Jaejoong nodded and they both went down the hill again.

Yunho and Changmin started to follow.

“Yunho, do you want me to just take Jae over right now?”

“Sure, and then I’ll pick him up so you don’t have to drop him off too. I’ll get his stuff together.”

“What will you do with your night?”

“All four hours of it,” Yunho asked, laughing, and turning to go ahead and get together Jaejoong’s odds and ends.

Four hours to be unto himself. Nothing he had to do. No immediate needs to be met, except his own. Fours rare hours.

Yunho laughed to himself at the idea. He’d probably fall asleep.
* * *
As he walked, behind him he heard the sounds of Jaejoong and Madeline’s laughter growing ever softer, rippling to him, carried as if by the wind itself. A gently fading music. Quite a bit farther off, the young man still could hear the group of children playing far off on the field. Amid their delights he could hear sudden shouts from the teachers, warning that too much fun may lead to an injury. And at certain points, when a voice would not due, would not reach over the glee, Yunho heard the sharp shrill of a whistle’s blow and he smiled as, for a moment, after the trill sailed through the air, everything grew oddly quiet only to erupt once more as sunlight, were it to take a voice, bursts through a room.

These sounds, ones that Yunho was so familiar with, that were as natural to him as the sound of his own heart beating, the sound of his own exhale, ones that he should miss very much if they were somehow to be removed from his life, ebbed now quickly from him as he walked in through the doors of the school and down several hallways to Jaejoong’s classroom.

Stepping inside, all the children still out of doors, things were very quiet. And yet, the quiet that clings to a classroom is very different from any other kind. For somehow, it is not really quiet at all. Should one stand there for a moment, quite alone, one can hear faded voices. The sound as a child calls their teacher’s name, an excited cry when the answer is right, the sound of the teacher’s voice calling all attention to herself. A classroom, even empty, still has many sounds. They sit at the desks, float out from books, linger near the chalkboard. Young eager voices whose life remains ever new and fresh. A classroom, even empty, is not yet without sound.

Yunho smiled as he walked in, fancying the all the sounds that live inside a school room.

Of course, he had come in not to stand in reverie of the soundtrack but to find Jaejoong’s backpack so he could give it to him when he went over to Madeline’s. The backpack and his coat. He wanted to find Jaejoong’s lunch too. Not so that it too might make the car ride, but because Yunho felt sure Jaejoong had not eaten it, as was often his habit, and Yunho did not want the lunch to spend the night at school.

Rummaging through the large walk-in closet where all the children in Ms. Kim’s were to put their coats and bags, Yunho succeeded in finding both his brother’s coat and backpack, buried underneath a pile of coats who had not quite made it to the hooks on the wall, but contented with having been tossed onto the floor. Yunho hoped very much Jaejoong’s lunch was not hidden somewhere in this pile, to be found as a great surprise the next day, well past its prime.

For a few moments more he scoured the room in search of his brother’s lunch, but the search seemed to be a fruitless one; his parting thought was a hope that, this time, Jaejoong had actually thrown it away instead of hiding it.

He remembered the last time Jaejoong had hid his lunch.
It was in the early days of Jaejoong having been enrolled at Purple Line. Yunho was at work that day when the call came through from Ms. Kim. She was beside herself. At first, Yunho could not make out what she said, not understanding as well what the fuss about Jaejoong’s lunch could be. Had he thrown it up? Had it been used as a projectile towards another class-mate?

Apparently, Jaejoong, not hungry about a week earlier when lunch time came around, which was no surprise, yet not wanting to waste the lunch that had been made for him, decided to “save” it for another day. Seven days later, the rather sour odor coming from the closet led Ms. Kim to find Jaejoong’s lunch, very moist and the friend of several bugs.

When she tried to explain to him that lunches are not meant to be saved in that particular manner, Jaejoong quoted what had been Yunho’s reprimand to him a week ago at dinner. “We shouldn’t waste food.”

Yunho remembered the exasperated Ms. Kim begging him not to tell Jaejoong anything like that again.

Deciding that the lunch was a lost cause, Yunho propped Jaejoong’s bag up on a near-by desk. It had been several days now since he had last seen the contents of the bag and knowing how quickly it could amass material, the young man thought it worthwhile to peek inside.

A mass of crumple papers tumbled out, relieved from the restraint of the zipper. Quickly, Yunho looked to see if any of the papers bore typed script. Progress reports, permission slips, anything of that nature. Once they made it into Jaejoong’s backpack, there was very little chance of them coming back out by his hand. Many had been the times Jaejoong missed field trips or Yunho missed meetings with teachers as a result.

Not seeing anything of an official looking nature, Yunho dug into one of the pockets to see if a very important tag remained. A laminated piece of paper that remained ever zipped into a pocket towards the bottom of the bag, it contained, in case of emergency, Jaejoong’s full name, four separate phone numbers, address and date of birth. In truth, Yunho hated having it there, a reminder of the very worst. A nagging nightmare that Jae should become lost, or hurt, beyond Yunho’s reach. To even see the tag, which Jaejoong had been told never to take out, caused an unnatural leap to Yunho’s heart. He hated that it remained, yet would never dare remove it for fear of a reality far worse than any dream.

Securing the tag back in the pocket, Yunho cast one last glance in the bag before zipping it back up, slinging it over his shoulder, tossing Jaejoong’s coat over one arm and going back out to the parking lot where he felt sure Jaejoong and Madeline waited on him.
* * *
As he thought, in the parking lot, waiting beside a large van, stood Jaejoong, Madeline in her wheelchair, and Changmin. At the moment, as Yunho approached, he watched as Changmin lifted Madeline out of her chair, placing her carefully into the car. Standing by, though Changmin did not notice, Jaejoong hopped up and down, bouncing from one side to another, so excited was he at the prospect of coming over to Madeline’s. And the longer it took, the more frequent became Jaejoong’s bounces.

It was not a thought really, then that Yunho acted upon. In his mind no conscious idea passed that moved him to action. He saw Jaejoong’s excitement escalating quickly, watched as the pale cheeks flushed deeper and deeper. And as he came nearer, he could hear his brother’s voice, usually so gentle and melodious, begin to hiccup and trill, unnaturally. Only a few moments more and Jaejoong, so happy to have a play-date with Madeline, would be reduced tears, his breath short, tumbled onto the ground.

A bird, delighted in its first flight, caught by a strong wind-its tender wings bent back and forced to the earth.
Yet to say that Yunho consciously thought his brother was soon to become over-excited would be to say too much. There was no thought. Only action.

Yunho called out, his steps longer and faster, to Changmin, although his intention was just as much as to get Jaejoong‘s attention, “Hey Old Man! You want some help there?”

Jaejoong, hearing the sound of Yunho’s voice, his steps barely touching the ground, ran over to his brother. Yunho met him with an out-stretched hand, which Jaejoong caught quickly in his own. One touch. Yet suddenly the flush from Jaejoong’s cheeks ebbed away, the heave beginning to rack his chest subsided, and the young bird drifted softly into a soft nest.

What a moment ago had been a danger, was now no longer.

Jaejoong walked quietly by his brother’s side.

Standing up, bumping his head on the edge of the door, Changmin laughed.

“Old man,” he asked, coming over to Yunho, cuffing him on the arm.

“Yea. Old man. How long does it take to get your little girl in the car?”

Yunho laughed, offering his friend a playful smack on the shoulder.

Jaejoong watched the two men, his eyes bright.

“So,” Yunho continued, holding Jaejoong’s coat open for him so he could slip it on, “I’ll come and pick him up. About seven-ish?”

“Sure. In fact, I was thinking of taking them to the park after dinner. Why don’t you meet us there? About seven should be fine.”

Yunho replied, zipping up Jaejoong’s coat, “That park-Emmet Park?” Changmin nodded. “Easy. It’s real close to our house.”

Jaejoong, having trouble standing still while Yunho zipped up his coat, bubbled about, exclaiming, “There’s a real tall slide there! I can go down with my eyes closed!”

Yunho, placing one hand on his brother’s shoulder to settle him so he could zip the jacket all the way, said to Jaejoong, “Okay Jae, but feet first this time. No going head first down the slide.”

“Okay! Okay,” exclaimed Jaejoong, giggling.

Jaejoong moved to scamper away, eager to get in the car and be off, but Yunho caught his hand and pulled him back. The dark eyes looked up, bright-lit with a brilliance rare to be found in this world. And for a moment, caught in those eyes, Yunho paused, a thousand thoughts, most of them hopes, many of which had been trapped in ropes he knew not how to cut, raced across his mind.

How far away. This child. This child who lived far away, in a castle on a cloud high above the world.

And he-Yunho could only watch as the cloud floated past.

A hard swallow. He bit his lip and pulled himself away from those eyes.

“Jae, Mr. Shim is going to take you and Maddy over to the park. I will pick you up there, okay? I will be there at seven. Okay Jae?”

Jaejoong nodded. “Okay, Yunho. Okay-okay.!”

Ruffling the soft dark hair, Yunho answered, smiling, “Be a good guy, huh?”

Hopping up and down, trying to catch Yunho’s hand, Jaejoong laughed, only to throw his arms around Yunho, burying his head in his brother’s chest. Catching him tight, Yunho laughed.
* * *
After remaining for a moment in the parking lot, watching as Changmin drove off, Yunho walked over to his car, got in and started to drive home. His thoughts were few. And he enjoyed it very much. All too few were the times he could relish having very little to think about.

And that was not to imply he did not have a great deal to think about. Always, there were chores that needed to be done, some of them yesterday, schedules to remember, routines to follow. A long list whose length never seemed to shorten, yet always managed to extend.

Sometimes he thought it funny. And Yunho wondered if he knew, after all these years, how a hamster feels in a wheel. Running and running-and never going anywhere. Many had likened it to keeping their head above the water. Just keep treading. There was much to be done, there would always be. One had only to keep on, keep paddling. Long down the current’s stream, it would end, though all else ended with it.

Pulling into the drive-way, feeling as if he were really getting away with something, Yunho enjoyed the light sensation in his head. It was delicious.

And not wishing to give himself any reason to weigh down his levity, Yunho barely came in through the front door before dropping into the first chair he saw. If he were to go any further in the house, he might be met with a chore, a duty, something he absolutely must do.

Just a moment more. Please.

Letting his head sink down into the high-backed chair, the young man closed his eyes and listened. To what? To sounds that we are often to busy to hear. The far-off clink of the heat turning on, soon followed by warm air’s swish as it flows through vents. Odd plunks and clicks that came from closets, the basement. With eyes closed, Yunho listened to the sound of his breathing; the way his exhale escaped through his nose. That tiny fweeble. Here, remaining very still, he heard the thump of his heart’s beat. And far off, outside, he could hear the sounds of cars blazing down streets, intermittent honks, shrill brakes.

One moment more drifted into an hour. And that hour into two. Soon, a moment’s reprieve lulled away the time, letting the sun sink in its wake. Passing time colored the room in hazy blues and golden yellows as dusk settled in. Afternoon became evening. A moment more became many more than intended, and infinitely better enjoyed.

The phone rang.

Standing, though he was not quite awake, Yunho moved quickly, his first thought, his instant fear, being that it was about Jaejoong. However, to his surprise, the young man saw that the number belonged to Jae’s piano teacher, Mrs. Morton.

“Mrs. Morton,” he answered, “Hello. How are you? I didn’t expect you to call.”

He heard her laugh on the other end, “Hello Yunho. I hope I didn’t interrupt you. But I just couldn’t wait.” She paused, as if Yunho were to guess what her meaning might be. “Yunho, have you heard of the National Symphonic Orchestra?”

He nodded, though it was silly as she could not see him.

“Well,” she continued, “The conductor is a very good friend of mine. And he called me. You see, he likes to offer a spot in every performance to showcase new talent. Oh Yunho! Right away I thought of Jaejoong! What do you think?”

She was very excited but Yunho’s response to her question neither matched the piano teacher’s delight, nor answered her query.

In a tone dry and hollow, he asked, “What is this concert for, Mrs. Morton? Charity?” The word dripped from his mouth.

Yes, charity. Come one and all! See the child who plays so well. Watch him. Isn’t it amazing? How well he can play-given what he is. How pretty it sounds-given what he is not. Open your pockets. You’ve seen a fine thing. A novelty. A spectacle. How we all love to stand and watch the queer, the strange-a gross thing. Come one and all!
Yunho clenched his teeth to prevent harsh words from coming forth. To stop himself from saying that he would not subject Jaejoong to being the savant novelty act in a show to raise money. He would not permit his brother to stand up in front of an audience, a spotlight upon him as others gawked in wonder. No.

Granted, it was not an uncommon thing for a child like Jaejoong to be the poster face to draw money. Pitiful and forlorn, in the hope that wealthy patrons would deposit some of their spoils. And always it was for a noble cause. Hospitals. New cures to be found.

However in the end, it was the same. Spectacle.

Not Jaejoong. No.

“Mrs. Morton,” he began, I’m sure you’re very kind, but I don’t want Jaejoong to be put up to something like that.”

“Like what,” she asked. “Yunho, I don’t think you understand. This isn’t some amateur performance. Or something for charity. These are professionals. And I want Jaejoong to take a place alongside them. His playing should be heard. His talent is unlike any I have ever heard. Do you understand? He belongs among the best. And you do him a great injustice to keep him locked away.”

Her last words smacked at him. Pricked his pride.

“W-well. I guess. But maybe we should ask Jae? Maybe he won’t want to.”

He heard her laugh, “I doubt it. He’s something else when he sits down to the piano. Why don’t you bring him over tomorrow?”

Resentful yet, Yunho agreed.

But his ending comments to Mrs. Morton were cut off quickly as Yunho heard a beep that meant he had another call waiting.

Changmin’s voice came from the other end, “Yunho? We’re at the park. I can’t find Jae.”

He dropped the phone. The entire room swirled. Thrashing into the table, Yunho, barely able to see, tore out of the house, nearly ripping off the door. The stinging scent of rubber burned in the drive way as he peeled out, speeding down the road.

His hands shook; he clasped the steering wheel to keep the car moving straight ahead. Stop signs, red lights. They meant nothing to him. Should flashing, wailing lights have appeared behind him, that too would have meant nothing.

Driving, Yunho did not know if he drew breath. In truth, he did not care. Only one precious thing mattered now. A form that at this moment could be laying hurt, alone, lost. A form, dear, that right this very instant could be beyond reach. Beyond where Yunho could find him. Save him.

And as he slammed the car against the curb of the park, Yunho thought his insides should burst.

Yet what more would he feel when, coming over a hill, he saw Jaejoong-surrounded by a group of five adolescent boys. The subject of their fun. The victim of their violence.