He is My Curse | minsung

chapter 1

That had been over a decade ago, Minho was a young man now with a proper job and life for himself. Maybe "a life" is a stretch, he only ever worked and spent time alone. No friends, family, or any relationship of any kind. The only conversation he took part in was with customers telling them the cost of bread and other baked goods. It was okay, that much was enough for right now.

It was just another day as Minho woke up, his muscles slightly aching from the uncomfortable sleep. He quickly readied himself, rinsing his body with water and straightening his chiton around his fit figure. There wasn't much to his belongings, so he didn't have a lot to take to the bakery besides his own body and maybe a little bit of money. He fastened his sandals to his feet before walking towards the bustling city.

The sight never got old. Temples gleamed in the distance, their importance prominent with how much they stood out. The other buildings were beautiful too, but they didn't radiate a sense of divinity. The streets were filled with people, some selling products and others on the search for them. It was like this almost every day without fail, the constant chatter and sounds of movement easily drowned out by Minho's trained ears.

He followed his familiar path to the bakery, stares once again making his skin crawl. Maybe he sounded full of himself or ridiculous for finding it as such a problem, but he truly hated it. After a full life of unsubtle eyes, they get irritating. The sun was warm on his back, allowing him to calm down just a little. It was nice, it was comforting. The weather was often decent here, his tan skin to show for it.

Before he knew it, his feet came to a stop in front of the clean building. The scent of fresh bread filled his nostrils as he took it in with a deep breath. It never got old, the smell was familiar and the bread always tasted decent. Not that Minho had much of it, he didn't have a lot of money from his wage, but the owners of the shop were nice enough to let him have a small portion of the batch. It filled his stomach so he couldn't complain.

Eventually he worked himself up to step in, offering a small smile to the people already inside, the baker was busy at work kneading a large ball of dough. Minho wasn't necessarily the appointed baker, he wasn't bad at it, but he could never get it just right. That didn't mean he didn't try to help out though, he would mix and run to grab bags of ingredients from the back of the room. In all honesty, he was mostly there because of his face. The owners tried to hide it upon his hiring, but he knew. The way their eyes widened in surprise and how they immediately smiled approvingly at him before he even said a word. Pretty faces make good sales, apparently.

Minho tried to ignore that part and considered himself a good worker with or without beauty. He was always clear and concise with his customer service, constantly giving prices and answering questions. There wasn't a day where the bakery was lacking income and life. Of course the owners who only worked occasionally took most of the profit, but that's how most places were these days.

One thing that always managed to hold his concentration was the artwork on the wall. The story behind it is rather funny to look back on. On any other ordinary day Minho was leaving to go to work, but found his door blocked by something. It was a huge canvas of artwork that probably cost more than he could imagine or dream of. Attached to it was a note containing words of infatuation, the signature of a name he already forgot signed on the bottom.

That is how he ended up mounting the painting to the wall with the help of the male owner, both of them handling it gently, too worried they would somehow tarnish its beauty. Minho would have kept it at his home, but he didn't have a reason to keep it to himself.

Stepping back to get a proper look at it displayed, Minho couldn't help but smile at it. It truly did brighten up the bakery. The atmosphere was warmer and more inviting, like a loaf of soft, hot bread fresh out of the oven. Unfortunately Minho couldn't eye it for too long as it was still a work day with Greeks eager to buy their supply of carbs.