Obese Love

Chapter 9

Six years had etched their passage on Jungkook's face, carving lines of determination and resilience around his eyes. He wasn't just a boy anymore, but a man honed by the challenges of Los Angeles. The city had thrown him curveballs - some friendly, some cruel - but Jungkook had swung, sweat dripping from his brow, until he connected with every pitch.

He had juggled three part-time jobs, his muscles aching but his heart swelling with pride. He sent money back home, watching his family's life transform from cramped apartment to a cozy haven. Now, standing in the doorway of his newly opened gym, "Golden Muscle," Jungkook felt a thrill of accomplishment that went beyond bicep curls and deadlifts.

The gym wasn't a gold mine yet, but it was theirs. The sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating the sweat-slicked treadmills and the rhythmic clang of weights. Park Jimin, his high school friend from Busan, greeted him with a dazzling smile from behind the front desk. Zumba and dance classes had become his new passion, his infectious energy filling the gym with vibrant beats even on slow days.

Kim Namjoon, a walking mountain of muscle and quiet strength, was his other pillar. He trained clients with a gentle intensity, his booming voice a constant encouragement. Jungkook could trust him with his gym, his clients, and his back.

The clientele wasn't as plentiful as his previous gym, but it was a steady trickle. Youngsters drawn by the new name, middle-aged folks seeking a healthier lifestyle, and even a few curious celebrities who appreciated the personal touch. Jungkook knew the struggle, the uphill climb to success.

The gym seemed to mock Jungkook's weary eyes as he hunched over mountains of paperwork. Every rustle of paper felt like a reminder of the burden he carried for his family. The cozy house he'd bought for them, initially a symbol of progress, now felt more like a gilded cage. His father, sprawled on the couch like a beached whale, exuded a miasma of apathy that choked Jungkook's efforts. Min-hee, his sister, juggled motherhood with superhuman grace, her son Jun-hee's infectious laughter the only melody.

Amidst the clutter, a forgotten toy caught Jungkook's eye. A goofy, plush mushroom, Seokjin's parting gift after he'd moved away, a tangible memory of shared laughter. A wave of nostalgia washed over him, tinged with the bitterness of their fading friendship. Seokjin, with his booming laugh and unwavering optimism, had been a lifeline in the early days of the gym, a counterpoint to Jungkook's anxieties. Yet, distance had woven its silent spell, thinning the threads of their once-inseparable bond.

Jungkook pushed open the creaking door, fatigue clinging to him like a second skin. The aroma of his mother's cooking, a beacon of comfort, did little to ease the burden he carried. Yet, the moment he stepped inside, his haven crumbled.

"Jungkook-ah," his mother, etched with worry lines deeper than his own, approached him, her hands clasped. "Jun-suk needs help again."

The name struck him like a punch to the gut. Jung-suk, his younger brother, a perpetual shadow hanging over their family's happiness. Jungkook knew what followed - another crime, another arrest, another exorbitant bail.

"Please, Jungkook," his mother pleaded, her voice raw with desperation. "He's just a boy, led astray by bad friends. He promises this is the last time."

A familiar anger gnawed at him. Jungkook knew the cycle. He'd seen it play out too many times, Jung-suk's mistakes bleeding the family dry, his mother sacrificing everything for a son who seemed incapable of change.

"Eomma," he started, his voice tight, "how many times? I told you, for groceries, for bills, I'll always help. But bail?" He stopped, the words catching in his throat. Each syllable tasted like betrayal, of his own dreams, of his mother's sacrifices. "The answer is... no"