❝𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐃❞
Sexual addiction and deep kindness--two extremes that can ravage a life like the strongest drugs, tearing apart the mind and soul with merciless precision
Kim Taehyung, an ordinary man in his late twenties, found himself trappe...
The sky growled as the wind howled through the bustling streets of Seoul, the chill of the impending storm seeping into the night air. Despite the looming weather, the city remained as chaotic as ever, people carrying on with their lives-some eating dinner - others welcoming loved ones home. It was another ordinary evening, peaceful in its own way
But inside a dimly lit, spacious apartment, the atmosphere was far from serene. The persistent ringing of a phone echoed through the room, pressed against the ear of a man whose eyes darted nervously around. His fingers tapped anxiously on the dining table, cluttered with small scraps of paper, each filled with disjointed words. He was striking, with a sharp jawline and slender frame, draped in a loose sweatshirt. His right arm was covered in intricate tattoos, and his lip and eyebrow piercings only accentuated the sharpness of his features. His lips quivered, teeth bitting on his full lower lip, a small mole resting under his pink lips adding to his delicate beauty
When the call connected, a polite but generic female voice greeted him instantly "Sweet Delight, how can I assist you, sir?" But the man couldn't respond. His throat tightened, his fingers gripping the phone harder, causing the muscles in his tattooed arm to tense and flex unconsciously. Desperate, he grabbed one of the many pieces of paper strewn across the table, this one bearing the word *Hello* Other pieces had similar words-Can, I, order, you, 15, address and many more-but none of them came together in his vocal cords
"Sir? Sweet Delight, how can I help?" The voice came again, this time laced with mild irritation. He panicked. His chest heaved, his anxiety spiking as he abruptly ended the call, dropping the phone onto the table. His breath came in ragged gasps, as though he had just sprinted a great distance
"Hey, shh... Don't be too hard on yourself. You did great, Jungkook! You held the call for more than 46 seconds today" A comforting voice broke the silence as a tall, muscular man entered the room, a comic book in hand. He smiled warmly, his tone gentle as he placed a reassuring hand on Jungkook's shoulder, well aware of the frustration building within him
Social anxiety had been a relentless battle for Jungkook, one that had worsened over the years, untreated and neglected. It had escalated to the point where even making a simple phone call to order food was a monumental task. Stepping outside his apartment felt like a nerve wrecking challenge. Ten years of enduring this, yet somehow, Jungkook still clung to the hope that he could one day live without this burden
"Thanks, Misang" Jungkook whispered, a faint but genuine smile crossing his lips. "I'll just... I'll make another appointment with my new psychologist" his shoulder slumbed, sitting a bit loosely on the floor while his eyes shifted back to the scattered papers on the small tea-table, the silent reminder of his daily struggle
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10 years had passed since everything unfolded, and Jungkook, now 25, had built a life that, on the surface, seemed neatly arranged. After graduating high school, he followed his passion and became a chef, despite everyone telling him he was wasting his potential. With his brilliant mind, he could have been anything-a lawyer, a doctor, a high-ranking civil servant. After all, he had passed the entrance exam for Seoul National University with a national rank of 6, but that wasn't the life Jungkook wanted. Cooking, which had started as a stress reliever, had become his true calling, the one thing that brought him solace
