These days privacy was invaded, Minho’s sleeves being rolled up or shirts being pulled up, narrowed eyes looking at his scarred skin at random moments through the weeks. His father’s face would soften when he found no fresh marks, almost looking apologetic. Minho could smile back though, knowing he just found other places to use so he could breathe and keep going.

I’m sorry.

“I’m okay,” Minho would say with a nod, watching his father step back and allow Minho to push his clothes back down. Dad would rub Minho’s shoulder, looking relieved – looking like he wanted to speak but couldn’t. He wondered what his father would say if he could. A fear that it would be disappointment caused Minho’s mouth to dry and voice never to ask what was really on his father’s mind.

Minho’s pocketknife was confiscated weeks ago, anything sharp taking from his room, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t still find ways for his needs.

More privacy was invaded as watching eyes made sure Minho took medicine when he needed it, not letting him leave until it was done. It was mom usually, if not his brother. Mom would smile tiredly, reaching a hand to pat Minho’s back and rub it like he was a small child who did something worthy of praising.

Minho only did what he had to to survive. He had already failed by bringing much shame to his family, what was left?

A numbed personality behind a small smile.

Even his brother couldn’t stand him anymore, right? It seemed as such – shoulders brushing coldly as they passed, no words spoken. No crawling into Minseok’s warm bed after waking nightmares.

Jinki though, his friend, some days made everything seem all right again. Maybe he was busy with his own life now, but Minho still drew some sort of strength from just hearing his soothing voice or seeing that bright smile.

Still, Minho was afraid one day his shame would swallow him before he could ever love himself again.