Off limit President || Yungi

- fifteen -

Yunho || Mingi 

As I busied myself in the kitchen, the clatter of pots and pans providing a steady rhythm to my thoughts, I couldn't help but feel a sense of unease settling in the pit of my stomach. 

Mingi's earlier words echoed in my mind, his mocking laughter still ringing in my ears. But despite my apprehension, I pushed forward, determined to prove myself worthy of his approval.

As I worked tirelessly to prepare the meal, Mingi's voice cut through the air like a sharp knife, each remark aimed at chipping away at my already fragile confidence.

"Why didn't you greet them properly when they arrived yesterday?" he demanded, his tone dripping with disdain.

I paused momentarily, my hands trembling slightly as I reached for a utensil. "I... I didn't realize..." I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper.

Mingi scoffed in response, a derisive sneer twisting his lips. "Of course you didn't," he muttered dismissively. "Just focus on making the food look presentable this time. We can't have another disaster like yesterday."

His words struck a nerve, a fresh wave of self-doubt washing over me like a tidal wave. 

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to push past the overwhelming sense of inadequacy that threatened to consume me.

With each passing moment, Mingi's criticisms grew more pointed, each comment serving as a painful reminder of my shortcomings. 

As I meticulously chopped vegetables and stirred pots on the stove, Mingi's voice sliced through the air like a razor-sharp blade, each word cutting deeper than the last.

"Why is this soup so bland?" he remarked, his tone laced with thinly veiled contempt. "You know how much Jongho loves spicy food."

I winced at the criticism, my heart sinking like a stone in my chest. "I... I'll add more spices," I mumbled, my voice barely audible over the clatter of the kitchen.

Mingi's expression darkened, his eyes narrowing into slits as he surveyed my efforts with thinly disguised disdain. 

"And what's with this salad?" he continued, gesturing towards the bowl with a disdainful flick of his wrist. "It looks like something a child would throw together."

I felt a surge of frustration welling up inside me, but I bit my tongue, refusing to give in to the urge to lash out. 

Instead, I forced myself to remain calm, my hands moving with a sense of urgency as I attempted to salvage the dish.

But no matter how hard I tried, Mingi's criticisms seemed to follow me like a dark cloud, casting a pall over my every action. 

With each passing moment, the weight of his disapproval grew heavier, threatening to crush me beneath its suffocating embrace.

After enduring Mingi's barrage of criticism in the kitchen, I thought I might finally catch a moment's respite. 

But as soon as I finished preparing the meal, Mingi's voice shattered the fragile peace, cutting through the air with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer.

"Yunho, go shower and change," he barked, his tone dripping with thinly veiled contempt. "You look like a mess."

His words struck me like a physical blow, the sting of his disdain burning hot against my skin. I bit back a retort, knowing that any protest would only invite further scorn.

With a heavy heart, I trudged towards the bathroom, my steps weighed down by the weight of Mingi's expectations. 

Each footfall echoed in the hollow recesses of my mind, a constant reminder of my own inadequacy.