Minho had started school a year late because of his mom’s transfers and him suddenly getting chickenpox. He was still in kindergarten when he should have been in the first grade, a seven-year-old stuck with a majority of six-year-olds, who, at first were intimidated by him, by his extra inches (?) and his better pronunciation, but later on started teasing him, too jealous of how the teacher praised him for being the least messy and most obedient. And the teasing only grew more because Minho had chosen to ignore it because of what his mom always taught him. That he should not fight and be mean. She had used fancy words for it before explaining to him what they meant and Minho was slowly learning to pronounce the word she had spoken.

“Villans,” He whispered to himself, before pouting and trying again, “Vollins.” He shook his head. He knew it was wrong, “Vallons–”

“Look!” Someone screeched, pushing Minho’s notebook off his little desk before laughing, “Chewminoo is reading again!”

Minho just quietly got up and picked up his notebook before getting back to writing the spelling of his fancy word again.

The kids that had gathered around him were not humored by his calm ignorance so one of them pushed his book off the desk again, shouting as he pointed at him, “Chewminoo is Stoopid! Stoopid! That’s why you in our class!”

“Yes! Stoopid! Stoopid!”

Minho felt his eyes well with tears. He was not stupid. He always got everything right on his tests. Maybe he got one wrong every now and then but that didn’t make him stupid. He wanted to ignore like his mother had taught but he was a lonely seven years old, still new to his school and classmates. He had stayed strong for four days. He couldn’t do it another day.

“Stoopid! Stoopid!”

So Minho cried. He cried and everyone laughed at him, chanting “Stoopid! Stoopid!” He closed his eyes to blink away the tears that were blurring his sight and suddenly the chanting stopped, making him quickly open his eyes, to find the main bully of the kiddy crowd fallen...and another kid frowning down at him.

“Meanie!” He shouted, gritting his teeth (some of which were missing). “Minoo is not stooopid! He got shtar!”

The kid who had fallen started crying. Loudly. And the teacher finally interfered, making everyone scurry away, scared. Minho watched his savior get scolded and his bully be pacified. But when it was all done, his little savior skipped towards his desk, lending him the hanky that was pinned to his t-shirt, “Dun cry…” He pouted, “I be your fren!”

“No cry!” The kid was now stricter, trying to squeeze into Minho’s chair, and Minho shifted to let him sit as well. “It bad!”

Minho had nodded then but he realized later that at that certain time, the crying had been good. Because if he hadn’t been crying, Lee Taemin wouldn’t have become his best friend.

“...violence.”

Minho broke from his daze at the word being spoken and looked at the one who had spoken it. He was sitting before him, his lips pursed in anger, his blue contacts making his gaze look all the more piercing.

“He ing called you a manwhore and you are gonna just zone out and let him have it?” His seething whisper fell upon Minho’s senses, sending a shiver down his spine.

Minho raised his brows, his lips mouthing an “Oh.” as he realized the situation. Some snob in their college was trying to pick a fight again. Not with him, but he was the bait like he always was. To rile up this guy glaring at him currently, judging him hard. His best friend. Lee Taemin.

“All that violence is never the answer is total bull, okay? Sorry but not sorry.” Taemin whispered angrily as he discreetly roamed his eyes towards the group of heads that had verbally attacked Minho. Again.

Taemin ran his fingers through his dark golden locks in irritation, a habit of his that he had developed in his pre-teens, “What do you have that body for?” He asked, finally wearing his irritation on his face when he heard the punks’ laughter, “You ing have six-pack abs, Choi–”

But Minho smiled, repeating what he always said, “Violence is never the answer–”

“Then at least fight back with your words, moron!” Taemin finally lost his cool, his words silenced the entire cafeteria and he cursed under his breath when deriding laughter broke that silence.

“Nothing’s gonna work on him, Lee Taemin.” The snob smirked as he banged their table with his fists, sending Minho’s apple rolling onto the floor, “Choi Minho is a wuss. He is like a pet, ain’t he? He listens well. I only have to ask and he’d kneel and my–”

Taemin had got up, sending his chair noisily down, silencing the guy. The guy straightened up, satisfied at his success in provoking Taemin.

“Taemin–” Minho began, “No–” But he was too late. Taemin had already thrown a punch at the guy’s face. There was blood on Taemin’s knuckles and he was stepping closer, jerking his hand as he watched the guy rise from where he had fallen, wiping his blood with his sleeve, smirking before he raised his fists as well, gesturing Taemin to come at him.

Taemin’s lips curved up devilishly, “Oh– you asked for it, tard.”

Minho flinched at his language but he was on his feet, grabbing Taemin before he could pounce on the guy.

“Choi Minho!” Taemin shouted, fighting against Minho who was holding him back by the arm, “ing let go!”

“Yeah! Let him go, you wuss! Let the princess at least try to save your .”

“What the did you just call me, ?!” Taemin almost succeeded in yanking Minho’s hold off him, but Minho just grabbed his waist, to keep him restrained.

Minho laughed, his eyes meeting the bully’s, “You should be thanking me, actually.” He said, “I’m actually saving your…” He paused because of the word he was gonna use, “....” He completed with a little reluctance and dragged away his best friend who though gave up struggling against his hold, was still enraged and turned around to show the bully his finger before getting dragged out completely out of sight.

“What the did that mean…” The bully pondered to himself and his curiosi