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.
* * *
On the opposite edge of the field, looking on, stood both Yunho and Changmin, watching this game, this strange play, this pool of arms and legs kicking and flailing in all directions, delighted shrieks and squeals, faces bright as if playing itself was a sunlight they reveled in, basked in, drank in as quickly as they could. Both Yunho and Changmin stood opposite of these children, so caught up in this world of play, a world every child knows well. A world this world will never understand, for it is a place made up of whispered dreams, dreams that are vague. They are breaths, colors, faint scents in the wind-there for a moment, a brief moment as we turn to look-and then they are gone. This world of play full of mountains to be climbed, fabulous ships to be sailed, magical creatures to talk to, fairies to play with. And for these children, these ones Yunho and Changmin watched, their world held something far more special and wonderful. In their world, Heaven opened up and no spaces were left between this finite place and the next; all paths, for these children, are open to be traversed.

And standing there, Yunho’s gaze and Changmin’s were bent to the same child, to the same figure who danced about, a following of delighted children trying to catch him, trying to hold, for a minute, all the wonder that shone from him.
Standing on the opposite edge of the field, Yunho and Changmin remained watching Jaejoong as he played. And while both expressions of the two men held a deep tenderness, a steady love that could never be questioned, nor breached.

And while, it could be said that Yunho’s expression bore a deeper understanding, a knowledge that surely Changmin would never come to, between them, while Yunho’s face strained love, it was taunt with pain. A pain that carried with it late nights, nights bent over Jaejoong in illness; long nights where Yunho wondered if the sun would ever rise, if he should ever see dawn again as his brother lay, weak and helpless, and in need of every bit of strength Yunho had. But in Changmin’s there was only wonder and a deep, unhindered affection for this child, this one whose fair hand had touched the treasure in his life.

Standing there, watching Jaejoong, Changmin’s mind went back to the first time he saw him, here at Purple Line. It was raining that day, and Changmin was late in getting to the school, late to pick up his daughter. He remembered tearing into the parking lot, his knuckles white on the steering wheel, so tight had been his grip, as if he could make the car go faster just by the tenseness of his grip. He kept imagining all sorts of terrible things. Madeline out in the rain, just sitting there in her wheelchair, waiting for her Daddy to come, to take her home, wet and soaked through. He saw her, in his worry, sitting there, alone, the last child left when all the others had been picked up, had been taken home, sitting there, crying.

Crying because she was alone, crying because she thought her Daddy had forgotten her. Changmin saw her, her world dark, a world cast ever in night, with only sounds. He saw his daughter sitting there, hearing the wind blow, hearing the sound of the rain, and frightened by the rumble of thunder that grew louder and louder.

As Changmin spun his car into the parking lot, he nearly tore the door off as he got out, running up to the school, with awful thoughts. Nightmares in the day. Running, not feeling the sting of the rain as it pounded down harder and faster against his skin, not caring, the young man sped up to the steps of the school.

But suddenly at the sight of his little girl, wet and bedraggled, Changmin stopped. For next to her, her small hand in his, stood another figure. A slender frame, wet with the rain as Madeline was, soaked through to the skin. A face fair and startlingly bright, as if the moon had reached out her hand and touched him, gracing forever lovely features, the likes of which Changmin had never seen. And as he stopped, overcome by this one, this child in the form of a man, he fell under the gaze of his eyes, dark and lovely. A winter’s night, deep and pristine, sparkling and clean. These eyes whose gaze reached far, penetrating recesses long left untouched and nearly forgotten. And these eyes as tender as a rose’s bloom, as petals when they take their first breath in blossoming, unsullied and pure.

As Changmin came nearer, this one, this young man greeted him brightly, explaining that he had waited with Madeline, that she was scared when her Daddy didn’t come. In fact, he was waiting too, for his brother.

Changmin asked how it was that Jaejoong had no coat, it was raining quite hard. To which Jaejoong replied, in all simplicity, that he did have a coat. But he had given it to Madeline. Looking over at his little girl, Changmin saw that indeed, over the light spring jacket he had sent her off with this morning, lay another, heavier coat.

And as if his mind was not boggled enough, confused so by this young man who looked as if he had stepped off the pages of a fairy tale, what he saw next spun the already swirling mess of his mind into pieces. His daughter, the one he pictured in tears-was asleep. Sleeping like she was at home, in the comfort and security of her bed. Asleep in total security in the presence of this little prince.

Changmin never forgot that day. He never would. He never forgot the way Jaejoong held Madeline’s hand, the same withered hand so many shrank away from, as if it were diseased-held it with such care, as if that hand, so small and frail, were the hand of a porcelain doll, delicate and to be cherished. He would never forget the careful way Jaejoong had draped his coat over Madeline, as if he did not want to let the rain find her, spoil her-fading doll that she was.

But on top of all this, on top of the place that in that one moment, Jaejoong had won in his heart, there was Madeline. For in the days and weeks that followed, as Changmin watched his little girl play with Jaejoong, he watched what seemed to him to be a bird, a bird that he thought would forever remain flightless, her wings clipped and incapable of feeling the delicious surge of the wind underneath, spread those small wings and soar so easily, so lightly up into the sky. In the days that followed, Changmin watched Madeline smile; he listened to her laugh. He felt the glow that now flushed throughout her small face.

All this that his love had never been able to give her. All this that came from the touch, the presence of Jaejoong.
A miracle. Nothing less.

And as he stood here now, watching Jaejoong play, watching this young man, he felt his heart swell. In joy. And gratitude.

Turning to Yunho, his voice a bit thick, he said, “He’s something special, Yunho.”

Yunho, himself obviously lost in a reverie of his own, watching his brother, blinked when he heard Changmin’s voice and shook his head. But when Yunho spoke his own voice was tight, strained.

“Yea. He’s special. I must be lucky.”

Turning over, the bite in Yunho’s words calling him out of his own thoughts, Changmin looked at his friend and saw the muscles on his face were taunt; his lips clenched tight. Yunho, watching Jaejoong, seemed as if he stood poised, waiting for something, braced against a storm. A tempest whose swell turned his insides.

Surprised, Changmin laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Are you okay, Hyung?”

A hoarse laugh, maybe even a bitter one was Yunho’s first response. And he said, “Why, do I not look okay? I don’t know. I just don’t know. Maybe I’m not.” Changmin started to interrupt him, but Yunho kept talking. “Maybe. Every day. I watch him, worry about him. Live in that panic that something’s gonna go wrong and I won’t be there-”

“Man, we all have that,” broke in Changmin.

“Yea? And what about it? Every day. Every damn day. And I-what about me? My whole life-it’s-”

“It’s your responsibility, Yunho.”

With a fire in his eyes, with a sudden vehemence that made Changmin step back, as if he had touched a raw nerve-

“Don’t talk to me about responsibility! That word. That word has been haunting me all my life! Ha! I’ll never forget the day the judge, the court signed me on as Jaejoong’s guardian. Me! His own brother! I had to be legally determined. They determined if I was financially sound, mentally stable. In all ways capable of taking care of him. My brother! My flesh and blood! As if anyone else could. And the judge looked at me and said, ‘Mr. Jung, are you aware that Jaejoong is now your responsibility? And he will continue to be so. You must not forget that.’ Ha! Like I could.”

“Yunho. . .he’s your brother.” Changmin said, aghast, unsure of what Yunho was trying to say. And unsure of how to respond.

But he saw Yunho’s chest heave, saw his friend, the man everyone said was so strong, shake now. It was like watching a tall strong tree tremble before a wind. A tree who had never been affected before by the gales around it.

How much darker would that moment have become? If it had continued, if Yunho had been allowed to go on, to revel in the sound of his own pains and fears, how many more clouds would have gathered on the horizon? There was no way to say.
But in one moment, just as the storm approached, a bright light flashed. A clean, unadulterated flash whose spark blasted away the impending tempest.

Jaejoong, happening to turn around, saw Yunho standing on the other side of the field. And with a excited laugh, a delighted cry, he came running over. Yunho did not see him; his gaze turned inward, hypnotized by his thoughts. But in a moment, Jaejoong, with that melodious laugh ringing out, slammed into Yunho, his arms around him, throwing his brother onto the ground.

The storm was gone.

Yunho, fell down, laughing.

“Tag,” Jaejoong cried in triumph. “You’re it!”

Yunho, struggling to get up, “Oh! Jae, you better run. I’m gonna get you!”

And Jaejoong, with a delighted cry, ran off at top speed.
Yunho took off after him, quickly closing in the gap.

Although it was obvious that he hung back, pretending that he could not quite reach Jaejoong for a bit. Until at last, Yunho, right at Jaejoong’s heels, cried out-

“Oh! Jae! I got you!”

He reached out, snagged Jaejoong around the waist, who shrieked in delight, spinning him down to the ground, careful not to let go until Jaejoong had at least one hand down to break his own fall.

And then, making sure his younger brother had safely toppled down to the ground, Yunho collapsed too, and the two of them, right there, tussled, laughing; Yunho trying to tickle Jaejoong-Jaejoong doing his best to try and pin Yunho down.

All traces of clouds were gone.
* * *
A bell rang off in the distance, signaling that all the children needed to come and sit down for their snack. Yunho hung back, watching all the others, Jaejoong amongst them, run off to the other end of the field where tables had been set up and all the cookies that he and Changmin had put into cups had been placed along with cups of water.

Yunho watched them go. And he felt a lightness, a weightlessness wash over him. To see these children, these ones, dash off at the promise of a treat, run off with just as much excitement as any other child-this site was not seen to the outside world.

Yes, the outside world. The world that considered these children, these ones whose song was so strange, whose music played off-key, to be the outsiders. The world looked on, listening, not understanding what they heard. Not understanding that this music, staccato, out of tune, out of harmony played as wind chimes in the ears of these children. To them, this song, this sound that they had always known, this was true music. For this music played not for the world to hear. Not for attention. These songs played only in this special place; this island. And here, here it was the loveliest sound ever.

Here, the world was outside. And within-this was paradise.
Yunho watched them run and felt a cool, delicious breath wash over him.

And standing there, lost in the way it felt to take a deep breath, as long and as many as he wanted, the young man failed to notice the approach of a small form. Struggling with every step, as if walking was a foreign mode of transportation, this child made her way up to him, sometimes nearly stumbling over her own feet, too small and thin. Because for all that surgery had done, they could not do enough and she was fated to walk always with one leg turned in, weak no matter physical therapy’s attempts to strengthen it, and the other turned out. To watch her walk was to watch a bird fly with only one wing. A bitter comic thing.

She looked to be only nine years old. But really, this young child had just reached her twelfth year, though nothing of womanhood betrayed itself in her body. And in that face, a face very much like Jaejoong’s, bright with a strange light-an odd pure light coming not from this world, could be seen a swelling hope; a new life just waking.

And it was into that face that Yunho fell as he felt a light touch upon his hand and turned to look down. Madeline, exhausted from hurrying to him, excited to see Jaejoong, looked up with such a deep glee, her eyes shone like those of a dove, caught in that first morning flight.
Seeing how tired she was, before he spoke, Yunho bent quickly down and lifted Madeline to sit upon his knee, her small legs dangling off. And for a moment, he held her, not speaking, but listening to the labor of her breathing; waiting for when she should have enough breath to answer him.

When at last he heard the rustle in her chest die down, Yunho spoke. His words to her were soft, the way one would speak to a child who has just woken from sleep. Gentle words.

“Mr. Jung,” she said, as Yunho paused. “I’m very happy to see you today.”

Her voice was as frail and delicate as lace and Yunho had to lean very close as she spoke.

“But Mr. Jung, my Daddy said Jaejoong would be here today. I can’t find him. Can you help me?”

“Sure I can, Madeline. Jae is here. He just went over with the other kids to eat. Do you want me to bring you over?”

She nodded, the long black locks falling about her face, “But I don’t have my chair. I walked all the way here.”

Yunho smiled but did not answer her, slipping his arms underneath her legs and lifting the little girl up.
Madeline threw her arms around his neck to hang on and off they walked to the other side of the field.

From a distance, Changmin, with the sense of a father-that chord upon which his child’s heart was tied to his own-saw Yunho carrying Madeline and came running over, thinking she had hurt herself. However, his worry was short-lived upon seeing the placid expression that rested on Madeline’s face. Upon seeing how content she seemed to be; as if it were natural for Yunho to carry her.

Meeting them, Yunho explained that Madeline had left her chair in search for Jaejoong. And that he had carried her over to see him. Understanding, as Jaejoong had been most of Madeline’s conversation for the last week, Changmin nodded and walked off to find Jaejoong and bring him over. Meanwhile, Yunho set Madeline down and stepped back.

A few moments passed. Madeline, too tired still from walking, had no strength to stand and wait, and settled herself down upon the ground. She began to finger the dirt, drawing small circles and odd patterns. A moment more and Yunho saw Changmin walking behind Jaejoong. And he watched as the closer Jaejoong got to Madeline, the farther Min backed off; just as Yunho had done.

For one should not intrude upon beings such as these two.
Jaejoong, upon seeing Madeline, called her name. The small face looked up. And if one has ever seen dawn break from behind cloud, if one has ever stood there when the first rays of morning light burst through a grey sky, than one has seen Madeline’s face as she saw Jaejoong. Her expression all sunshine, she waved to him, motioned for him to hurry. Jaejoong began to run.

By this time Changmin had come over to stand where Yunho was. And the two men watched on. Watched two beautiful butterflies about to play.

Madeline spoke first.

“Hero! Hero, I planted a flower the other day. I want to show it to you.”

Jaejoong, coming up to her, kneeling down, replied. “Yea! I wanna see it! But, gosh Maddy, you look like a flower right now, sitting in the dirt like that. Get up.” He laughed and reached for her hand, helping her to stand.

And slowly, they began to walk. Jaejoong taking small steps to match Madeline’s. The two made their way to a small hill that rested off to the side of the field. It had been designated a garden for all the students of Purple Line. And recently was the location of a tremendous horticulture effort. Every child planting a flower.

Their progress to the hill was slow. And even slower was the ascent, given Madeline’s legs. And at one moment, she seemed to slip. To trip and lose her balance. Jaejoong, seeing her stumble, laughed. Not understanding. She fell down and for a moment, he waited, apparently thinking she would just get back up. But when she didn’t, Jaejoong dropped down too.

Changmin started to take a step. But Yunho’s hand stopped him.

“Wait,” he said, watching closely.

“Wait? Yunho, she fell.”

“Just wait.”

Turning to look back, Changmin gasped. Jaejoong had picked Madeline up in his arms and carried her the rest of the way up the hill.

Yunho, a tremble in his voice, a thick waver, said, “It happened a few weeks ago. She tripped. He laughed at her for a second. And then-he picked her up. Just like that.”

Changmin, a throb in his own chest, replied, “Is that why she calls him Hero?”