Taemin chewed his peas slowly. He was making a point of not enjoying them.

                “Taemin-ah, eat your peas.”

                He pouted, sticking his tongue out, showing his parents the half-chewed green goop. They laughed and his father reached out to ruffle his hair.

                “My son, you’re so cute” he cooed, enjoying the boy’s adorable antics, much to Taemin’s satisfaction. Taemin smiled at his father happily.

                “Don’t think you’re getting out of eating those peas, Lee Taemin,” his mother , smiling.

                Taemin shoved another forkful into his mouth, chewing loudly. “I don’t want them, Eomma!”

                “Taeminnie, there are starving children in Africa who would love those peas” His father commented with a nod.

                “Or even in Korea. There are probably some right here in Seoul. Did you know one in seven people don’t have enough to eat?”

                Taemin thought about this. He knew seven people; himself, his mother, his father, his older brother, Key, Jonghyun, and Minho. If one out of seven people starved, who was it among his friends?

                His brother agreed. “Yeah, Taemin. So eat your peas.”

                Taemin didn’t understand what his uneaten peas had to do with starving people, but he swallowed them and scooped another forkful. He wouldn’t starve.

                The conversation at the dinner table quickly switched topics when Taemin’s mother asked his father about work. Taemin’s dad was a police chief in downtown Seoul.

                “Oh, we got a very interesting case of child abuse.” He stated, folding his hands. “The boy’s your age, Taemin. It seems his father beats him and starves him,” he pointedly looked at his youngest son who ate another mouthful of peas in response.

                “Oh dear! Is it true?” She asked, gasping.

                He nodded slowly. “I’m afraid it is. I examined the poor boy myself. Boy was black and blue all over, except for his face. I suppose his father wanted to hide it. He’s skinny too! Have I ever seen such a skinny kid? Only 50 kilograms! For a boy of sixteen, it wasn’t nice at all. He should’ve weighed about 65 if you ask me.”

                Taemin listened intently. He couldn’t imagine someone his age weighing so little.

His brother spoke up. “Appa, is his dad going to be locked away?”

                His dad shrugged. “He’s in someone else’s custody right now. They took his little brother away too.” He shook his head. “I’ve never seen something this bad in my career yet. Having you two boys myself, it makes it worse when I see young boys in trouble.”

                The family agreed, consoling their father.

               Taemin felt bad for the poor boy, wondering who he was. He didn’t know anyone who spoke badly of their fathers, so he probably didn’t know who that was. He’d keep his eye out for a skinny 16 year old. Wait—he knew a skinny sixteen year old. He’d wondered how much that boy weighed. The boy who never spoke. The boy whose eyes were always cast on the ground.

                “Minho!” He loudly whispered. His voice cracked. “Appa, is it Minho? Choi Minho?”

                His father slowly nodded. “Taemin, you can’t mention it. I’m not supposed to discuss this.”

                Taemin did not hear a word he said. All that mattered was Minho. Minho was starved. Minho was beaten. Is that why Minho had been throwing up? Is that why Minho never said a word? Is that why he was so submissive to Key? Oh, Minho, why didn’t you tell Taemin? Whose custody was he in?

                He excused himself to his room and grabbed his phone. But who could he ask? Key doesn’t know. Jonghyun doesn’t know. He couldn’t ask Minho. In frustration, he threw his phone onto his bed, screaming into his pillow.

                Why do I even care? He asked himself. I hardly know Minho! Why does it hurt so much that this happened to him? The fifteen year old struggled with himself. He didn’t know what to think anymore.

                All he could think of was Minho.