At 10:30AM, you slipped out of Yoongi's arms and got up. You gently his hair, moving it out of his face so you could kiss his forehead as he slept. He looked so relaxed and sweet, almost angelic.

    Sneaking downstairs, you decided to make him breakfast- God only knew the boy's eating habits outside of school- and pulled out various foods, busying yourself by scrambling eggs and frying bacon and pouring pancake batter onto the griddle. Once done, you set a large plate on a tray with a tall glass of juice and brought it upstairs.

    "Yoongi?" you called. He was still asleep, but his sweet face was marred by a frown. He was shifting almost feverishly and you could only guess that he was having a nightmare. Setting down the tray, you placed a gentle hand on his cheek. "Yoongi..." Soft, unintelligible words tumbled from his mouth as his face contorted with distress.

    "Shh," you whispered, running your fingers through his soft hair. "It's okay."

    "...nnngggg...n-no, wait..." he mumbled, "...stop..." He grabbed your hand, hanging on for dear life. "...no, no, stop!" His breathing became more shallow. "I, I can't- no, s-stop!" Gasping, he bolted upright, shaking from his nightmare. His eyes searched the room frantically until they settled on you and he visibly relaxed, his panting and ragged breaths slowing down.

    "Yoongi-ah," you whispered gently, climbing onto his lap. "It's okay. You're okay." You brushed his hair out of his face and pressed a kiss to his forehead. He threw his arms around you, holding tight.

    "I had a nightmare," he mumbled into your shirt. You rested your head on his and rubbed his back soothingly.

    "I know, baby, I know." He clung to you like a scared child and your heart broke. Min Yoongi, you knew, was as shattered as the china dishes his parents used to throw in fits of anger. After a while, he finally pulled away, embarrassed. 

    “Sorry,” he whispered, avoiding your worried gaze.

    “Don’t be.” You offered your most encouraging smile and he relaxed, just a bit. Leaning down slightly, you pressed your lips to one of the larger scars on his right shoulder. “You’re okay,” you whispered against his skin. Deciding to let the topic go, you got up and grabbed the food tray, setting it on the bed between you. “I made breakfast.”

    His smile made you melt inside and you picked up a fork, offering him a piece of pancake. “Say ‘ahh’.” Yoongi did as he was told and you fed him with a grin. “Mmm, it’s good,” he said, kissing your cheek. Making sure not to leave you out, he picked up the other fork and began to feed you too.

    When you first met him, you never would have imagined that the famous bad boy Min Suga would ever do something like having a lazy brunch in bed with his girlfriend. Of course, at the time, you didn’t know that underneath the bad boy façade was a squishy, sweet cinnamon roll of a child. There was no way you couldn’t smile as you watched him dip the bacon into the maple syrup and eat it, the sticky syrup off of his fingers.

    You knew that you didn’t know what love was just yet and you knew that you were way too young to think about marriage. But you knew, you just knew, that if this was what loving someone was like and if waking up to someone like that was what marriage could be, you definitely wanted to love Yoongi for as long as you lived. You decided that day that if that experience of waking up to someone and making them breakfast and enjoying their presence as much as they enjoyed yours was anything even close to love, love was exactly what you wanted.