Arrange Marriage

CHAP 17

The house was quiet, save for the soft rustle of the bandages Mingyu was carefully wrapping around his arm. He sat in their bedroom, the light from the bedside lamp casting a warm glow over his face, though the bruises on his cheek and the dark circles under his eyes seemed even more pronounced in the gentle light.

Wonwoo had been doting on him nonstop since they’d returned home. His usual stoic demeanor had given way to a kind of nervous energy, as if checking on Mingyu every five minutes might undo the horror of the last twenty-four hours. Mingyu had been grateful—deeply, overwhelmingly grateful—but he also couldn’t let Wonwoo see the full extent of the damage. Not the physical damage, and definitely not the emotional wreckage it had left behind.

He flinched as he adjusted the bandage over his ribs. The pain was sharp, stealing his breath for a moment. He bit his lip to stop himself from groaning. Mingyu was certain his ribs were cracked—possibly broken. His left leg throbbed, and every time he moved his shoulder, pain shot down his arm like a live wire. But he wasn’t going to say a word.

Mingyu’s mind raced with a million thoughts as he worked. Weakness. That’s all anyone would see if he let them know. He couldn’t handle the pity, the hovering concern. He had always been the one to smile, to laugh in the face of adversity, to never let anything faze him. Being vulnerable, even with Wonwoo, felt like giving up a piece of himself.

But then there was the other part—the part he didn’t even want to admit to himself. The flashbacks that wouldn’t stop, the echo of mocking laughter from his captors, the memory of their cruel hands gripping him too tightly, leaving marks that felt like they’d burned into his skin. Every time he closed his eyes, it was there, replaying in vivid, excruciating detail.

He didn’t even hear Wonwoo come in until the soft sound of footsteps reached his ears. Startled, he turned, quickly trying to pull his shirt down over the makeshift bandage on his ribs. But it was too late. Wonwoo’s sharp, dark gaze locked onto the awkward motion, and Mingyu knew in that instant he’d been caught.

“What are you doing?” Wonwoo’s voice was low, calm, but there was an edge to it—a warning.

“Nothing,” Mingyu said quickly, his voice too casual to be convincing. “Just… fixing this bandage. It’s fine.”

Wonwoo walked over to him, his movements deliberate, and knelt in front of him. His eyes scanned Mingyu’s face, his neck, his shoulders, and then down to the way Mingyu was sitting, favoring one side as if even the act of breathing hurt. Wonwoo didn’t miss a thing.

“Mingyu,” Wonwoo said, his voice firmer now, “don’t lie to me. Show me.”

“There’s nothing to show,” Mingyu tried again, but his voice wavered. Wonwoo’s intense gaze made him feel exposed, like every hidden bruise and broken bone was already visible to him.

“Mingyu.” Wonwoo’s hand reached out, gently but firmly gripping his chin and forcing him to meet his gaze. “You’re in pain. I can see it. I can feel it. Don’t you dare try to hide it from me.”

Mingyu’s composure cracked just slightly under Wonwoo’s scrutiny. He swallowed hard and turned his face away, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s not that bad.”

Wonwoo exhaled slowly, his grip softening but not letting go. “Take off your shirt.”

Mingyu hesitated, his fingers trembling as they reached for the hem. He hated this—hated feeling exposed, hated that Wonwoo would see him like this. But he couldn’t deny the command in Wonwoo’s tone. With a deep breath, he peeled the shirt off, hissing in pain as the movement pulled at his ribs and shoulder.