Obese Love

Chapter 16

His mind raced, replaying the past years. The bankruptcy of Mushroom Bakery, his shattered dreams, and Taehyung's unwavering support that had come with a price – the slow erosion of his own aspirations. Blue Mist, their successful restaurant, was Taehyung's dream, built on the ashes of Seokjin's skills and creativity. He had been happy to contribute, to find solace in the creative outlet it offered. But somewhere along the way, his own desires had become an echo, a whisper drowned out by the clatter of plates and the clinking of glasses.

Seokjin kneaded the dough with a ferocity born of simmering resentment, each press of his fingers a silent rebellion against the ghosts that haunted him. The aroma of rising bread filled the air, a poignant counterpoint to the bitter memories replaying in his mind.

He relieved the first year of the Mushroom Bakery – a whirlwind of flour-dusted dreams and the intoxicating scent of success. Customers flocked through the door, drawn in by the aroma of his sourdough and the warmth of his smile. The clink of the cash register was a symphony of validation, a chorus of "yes, you did it, Seokjin!"

Then, the second year arrived, a slow descent into darkness. A new bakery, gleaming and modern, opened its doors across the street, its prices a siren song to budget-conscious customers. The once-vibrant queue outside his bakery dwindled to a trickle. Bills piled up, like silent accusations. Employee wages fell into arrears, their worried eyes mirroring his own despair.

His calls to his mother for financial support were met with disappointment and scorn. "Why chase a dream with empty pockets?" his father's harsh words echoed in his mind, a constant reminder of his perceived failure.

Then came the day that broke him. He walked into the bakery, ready to face another day of defeat, only to find Taehyung and his company taking over the space, their polished smiles and designer clothes a stark contrast to his own dust-laden apron and sinking heart.

Now, the whisper had become a roar, a defiant demand for his own space, his own journey. The baking classes, a simple step towards reclaiming his passion, had become a symbol of defiance, a line drawn in the sand of emptiness.

Tears streamed down his cheeks, hot against the cool flour, each drop a silent rebellion. He wouldn't forget Taehyung's help, his loyalty, his love. But he wouldn't forget himself either. He wouldn't let his own dreams be sacrificed on the altar of gratitude for him and his father.

With a shaky breath, Seokjin wiped his tears, a newfound resolve hardening his gaze. He looked at the abandoned dough, a testament to the dream he had almost let die. He picked up the dough, kneading it with renewed purpose, each stroke infused with the silent promise of a future where his passion wouldn't be owned. A melody sung in his own voice, not as an echo of another's.

The memory of that fateful introduction gnawed at Seokjin like a persistent ache. The once-vibrant dream of the Mushroom Bakery lay in ashes, replaced by the suffocating reality of defeat. It was then, amidst the desolation, that Taehyung had led him to Blue Mist, his father's culinary empire, a gilded cage offering a glimmer of hope.

Tae-woo, Taehyung's father, a man with eyes as sharp as his business acumen, had looked at Seokjin with a mix of curiosity and skepticism. He had tasted Seokjin's creations, the ghosts of the Mushroom Bakery dancing on his palate, and a flicker of something sparked in his gaze.

"Potential," Tae-woo had declared, his voice echoing in the grand dining hall. "Unexpected, but undeniable. He could be an asset, Taehyung."

And so, Seokjin found himself thrust into the world of Blue Mist, a world of Michelin stars and exquisite plating, a stark contrast to the rustic charm of his own bakery. He learned from the best, his talent blossoming under the tutelage of seasoned chefs. The bitterness of his past remained, but it was tempered by a newfound sense of purpose, a chance to prove himself, not just to Tae-woo, but to himself.

But the gilded cage had its own bars. The weight of Taehyung's unspoken expectations, the constant comparisons to his father's success, and the ever-present shadow of his own failure gnawed at him. He was a star in Blue Mist, but still orbiting Taehyung's sun, his own dreams shrouded in the haze of his gratitude.

The soft glow of the oven lamp cast long shadows across the kitchen, painting the flour-dusted counters with an eerie stillness. Seokjin, hunched over the rising dough, felt the familiar ache in his heart, a phantom limb of dreams left unrealized. He clutched the worn mushroom plushie, its fabric soft against his calloused fingers, a silent testament to a past filled with laughter and shared aspirations.

His mind drifted back to that sun-drenched afternoon, the air buzzing with youthful excitement as he and Jungkook had outlined their dreams. Two boys, armed with nothing but ambition and a shared love for creating, had vowed to build a bakery together, a haven of warmth and deliciousness christened "Mushroom Dreams."

But life, as it often does, had other plans. The harsh realities of financial constraints and family expectations chipped away at their fragile dreams, leaving behind a trail of shattered hopes. Jungkook, with his unwavering optimism, had tried to hold on, but even his boundless spirit couldn't withstand the relentless pressure of reality.

Seokjin, burdened by a growing sense of responsibility and a gnawing fear of failure, had ultimately surrendered. He had chosen the safe haven of Blue Mist, its gilded cage offering stability and a chance to prove himself, albeit under someone else's shadow.

The memory of Jungkook's disappointed, yet understanding smile, stung like a fresh wound. The unspoken words, "I'm proud of you, hyung, even if it's not the path we planned," hung heavy in the air, a bittersweet echo of their broken dreams.

"I'm sorry, Jungkook," Seokjin whispered, his voice thick with unshed tears. "I failed at everything. Our dreams, our friendship... I let it all slip through my fingers."

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