Recalling Affection

Chapter 24

He stilled at that, laughter fading into something quieter. His body was still pressed against hers, but now the space between them buzzed with something softer—tenderness, a reverent kind of awe.

Their eyes met, the laughter still lingering in their gaze, but now threaded with something deeper. His hand cupped her cheek, thumb brushing along her cheekbone like he was afraid she’d vanish if he stopped touching her.

“Saga…” he murmured.

She knew that look.

Without a word, she reached up, fingers threading through his sleep-tousled hair, pulling him down. Their lips met in a slow, unhurried kiss. It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t fiery—it was pure affection. The kind of kiss that said thank you, that said I’m yours, that whispered I’m still here.

When they parted, foreheads touching, breaths mingling, Jungkook’s eyes were glassy with emotion.

“I love you,” he whispered, the words escaping in a breath like a promise.

Saga’s fingers traced along his jaw, eyes glimmering. “I love you more.”

He scoffed, smile tugging at his lips. “Impossible.”

She grinned, brushing her nose against his. “Wanna bet?”

He kissed her again—this time softer, more lingering—as if sealing a vow. The morning light bathed them in a golden warmth as the world outside slowly stirred to life, but in that bed, in that cocoon of tangled sheets and whispered confessions, time stood still.

And for the first time in a long time, everything felt right.

Their kisses lingered, slow and smiling, until the morning light grew bolder, gently nudging them out of the cocoon of blankets and into the day.

Jungkook brushed his nose against hers. “Come on, Sparkle. Let’s ruin the kitchen together.”

Saga giggled, stretching lazily before stealing one last kiss. “Only if you promise to ruin the pancakes too.”

With a groan and a grin, he rolled out of bed, tugging her with him.
And just like that, wrapped in sleep shirts and sleepy grins, they drifted from the softness of the sheets into the golden glow of their little kitchen—where love still lingered in the air, and breakfast was waiting to be burnt.

Breakfast was a lazy affair.

The kind that didn’t check the time or care about the mess.

Jungkook stood at the stove in nothing but sweatpants, his hair a wild, fluffy mess as he hummed under his breath, flipping pancakes—badly. The first one was too pale. The second was burnt. The third folded in half in protest.

Saga sat at the counter nearby, legs swinging freely, wearing his oversized shirt that hung off one shoulder. She sipped from a mismatched mug, watching him with clear amusement, trying—and failing—to stifle her laughter behind her hand.

“You’re supposed to wait until the bubbles form,” she teased, grinning like a little troublemaker.

Jungkook narrowed his eyes, flipping a pancake with exaggerated effort. “Oh, so now you’re a chef?”

“I do know how to flip a pancake,” she said with a playful shrug.

He raised an eyebrow. “Prove it.”

He stepped aside, gesturing to the pan with a dramatic bow.

Saga hopped down from her stool, smirking as she reached for the spatula—only to yelp in surprise when Jungkook suddenly scooped her up by the waist and plopped her down on the counter beside the stove.