Ephemeral Shadows: Whispers Beyond the Bakery ||Woosan smut||

Chapter 7

In the realm of dreams, Wooyoung found himself transported to the familiar warmth of his bakery. The intoxicating scent of freshly baked bread enveloped the air, and the soft hum of the ovens provided a soothing melody.

As he worked the dough with practiced hands, shaping it into loaves of perfection, he felt a gentle presence behind him. Turning, he met San's gaze—eyes filled with warmth and a shared understanding that went beyond words.

The dream unfolded with the simplicity of shared moments. Their hands, dusted with flour, found harmony as they worked together, kneading and shaping the dough. The rhythmic motions of the bakery became a dance, an unspoken language that bound them in the enchantment of the moment.

In the dream's gentle embrace, Wooyoung felt a soft touch on his cheek, and before he could comprehend, San's lips met his in a tender kiss. The taste of flour lingered, a sweet and delicate reminder of the shared endeavor. The warmth of the bakery, the aroma of bread, and the softness of the kiss created a tapestry of sensations that felt almost too real.

The dream carried an intimacy that transcended the physical, capturing the essence of connection and shared passion. As they continued to bake together, Wooyoung and San exchanged glances that spoke volumes, each gaze a silent promise woven into the fabric of the dream.

In the quietude of sleep, where reality and imagination converged, Wooyoung's dream became a testament to the unspoken desires that whispered through the night. The bakery, a witness to their shared endeavors, held within its walls the echoes of a dream that felt both surreal and achingly beautiful.

The night carried with it both dreams and nightmares, and as San slept in the hospital chair, the veil between slumber and the haunting echoes of the night began to thin.

In the depths of his subconscious, a night terror unfolded—a reimagining of the events when Wooyoung had stepped on the glass, a truth that had remained concealed from San.

In this haunting vision, the bakery transformed into a realm of shadows. The warm glow turned ominous, and the scent of flour metamorphosed into the metallic tang of blood. San, trapped in the labyrinth of his own mind, moved through the distorted reality.

As the nightmare unfolded, he witnessed Wooyoung, unaware and vulnerable, stepping on the glass shards scattered across the floor. The moment played out in agonizing slow motion, each fragment of glass becoming a shard of guilt that pierced San's conscience.

A cold sweat gripped San as the illusion unraveled, revealing the anguish that had been concealed beneath the surface. The cries of pain, muted by the shadows, echoed in the hollow corridors of his dream.

In the grip of the night terror, San grappled with the weight of his unknowing, the guilt intensifying with each passing moment. The bakery, once a haven, became a stage for his deepest fears, and the shadows that danced on the walls seemed to morph into accusing specters.

As the nightmare continued, San found himself at the mercy of a revelation, the glass shards reflecting the shattered illusions of the idyllic bakery. The night, which had initially held the promise of dreams, now bore witness to the torment of a subconscious truth—unveiling the shadows that lingered beneath the surface.

San, ensnared in the twisted tapestry of night terrors, found himself confronted with a haunting reel of Wooyoung's injuries—each moment of pain and suffering unfolding relentlessly, like a macabre dance in the recesses of his subconscious.

In this surreal dreamscape, the bakery transformed into a theater of agony, shadows contorting into painful echoes of reality. Every slip, every burn, and every accident played out before San's eyes in agonizing detail. The sweet scent of baked goods metamorphosed into the acrid smell of singed skin, and the warm glow of the ovens flickered with the ominous shadows of impending calamity.

Helpless and tormented, San was forced to witness each scene—the moments when Wooyoung, driven by passion and dedication, had paid the price for his craft. The dance of flour became a grotesque ballet of suffering, and the once comforting ambiance of the bakery now reverberated with the cries of pain that had been concealed from San's conscious mind.

As the night terror progressed, San grappled with a sense of guilt that intensified with each passing injury. The shards of broken illusions, much like the glass Wooyoung had stepped on, embedded themselves in San's conscience. The bakery, once a haven, now stood as a witness to the silent symphony of agony.

In the depths of the night, where dreams became nightmares, San found himself ensnared in a cycle of suffering, unable to look away from the visceral manifestations of Wooyoung's pain. The echoes of each injury left an indelible mark on his subconscious—a torment that would linger long after the night had relinquished its hold.

The night terror's relentless reel shifted, and San found himself thrust into a memory— a time when Wooyoung, in the tender years of his adolescence, had faced a particularly harrowing incident in the bakery.

In this vivid recollection, the bakery walls seemed to close in as a young Wooyoung, around the age of 12, navigated the dance of baking with wide-eyed enthusiasm. Flour coated every surface, and the aroma of freshly baked goods filled the air with promises of delight.

Yet, as fate would have it, a moment of recklessness led to a searing encounter. The innocent thrill of youthful curiosity turned into a nightmare when Wooyoung accidentally burned his hand on a scalding oven surface. The once joyous ambiance of the bakery echoed with the piercing cries of a boy in pain.

In the memory, what looked to be Wooyoung's grandpa emerged as a figure of both strength and tenderness. His weathered appearance told tales of a life well-lived, etched into the lines that criss-crossed his face like the imprints of time.

His eyes, twinkling with a quiet wisdom, held a comforting warmth that seemed to envelop those around him. The silvery strands of his hair, a testament to the years he had witnessed, framed a face that carried the marks of resilience and a lifetime of stories.

Draped in worn but well-maintained clothing, what looked to be Wooyoung's grandpa moved with a grace that defied the limitations of age. His hands, calloused from years of hard work, possessed a gentle strength as he cradled Wooyoung's injured hand with a mix of concern and reassurance.

The memory painted him as a pillar of support, a guardian in the face of adversity. As the scent of burnt flesh mingled with the comforting aroma of baked goods, what looked to be Wooyoung's grandpa became a symbol of solace—a figure who, in moments of pain, offered both physical healing and emotional comfort.