Taemin swore he was real.

But maybe, Choi Minho was really too good to be true.

“Taemin-ah!”

Taemin turns around from to see the boy next to the door.

Choi Minho.

The boy that Taemin was falling slowly head over heels for. He knows he shouldn’t but he can’t help himself. He feels too compelled to his charismatic hyung. Whenever they touch, whenever they meet Taemin can’t help but put on his fullest smile and let butterflies roam inside his stomach.

Minho rushes up to Taemin and spins him around. Laughter erupts from Taemin’s lips as he is lifted into the air. Minho puts the younger down and ruffles his hair.

“How did you find me, hyung?” Taemin looks up with the ever adoring eyes into Minho’s.

Minho tapped Taemin’s nose, “Of course I knew where you were. You’re always on the rooftop whenever Jonghyun hyung and Key hyung are being a bickering married couple.”

“You saw them?” Taemin asked the older.

Minho replied nonchalantly, “I breezed by maybe.”

Minho walked up the edge of the rooftop and placed his arms on the block of wall separating you from jumping over. Taemin settled next to his hyung, copying his motions.

The way Minho looked right now was the best. Taemin loved the way the sun shone brightly on Minho’s face and his eyes sparkled at the—well whatever he was looking at over there. It was a far away look.

“What are you thinking about, hyung?” Taemin put his head on his arms and admired his handsome friend.

Minho smiles at the adorable expression Taemin gives him and hands fly to ruffle his hair again.

“Nothing, little guy. ”

“Why don’t you focus on your studies more!”

 The woman called his mother threw the workbook at him. It hit him right in the face with a burning sensation cursing his cheek.

“You got number 3 in these exams, I heard. Place Three! What kind of son are you!”

His mother shouts and spits at her son while Taemin continues to hide behind his brown locks and look down, only to silently cry.

He didn’t mean to—he tried really hard. Other kids were just smarter than him—he was stupid. He couldn’t score first like his mother wanted him to.

Useless.

“I’m sorry…” A mumble he had only enough courage to whisper through his lips.

“Sorry?! Sorry isn’t good enough!” His mother stomps his way and plants a good slap across his face.

Taemin manages to let another sob crawl through his lips. He immediately shuts up knowing what consequences wait because of that action.

The mother grabs a chunk full of his brunette hair, swinging it toward the wall. He collides with a harsh slam. But he makes no protest—If he cannot get first place then he supposes that this is what his mother thinks best of his punishment.

He deserves this.

“If you weren’t so keen on practicing your stupid prancing around in your fancy little studio,”

—But Taemin loves dancing. He wanted to interrupt her with his thought. But Taemin doesn’t hesitate to keep that forever in his heart and to never let it out.

She picks up the workbook—pages of long hours of studying were written on, determination to become a person his mother would love, someone that would be number one—now turned into a crumpled mess of folded corners, worn down covers, and tearing pages.

 She throws it all in face and time and time again whacks him with it. She sends slam after slam into his ribcage, onto his arm, anywhere else that was near her, and makes no mistake to leave that spot with burning sensation—one that Taemin had gotten too use to over the years.

“You wouldn’t be a useless son. I’ve poured all my living into raising you. And this is what I get?!” His mother leaves with a pulling on his strands of hair—to one hard push onto the wall that renders Taemin dizzy and his vision unclear—echos inside Taemin’s mind of the door that slammed meaning one thing.

Safe.

“He confessed! Minho confessed to me hyung!” Taemin squealed to his Key hyung who chuckled from the maknae’s adorable behavior.

Taemin finished telling Key hyung with Jonghyun at the side about his ‘date’ with Minho. A simple movie, a stroll in the park, a nice picnic, and a heartfelt confession from Minho’s part.

Jonghyun ruffled the younger’s hair.

“Sure are happy, aren’t you?” Jonghyun flashed Taemin a glad smile.

Key put his hand on his hips and an elbow by his side with that arm in the air—being the diva that he is, “Well about time. I was almost getting sick of your never ending talks about him. I never knew you had that much spit in you till you met him. ”

Taemin would have endless mentions of this Choi Minho for hours long and Key nor Jonghyun would never have the heart to tell him to shut it because they were too happy for the adorable maknae whose eyes brightened every time he thought about the ladder.

Taemin let out an embarrassed laugh and scratched the back of his neck, “Do I really talk about him that much?”

Jonghyun rolled his eyes, “Do you ever. ”

Key peered at Taemin, “So when do we get to meet him?”

Taemin shrugged but put on an assuring smile, “He always says he’s busy with a athletic meets or he leaves by the time you guys get to my house. ”

“Shame that he goes to another school though. ” Jonghyun mentioned.

Taemin nodded, “I wish he can meet you guys sooner. ”

Taemin couldn’t remember it all but it all came crashing down this one moment.

“Taemin-ah. He’s not real. ”

Taemin remembers a bit. But everything went to fast. To fast to understand. To fast to comprehend. To fast to take it all in. But he knows this. He hears this.

Choi Minho feels real.

He couldn’t help but feel dazed when the screaming occurred.

The “I’ll get you back, boy!” and the “No, wait! It was for his own good, really!” and the “You’re crazy, all of you. None of you understand what a mother goes through!”

He stood outside, staring as his mother—the woman called his mother, he usually says—was dragged, screaming pleas, profanity, threats—they didn’t mean much to Taemin. He could only think one thing that he always ended up when his mother left.

Safe.

He stood outside in the midst of all the red, blues, and whites flashing. The house that was colored so beautifully, but now seemed like a tragic trick of the eye. The sirens of the police cars pierced through Taemin’s ear drums. He watched as his mother was dragged, thrown into the police car.

Safe.

He was cuddled—squished by Key’s hug and his ‘umma’s’ tears. His hair smoothed down by Key whispering, “It’s alright. We’re here now.”

Safe.

But wait.

—Where’s Minho?