bobby crazy, he’ll let it be for now. Being your boyfriend for almost two years has taught him a few things, one of them being that you accept the worse case scenario as the most likely. Just the other day he was left staring openmouthed as you frantically explained how you knew the new freckle on your arm was the plague. Needless to say, Bobby has experience reasoning away the crazy stuff you think up, and it just so happens that abating your fear of failure is his specialty.

“I’ll make a deal with you.”

“A deal?” you raise a brow, curious. “What kind of deal?”

“If you can pass the final,” he starts carefully, “I’ll grant any wish you want.”