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Of all the things you needed to know about Na Jaemin, there was one in particular that stood out as being 'important'.

He was selectively mute.

Jaemin refused to open his mouth and release words. At first, he only did it so that he didn't have to answer everyone's questions. He was closed off for various reasons. But now, twelve years into this lifestyle he had chosen, he wasn't sure if he even had the capability to speak anymore.

It started when he was five. His parents and himself lived with his mother's sister. She was a memorable character with a lot to say and too much time on her hands.

She moved in with them because her husband divorced her after her baby died a year after birth. Apparently it had been sick, and both parents tried their best to keep it alive, straining their relationship in the process.

But that wasn't the point. What happened only six months after his aunt Jaesoo moved in was what caused him to hold his silence. What gave him the resolve to never breathe a word.

She started to touch him inappropriately. She was pissed drunk one night, having been put in charge of looking after him when his parents wanted to go out for a date. She sat in the sitting room, crying to herself about her ex husband, her lost child and how degraded she felt.

Jaemin, the innocent soul that he was, went downstairs at ten o'clock at night to see what was wrong. Of course, he didn't know the problem back then, and only saw tears that he wanted to wipe away.

"Aunty? Why are you crying?" He asked quietly, watching as she turned to look behind her from the couch at the hall leading to the staircase. The tiny child was in oversized pyjamas and had a sweater paw in his mouth.

"Jaemin? What are you doing awake?" She sobbed, makeup running and not even caring how awful she looked in front of the young one.

"I heard you crying. What's wrong?" He repeated his question.

She sniffled, being unable to help the fact that he reminded her of the baby she lost. He was much older than her's was of course, but he was beautiful and she wanted to imagine that he was how her's would've turned out.

"Come here darling, I want to chat with you," she whispered, patting the couch beside her. Without second thinking it, Jaemin clambered over to her, happy to oblige with any order given by an adult.

He crawled onto the couch, being lifted by the older woman onto her lap. She started staring at him, gently running her fingers through his fluffy brown hair. He didn't mind at first, thinking she just needed to have someone around.

Only when things escalated after two weeks of bedroom visits and she asked him to start removing his clothes, did the child grow confused. He did as he was told, but thought 'even mummy doesn't tell me to do this'.

When gentle touches along his perfect skin turned into his kisses, he began to panic. He didn't like it. He couldn't comprehend what was happening, and only ever trusted his mother to look after him. Even his dad didn't venture too far into the raising stakes, waiting for Jaemin to reach an age where he really needed his father.

Though he went quiet, shocking everyone he knew, it still took three years for his parents to learn the secret behind his silence. Jaesoo was careless one evening, having left the bedroom door open when visiting Jaemin's room. Both assumed his parents were asleep, but his mother was having a rough night, and caught all of it.

Therapy, counselling, talking, listening. None of it made a difference as Jaemin grew up and never found his voice. He didn't want to use it. He couldn't face the 'are you okay?' question, or the 'why won't you tell us how you feel?' one either.

At age seventeen, he was sure the damn voice was dusty and well gone. He hadn't a single ounce of strength to use it, so he simply decided that this way of living was fine. His parents still looked after him. His aunt was sent far away.

He would be fine.

The teen wandered through town, not attending school due to his issue and happily getting homeschooled. The question was always raised 'do you want to go to school?' The answer in his head was always the same.

No.

There were few people the mute called friends, and his trust was definitely damaged. After all, trust was like a piece of paper. Once you crumpled it, if could never be perfect again.

Ironically, as he wandered past a car park, he saw the local school standing proudly beside him. The fact that it had run through his mind only moments earlier baffled him.

How boring, he thought to himself. Classes, break, classes, lunch, classes. No thanks.

He passed on by. He had no desire to even visualise what high school was like, let alone attend it. Dramas on television gave him enough of a clue as to what the prison like building was like.

An asylum. Just like a prison for people who don't know they're imprisoned.

The Main Street appeared in front of him the further down the pathway he walked. Cars dashed by and pedestrians of the older generation were getting some midweek shopping out of the way. He didn't have many teenagers to spend time with, so this solitude he had grown used to was blissful. That fear others experienced when spotting someone from their year or class across the street wasn't an issue for Jaemin.

But being lonely wasn't healthy, and the young boy knew that. How much longer he would endure this lifestyle, he didn't know.

He would figure it out.

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