“Yes!” Yunho cried. “I’m here. I’m here, Jae!”

Yoochun moved, slipping his arms under Jaejoong to help him sit up. And the boy, feeling his touch, turned to Yoochun.

“And Yoochun-here?”

“I’m here, Jae,” said Yoochun, taking one of the slender hands in his own.

A bright smile slowly blossoming over his mouth, Jaejoong, though his voice was still hoarse, asked, a great deal of hope lighting his face, “Everything’s okay?”

And Yunho, his voice hoarse for another reason, a tight stinging relief welling up in his throat, replied, “Everything’s okay, Jae.”

And Yunho, giving way to the swell in his throat, clasped Jaejoong to himself, grateful hot tears streaming down his face. And Yoochun, still holding Jaejoong’s hand, reached over and clasped Yunho on the shoulder, saying gently-

“Everything’s okay.”
* * *
Yunho felt Yoochun’s hand on his shoulder. Heard his friend’s voice rise softly. And although he felt, and heard and was grateful, right then, Yunho was frozen. The tightness gripping his throat extended throughout his body, pinning him down. Isolating him in a strange kind of grateful world.

At this moment, his brother free from the nightmare, content now for the first time since they had arrived home, and Yunho, released from the sight of seeing Jaejoong locked in a room with enemies he could not see, let alone reach-the young man was so overwhelmed with relief, he could hardly move. Sitting there on the floor, not caring for the lateness of the hour, Yunho wanted only to collapse-let his body tumble all out across the floor, raise his eyes to Heaven and thank-thank God, that in those moments when his brother seemed so far away, seemed not to be his brother, perhaps not even human-Yunho had been able to reach out and grab him, catch him out of the rapid speed of his fall. He wanted to beg time to stop. To stop and allow him space to tame the surging swell in his throat, spreading so rapidly over the rest of his body. Tame it, or have the luxury of releasing. To be able to take a long inhale, and release all the tears he had, the ones he held back now, knowing Jaejoong could not see him cry.

Right now, Yoochun’s hand on his shoulder, Jaejoong’s bright smile before him, Yunho wanted only a moment, to be grateful.

But the hour was late. And Jaejoong had school in the morning. So Yunho, with an effort, stood up. Then, reaching down, both he and Yoochun helped Jaejoong to rise as well, for the violence of his fit, though over, left him weak and shaken. Helping the young boy over to his bed, Yunho pulled the coves back over Jaejoong while Yoochun asked Jaejoong if there was anything he wanted before they turned out the lights. The fair head shook to say “no” and Yunho, smiling at Jaejoong, bade him go to sleep, motioned for Yoochun to follow. Flicking the small light switch down, Yunho closed the door, though not all the way.

Yoochun a step behind, watched as Yunho closed the door and began to walk down the stairs. He watched the hands, usually always so steady, shake and fumble. Standing behind his best friend, the young man watched as with every step Yunho took, he seemed to take it carefully, as if he did not trust himself. As if he did not trust the sureness of his step nor the stability of his legs. And there, in the quiet of the house, Yoochun listened to the short gasps Yunho took, as he attempted to return his own breathing to normal.

Standing behind him, it was like looking at a knight, in the days of old. Riding a fantastic stallion, the warrior sails over land and foe, his sword shining brightly at his side, his banner unfurled above him, blazing his crest. No battle overcomes him. At least, not in the beginning, not in the days when he has just been made a knight of the realm, spurned on by the idea of his duty. His sword is swift; enemies run when his banner sprawls out over the sky. Right then, it seems as if nothing came overcome him.

But the years pass. And in those years, many are the wars the knight fights. And every time he does so with just as much valiance as before. To watch him fight, one would say that no harm can ever touch him. Yet, as the years go by something begins to happen to the young knight-after the battle. Now, his steps falter as he walks away from the field, his shoulders are slumped. The sword, once so brightly girded around his waist, shows signs of tarnishing and the banner begins to fray at the edges. His steed runs not so quickly now.

One begins to wonder what will happen to him if things go on as they are. Surely, he cannot fight like this forever. One begins to wonder if there will be a battle the knight loses. A battle when his hand becomes so weak, he can no longer grip his sword. When his pride is so sullied, the banner will not catch the wind. One wonders if there will come a day, a battle, when the young knight-falls in a defeated triumph. As if all his glories were for naught.

True, Yoochun had seen Yunho struggle through the worst of it before. In fact, he had been there when Yunho fought a far harsher battle than this. And in that one, though not unscathed, Yunho walked away, upright. As if it had all been in a day’s duty. It was such a hard thing to put into words. To say that, though someone is tried and tired at the end-nothing has been shaken. And then to say that, now, something inside, something delicate, has been cut. And it is the very loss of blood from this wound that-in the end-might mean a life.

Standing behind Yunho as they walked down the stairs, Yoochun wondered if he might have felt better if, somehow, Yunho looked worse, but moved better. And even in his own mind that did not make sense. Somehow, if Yunho had been shaking more, but the firmness in his hands remained, the fall of his step secure.

Walking behind him, Yoochun did not like the fear of wondering if Yunho was going to miss a step, he seemed to fragile, and tumble down the rest of the way.

“Hyung,” Yoochun began.

Turning around, Yunho said, “Yoochun-ah. Thanks. For-for everything. You can go home. I got it from here.” He sighed, looking around, but not seeming to see anything.

Catching the glaze creeping over his eyes, Yoochun asked, “Here, do you need anything?”

Hearing the urgency creeping up in Yoochun’s voice, Yunho managed a smile, realizing how pathetic he must seem at the moment, “Like what? A drink? A sedative?”

“I didn’t mean-”

“Aish,” Yunho waved his hand, “I must look pretty bad. No, Yoochun. I’m okay. I got it from here. Really, I’m just gonna clean up the kitchen a bit and go to bed. Tomorrow I’ll take Jae to school and go to work and everything will-”

“You’re gonna have him go to school?” Yoochun interrupted suddenly. “After tonight? Don’t you think-well, maybe he deserves a rest? I mean, he was-in a bad state up there, Yunho.”

The slump in Yunho’s back straightened. And what was beginning to be a lilting, sleepy softness in his voice suddenly smacked like a whip. “No. Jae’ll go to school tomorrow. He can’t get off for every little thing.”

“This wasn’t little,” Yoochun protested.

“No,” Yunho snapped, “he goes to school.” But then, hearing the severity in his tone, seeing the wide look on Yoochun’s face, Yunho gulped and began again, somewhat softer, “You’re right, Yoochun. Today was pretty bad. But if he doesn’t go, if tomorrow isn’t like every other day-it makes what happened out there bigger. I want him to forget. No special treatment. Just another day, like nothing happened.”

Yoochun nodded, though he did not agree and replied, “Okay Yunho. Well, call me if you need anything.”

Yoochun began to walk towards the door. Yunho’s voice stopped him.

“Yoochun-ah. Thank you.”

Turning, offering Yunho a smile, Yoochun said lightly, “Thank you for what? For taking care of my two boys-Nah.”

After Yoochun left, Yunho lingered a moment, listening to the sound of his friend’s car as he drove away. And then, everything became so very quiet. Not moving, Yunho stood in the room, almost belonging to the very noiselessness surrounding him. Right now, while outside night had slipped into its darkest hour, pouring in its bleakness through the windows, threatening to wash out the few scattered lights that remained on in the house, there was nothing. No sound. No light.

No need to do anything. And Yunho, almost moved by the very absence around him, forgetting that there were chores that needed doing, turned around and went back up the stairs, into his room.

Nothing tonight. Please. Nothing else.

His clothes stuck to him, as the young man undressed. Clung to him like the sudden weight taking over his body. If he could just wash up, let the grime of today tumble from him-oh, how wonderful that would be. How nice to feel warm water rinse over him, pull fresh clothes over his head. And then, sink into bed, close his eyes and sleep. Yes.
Feeling a certain surge of energy with this thought, Yunho moved quickly into the shower, wrenching the faucet, so that very soon the entire room billowed up in steam. Stepping under the water fall, the young man closed his eyes, tilted his head back and let the pulsing sound of the water fill his mind.

Then, the endless sound of the water flooding away his thoughts, its gentle pound on his limbs, Yunho felt as if he had woken up from a dream. A long grey nightmare where he had been tied down, where the ropes binding him stunted every move he made. But now, water washing over him, the ropes had been cleaned away, the grey nightmare floating into a colorful waking world once more.

He was free.

Stepping out of the shower, hastening to slip on his pajamas so as not to lose the wonderful warmth hugging his body, Yunho climbed quickly into bed. The fresh scent of the sheets wafted up around him. Underneath his head, a soft bilious pillow offered to cradle his head for the night. Pulling the covers over him with a certain swish that promised safety for the evening, Yunho sighed, very long and with much relish. At last. To be able to rest.

Thank you.
* * *
Morning dawned soft, as if the sun feared his rays might be too much for Yunho. The birds did not seem to sing quite as loudly, not wanting to startle the young man. When Yunho awoke, it was as he fell asleep. Gently, softly. As if a sweet grace cradled him from the night, into the day.

Opening his eyes to a small pool of the sun’s light resting near his hand, the young man gazed at it for some time. He thought nothing. Only pondered the small flicker and ebb of the mellow glow lighting his hand. For that time, Yunho had all the time in the world. The day had yet to begin and he may linger all he desired in the stillness of this moment. The day would wait.

And it may have been a sudden breeze, of the passing of a small cloud over the sun, but the pool of light faded for a brief moment. Yunho woke up. His day began.

Pushing the covers away, his mind clicking with all that needed to be done, the young man took internal account as well, of just how well he felt, finding with much pleasure that he felt very well. And that was much needed as, given that he had done nothing the night before, much had to be done today, not including going to work and getting Jaejoong to school.

Moving quickly, remembering he had not brushed his teeth the night before, and feeling like his mouth was made of cotton, Yunho brushed his teeth, washed his face and slung on a fresh pair of pants and a shirt, grateful, as he sometimes was, of the casual attire his employer supported.

Then, glancing at the clock and finding he still had time before he needed to wake Jaejoong up, Yunho sped down the stairs; the kitchen was still a mess from Yoochun’s gourmet meal and a load of laundry was not going to start itself.

Sweeping up dishes into the sink, caring little for the scalding water blistering over his hands, Yunho cleaned each pot and pan, placing them to the side to dry. Then, moving as if on some kind of auto-pilot, he went into the basement, piled a load of whites into the washer, hoping he had not accidentally allowed any darks to get in as well, as he had before, leaving himself with some socks that were not as black as their mates, and pushed the start button.

Hearing the steady hum of the machine, Yunho went now back upstairs, knowing that by now, Jaejoong needed to get up for school. Pushing open his brother’s door, the young man looked on, noticing the deep sleep Jaejoong was in. A nod, no doubt, of the toll last night had taken on him. Standing there, Yoochun’s words resounded in his mind, questioning how wise it really was to send Jaejoong to school today.

Looking at him, especially now in the daylight, the fair cheeks cut and scraped, his complexion an alarming shade of pale-part of Yunho hesitated. Maybe school was not such a good idea.

But to cuddle him, to allow him to think that it’s okay if bad things happen because it means special treatment, like a reward-no. There had to be a part of Jaejoong who understood, or was made to understand, that sometimes we suffer. But we keep going. Wallowing in the pain does not help. So, Jaejoong would go to school today.

Bending down over his brother, Yunho spoke quietly, “Jae. Wake up. It’s time for school.”

The dark lashes fluttered open. “School,” he mumbled. “N-no. I don’t want to go to school today Yunho”

“Yes, Jae. You’re going to school today,” Yunho replied, his voice very soft and very firm.

“I don’t want to go today,” came the quick reply, as Jaejoong shifted now, turning away from Yunho.

Ignoring the motion, Yunho moved away, beginning to open up Jaejoong’s drawers and lay out an outfit. For some minutes he moved quietly, not responding to Jaejoong’s protest.

“I don’t want to go to school today, Yunho,” he said again.
Yunho ignored him.

Jaejoong turned around and sat up, the mild face frowning, his tongue sticking out. “No!”

Acting as if he had not heard him, Yunho finished laying out Jaejoong’s clothes and left the room. However, he did not go far, only turning the corner enough so he was out of Jaejoong’s sight. Not moving, he listened. Again, Jaejoong protested, saying he did not want to go to school. Yunho waited.

“No, Yunho. I don’t want to go to school. I don’t. No.” There was a pause. “Yunho? I-I-don’t. Yunho?” Another long pause. “I-don’t-” Yunho listened as Jaejoong shifted in bed. “I don’t want to wear that,” he said suddenly. “I don’t want to wear that to school today.”

Smiling, proud of his theory that some arguments are best won without arguing at all, Yunho went downstairs and started to make breakfast, pulling two kiwis in the process.

Of course, he had every intention of surprising Jaejoong later on with the offer of going out to eat for dinner. Jaejoong adored going out to a restaurant and it had been some time since they had been to one of any greater significance than fast food diners. However, Yunho had not wanted to use the outing as a bribe. A dangling treat for his brother to jump over. No, it was far better that Jaejoong moved on his own will, and was rewarded later.

Step-step-step-THUMP!

“Jaejoong,” Yunho cried, “How many times have I told you-not to jump down the stairs? Go back up and walk down!”

“But I want to fly,” came the protestation as naturally as if he had said he wanted a glass of water.

Yunho repeated himself, “Jaejoong, go back up and walk down!”

“Okay-okay,” came the reply, followed by a civilized footfall.

And the young boy, coming into the kitchen, dressed far from what Yunho had laid out, though much to Yunho’s relief, the outfit did match and had not come back out of the hamper, slid into a chair at the counter and waited.

Glancing at him again, Yunho wished Jaejoong had, today of all days, picked a shirt with long sleeves. The scrapes and bruises up and down his arms were alarming. Worse than he had thought last night. Part of Yunho wished he could send Jaejoong back upstairs with the command to change his shirt. Yet given that Jaejoong was at least sitting in the kitchen, dressed and ready to go, Yunho doubted very much if he could push farther. No. Jaejoong would go to school with bare arms. Hopefully it would be alright.

Breakfast was eaten. Jaejoong chirped happily about many things. Half-listening, Yunho’s mind raced over everything that needed to be done today, remembering that he was to take Jaejoong over to Mrs. Morton’s today about that-performance.

But despite how Yunho’s mind clicked away, the day promised much.

The drive to school was very smooth; Jaejoong did not dispute anything, tickled pink by the idea of going out to dinner later that night, as Yunho told him on the way. Clapping his hands, he bounced around in the car seat, as much as the seat belt would allow him.

So, Yunho was very surprised when, not fifteen minutes out of Purple Line’s sparking lot, having dropped Jaejoong off, his cell phone rang, displaying the school’s number on the front. At first, Yunho rummaged through his thoughts, trying to remember if there was anything he had forgotten to send his brother off with. Coat. Lunch. Backpack. Maybe a permission slip. He could not think what. And far from his mind was the idea that Jaejoong had gotten into any trouble.

Flipping open the phone, Yunho found it was neither.

“Hello,” he answered, his greeting already asking why it was he had been called.

From the other end, Yunho heard the receptionist’s voice, “Hello, Mr. Jung. I’m calling about Jaejoong.”

“Yes?”

“Well,” she began slowly.

Yunho clenched his teeth. A strange charity, this. As if to make bad news better by speaking slowly. It never worked. It made it worse.

Her tone, as she continued, was insolent. “I have just been notified by Jaejoong’s teacher that he appeared in class today with cuts and scrapes up and down his arms. We were wondering what happened.”

But this was not a question. It was an accusation.

No. We were wondering not what happened. But we are wondering if you are beating him. If he comes to school with his arms torn up because at home, you lash out at him. Ten years, fifteen years, however many you have cared for him-we don’t care. You’re beating him now, aren’t you? We, of the all-knowing school system, whose eyes see plain to all that can happen because we read about it, because we listen to lectures of the professionals. Yes. We know. You are beating him. Abusing him.

Yunho clenched his teeth and strove to answer.