“I was six years old when it started.” He began. “It was really slowly at first, I didn’t even notice it, hyung. It was just a tap on the head if I misbehaved…”

                He remembered his first real torture.

                “Appa! I’m back!” The six year old ran inside. He’d just come back from playing football outside with his friends, and in his excitement to tell his father about his three goals, he’d forgotten to take his shoes off. He’d forgotten he played in mud. He’d forgotten. He tracked mud onto the white carpet and right to where his father was sitting, drink in hand.

                His father gave him one look and slapped him immediately. “Minho! You dragged mud in the house! How many times do I have to remind you to take your shoes off before you come inside?”

                Minho had never been hit before and tears stung behind his eyes.

                “Don’t you dare cry, Minho. You didn’t cry over your mother and you’re going to cry over this?”

                The boy couldn’t help it. He howled, holding his chubby cheek in his hand. “Mommy!!!” He cried for her out of habit.

                “She’s not here, Minho. You’ll never see her again.”

                Minho cried even harder, his father’s words sinking in. MOMMY!!” He sobbed, dropping to the ground. He wasn’t sure if his pain was physical or mental now.

                His father stood up. “She’s. Not. Here.” He slapped Minho again.

                He cried harder, like a little baby, wailing loudly. “Mommy!”

                “She’s not here to save you, Minho. You’re all mine now” His father grinned. “I don’t feel like cooking. I’ll just have leftovers. There’s only enough for me, Minho. Mommy isn’t here to make you food.”

                “He starved me,” Minho continued telling Onew.

                “Daddy, I’m so hungry! Please?” Minho whined, holding his stomach. He watched his father eat slowly, torturing him.

                “You’re not eating until you appreciate me, son”

                “Mommy!!!” he cried again.

                Almost immediately, his father jumped up from the chair, slapping Minho with enough force to make Minho fall to the ground. Before Minho could begin to cry, his father hit him again and again, until Minho was totally bruised. His father was satisfied when he saw blood spill from his sons’ delicate little nose.

                “He beat me,” Minho struggled to finish the story.

                Onew looked at him for a few seconds, holding back his own tears. How could anyone hit a six year old? How could a father hit his son until he bled? Without words, Onew wrapped his arms around Minho. “It’s okay, Minho. It’s okay,” He repeated the mantra, for both his comfort and Minho’s. “I’ll protect you.”

                "Forever."