He continued to speak softly to him as he climbed back in the bed, the entire room now dark, save for the pale light of the moon, drifting in from the window.
And right as Yunho felt sure that Jaejoong would be asleep in moments, he felt the mattress sink and saw, through the dimness, Jaejoong prop himself up on one arm, lean over to Yunho and kiss him, softly, tenderly, on the cheek with the words, his voice heavy with fatigue-
“I love you, Yunho.”
Yunho coughed. He felt a hot stinging sensation rise in his eyes.
And with words broken and imperfect, Yunho reached his arm around Jae, holding him close, and said, “Goodnight Jae. I-I love you too.”
* * *
Morning dawned with a dim light the next day. Clouds thick across the sky seemed reluctant to let any of the sun’s light through. They blew amongst the heavens, layer upon layer, their bilious mounds stacking ever greater till it seemed as if up in the skies a mountain range had formed in early hours of the morning. Mountains made of the thickest lace and mist spun from the silk of ages long past.

But this zenith mountain range, rising ever higher and higher as the moments of the new day ticked by refused to let the light of the sun in. Soaring peaks that promised to pierce the very dome of this earthly world blocked and shunned the break of day. So much so that the sun, weakened and exhausted from trying to break through, from trying to shine its fresh light, warm with brilliance of this new morn, gave up and resigned itself to be captive of this strange morning’s sky.

Something seemed to bode ill that morning. It was as if the very horizon itself heralded a pain. Something was wrong and the heavens sought to draw it in the sky, sought to make plain what it could not say, what it could not call out and make audible to the human ear.

And by the disappearance of the sun, that bright voice whose brilliant song lit each new day with a splendor and dazzle to shatter the curtain of night, Powers were trying, were reaching out, calling with voices unheard, that today-today brought with it shadow.

And Yunho, turning to look out the window as he did every morning, saw the tumultuous skyline, saw the violence by which the clouds fought to hide the sun-and he felt strangely ill. A cold heavy feeling settled in upon him, weighing down his limbs, oppressing his heart. Suddenly, laying in bed, he found it hard to breathe. He struggled to draw a long full breath, struggled to calm the irregular beat of his heart.

He tried to shake it off, telling himself that it was just a reaction to the grey morning. Lots of people felt sad on days when the sun didn’t shine. It was normal.

But this sensation, this feeling-this was not normal. And laying there, sinking deeper and deeper, he wondered desperately what this was.

And not only what it was, but why, all of a sudden, he should suffer from it. There was nothing today that boded ill. Today was a normal Wednesday. He would take Jaejoong to school, go to work, come back to the school and fill his assigned play-time hour, take Jae home, make dinner, make him practice the piano, and then put his brother to bed. Nothing here was out of the ordinary. Nothing in that list of things he had to do struck him as heralding danger. And yet, despite all his logic, all his reason, the young man could not help but feeling that today, something was very wrong.

Thinking that maybe cleaning up, that bathing his face in cool water would wash away his oppression, Yunho got up, careful not to wake Jaejoong, who still lay asleep, and went into the bathroom, closing the door softly behind him.

Standing the bathroom Yunho looked at himself in the mirror. There was another reason he sought to shake this strange grey from him. He did not want Jaejoong to see him like this. He did not want his brother, fresh from sleep, waking up with the whisperings of celestial songs still clinging to his ears, still playing the music that only Jaejoong heard, that only his ear, attuned to the sounds and music of worlds far away, was audience to-he did not want Jaejoong to see him strained, to see turmoil on his face. Seeing that in the face he looked to so often for everything, would twist and churn things inside of Jae that he was not capable to undoing. Delicate emotions and feelings whose balance lay threaded on a gossamer bridge, easy to rip, easy to shred-the torn ends blowing out of Jaejoong’s grasp to mend.

Looking in the mirror, Yunho saw the stiff look on his face, saw the constrained lines that clung near his mouth. Grasping the faucet knob, he pulled and watched a thick rush of water pour four. Not waiting for the water to warm, the young man shoved his hands under the frigid fall, cupping them to catch some of the briskness he was so relying on to blast away the clouds that clung to him, and dove into the small pool. A shiver went through him at the feel of the crisp water against his face. But again he repeated the action. And again and again, as if to freeze away what oppressed him, to freeze that unruly sensation so that it may not be seen by other, sensitive eyes.

And after splashing his face some nine or ten times with a compulsiveness that was, all on its own, nearly as frightening as the grimness that threatened the peace of this morning, Yunho looked back up at his reflection. To his relief, although his cheeks were red from the cold water, that odd stiffness had left him. Sighing, he then proceeded to brush his teeth, shave and comb his hair.

Finishing quickly, keenly aware of the time, Yunho came back out to his room, glancing at the clock on the mantle. There was some time yet before Jaejoong needed to get up for school and given all that had happened yesterday, Yunho decided that he would let him rest a little while longer.
So, careful to close the door softly behind him, thinking that himself being up and moving about might wake Jae up, Yunho left the room and went downstairs.

His first object was to get breakfast started. And, again thinking of yesterday’s ordeal, the young man decided that a warm breakfast, something hot and calming might be best.

And as nothing is quite as warm and comforting as a hot cereal, oatmeal, in all its comeliness, was decided upon.

Well, oatmeal with some cut up kiwi fruit on the side.

In the quiet of the morning, the house still as if out of respect for the earliness of the hour, Yunho listened to the oddly musical sound of the small dried flakes falling into a pot-and enjoyed the homely sound they made. He then filled the pot with water and set it on the stove, turning a low fire on underneath.

Things seemed so normal. So everyday. Yunho began to think, comforted by the regularity of the morning routine, the one he had done everyday the same for years, that his oppression upon first waking up was merely his own folly.

Perhaps Jaejoong was not the only one affected by what happened the other day. Perhaps Yunho, having to be strong and react without hardly any emotion, his only thoughts being how to calm his brother down as quickly as possible, suppressed his own pain at that time. Pushed it down, knowing that regaling in it, even allowing those fears and hurts to surface for a moment’s time, was dangerous.

Yet, in doing so he had given himself no outlet, no way to escape and those reactions, thick as the very blood that bound him to Jae, would draw full breath, would surface when Yunho did not suppress them and have their time to torment him. Maybe that accounted for his gloom that morning.

Yea. That was it.

Feeling quite satisfied of this being true, Yunho continued, with confidence, to cook breakfast and did not even flinch when the phone rang. Most likely it was Yoochun, calling either to see how things had gone last night after leaving his house, or asking, as he so often had, whether or not Yunho needed anything. And then, of course, it could be his boss, calling to see if Yunho was ready to meet up with that new sponsor today, a meeting that required aplomb and grace on Yunho’s part.

So, not thinking, not even bothering to glance at the caller id, Yunho picked up the phone. A sickeningly sweet voice, thin with age, greeted him from the other end.

“Yunho. It’s Aunt Yee.”

~(Jaejoong! Jaejoong! Where are you? I can’t find you!

Warm, trickling blood.

Four hours.

I won’t let go. Mommy didn’t. I won’t. Jaejoong. Jaejoong,

please. Don’t die.)~
Yunho dropped the phone. He stood frozen, a thousand memories, torn from a wound long sealed up, gushing out of him-like that day-that day. . .

He wanted to scream. He wanted to slam that phone back down on the receiver. He would not speak to her. That woman. It had been years. Years! Who did she think she think she was, calling now? There was nothing she could say to him. They were not family, not anymore.

But Yunho, thinking that somehow she would enjoy his present state, his emotional rebellion, proving as she had long sought to do, that he was not fit to take care of Jaejoong, felt a steeliness rise in him, and clenching his teeth, determined not to lose a war he had fought for years, picked the phone back up.

And with a voice that was frighteningly calm, said, “Aunt Yee. Hello. I didn’t expect you to call.”

“Oh,” she chirped cheerily, “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“I am surprised. But Aunt Yee, it is early and I have a lot to do. Is there something you need?”

“My, you are in a rush. I suppose things in your day do take awhile to get around.”

Digging his nails into his palm, Yunho fought not to lash back at that retort. Strived not to let her break him, proving that he was a ruthless youth not fit to take care of a special needs case.

She continued. “I’m calling, Yunho to invite you and Jaejoong to a little family get-together. It’ll be this weekend. The whole Jung clan is going to be there. We want you two there as well; it’s been so long and all.”

“That’s kind of you Aunt Yee, but I think I’ll have to pass. Tell everyone I said hello, though. Goodbye-”

“You are stubborn, aren’t you,” she sneered suddenly, that sweetness in her voice souring. “Do you think you’re so much better than us, Yunho? You’re just as selfish as you always were. It’s not right-keeping Jaejoong away from his family. We love him too, you know.”

Violent, terrible words rushed into Yunho. Accusations and threats that had lain dormant for so many years rose now like frightening specters. The young man fairly trembled to remain polite; not to sling the poison that lingered in his mouth.

“I-I keep a busy schedule, Yee. Even on the weekends. I don’t think a family reunion would-”

But suddenly a fair voice bubbled up from behind.

“Reunion? Yunho I want to go! A family party? I want to go!”

And Jaejoong, having just woken up and come downstairs to look for Yunho, bounced up and down, clapping his hands, repeating over and over that he wanted to go. He wanted to see everyone.

And while Yunho tried to quiet him, tried to dismay him from the idea, he heard Yee’s voice on the other end.

“My, is that Jaejoong? He sounds so excited. Are you going to disappoint him, Yunho? Are you going to tell him he can’t go?”

~(My hands are red.

Mommy! Mommy! Where are you now? What do I do? He’s not breathing. Mommy, I’m scared. What do I do? Is he gonna die?

Jaejoong! Jaejoong! Come back!

I can’t yell anymore.

Mommy I’m so scared. I wish you were here.)~

Gasping for breath, shaking and struggling not to betray anything in his voice, Yunho watching Jaejoong with hope in his eyes, and hearing Aunt Yee behind him, said, though it felt like all the blood drained from him and ten thousand terrible memories lived again, “Okay, Yee. We’ll be there.”