I woke up to sunlight streaming through the window, gently warming my face. I groaned softly, stretching out my arms and blinking away the lingering sleepiness. Last night was... something else. As I sat up, I tried to recall the events—Taehyung's flushed, tipsy face, Jungkook's teasing, and Suga's perpetual scowl. A sigh escaped me as I swung my legs off the bed. This was going to take some getting used to.

Padding downstairs, I was greeted by a scene straight out of a sitcom. Jungkook was sprawled on the living room floor like someone who'd lost a fight with gravity, one arm dramatically thrown over his face. Taehyung was curled up on the couch, clutching a pillow like it was the last thing tethering him to this world. RM sat upright in an armchair, his head tilted back, mouth hanging open slightly. Even in sleep, he looked vaguely like a leader. And then there was J-Hope, stretched out awkwardly across the couch, one leg hanging off the edge. It was both chaotic and endearing.

Global superstars, I thought with a small laugh. Right now, they looked more like a group of college kids recovering from a long night out. I tiptoed past them, not wanting to disturb their much-needed sleep, when I heard the sound of pots and pans clinking in the kitchen. My curiosity got the better of me.

Walking in, I stopped in my tracks. There, standing by the stove, was Suga. His back was to me, and he was completely focused on whatever he was cooking. The faint smell of eggs and soup wafted through the air, comforting and warm. He moved with calm precision, flipping something in a pan without a wasted motion.

I hesitated for a moment, unsure if I should say anything. Good morning, I finally managed, keeping my voice light.

No response. Not even a flinch. I tilted my head, wondering if he hadn't heard me, and tried again. "Good morning."

This time, he responded, though barely. "Morning." His voice was flat, uninterested, and he didn't bother turning around.

Okay then. I shifted awkwardly, lingering near the kitchen island. After a beat, I cleared my throat and tried to sound helpful. "Do you... need any help with anything?"

"No."

The word dropped like a stone into the silence. I blinked at his curt tone but quickly recovered, forcing a smile. "Alright. I'll just... sit here, then."

Sliding onto one of the stools, I rested my chin in my hand and watched him. For someone who acted like he didn't want company, Suga didn't actually tell me to leave, so I stayed put. It was oddly fascinating to see him work. Every motion was smooth and efficient, like he'd done this a thousand times before. The kitchen was quiet except for the soft sizzle of eggs and the occasional sound of utensils against pans.

"You're pretty good at this," I commented after a while, breaking the silence. "I mean, cooking and all."

He didn't say anything, but his shoulders shifted slightly, like he'd heard me but didn't want to acknowledge it. Finally, he muttered something under his breath—something that sounded like a reluctant "thanks," though I couldn't be sure.

Still, I took it as a win.

"So..." I tried again, keeping my tone light, "do you always do this? Cook for everyone after they drink?"

"They're useless when they're hungover," he replied flatly, still focused on the stove. "Someone has to make sure they don't starve."

I smiled softly, watching him carefully scoop food onto a plate. "That's really nice of you."

"It's not 'nice,'" he muttered, clearly annoyed. "It's just easier this way."

His words were sharp, but I caught the softness hiding underneath. He wouldn't admit it, but he cared—probably more than he wanted to let on. I leaned back in my seat, watching him move around the kitchen with that same quiet focus.

"You know," I said, unable to resist, "for someone who acts like he doesn't care, you're actually pretty thoughtful."

Suga paused for the briefest moment, his hand hovering over the skillet. He didn't look at me, but I saw the slight crease in his brow, like my words had caught him off guard. For a second, I thought he might say something, but instead, he shook his head and muttered something too low for me to catch.

I smirked to myself, deciding not to push my luck. If this was the best I'd get out of him for now, I'd take it. Small steps, right?

Jungkook burst into the kitchen, his hair an unruly mess and eyes still heavy with sleep. He paused in the doorway, blinking as if his brain couldn't quite process what he was seeing.

"Hyung?" he said, his voice laced with disbelief. "You're awake? And cooking?"

Suga didn't even bother looking up. "Is that so hard to believe?" he replied flatly, flipping something in the pan with practiced ease.

"Well, yeah," Jungkook shot back, plopping himself onto the stool beside me. "It's you, hyung. You usually sleep longer than all of us combined." He rubbed the back of his neck and muttered under his breath, "I thought I was dreaming for a second."

I stifled a laugh, glancing at Suga as he continued cooking like this was just another day. Watching him work was oddly fascinating. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing—just smooth, efficient movements. The fact that he looked so confident while doing it reminded me of the moments I'd seen him in episodes of Run BTS!—always the calm force in the middle of the group's chaos.

In those episodes, Suga often took charge in the kitchen. I could picture him now, pointing at one of the other members and barking out orders with his usual deadpan humor. "No, don't do it like that. Give me the knife." It was strange seeing it in real life, though—seeing that same focused precision right in front of me.

Jungkook, still looking baffled, leaned closer to me and whispered conspiratorially, "He does this sometimes, but it's rare. Hyung's actually good at cooking, even though he pretends he doesn't care."

I nodded, intrigued. "Yeah, I remember in Run BTS! episodes, he always seemed really confident in the kitchen."

"That's because he is confident," Jungkook said, his voice dropping to a mock-serious tone. "He's scary good at it—like a secret chef or something."

A sleepy J-Hope and RM shuffled in moments later, each looking equally worse for wear but immediately perking up when they saw Suga. J-Hope slumped into a chair at the dining table, yawning dramatically.

"Hyung, are you real?" he asked, his voice muffled by his arms as he dropped his head to the table. "Because if you are, I must still be drunk."

RM gave a tired chuckle, sliding into the seat next to him. "Suga cooking this early in the morning? Definitely a rare sight. You must be feeling generous today, huh?"

Suga shot them both an unimpressed glance before turning back to the stove. "I'm feeling annoyed that you're all helpless when you're hungover."

Jungkook grinned. "But you're still making us food. Admit it, you love us, hyung."

"Don't push it," Suga said dryly, though there was no real bite to his words.

I watched the exchange, biting back a smile. Despite his grumbling, it was obvious that Suga cared more than he let on. He moved around the kitchen with his usual meticulous energy, carefully measuring seasonings and adjusting the heat under each pan. There was no chaos, no wasted motion—just quiet efficiency. Compared to how loud and clumsy the other members could be, Suga's calm control felt almost... soothing.

What made it even more amusing, though, was the way he maintained his trademark sarcasm while he worked. When J-Hope groaned dramatically about the smell of food being "heavenly," Suga rolled his eyes. "Try using that much energy on cleaning up after yourselves next time."

"You wound me, Yoongi-hyung," J-Hope shot back with a grin.

RM watched Suga for a moment before commenting thoughtfully, "You know, it's impressive how precise you are with this stuff. You could've been a chef."

"I'd quit after one day," Suga replied instantly. "Too many people. Too much talking."

The room erupted into laughter, even J-Hope lifting his head just to shake it with a grin. Jungkook turned to me with a knowing smile. "See? Hyung's like that. He complains, but he's good at everything he does."

I nodded, still watching Suga as he plated the food with surprising care. For all his gruffness, there was something about him that was undeniably... warm, even if he would deny it with every fiber of his being.

"Well, I think it's nice," I said softly.

Suga didn't look at me, but I swore I saw the tiniest flicker of acknowledgment in the set of his shoulders. He said nothing, though—just grabbed a steaming plate, set it on the table with a clatter, and muttered, "Eat before it gets cold."

J-Hope sat up with newfound energy, clapping his hands together. "Chef Min Yoongi, everyone! Truly one of a kind."

Suga ignored him, turning back to the stove to finish up the rest of the food. I hid my smile behind my hand. He may not like me yet, but he's still kind of fascinating.

Noticing Taehyung wasn't in the kitchen with the others, I frowned slightly. I knew his alcohol tolerance wasn't the best, so he was probably still passed out in the living room. With a quiet sigh, I pushed back my chair and stood up. "I'll go check on Taehyung," I said to no one in particular. Jungkook, halfway through shoving a piece of bread in his mouth, gave me a thumbs-up in approval, and I left the kitchen.

The living room was still dim, bathed in the soft morning light filtering through the curtains. And there, sprawled out on the couch like a Renaissance painting come to life, was Taehyung. One arm hung lazily over the edge of the couch, his head tilted slightly to the side as he snored faintly, his face peaceful.

I stopped mid-step and just... stared. I couldn't help it. The rising sun highlighted the angles of his face—his sharp jawline, his perfectly shaped nose, and those ridiculously long lashes resting against his cheeks. How was it even possible to look that good while sleeping? It was unfair. Unbelievably unfair.

I bit the inside of my cheek, trying to snap myself out of it, but my feet didn't move. I knew I shouldn't, but I let myself admire him for just a moment longer. There was something oddly calming about the sight of him—his usual lively, charming self replaced by this softer, more serene version.

Okay, Clover, stop staring. This is weird.

Steeling myself, I took a step forward and crouched down beside the couch. "Taehyung," I said softly, nudging his arm. "Wake up. Breakfast is ready."

He didn't budge.

I tried again, a little louder this time. "Taehyung. Come on, get up."

Still nothing.

I sighed, leaning in slightly to get a better look at him. I had no idea why I did it—maybe just to confirm he wasn't completely dead to the world—but that tiny moment turned out to be my mistake.

Because suddenly, his eyes fluttered open.

I froze.

Taehyung's deep brown eyes locked onto mine, half-lidded with lingering sleep but sharp enough to catch me completely off guard. I could feel my heart jump into my throat, panic rushing in as I realized how close we were.

And then it got worse.

His sudden movement startled me so much that I lost my balance, my body tilting forward in what felt like slow motion. Before I could even squeak out a protest, Taehyung's arm shot out instinctively and caught me by the waist.

The world stilled.

I blinked, suddenly finding myself inches from his face, his arm still firmly wrapped around me. Taehyung looked just as surprised, his brows lifting slightly as his lips curled into the smallest hint of a smile.

"You okay there?" His voice was low and husky from sleep, which didn't help my situation at all.

"I—uh—I'm fine!" I stammered, scrambling to straighten myself. My cheeks burned with embarrassment as I stepped back, putting as much distance between us as I could manage without tripping over something. "Thanks for... catching me. That was—that was close."

Taehyung leaned back against the couch, watching me with an amused expression that only made my face feel hotter. "Did you need something, or did you just come to fall on me?"

I glared at him, trying to regain my composure. "Breakfast. I came to tell you to have breakfast with us."

His smirk softened into a small smile. "Breakfast, huh? Alright. I'll be there in a minute."

"Good. You should hurry before they eat everything," I said quickly, turning on my heel to escape the living room as fast as humanly possible.

As I hurried back to the kitchen, trying to shake off what had just happened, I pressed my hands against my cheeks to cool down the heat radiating from them. Taehyung catching me like that, his sleepy eyes and lazy smile, the way his voice had come out all husky—it was a recipe for heart failure. Literally.

I forced myself to take a deep breath, silently scolding the butterflies doing somersaults in my stomach. "Calm down, Clover," I muttered under my breath. "It's nothing. Just a moment. A dumb, stupid, completely meaningless moment."

Except it wasn't meaningless—at least not to my traitorous heart.

My steps slowed as a quiet reminder crept into my thoughts. You can't get too excited. You can't get carried away. You know better than that.

I sighed, rubbing at my chest absentmindedly as I whispered the words I'd told myself a thousand times before. Your heart is fragile.

It wasn't just a figure of speech for me. My condition wasn't something I could forget, even if sometimes I desperately wanted to. It was always there, a shadow lurking behind moments like these, pulling me back to reality. Getting excited, getting emotional, getting... involved—those were risks I couldn't afford.

I reached the kitchen doorway and paused for a second before stepping inside, schooling my face into something neutral. The last thing I needed was for someone to notice the flustered mess I'd just been.

As I stepped back into the kitchen, trying to gather my composure, I noticed someone new had joined the group. Jimin was perched casually on the kitchen counter, his legs swinging lightly as he cradled a steaming mug in his hands. He looked entirely at ease, like he belonged there—like he always did.

"Morning," he greeted with a soft smile, his tone gentle, as if still waking up himself.

"Morning," I replied, trying not to sound breathless after my encounter with Taehyung. I slid into my seat at the table, stealing a glance at the others.

Jungkook was already digging into another plate of food, and J-Hope and RM sat together, deep in some hushed, half-laughing conversation. Suga, of course, remained planted at the stove, moving around the kitchen with his meticulous precision—stirring the soup, flipping bacon, and plating food like he'd done this a thousand times. He didn't even look up when Jimin spoke.

"You're up early," Jimin teased toward Suga, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I didn't think I'd ever see the day."

Suga, still focused on the pan, deadpanned without missing a beat, "I could say the same about you."

Jimin let out a soft laugh and took another sip of his drink, his shoulders shaking in that familiar way that always made the other members smile. "Fair enough. But you cooking? That's still shocking."

"Why?" Jungkook chimed in, his mouth half-full. "Hyung's a good cook. Run BTS episodes never lie."

At that, a small smile tugged at the corner of Suga's lips, though he kept his focus entirely on the stove. "I don't cook often because I don't have to. That doesn't mean I can't."

"It's true," RM added, leaning back in his chair. "When he's in the kitchen, he's a whole different person. Precise. Calculated." He motioned toward Suga with a lazy wave of his hand. "Look at him—completely in the zone."

I glanced at Suga, quietly observing the way he worked. It was fascinating, really. Every movement was intentional, his attention never wavering. He measured ingredients with exact care, tasted the broth of the soup with a look of deep focus, and set each finished dish down with an almost casual elegance.

Meanwhile, Jimin hopped off the counter and moved closer to the table, his eyes scanning the spread. "Wow, this looks good. I'm impressed."

J-Hope grinned. "Don't sound so surprised. Yoongi-hyung knows what he's doing."

"I'll believe it when I taste it," Jimin teased, sitting across from me as he reached for a spoon.

I couldn't help but smile faintly at the exchange. The kitchen was starting to fill with energy—Jimin's teasing, Jungkook's eating, J-Hope and RM's banter—but Suga remained steady, like the calm center of a storm. It was such a contrast to everything happening around him that I found it... well, amusing.

Jimin caught me watching and tilted his head with a curious expression. "What?"

"Nothing," I replied quickly, looking away. "Just... it's funny."

"What is?"

"How different you all are," I admitted, keeping my voice light. "You're all loud and chaotic, and then there's..." I gestured toward Suga, who was now ladling soup into bowls, completely unbothered. "...him."

Jungkook let out a laugh. "That's Yoongi-hyung for you. Chaos-proof."

Jimin chuckled, nodding in agreement. "It's true. You can put him in the middle of a hurricane, and he'll still find a way to stay unbothered."

"Or nap," RM added, grinning.

Suga finally turned slightly, setting a bowl of soup down in front of me without meeting my eyes. "I can hear all of you, by the way."

"Good morning to you too, hyung," Jimin teased, reaching for a bowl himself.

I smiled faintly as I wrapped my hands around the warm bowl. The morning was already shaping up to be lively, and despite everything—despite the odd tension with Suga, despite my earlier reminder to myself—it was nice to feel like a part of something. Like I belonged, even in the smallest way.

Then I caught Jimin smiling at me, his expression soft and curious, as if he'd noticed something in my face I hadn't meant to show. "You okay?" he asked gently.

I blinked, quickly nodding. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Jimin didn't push further. Instead, he sat back, sipping his soup with a contented hum, while the sounds of the boys chatting and teasing one another filled the room around us.

I focused on the food in front of me, hoping it would ground me as I silently reminded myself of one unshakable truth: Moments like these can't get to you, Clover. You can't let your heart forget what it is.

And as I picked up my spoon, I made myself a quiet promise. I'd keep my feelings in check, no matter how charming Taehyung—or anyone else—might be. My heart wasn't just fragile. It was a ticking clock, and I couldn't let anyone wind it too tight.