During the time Minho lived with the Kim's,  it was the beginning of when his mother started to leave them.The Kim family was a blessing. Minho had never been one to be known as a man of God. Yet they made him believe in something bigger. They gave him faith. The Kim's showed him that he had a place to stay. A place to call home and continue on. Somewhere to begin anew. 

Before Minho was barely six, his mother would leave him home alone. Starving, both physically and mentally.  He was alone. No one to show him what was right or wrong. No one to look up to or to guide him. His father was gone. Left thrown aside by a man he once cared so deeply for and believed would come back. So many nights had tears rolled down swollen cheeks. A mother that kept herself hidden. After his father left, she was left alone. At least in her eyes, she was alone. Man after man. Drink after drink. Day after day. Nothing seemed to change, except the bruises on his body and the constant switch of babysitters. Locked away in the home he once cherished. He was alone.

It was at the age of eight when Minho fully understood what his mother was going through. The understanding having come from the voice that called to him from the other side of the door.

"Minho?" He had been hesitating between answering or just ignoring the voice. "Minho sweetie, can you let me in? Your mom told me you'd be here."

At the mention of his mother Minho, without hesitation, opens the door. His eyes landing on the woman with black cascading locks, and dark brown eyes. Her form fitted with an equally dark skirt, and blouse. A smile, the only thing warm about her appearance.

"Hi." Minho just stares openly at her before she kneels to his height "You don't know me, but I'm your new babysitter." She watches as his features frown before laughing "Don't look so happy about it." Hair falls to caress his skin when she leans over, arms wrapping around his body. "Don't worry. You'll be safe with me."

Minho can feel the warmth of her breath lightly touch his neck. Warmth. Closeness. Things that had been taken away. So desperately yearned for. Almost unconsciously, his hands raise to wrap around her neck. He allows himself, just this once, to trust in the words that escaped a woman's mouth.

By the age of ten his mother had, at most, five different men coming through the house every day.  Not once hesitating to bring them through the door. Not once caring what Minho would think. Not once figuring out that what she was doing wasn't for her own well being. He'd watch as his mother left the house everyday at exactly four. Going off to spend money, that she didn't even have, on more drinks and more men. 

It was around this time, that he met Jonghyun. The small loud mouth boy that was a year older than him. Outspoken and brash, from what Minho could see through his living room window. And from the stories he'd heard when Mrs. Kim came to babysit him, he was quite the troublemaker. 

Soon it became his habit. Coming home from school, seeing if his mom was unconscious on the couch or in her room. Maybe even out with friends. Maybe passed out somewhere in an alleyway. Pushing away negative thoughts he'd get something to eat, and sit by the living room window. Feet swinging steadily as he leans forward to look outside. Today was different though. Today, the usually optimistic boy sat dejected at his doorstep. Everything about him just screaming sadness. 

At that moment Minho felt something itch at the back of his mind. Something that was telling him to go. His mother wasn't here. She wouldn't, couldn't, be able to stop him. Taking a deep breath, he hops off the stool, slips on a sweater and pulls on his sneakers. With a hesitant hand he unlocks the door, eyes wandering over to the boy's unmoving form. Swallowing another breath Minho shuts his door, effectively grabbing the olders attention. Curious eyes lock. For a moment Minho thinks he should run back into the safety of his room. As he turns to place a hand back on the knob, a voice calls out to him.

"Hey!"

His body freezes. They couldn't possibly mean him, right? Slowly he turns back and comes face to face with the boy that had become his habit. Being so close to him, Minho found the boy to remind him of someone. Or rather, something.

"Hi." The boy's high pitched voice brings him back from his thoughts. "My name is Jonghyun." He sends Minho a warm grin. "What's your name?" This time he sticks out his hand, wide eyes gazing past Minho. "But since this is your house, I'm guessing your, Minho." He takes a step closer to the younger "Did you know my mom is your babysitter?"

Deep brown eyes, glance back and forth between the boy's face and his outstretched palm. "Y-yeah." With a hesitant hand he grasps the olders. A grin begins to grow on playful features. That was the moment his life began to change. The moment he decided to take the awaiting hand in his. When he looks back, he realizes his mistake. Not realizing that the whole confrontation had only taken one minute.

By the age of twelve, he's reached the two year mark. For two years he's been 'staying' with the Kim's. Often because of sleepovers the two boys have planned. Other times though, are because his mother is too drunk to care for a child. So being drunk and ignorant, meant that she doesn't notice the leering men that often surround her son. This afternoon he's picked up early by Mrs. Kim, but Jonghyun is nowhere in sight. He greets her with a shy smile, still not used to the physical aspect of their growing relationship. He watches her, head bowed, as she reaches out to run thin fingers through straightened hair.

"Sweetie," she places a warm palm against his cheek "I came to pick you up early today because..." her words seem caught in , not willing to be heard. Minho makes a move to try and comfort her, but another hand reaches before his. The man that now stands before him, arm soothingly caressing a small waist, is foreign. Not a stranger but also not a person known to his memories. Jonghyun's father.

He remembers having seen the man before. In the photographs that are framed throughout Jonghyun's room. A man with a bright smile and soft eyes as he holds his newborn child for the first time.

"You must be Minho." His hair is slicked back to reveal thick brows and sharp eyes. Reminding Minho of the man that used to rock him to sleep at night. Vaguely he starts to wonder if Jonghyun's father is headed in the same direction as his own. But taking a closer look at the pair before him, his doubts are pushed away. If Jonghyun can still believe that his father will finally stay with them and his mother will be at peace, why shouldn't he? 

"Sweetie, come here." Minho's eyes fall back onto the tear stained face of Mrs. Kim, as his feet move on their own. "Sweetie, I'm so sorry." 
That was the day Minho found out that his mother had an overdose. A neighbor had come over to deliver a package that was mistakenly put in their mailbox. The front door was ajar. The smell of beer strong, invading her nostrils. She hadn't meant to just barge in, but knowing how his mother was like, she went in. Only to find her at the edge of life.

When Minho turns thirteen, he's dubbed the Frog Prince by Jonghyun and his father. Jonghyun's father, who has found a job here instead of in America. No more constant back and forth. No more long months without seeing his wife and son. Minho's grown unexpectedly close to the man, even trusting him enough to tell him about his ordeals with his mother. And only with him, not even Jonghyun hears a word about where his bruises often come from. That year he's invited to spend Christmas with them, as a family. For the sixth time since he's known them. And as much as the idea apeals to him, he can't.

He's living with his mother instead of with the Kim's now. Minho often passes by to check on them. But more often than not, he's home making sure his mother stays on her pills and doesn't touch any of the whiskey hidden behind cabinet doors. He knows that even if their five years old, she would down them anyway. She promises him that she'll change, that he won't have to worry anymore. That she'll be a good mother again. 

When Minho turns fifteen, he wishes his life would just end. He can't watch any longer as his mother throws her life away. Her promise was broken only a month after she was released from the hospital. He knows he should leave. But he can't bring himself to do it. She is, his mother after all. Minho loves her with all his heart, but he can't handle the constant disappointment in life. The eighth time his mother comes drunk, banging at his door to be let in, is when he finally cracks. He just wishes his life would end. 

By the age of eighteen, Minho receives the news that his mother is expecting. She's still stuck on drugs and alcohol, but the doctor convinces her to put it aside for these few months. When he first finds out, an overwhelming urge to just slap his mother and wake her up appears. At least, until she tells him who's the baby's father. Months pass quicker than he expected and before he knows it, the babe is in his arms. Softly whimpering, tiny palms blindly feeling his chest, as tired eyes stare straight into his own. His brother. Glancing back at his mothers form, he thinks that maybe they could actually be a family now. But promises are broken for a reason, right? So there she was. Only a day after labor and a cigarette in . Letting a sigh escape his lips Minho hands the bundle over to Jonghyun, whose eyes twinkle with curiosity. 

"Really, can I?"

Minho allows himself this moment. This one moment to cherish. "Yeah, go ahead." He watches as the older rushes out the door to show his mother the newborn child. His eyes taking a picture of the scene. A mother and father. A son and brother. A family. He doesn't let himself dwell too long on the negative, instead he thinks of tomorrow. For...his brother.

"Sweetie, come here." Mrs. Kim waves him over, the bundle now in her husbands arms. "You have to see this."

He's smiling. His...brother. Minho can feel a sense of relief wash through him. He doesn't exactly know why, but he's not ready to ask why not.

"Looks like our frog prince," Jonghyun's father grins as he hands over the baby to Minho "has a son to take care of."

The words slowly sink in. Not completely unrealistic. Looking back down at the snoring bundle in his arms, he can't help but imagine his life. "Yes," A finger softly brushes red cheeks. "you'll be safe with me." He lets his eyes leave the child's face for only a moment before placing a kiss on his head. "I promise." 

And Minho, never breaks a promise.