No Strings

(EXTRA) Part 12

**The following takes place after the events of No Strings**

"Babe," Jimin whispers, low in the dark.

Mumbling nonsense, you nestle further into the bed. The sheets are warm, soft and you have worked too many hours this week at work. It is your last week before you are supposed to go out on leave and the days have been crammed full of meetings, preparing your team for your absence.

The days have been excruciating, coupled with your aching bones and sore feet. Everything hurts – everything is tired and right now, there is nothing you want more than to curl up on the mattress and fall into blissful slumber.

Jimin moves closer, lips brushing your shoulder. Gently, his hand slips over the curve of your waist. When he finds your belly, he smiles, humming contentedly to himself.

Kissing your shoulder again, he sighs and murmurs, "Baby?"

Lips lowering into a pout, you do not open your eyes. "No," you grumble, unmoving.

A breathy laugh falls from his lips. "But babe," Jimin whines, burying his head in your shoulder. His dark hair tickles your skin.

It is cute when he does this, no matter how sleepy you are. Almost, you roll over to face him but stop yourself. "What?" you sigh, still not opening your eyes.

"I – hey. What if I'm bad at it?"

At this, your eyes open. Light filters in from the street to cast a soft, fluorescent glow on the floor. When Minsun and Seokjin got married, they moved into their own apartment and left you with this one. Jimin decided to move in, much to your relief. Your place was bigger than his and did not smell strongly of boy. Of course, these days your place smells like formula (various kinds, for testing) and the crib Jimin built in the corner.

As gracefully as you can (which is not very gracefully), you roll sideways to face him. It takes two attempts – one to get halfway, and one more to finish. Jimin's hands cup your waist midway to help you along. When you are facing him fully, he pulls you forward until your belly presses to his. He smiles at this, faint in the dark.

"Jimin," you say, pushing hair from his forehead. Your fingers linger, tracing his ear, his jaw, his neck until your hand falls to the bed. "You won't be bad at it."

Doubt enters his gaze. "How do you know?" he whispers, sincere. "I've never been... that kind of guy, you know?"

"What kind of guy?"

Jimin shrugs on the pillow. "You know... the good-with-kids guy. No one has ever asked me to baby-sit, Y/N. Never. Once, I had to hold a baby at a tailgate and it almost drank some of my beer." When you snort, he cries, "It's true! When co-workers bring their kids to the office, I hide in the break rooms. I – what makes you think I can handle this?"

Even as he says this, his hands gently stroke your hips, your belly. Trying not to smile, you wonder if he even realizes he does this.

"Because," you say, shifting closer. "You can handle it. Our kid won't be like all those other random kids. They'll be ours. Of course, you'll love them. Just... you know. Imagine a little you, running around our halls."

"Sounds terrifying."

"Imagine, I don't know, a small human you get to play tag with."

"Just how small are we talking, here?"

"Small."

"Like, scary small?"

"Like, baby small. 'Cuz it's a baby."