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The first sign of trouble was the smell of toast. The second was the smoke alarm, which chirped once, politely, and then thought better of it.
Seokjin woke inside a nest of warm blankets with his face pressed into Namjoon's chest, and he lay still for a moment, listening. Somewhere in the kitchen, a whisper-shout rose above the clatter of a pan.
"Jiho, you're holding the spatula wrong!"
"But you said 'hold it like a sword'!"
"I said hold it like a 'chef's' sword!"
Seokjin's eyes opened. Namjoon, who had clearly been awake for a while, only smiled into his hair, his alpha scent warm and sleepy and faintly cedar from the candle they'd lit last night.
"Our daughter?" Seokjin whispered.
"Yes, our daughter, Minseo," Namjoon agreed. "I heard her at six. She said she had a Plan."
It had been Seokjin's idea to host the sleepover, back when he'd imagined one quiet movie and an early night. Instead, his living room had become a tangled map of sleeping bags and blankets, the TV still glowing on a menu nobody had ever agreed on: Yoongi and Jimin sharing the second sofa, Hyunjin and Felix on a mattress by the window with their baby asleep in a travel bassinet at Felix's side, and Hobi sprawled upside down in the armchair with one sock on, as he did everywhere.
Jungkook and Taehyung had claimed the rug by the bookshelf. Taehyung, ever the omega who collected soft things, had built a nest out of every cushion in the house. Jungkook slept curled around him like a very large, very devoted comma, one hand buried in Taehyung's hair.
"Hyung," Jungkook mumbled without opening his eyes. "Is that my son I hear committing arson?"
Namjoon's smile widened. "Possibly. I'd like to see how it plays out."
They crept toward the kitchen doorway like burglars in their own home. Behind them, Yoongi's low voice drifted out of the dark. "If anyone touches the single-origin beans I brought, I'm suing a seven-year-old."
"You'll do nothing of the sort," murmured Jimin, who lay half on top of him. "You adore her."
"I tolerate her."
"You taught her to play the piano."
Yoongi said nothing, which was an answer in itself.
"Is it pancakes?" came a muffled voice from the armchair. "Please tell me it's pancakes."
"Go back to sleep, Hobi," three people whispered at once.
From the kitchen doorway, the adults beheld the scene.
Minseo stood on a stool wearing Namjoon's apron, which dragged along the floor like a royal train. Flour dusted her cheeks. Six-year-old Jiho, Jungkook's miniature, was stirring something violently in a bowl. And at the stove, wearing an expression of deep, noble suffering, stood Bang Chan, who had arrived late last night with a bag of chocolate chip cookies and apparently been drafted before the sun came up.
"I'm the safety officer," he informed the stove. "I was promised a title."
"Uncle Chan is supervising," Minseo announced. "We are making Sunday Morning. It is a surprise."
"What is Sunday Morning?" Taehyung asked, delighted.
"It's breakfast in bed. For everyone. Because you all work too hard and Appa says you never sleep in." She lifted her chin. "Also there will be tea."
Seokjin pressed a hand to his mouth. Namjoon, bless him, made a sound that was suspiciously close to a sob.
"Oh, sweetheart," Seokjin managed. "But we're already up."
Minseo's face crumpled for exactly one second.
"Then go back to bed!" Chan clapped his hands once, brightly. It was the first sensible thing anyone had said. "Go. All of you. Let the professionals work."
~
They were herded back into the living room, where Hyunjin and Felix, who had slept through the entire conversation, were only now blinking awake, hair like startled birds. Felix lifted their baby against his shoulder after a few minutes, patting small circles on her back, while Hyunjin watched him with the soft, helpless look he always wore at this hour, as if he still couldn't believe this was his life.
"Did someone say tea?" Hyunjin asked.
"Someone said 'Sunday Morning,'" Jimin corrected, flopping onto the couch.
Within minutes, someone had pulled the curtains open, and the pale gold light of a rainy morning spilled across the room. Rain tapped the windows in a slow, comforting rhythm. Someone dragged a duvet across everyone's laps. Taehyung began to purr, quietly, and Jungkook, hearing it, purred back, until the whole room hummed with the low contented sound that omegas make when their pack is safe and close.
Even Yoongi, who claimed not to be a morning person, let Jimin tuck his cold feet under his thigh.
When the children finally came marching in, bearing a wobbling tray, the adults pretended to be asleep.
"Ahem," Minseo cleared her throat.
They opened their eyes in perfect unison, all except Hobi, who had lasted exactly four seconds before snort-laughing into a cushion and earned a severe look from the head chef.
The pancakes were slightly burnt at the edges and shaped like continents no one had discovered yet. The tea was too sweet and far too strong. The cookies, courtesy of Chan, were perfect. Jiho had drawn a card with a very large sun, a very small family, and the word "BREKFAST" (yup, minus one letter) in careful, wobbly letters.
Namjoon read it aloud, his voice cracking halfway through the word. Seokjin was already crying, laughing, and eating pancakes all at once.
"It's wonderful," Taehyung breathed, pulling Jiho into his lap, and he meant every word. "It's the best Sunday morning I've ever had."
"Daddy's proud of you, son." Jungkook gathered his son and his omega into one big hug.
Minseo climbed into the middle of the blanket pile, between her parents, Seokjin and Namjoon, and beamed with the pride of a girl whose Plan had worked.
Outside, the rain kept falling. Inside, nobody checked the time.
~
Later, Jackson would arrive with a bag of pastries and Bambam, Yugyeom, and Joji in tow, announce that he had "a feeling there was a party," and be handed a soft and fluffy blanket and a cup of tea without a word. Nobody argued. There was always room.
By noon, someone had declared that no one in this pack was cooking anything else, ever, and Namjoon had ordered five pizzas, then three more "for safety." Fried chicken followed, then garlic bread, a mountain of fries, dumplings that Felix swore he hadn't ordered but ate anyway, and a tub of ice cream Taehyung and Jiho guarded between them like dragons. The cartons piled up on the coffee table. The movie menu finally gave way to something nobody was really watching.
It was a day off for the whole pack, and they spent it exactly as it deserved: sprawled across every sofa and cushion, sticky-fingered and sleepy, passing around the last slice of pizza like a treaty.
FIN