Off limit President || Yungi

- ten -

Yunho || Mingi 

The next day, I woke up with a heavy heart, the events of the previous night still fresh in my mind. But instead of letting it show, I steeled myself, determined to be the kind of partner Mingi seemed to want. 

I moved through the morning in a quiet, almost robotic fashion, my actions deliberate and unhurried. I cleaned the apartment meticulously, scrubbing every surface until it gleamed, my mind focused solely on the task at hand.

I cooked breakfast, lunch, and dinner, each meal more elaborate than the last, as if the effort I put into the food could somehow make up for the emptiness I felt inside. Mingi, true to his nature, barely noticed my changed demeanor. 

He seemed content, even pleased, with my newfound silence and obedience. When he asked me to sleep with him again that night, I didn't protest. I simply nodded and asked for some time to clean up.

In the bathroom, I took a long, hot shower, scrubbing my skin until it was red and raw, as if I could wash away the pain and humiliation. 

I emerged wrapped in a bathrobe, feeling a strange sense of detachment as I walked to the bedroom. Sitting down on the bed, I took a deep breath and let the robe fall away, exposing myself to Mingi's gaze.

I lay there, passive and silent, letting Mingi take the lead as he had the night before. The physical pain was intense, but I bit my lip and endured it, convincing myself that this was what I had to do to make him happy. 

When it was over, I didn't ask him to stay or cuddle me. Instead, I pulled the covers over myself and turned to my side, staring at the wall as I tried to quiet the turmoil in my mind.

This became our routine. Day after day, I maintained my silence, fulfilling my duties as if on autopilot. I cleaned, cooked, and barely spoke, slipping into a role that felt increasingly like a prison. 

The bruises on my body grew more pronounced, dark blotches marring my skin. I started using makeup to cover them, blending foundation over my arms and neck before heading to university.

Even at school, the distance between Mingi and me was palpable. We no longer acknowledged each other in public, our interactions reduced to brief, detached exchanges. 

Mingi spent his time with his friends, laughing and joking as if nothing had changed, while I remained in my office, isolated and alone. 

He had asked me not to leave for lunch, not wanting people to question why we weren't sitting together anymore.

As the days blurred into weeks, the routine became my reality. I convinced myself that this was the norm, that this was what it meant to be in a relationship. 

The voice in the back of my mind, once a whisper, grew louder, reinforcing the idea that my submission and silence were the keys to Mingi's happiness. 

And so, I continued to endure, burying my pain and doubts beneath a facade of compliance, hoping that one day, things might change.

One random Wednesday, I was in the kitchen cooking lunch when Mingi came home. I had my headphones on, the sound of the video explaining how to make the perfect steak drowning out everything else. 

The sizzle of the pan and the steady voice of the chef were all I could hear, so I didn't notice when the front door opened and Mingi stepped inside. 

I was dressed in a way that felt completely foreign to me – a droopy shirt that hung loosely off my shoulders, revealing my collarbone and the smooth expanse of my back, paired with knee-length shorts and slippers. 

It was freezing outside, the kind of cold that seeped into your bones, but I wore those flimsy, loose pieces of clothing because I had somehow concluded that this was how Mingi wanted me to be.