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.”
* * *
There was no time to think of this now. There was no time to think of those days, those days when Yunho dreaded every morning, when there were times he wondered if it just might be easier to-to fade away. To never again have to live with the fear that snapped at his heels, that danced in his dreams.

There were days when he wanted to throw it all away.

But right now, Jaejoong standing watching the expression on Yunho’s face, knowing that if he betrayed his thoughts, if he lost this moment, though it felt as if a thick wire had wrapped itself around his mind, tightening, constricting, making everything in the room spin,-if he lost the battle of this moment, then Jaejoong, still fresh from sleep, that bright morning glory yet clinging to his face, would fall too and what started out as any other morning would spin out so quickly Yunho feared his own ability to catch it.

But if only he could have a moment. If only he could stop everything for just one brief wonderful moment, just stop. Nothing to worry about. Nothing to be aware of. No one to see him. No one for him to see.

And in that moment, protected by frozen time, Yunho would breathe. He would risk holding his head in his hands to soothe the painful pound. He could sink down to the ground, weak and in need of rest. And in that safety that no human hand could disrupt, the moan, the howl that rose so fiercely in his throat, could find escape. And the fires that scorched him now, the flames that every inch of him, would be quenched in the coolness of his solitary world.

From what did Yunho run? What looming specter frightened him so much?

Those days. Those early days.

Part of what motivated Yunho back then, part of what made it possible for him to bear living every day was the idea that some day he would not have to suffer like this. Some day that gnawing pain in his stomach would be gone; he could wake up in the morning not having to dread the next twelve hours, not having to rush through the day just so he could go to sleep and forget everything.

Those days, when he watched his brother live like an animal, when he bore threats from his family that Jaejoong was suitable for nothing more than a facility, strained at every ounce of strength Yunho thought he had within him.

Many had been the nights, behind locked doors, that Yunho, the one everyone believed to be so strong, the young man who had lived through worse than death, witnessing his brother’s accident, fell to his knees, buried his face against the ground-and prayed. Begged. Wept tears that stung that face. Choked on pleas to a God he wasn’t sure was there, to please-please lift this moment from him. Take this burden, this weight. Take it, please!

I can’t do this.

And somehow, it had seemed to him that his prayer was answered. For slowly, things did get better. Yunho felt like he could take the first long, deep breath in years, letting the coolness of the air fill and quench a dryness, a scorched expanse left arid after a great fire. For the first time in years, he opened his eyes after a long terrible night, filled with dark dreams. Now, lifting his head up, Yunho felt like he had a soul again.

Years passed. Yunho worked and toiled to make a new life, far from the one he had known, and as remote as he could get away from Jaejoong’s memories. A new town. A new job. A new house. Everything was new and every prospect looked bright. And though Yunho worked harder than he ever had before, though he never knew more than a few hours of sleep a night, he did it all believing that life would be good. That he and Jaejoong could live happily, that no outside threats would have power to disturb their little world.
And it was such a sweet life he had built. One that he never expected to taint. Until now.

Hot, angry words swelled up. Bitter thoughts. Dark ideas. It wasn’t fair. He had had enough of this-this suffering. What good did it do? None. Not then. Not now. So who did she think she was? Coming in and tearing through his placid world, as if she had the right.

Family! Ha! What a family they had been. They didn’t understand. Jaejoong ceased to be a person to them. Suddenly he was something short of human. Less than human. All too quickly, he became to them like some kind of song bird, pretty to look at, lovely to listen-but ultimately deserving of only a cage.

Going back now, stepping inside that house once more-it would all come back.

And yet, there was nothing he could do about it now. Jaejoong had heard; he was set on it. Even at this very moment, he hopped happily from one foot to the other, enchanted with the idea of a reunion. A word whose definition sounded to him as only something fun, something to be looked forward to. Those memories of early times were gone from his mind, locked away in a chamber difficult to open. To dissuade him now was useless. It would incur a tantrum and tears Yunho had no power to deal with at the moment.

How odd it was. To be bound this way. All of a sudden, a path, thick with thorns had been strewn with frightening speed under his feet. Before him lay places he did not want to go. Behind him was an impenetrable wall, it was impossible to go back. And in the strangest way, it was Jaejoong to force him thus. At this moment, Yunho was bound to a fate created by Jaejoong’s joy.

“Yunho?”

It was his fault. He would have told her “no” and the whole thing would have gone away. But no. Now he had to got through with this.

“Yunho?”

(Don’t talk to me, Jae. I can’t answer you. Don’t talk. I’ll say something to hurt you.)

Please.

“Yunho? Are you okay?”

He roared. “Jaejoong! I’m busy! Go upstairs and get dressed!”

And as if he had been slapped, as if Yunho had reached out and struck him, Jaejoong jumped back. The dark eyes wide and not understanding. A thousand emotions flashed across the delicate face, like a rainbow tumbling down from the sky-dazzling and frightening at the same time.

He started to go. And stopped. He started to turn around and didn’t move. A quiver passed through the slender frame. A ripple. A small tremble that, if left unchecked, would shake into something much more.

Yunho’s thoughts were gone. All the anger, the self-pity, the hurt, all the wounds he with so much pleasure, vanished. In one stride, he was at Jaejoong’s side, his arm around his brother’s shoulders, steady and strong, to halt the quake that imposed.

Jaejoong looked at him, still not understanding. Still afraid. And still hurt.

“I’m-I’m sorry, Yunho.”

“J-Jae. No. You don’t need to be sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong. Your brother lost his temper. I’m sorry. Not you. Okay?”

And though he spoke calmly, though he smiled-Yunho said terrible things to himself. Accused ugly accusations to his own person.

And Jaejoong, still staring at the eyes he had always known to be so steady, still lost in that face he looked to for such understanding, nodded.

And in that moment, Yunho saw something that surprised him, something he had not seen in years. He saw-understanding.

Jaejoong understood. Not why Yunho was upset, or even why he had lashed out at him a moment ago. But right then, in those eyes whose gaze was always turned toward a world no one else could perceive, Yunho saw that Jaejoong understood that though Yunho had hurt him, he had not meant to.

And a cool hand, one whose reach Yunho thought should never find him, stretched out and touched a chord on his heart. A chord that Yunho tried very hard to protect, to shield from the outside, but a tender fiber that was linked inextricably to Jaejoong. A cool instant.

Yunho could have cried.

And yet, all he could say was, “Jae, I’ll finish breakfast. Get dressed and we’ll eat.”

And though the rest of the day passed normally; Jaejoong got dressed, the moment forgotten, he and Yunho ate breakfast and Yunho drove him to school. Yet, all the while, watching him eat, casting a glance at him every so often as he drove, Yunho looked for that spark in Jaejoong’s eyes, the one that for an all too brief instant lit up everything. It was as if a light was thrown on in a room, completely dark, for one split second. And for that one gloriously bright moment, you can see everything; nothing is hidden in shadow. Yet, just as quickly as the light flashes, it is gone and everything fades into nothingness again.

The moment was one Yunho had not seen in Jaejoong for years. Sometimes he had heard people say that these were the “breakthrough moments;” the times when you were really making headway.

In all truth, Yunho had always thought that phrase was a joke. A breakthrough. A breakthrough to what? One single spark of light that flashed for a hardly tangible instant lighting up a space that was blank. And that space would continue to remain blank even after the light was gone. It did all the good of holding up a lantern in a cave and then blowing it out.

So, to say it was a breakthrough was ridiculous. And Yunho had often believed that those who said that did not really understand. Or maybe it was that they never truly accepted what had been given to them. It was denial. Positively phrased denial. A fools’ hope that someday, one day, everything would be as it was. As it had been.

And yet, for all that he balked at the idea, for all that he repeated over and over how silly it was, Yunho felt a pang of hope. In that wonderful moment, being able to connect with Jaejoong , being able to look at him and know that he understood, that that spanning distance was no longer between them, Yunho felt a searing breath of hope. Of the thought that maybe, maybe-he would come back. That the brother he had known so many years ago, the one he loved and cherished-that Jaejoong would come back. And all this would fade away like a bad dream.
* * *
These thoughts plagued him for the rest of the day, long after he dropped Jaejoong off at school, all the way through his work day. He could not seem to shake it. And despite the fact that Yunho plunged into his work, practically buried himself in papers and files, this nagging happy thought refused to go. And it was only with a very decided and conscious effort, practically telling himself that if he continued to think about it, if he insisted on racking his brain this way, then he would never get any real worthwhile work done. It was only then, summoning up his rationale, that the young man managed to put down his hope. Down where it belonged, where he couldn’t feel it.

However, the struggle was a tiring one and used much more of Yunho’s energy than he thought. So, by the time he arrived at Jaejoong’s school, he was tired and a little on edge. Pulling into the parking lot, the young man took several long breaths, trying almost to breathe away the rather raw state his emotions and thoughts were in. Today, being at the school to help, this was not the way he wanted to come in.

Upon enrollment at Purple Line Academy every parent or guardian was asked if they would like to participate in an after school play session once a week. At the time, Yunho was extremely nervous about enrolling Jaejoong, about leaving him alone, so he was quick to comply, thinking it might help Jaejoong if he knew that his brother would come to the school too.

It did help. And this once a week session had proved, over time, to be one of Yunho’s favorite obligations. For strange though it sounded, and while surely no one would ever agree with him, Yunho felt that here, among all the other children, kids just like Jaejoong, he was really helping. Here, he was truly doing some good. For there were times in the seclusion of his life with Jaejoong when he felt as if, maybe he was not really helping at all. Only just going through the motions; motions that had little meaning or value anymore.

So, when he pulled into the parking lot and began walking up to the school, the young man tried very hard to shake the moment of that morning.

Coming inside, Yunho signed in on a clipboard left at the front desk for all visitors. The secretary smiled warmly at him as he did so, offering her most charming greeting.
By far, among all the parents and guardians who came in, Yunho was the favorite of every teacher at the school and every employee. Women and men alike. The women like him because he was so sensitive to the needs of not only Jaejoong, but to every child here, speaking so gently and always so soft of touch. The men admired him because Yunho took every curve thrown to him without blinking an eye. They knew the young man had struggled to make the life he currently lived with his brother as pleasant as it was. They knew that Yunho had fought hard and would continue to do so.

Walking up the hallway he knew so well, Yunho listened those strangely odd sounds that came with being at a school like Purple Line. High-pitched laughter, shrill screams, wails. All of them he knew very well. And even the smell, that ubiquitous scent of disinfectant permeating all the rooms was familiar to him, and oddly comforting in that familiarity.

Of course the kids who attended this school needed it. A place to belong. But they weren’t the only ones. The parents needed it too. Shunned by a society that did not really understand, or want to understand, these men and women, mothers and fathers, needed a place where they did not feel like outsiders. A place where they were no longer on the outside of a world who wanted to solve their problem with a quick-fix, with medications, with facilities; now they were on the inside, protected in a world that knew every bit of what they suffered and welcomed that suffering with open arms.

Coming into Jaejoong’s classroom, he saw his brother bent over a task at his desk, so concentrated he did not see Yunho come in. The teacher, well, one of the teachers, came over to Yunho, smiling warmly and extending her hand.

“Oh, you’re here already, Yunho. I’m glad.”

“Am I early, Ms. Kim?”

“Oh no. Not really. In fact, I’m glad you’re here. We’re planning on taking all the kids out to the back field today; its finally dry enough. I thought maybe you could help Mr. Shim get their snack ready before we go out.”

“Oh sure. Happy to. In the kitchen, right?”

Ms. Kim nodded and Yunho walked out.

Shim Changmin had a daughter at this school. She had come at an early age, blind, wheel-chair bound, and a withered hand. And Changmin, distraught and frantic for his little girl did all he could to help. There was no school activity he was not present for, no outing he didn’t have time to chaperon, nothing he couldn’t do to help out. Consequently, Changmin volunteered three times a week and over the years he and Yunho had become friends.

Of course, no doubt they would have met anyway, for his duaghter adored Jaejoong. And Jaejoong-Jaejoong had done her more good than any medicine, any treatment had been able to do. The two were the closest of friends.

Walking in the kitchen, Yunho saw Changmin bent over several trays counting out cookies, to be placed in cups and passed out later. Tall, taller in fact than Yunho, Changmin bore a gentle expression, if always a little sad.

His attention was not so bent that he neglected to hear Yunho come in, however and though he did not look up from counting, said, “Gluten-free, peanut free, lactose-free, and egg free.”

“Taste-free too, huh,” Yunho replied laughing, coming over to help sort.

“It’s good to see you, Yunho. How are things?”

“Things are the same. Not better. Not worse, I guess. You?”

“I’m okay. We’re okay. Madeline, me. Jeanette. Although I bet Maddy will be a lot happier when she sees Jaejoong.”

Yunho laughed. He knew it was true. Madeline and Jaejoong were in separate classes and did not see each other except during play-times like these. The little girl adored him and shone something wonderful when Jaejoong was near her.

Changmin continued to talk. “Hey, how is Jae?”

“Huh? Oh, he’s fine,” came Yunho’s reply, trying to decide if there were enough cookies for each child to have three.

“I was in his classroom a little while ago. He’s something special Yunho. He really is.”

“Yea. I know,” Yunho replied, really only half-listening as he had just realized that these soy cookies were peanut butter flavored and Jaejoong didn’t like peanut butter.

“I wonder if you do,” said Changmin, quietly.

“What,” Yunho asked, looking up.

Changmin laughed. “Nothing. I’m just talking.”

“Well talk less, man. We’ve got cookies to put in cups!”

Changmin laughed and the two men began dropping the treats into small paper cups.

Outside, Jaejoong’s class, and two others, colored a large field complete with a sprawling jungle gym and other fixtures disguised to seem fun, but whose real intention was to strengthen low-muscle tone, build coordination and stimulate thought patterns.

But these kids, these strange gems, whose light was never seen in its entirety, but in strange fractured patterns, misunderstood by many, thought nothing of their limitations or that those limitations should be lessened as much as possible. These children burst out onto the field, like a rainbow swirling in a deliriously happy pattern-happy only to be moving and free to move. And though the sight was oddly beautiful, a dance preformed by ones who did not know the steps, it was, at the same time, painful. For these children unaware of the world, would never be able to play in it.

Not far off, Yunho saw Jaejoong leading a game of rag-tag football, himself holding the ball high up, ready to throw. The boys around him danced and cheered, ecstatic that he should throw the ball. And Jaejoong, holding the object of the desire up with a great amount of pride, took a long and dramatic pause before reaching back and sending the ball into the air-a long and straight pitch.

And then, while some of the boys ran after the football, the others tackled Jaejoong in great delight, squealing and cheering, Jaejoong’s laugh, clear and sweet, ringing out over them all.