𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚊𝚛 | 𝚔. 𝚜𝚞𝚐𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚊

- Breakfast -

The sensation of grass below me steals my consciousness away and sweeps me underneath a blanket of stars.

-

When I wake, I find myself tucked inside linen bedsheets. The fabric smells like Suga, with humble notes of soft laundry detergent and vanilla, akin to the scent of blankets fresh from the dryer. Nestled underneath it all is the subtle hint of his cedarwood cologne. At the thought, a gentle reminder that he isn't in the room prods my mind. I tug Suga's bedsheets to my chest, peeking at the clock hanging on the wall. 10:03.

Maybe he's in the kitchen, I wonder to myself, or out running errands. Mixed feelings roll in as I recall that it's Saturday. We only shop on weekdays. A sigh escapes from my lungs. Either way, I was starving, and may as well find out for myself. Thinking was too difficult with hunger clouding the mind. I stir, tossing the bedsheets away. The startling feeling is equivalent to removing your hands from a hot cup of coffee. A shudder drips down my spine as I force myself to adjust and roll from the bed. Planting my feet on fuzzy carpets, I begin to move with purpose before recalling that I still wear clothing from the night before.

Ten minutes later, I've stolen a lavender hoodie from the depths of Suga's closet and managed to turn my bedhead into a more presentable, but still messy, bun. I don't bother changing my leggings. The navy hue matches the lavender sweatshirt I've adorned. I'd prefer white leggings, but that meant traversing to my room. The basic idea was tempting; however, hunger reigned over my mind. Entering the kitchen was a priority. Memories of mornings strewn with comfort foods and forehead kisses only further provoked my mission.

As I exit Suga's bedroom, I'm pelted with the scent of rice, freshly cut salmon, and cooked vegetables. The mere thought of a warm bed of rice sets my abdomen ablaze. That's one mystery solved. My pace quickens as desire takes the wheel; careless steps muffled by carpets below.

The pleasant aroma only grows stronger as I enter the kitchen. Our dining table is adorned with a variety of traditional Japanese breakfast cuisine: steamy rice, both grilled and raw slices of salmon, miso soup, and a wide variety of vegetables. There are even scrambled eggs dashed with furikake, a condiment made from chopped seaweed, sesame seeds, dried fish, sugar, and salt.

On the opposite side of the room is the most important thing of all. Sugawara. I was sure he'd spent well over an hour working to produce the expanse laid out on the table. The ceaseless flow of his generosity never failed to blow me away. A grin breaks out on my face, I'm speechless. "Sugar, I-"

"We've been dating for two years today, ma chérie," he returns my smile softly from behind the sink, cleaning the mountain of dishes reaped from his efforts, "and I wanted to return the favor." He turns off the water and picks an adjacent towel, drying his hands.

"What favor?" I walk over to him, eyes wandering over both feasts before me.

"You fill my heart with abundant blessings each and every day," He puts the towel aside, bringing me into a gentle hug, "this is my way of thanking you."

I blink away tears I didn't realize had formed and press my head onto his chest. This morning felt indescribable, an endless and perfect reality I never wanted to leave. The sound of his heartbeat wound around mine as I quickly resolved to repay him in full. The scent of his black sweater, soft vanilla with hints of sugar, pleasantly bonded with the aroma of comfort foods. I smiled to myself, relishing his embrace for another eternal moment.

He's the first to pull away, spinning me around to face the dining table. "Shall we?" I tilt my head back and nod, ever so slightly, barely concealing the euphoria bubbling up in my chest.

"First, yes." We move to sit down across from one another, feast spread equally between us. "Secondly, how long did this take you?" I prod, murmuring a prayer under my breath. I begin to distribute the egg.

"Around two hours," he admits, heaping rice and egg onto his platter.

"Two hours!?" I stop in place, mind blank. I barely have the attention span to cook ramen. I recover as mixed feelings blossom from the corners of my mind, calculating how I'll repay a price this high.

Sugawara nods, shy blush dusting his cheekbones. "I'd do it again in a heartbeat."

"That's-" I'm at a loss for words, trailing off to catch a few of the terms tumbling from a pool of scattered thoughts, "-the nicest thing someone has ever done for me."

"Only the best for the most beautiful girl I know." He picks up the salmon dish from the center of the table and adds a generous portion to my platter.

After all of the breakfast has been distributed, there's heaps of leftovers. Sugawara has less on his platter than I do. He chose a simpler route than I, opting to decorate his rice with vegetables and little bits of egg. On the side is more egg and grilled salmon, with furikake spread charitably on top.

However, I have raw salmon on a bed of rice. A large bowl of miso soup and additional vegetables also resides underneath the expanse of my chosen cuisine. I opt to eat the remainder of the egg if I have room afterwards.

Seeing that we've both come to a decision, Sugawara whispers an additional prayer and we dive in. He's gotten out his ceremonial chopsticks for the occasion. They're black lacquer with gold swirls at the end. I tap them together, fascinated by both their metallic shine and weight. It's different than your average wooden chopstick.

Regardless, they do their job well. I pick up a piece of salmon, dip it into soy sauce, and roll it in rice. It's my favorite way to eat sashimi.

I take a bite, tenderly, basking in a salty sensation that soaks my senses. The rice mellows out both the flavor of briny soy and robust salmon. It's a bliss akin to cool ocean spray dashing your skin as sun rays plant kisses on rosy cheeks.

Sugawara glances up and I pause, halting the ocean waves bubbling over my train of thought. "Finished already?" I remark, noting his almost empty platter. All that remains is a disorganized scatter of rice and egg. I've only completed my journey through salmon and rice.

"Not quite," he softly replies, serving the remainder of the miso soup into an adjacent empty bowl.

I lick my lips and nod, swallowing the sensation of salt and seaside.