during your teenage years, you thought you were living in a hollywood movie. The phrases "no, dad, i'm giving up your dream" and "you're ruining my life" followed by you running into your room with the slam of the door while tears stream down your cheeks were the most memorable moments of your life. except, you weren't running away from your dad, it was your mom you thought was ruining your life.
the idea of baking only made your roll your eyes as an image of dirty pans and utensils popped up in your mind like a cartoon. just the thought of scrapping off the dried batter and cream from each pan and whisk made you groan. and in the end, all that hard work for a pastry that would be in your stomach in seconds? you'd rather walk to the local pastry shop and buy yourself an overpriced and trendy pastry.
however, your mother had other plans. it began with your mother subtly making small talk when you walked into the kitchen for a snack. as she baked, she kept the ball rolling, and eventually, you found yourself in the kitchen the duration of her baking. your mother was sneaky, leveling up her tactics as she would casually ask you to fetch her the milk, some eggs, or to stir as she set the timer on the oven. it wasn't long after you began following her directions and found yourself doing all of the work. the first few times were nice as you spent time with your mother and saw yourself improve at something you thought would be a hobby between you and your mother. but when she had expected you to bake five pastries every other day, you had enough.
you'd much rather spend your day painting in your room as melancholic music brought you memories of your father and the friends you had lost because you pushed them away to avoid letting them see you weak. but, your mother trapped you in the kitchen and demanded you bake pastries with her. little did you know, she was conditioning you so you could take over her pastry shop.
what used to feel like the demolishment of your life was now the very thing keeping you appreciative of walking into the pastry shop every morning and having her be the first thing you think of with a smile. the cozy shop at the heart of downtown Seoul was what paid for your bills, put a roof over your head and food on the table. you were satisfied.
"satisfied?" namjoon asked with arms crossed over his chest. the sleeves of his posh shirt were rolled up, revealing the green rivers of veins that strained against his honey skin. you were thinking about the mighty job his shirt was doing at not ripping from his large biceps, and that goddamn button that was keeping you from catching a view at his chest.
"yeah." you smiled with a soft sigh as you mentally threw your thoughts into the trash at the corner of your brain.
"but satisfaction isn't happiness." he stated, making you smile a little wider with amusement.
"you sound like a movie." you joke.
namjoon smiled and your eyes twinkled at the sight of his dimples. "no, i sound like my parents. they wanted me to be happy—" the timer went off, catching your attention. you were glad. you didn't want to explain the struggles of growing up with a single mother barely making enough to keep you fed.
as you removed the cake from the pan, namjoon stood closely by your side, watching carefully because he noticed a void in your eyes.
"look, i'm just saying that you should do something that makes you happy. not everything is about money."
you had been avoiding his eyes by staring at the shiny watch on his wrist. the brand name was carved into the center of the watch, a name that you couldn't even pronounce. but you're sure he could. he must shop there enough for the name to roll off his tongue like butter.
"your father was a businessman, and your mother was a doctor, right?" you remember from earlier when he told you. he nodded slowly as if confused. "that means you had money. your parents never struggled to put food on the table and there was no pressure for you to be 'better' than them, because where do you go from there? maybe becoming president or something, but there was no pressure. my mom had a high school diploma and me." the honey tone of your voice was replaced by a bitter one.
namjoon opened and closed his mouth, scared to even say anything that would offend you. he cautiously asked, "and your dad?"
you sighed, returning your attention to the cake. "he told my mother it would be best if she dropped out of college to raise me. he promised he'd take care of the both of us, but he died in a crash on my seventh birthday."
baking was your livelihood, not your passion. it was a reminder of your mother, but not your peace.
the realization hit namjoon in a way he hadn't have ever thought it would. he was happy and his friends were happy in their own little world of luxurious cars, chic living and traveling, and designer clothes. they did what they loved and never struggled in their finances. he felt selfish for saying that not everything was about money when he never experienced that kind of financial struggle.
"i'm sorry." he apologized, biting his lip regretfully.
you frowned, finally meeting his eyes that were now saddened. "no." you shook your head. "why are you apologizing? you've done nothing wrong. having money isn't a crime. growing up without monetary struggle isn't something you should apologize for. that's the goal, isn't it? work your ass off so your kids can have what you couldn't. "
namjoon's breathy chuckle after your curse put a smile to your face.
"i just feel like i'm rubbing it in your face, and i don't mean to." he says in a lighter mood that had broken the tension.
"no, you're not. please don't apologize and let's finish your cake." you smiled at him. he returned the smile and listened as you guided him through the next steps of completing his cake.
you had decided to move on from the topic, but your mind was still lingering on the thought. the warmth of the pastry shop no longer brought you the same comfort. instead, it was the warmth of namjoon's arm and fingers softly brushing against you that brought you comfort.
you knew he was right. satisfaction doesn't bring happiness. but it doesn't bring sadness.
when namjoon had left the pastry shop with his boxed cake in one hand, the pastry shop was cold.
ART | CH. 2
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