There are some things in life that Minho just cannot understand. Some of them are pretty common (Why do rainbows exist? Where do babies come from? Why do flowers smell good?) And some of them are a little bit more complicated (Why didn’t his father ever visit him? Where did he go? Why did his mother drink so much?), but despite that, he never question them out loud. He tried; when he was a mere boy of five, asking his mother this and that, but that only resulted in her getting annoyed and accidentally hit Minho too hard with a ruler (he still has the scar on his left rib to mark the moment).

So he never asked no more.

This time, it’s no different. He does not ask when he’s being ordered inside, greeted with warm—albeit sad—smile of his mother’s older sister, and the surprised-but-pleased one from the uncle he never met before. Minho does not ask why he’s here, why his mother suddenly sent him away to live with a relative (it was not planned, too. He simply comes home from school to find a letter with some money on top of it. The letter is a clear instruction for him to go to Seoul and heads to the listed address, no questions asked).

Minho bows deep in front of them, and blinks as his aunt pulls him up and close to her smaller figure, hugging him tighter than anyone ever did (not that he’s had a lot of hugs, but he remembers that one time when he was 8, fever dragging his consciousness down while his mother hugs his tiny, shivering body and cries. Minho is not sure if its real or just a fever-induced dream, but he likes to think positive) before pulling back and patting his cheek. Her eyes glisten with tears, and for a moment Minho is taken aback by how much she looks like his mother.

“I’m so, so sorry, sweetheart,” she says in a broken voice, and Minho frowns, not knowing what happened. He looks at her in question, but does not open his mouth. Her crying gets louder until finally her husband pulls her into his embrace—and Minho’s heart ache for it; flashes of dreams, the image vividly showing his mother being hugged by a tall, kind-faced man he could call ‘father’—to calm her down. His uncle smiles at him, too, but there’s something so close to pity in his eyes.

“Your mother sent you here to live with us. Are you okay with that?” he asks, as if Minho has any choice. He nods mutely, and the man’s smile seems less sad now “We just got the news, Minho. We’re so sorry to hear it. They’re looking for the bastard now. She deserved better—”

Minho’s jaw clenches and he shakes his head, telling his uncle to shut the up—

It hurts to know. It does. But it hurts more because he could see it coming. Minho may not ask a lot of questions, he may not pry, but even he cannot miss the yelling and screaming match his mother had with those men a few days ago. It was about money, and drugs, and whatever it was his mother got herself involved with.

The strap of his duffel bag feels like its cutting through his palm, and Minho lessens his grip. He stares hard at his uncle, and curses himself for letting a tear fall when his aunt reaches him again and hug him. He hates it. He hates this. He does not know what he hates the most; the fact that his mother is dead, or the fact that he’s became so weak.

“Its okay, Minho,” she whispers, and her hands are clinging to his shirt, her sobs rocking him “It’s okay to cry.”

Minho chokes on his own breath, and speaks up for the first time since he stepped into the house “No,” he croaks, and when he looks up, his uncle’s eyes are pained “No, it isn’t.”

*

They give him a room to himself. It’s a big, spacious room, decorated in white and blue and many, many expensive things that Minho is too scared to touch. It is a nice place, but he isn’t used to nice places. He isn’t used to everything that’s going on here.

(He isn’t used to the normal family atmosphere, too.)

But they gave him this room and those clothes (“They might be too short and not to your liking, but Kibum and Jonghyun are shorter and have weird taste, so until we can buy you some other clothes, these will have to do.” Minho does not know who Kibum and Jonghyun are, but he assumes that they’re his cousins) and he’s thankful because otherwise he’d be sleeping in an empty apartment with no food and no one to talk to and absolutely no prospect of future.

Rummaging through his bag, Minho pulls out some of his precious belongings, and places them on the bed. They are not much—his journal, his stubborn-as- alarm clock, his one and only childhood photo—but they’re his, and Minho feels a little better at the sight of them.

He decides to leave it there and goes to shower, letting the sharp droplets of water wash off his tears and grime and dirt from travelling. As he washes himself off—scrubbing a little harder than necessary—Minho cannot help but think that he’s also washing off the remains of his old town, his old life, off him.

He doesn’t know how to feel about that.

*

The first time he meets Kim Kibum and Kim Jonghyun is about two days after he’s settled there. His uncle is just so eager to sign him up to every sport team available and is chattering nonstop about the choices to Minho over their breakfast, while his aunt chimes in occasionally with her opinions to help him choose and her plans for his first week here. Minho goes through it all with a small, hesitant smile and a gnawing question as to why they are so nice to him.

(There’s also a question as to why his aunt ended up with such a nice guy, and his mom landed a douchebag, but he, as usual, does not voice this out loud.)

“Kibum and Jonghyun’s school is a little strict, but that’s to be expected. It’s a private school, so there are a lot of expectations,” his uncle explains, cutting through his French Toast. Minho nods and swallows his mouthful of scrambled eggs. “But also a lot of opportunities. It’s really a good school, and if you’re having any difficulty, we can always find you a tutor. You don’t mind, do you?” Minho shakes his head, wondering why his uncle always asks him if he’s okay with things; he never has nice things before, does he really think Minho would refuse such opportunity?

“It’ll make things easier, too. You’ll have Jonghyun and Kibum to accompany you. Well, mostly Kibum, since Jonghyun is a senior,” his aunt places a glass of orange juice in front of him, ruffling his hair, and Minho feels ten again (not that his mom ever did this when he was ten).

“They’ll probably be back today—”

The three of them turn at the sound of overly-cheerful greetings and eager footsteps, and the next second, Minho’s sides collided with two bodies, trapping him in the middle as they sit on his either sides. “Hi,” one of them beams up at him, and Minho nods politely. “Testosterone, thank God! I cannot live with more chick flicks and shopping sessions.”

Minho blinks and contemplates whether or not he should say thank you. However, this worry only lasts about half a second, because then, his other cousin pulls at his arm and forces him to look him in his cat-like eyes. “Um.”

“Don’t listen to him. From what I’ve heard, you desperately need a shopping session,” he flicks Minho’s shirt, and Minho tries to be offended but, well, he’s kind of right.

“Boys,” his uncle cuts them off effectively right before they open their mouths to scream out more insults to each other, and Minho sighs in relief “Why don’t you let Minho finish his breakfast and then we’ll have a nice, proper conversation in the living room?”

The cat-like guy next to Minho sniffs, visibly deflates at the idea of not insulting his brother back “Fine.”

*

From their ‘nice and proper conversation’ Minho finally learns that Jonghyun—the older brother—is a year older than him, and a head shorter. Kibum, however, is a little taller, and is two months older than him ("Maknae!” Kibum screeches, making a show of thanking the Gods for giving him someone to bully—he spent 17 years being the youngest, after all).

After the introduction, his uncle—Kim Heesung, he finally learns—tells his sons what brings Minho here, and Minho swears he can see tears in Jonghyun’s eyes before he walks off, shouting something about having to pee. Kibum stares at him, then, his eyes unreadable, before shrugging and patting his bicep.

“Welcome to the family.”

Minho nods, but he figures it’d take him a while to really grasp the concept.

*

Minho’s first day at school is actually pretty uneventful (if compared to the morning before they went. He’s forever cringing at how Kibum forces him to sit down and proceeds to style his hair this way and that, saying that his face looks like a frog, but it’s actually an asset and Minho does not know whether he should be proud or insulted) because they’re a bit late, and therefore, he has to go to the Principal’s office alone because Kibum and Jonghyun dash out of the car and into their classes as soon as they got there. Minho loses sight of them in five seconds flat.

Getting his schedule is actually pretty easy—the Principal is a stern-looking woman, middle-aged, very beautiful and very intimidating—and Minho is glad that she asks nothing of his origin (he assumes she already knows some things, but he’s glad she doesn’t pry) and instead send him off with a senior. Said senior is late and Principal Boa had said “Might as well use your first period to guide Minho around the school. It’s not like you actually pay attention to English,” and Minho has never seen a grin that big on someone’s face.

All in all, he now ends up with an excited-looking senior (“My name’s Lee Hyukjae, call me Eunhyuk!”) at his side and a sheet of schedule clutched in his fist. Minho peeks at it; first period is Biology.

“So, biology class is over… there,” Eunhyuk points at the endless hallway, gesturing at Minho to follow him. Minho does, and tries his best not to be intimidated by his surroundings; the school is big, and definitely not the kind of school Minho is used to seeing. The walls are clean and the floor is squeaky. The doors are automatic glass doors, covered with maroon-colored curtains from the inside. Minho gulps, pushing the thought of his old school far at the back of his mind. “Put your bag in here,” Minho’s head snaps up at Eunhyuk’s voice, and the senior stares at him questioningly.

He clears his throat, snapping back to reality. Eunhyuk gives him a key, and Minho takes it. In front of him is a tall locker with his name on plastered on the one furthest left. He turns to look at Eunhyuk, unsure, and points at the door to biology class, and Eunhyuk grins, nodding enthusiastically.

“Yep, Ms. Song is nice, she won’t embarrass you in front of the class or anything,” Eunhyuk says, and something in his tone makes Minho squirms uncomfortably. He can’t tell if Eunhyuk is being sarcastic or not, but the glint in his eyes is not exactly innocent “No, seriously, don’t look at me like that. I mean, she likes pretty faces, but she doesn’t bite.”

Minho coughs, and Eunhyuk chuckles “Go, go.”

“Thanks, sunbae,” he bows, and Eunhyuk claps him on the shoulder, muttering something about unnecessary politeness and he’s not that old before dashing off to his own class. Minho takes a deep breath and steps inside, the door sliding smoothly out of the way. When he opens his eyes again, he’s already standing in front of the class, with 20 pairs of eyes staring at him, and Minho feels as if he’s two feet tall.

“Oh, you must be the new student!” the teacher—Ms. Song, Minho thinks—approaches him with a big smile on her face. She’s young, and very attractive, but there’s also a hint of motherly in the way she smiles at him, so Minho resists the urge to back away. “Why don’t you stand here and introduce yourself?”

Minho nods mutely and steps to the front and center of the class, overly aware of the whispers around him. He clears his throat and looks up, but the sight of about 19 rich kids staring back at him is too much, so he keeps his head down until he feels a hand pushing his chin up, its Ms. Song. She smiles and mouths an “It’s okay,” and Minho jerks away from her touch.

“My name is Choi Minho,” he says to the floor “Nice to meet you.”

He releases a breath he doesn’t know he’s holding when Ms. Song finally allows him to take a seat. He goes through the lines of curious glances and interested hums, before a hand catches his wrist. Minho stops and turns to the culprit, only to find Kibum smirking up at him, jerking his head to the left, where an empty seat is available. Minho nods and takes a seat, taking a deep breath as he tries his best to ignore the gazes thrown at him.

“You are so going to be an easy fish,” Kibum mumbles next to him, and he sounds a little annoyed. Minho turns to him questioningly, but he doesn’t ask, and Kibum doesn’t explain further.

*

The day progresses faster than Minho would’ve thought, with a few introductions here and there and answering occasional questions—Kibum is always right next to him to slap down any overly nosy question, usually with a ‘’ attached at the end of his sentence. Minho thinks Kibum is not unlike a really good guard dog (if guard dog could talk as well as he does, of course), but he also knows he won’t survive his wrath if he ever says this out loud.

Kibum drags him to the cafeteria, and the place is nicer than any restaurant Minho has ever been before. He tries not to stare too much at the many, many assortments of food and chooses quickly, before someone comes up next to him and offers a hand.

“Lee Taemin,” the boy offers, his smile blinding. Minho blinks and takes the hand, quickly regaining his composure and getting rid of his surprise. Taemin takes a pack of banana milk and places it on his tray. “You won’t be full with one sandwich and water, hyung,” Taemin chirps, and Minho stares down at his own tray, embarrassed. He isn’t used to so many good foods—he eats a lot when he can, but there aren’t many chances for him to do so—and so he has to fight down the urge to just grab two of each kind, because he does have some decency.

“Um,” Minho says, not knowing what to do when Taemin starts to pile up food in Minho’s tray, as well as his own. When they reach the dessert, Taemin lifts two cups of pudding—chocolate and vanilla—and purses his lips. Minho nods at the vanilla and Taemin grins, taking the chocolate.

“This way I can steal yours if the vanilla turns out to be better,” he beams, and Minho stares, bewildered at Taemin’s friendliness. He talks to Minho as if they’ve known each other for a long time, and Minho—who isn’t really used to human interactions—does not know what to do with it. Taemin doesn’t seem to mind, though, because he nudges Minho’s side and gestures at him to follow his lead, heading to the table where Kibum, Jonghyun, and another guy Minho doesn’t know, sit.

“—and so I told them to off,” Kibum says just as Minho puts his tray down, hesitant. Jonghyun raises his eyebrows at him in greeting, before going back to his cell phone “I think we should -proof him. We should -proof you,” he adds to Minho, who is blinking widely at the weird topic.

“Language, Kibum,” the nameless guy sighs, and Minho kind of agrees with him. Not that he’s never heard that kind of language before, but it’s just worrying that Kibum is using it in a sentence regarding him. “And he’s a grown man, I’m sure he can handle all the attention. Hi, Lee Jinki,” the guy grins at Minho, offering a hand, and Minho accepts it.

“Choi Minho,” he offers lamely, perfectly aware that Jinki already knows his name. He feels like an idiot, but Jinki doesn’t seem to mind, because he smiles at him, eyes disappearing, and Minho thinks it’s amazing, that smile.

“I know, Kibum babbled about you a lot,” Jinki says, and Minho wants to ask when because he only just knew Kibum for three days. “Oh, and I’m Taemin’s brother,” he adds, sipping on his milk tea. Minho nods, glancing at a beaming Taemin, still staring at him with a worrying level of interest.

“It’s not his fault he’s hot, Kibum, really,” Jonghyun puts down his cell phone and proceeds to devours his lunch. “Besides, Minho might have the chance to break my record, then.”

“What record?” Taemin voices up Minho’s question. Jonghyun grins devilishly at them both.

“Got laid as soon as I got accepted here. I broke Joon hyung’s record, which was 11 weeks.”

“What’s yours?” Jinki asks, once he’s done dying due to a particularly big chunk of nugget sliding into his throat and sends him into a coughing fit.

“8 weeks,” Jonghyun puffs up his chest, and Kibum rolls his eyes. Taemin actually looks impressed, and Minho ducks his head, hiding a smile.

He definitely isn’t going to break that record. He’s not even going to try.

*

Minho shoots up from his slumber, body tense as he looks around the dark room. His breath coming faster as his hearing sharpens, catching the dull voices downstairs. Throwing his blanket off his body, he slides off his warm bed and runs out of the room, heading to the living room, where all the noises seems to come from.

He freezes once he reaches the room, his eyes widening to a comical degree as his mind races over the sight in front of him. There was his mother, struggling against three men holding her, dragging her outside. She’s trashing around and curses, and her eyes bulges out as she caught a sight of her son “RUN, MINHO! RUN!” she screams, desperate and so very, very scared.

Minho shakes his head, without thinking, he jumps onto the men, beating every part of them he can reach, adrenaline making him wild, dulling out the pain of the blows. He sees red as his mother screams again, and he punches them all down, pulling his mother to cover her, hide her behind his back.

The room is quiet, then, only filled with the sound of their labored breathing, and Minho turns to face his mother, letting her cups his face in her thin, shaky hands. They stay like that for a while, and Minho thinks that this is probably the longest his mother ever holds him in her arms. She pulls him closer and he curls into her, feeling like a child all over again.

Their moment shatters, however, when one of the men makes a noise and scrambles up, reaching into his jacket for his gun. Minho turns around and holds his mother tight against his back, covering every inch of her. He stares at the man, eyes glossy and