By the time they reached the check-out aisle, the cart was respectably full, as Jaejoong took great care to push it. The lady standing behind register smiled at Jaejoong as he struggled to get the cart into the aisle, pushing and maneuvering, back and forth. Her greeting to him was gentle.

“Hello, Jaejoong. How are you today?”

And the boy, at the sound of her voice, blushed, burying his face into Yunho’s side in delight. Yunho could hear him giggle. And leaning down, catching Jaejoong around the shoulders, he said-

“Go on, Jae. Tell her how you are.”

And Jaejoong, barely turning out from Yunho, his voice muffled by his brother’s shirt, replied, “I’m-I’m-fine. I’m fine!”

And then, with a delighted giggle, he smashed his face back into Yunho’s side, the fair cheeks, blushing a rosy red.
* * *
Coming out of the store, watching Jaejoong teeter back and forth, trying to carry more grocery bags than he really was strong enough to do, Yunho loaded the rest of their bags in the back trunk. He was careful to rearrange his brother’s placement of the potatoes next to the tomatoes, and the bread out from under dishwashing detergent. Jaejoong’s enthusiasm for helping put groceries in the car knew no bounds, and while Yunho had no intention of crushing that glee, he simply wanted to make sure the food did not get smashed in the process.

For of course, there was the time, several years ago when Yunho and Jaejoong went to the store to pick up a few simple things. As it was a balmy summer night, Yunho decided to take the car, as he was worried about Jaejoong getting over-heated in the thick night air. The whole incident proposed to be so simple. Just go to the store. Pick up an item or two and drive back home. And, really, Yunho did not think twice about it.

Until a few days later. For a few days later, the young man caught a whiff of an unpleasantly ripe smell. Now, at the particular moment he smelled the stomach-churning odor, Yunho also happened to be out on the far side of town and going through a neighborhood not known for its cleanliness. And by simply rolling the windows down a bit further, the scent seemed to waft away. And his final thought on the whole thing was to remember not to drive through this side of town on a wet summer night. Very likely, Yunho would have forgotten the whole thing had it not been for Jaejoong later the same evening when he came home.

Walking in the door, the young man noticed that his brother greeted him with more than his usual amount of enthusiasm. Clapping his hands, Jaejoong danced about excitedly, asking over and over if “it” had happened yet. His mind working very hard to catch up, Yunho strove to figure out what his brother might be talking about. Or, to be more specific, what “it” might be. However, with Jaejoong skipping about, there was no catching him, no way to piece out the tumble of words. So, with a kind of sweeping motion, Yunho reached out and caught Jaejoong by the shoulders, trying to steady the gleeful quiver running through the slender frame. And, keeping his hands steady on him, in a voice fraught with seriousness, Yunho asked what “it” was. For an answer, Jaejoong described to Yunho that his teacher told him it only takes a few days for a chicken to hatch. The gap between the question and the answer seeming very far, Yunho repeated the question, to which Jaejoong answered once again, with just as much simplicity, that an egg only takes a few days to hatch.

It was at that moment Yunho realized, with a sudden, startling clarity, what the ripe odor in the car had been. Hoping very much that he was wrong, the young man asked Jaejoong, very clearly, if perchance he had put one of the eggs they bought yesterday somewhere in the trunk. Shifting from foot to foot in excitement, Jaejoong nodded, clapping his hands. He asked as well, if the egg had hatched. If there was now in the trunk a chick for him to hold. Yunho, now knowing he faced a game called “Let’s Find the Rotten Egg” stifled a groan and replied, as best he could, wondering if he had any latex gloves in the house, that eggs can’t hatch in car trunks. They just can’t. In turn, his tongue beginning to poke out of his mouth as he thought very hard, Jaejoong asked if the front seat was a better place.

Front seats were not good either.

Around that time, Yunho decided that Jaejoong’s loading of the car with groceries would be implemented ever so slightly with an elder brother’s supervision.

After loading the groceries in the car, Yunho having made sure nothing he bought needed to be refrigerated, took a moment to make sure Jaejoong had buckled his seat belt, got in himself, and turned the car from out of the parking lot, and in the direction of Mrs. Morton’s. For the audition.

Driving, a tense hard knot began to twist its way around Yunho’s stomach, making him grip the wheel a little harder, making breathing just a little harder. Had he been alone, no doubt, he would have given full vent to the rising anxiety within him; however, Jaejoong was with him and for him to see his brother upset-no. It was not possible. So, biting the inside of his lip, hoping he might calm the gnawing, grating feeling inside, Yunho tried to piece out what it was about the audition that bothered him so.

As much as he hated to admit it, the young man knew that Mrs. Morton had Jaejoong’s best interests at heart. He knew, though he loathed having to declare it, that if, for a moment, she thought anything about this opportunity would mean harm or embarrassment for Jaejoong in any way, she would never have mentioned it. Years she had been Jaejoong’s piano teacher and in all that time, every movement, every gesture, every word she spoke to him, showed nothing but the deepest care and concern for the young boy who played so well. Yunho knew that she, no more than himself, would never let any harm touch Jaejoong. And for her to offer him this opportunity, it was very generous. Truly so.

But her knowledge of him only extended so far. Only so far. She was not there on those long, awful nights when Jaejoong lay mangled on the floor, abused by his own self. She was not there to hear his screams-cries that shattered bones. Not there those nights when Jaejoong gasped to breathe, his own body not able to keep up with the frenzy. She was not there! Had she fought him, wrestled him down for his own good? Had she clenched a needle in her hand and driven it into his arm, watching the dark eyes dilate in betrayal? Been there to catch with her own hands when he threw up? No! Not any of it! But Yunho had. He had been there every single moment; he swore he left his own blood in those times. A part of his soul.

Sure Mrs. Morton meant well, but she had not seen Jaejoong in any other light; she had no knowledge of what happened to him when he got upset. When the delicate system shut down. Yes, a fine idea it was to have him get up on a stage and play a pretty tune. How nice it sounded. But Jaejoong had never been on a stage, with hundreds of eyes watching him. Alone on a stage, bright lights melting upon him, the crash and strain of a full orchestra behind him. And though Yunho had seen Jaejoong transform in front of the piano, watched the brother he had come to know slip away into someone else, someone Yunho thought he lost in that accident so many years ago. But how deep that transformation was, Yunho did not know, and there had never been a time, nor a reason to find out.

Yunho did not want this opportunity to be that time. He could see it now. The gentle face constrict, and the neck snap back. Suddenly the slender frame would stiffen and slip off the piano stool, onto the floor, writhing. There would be screams. And no matter where Yunho was at that moment, he could not get to Jaejoong fast enough. Fast enough to save him, to pick him up. Off the stage and away from all those eyes.

“Yunho,” wafted a gentle voice into Yunho’s thoughts.
“Yunho?”

Turning to his brother, Yunho caught a glimpse of his own expression in the rear-view mirror. He saw the tightness in his face, and the wild glance in his eyes. And with a violent effort, the young man wrenched a smile upon his face. And hoping his voice might remain steady, said, “Yea Jae? What is it?”

The small hands clasped together in his lap, Jaejoong replied, “Are-are you mad? What’s wrong?”

Quick to answer, Yunho said, “No, Jae. I’m not mad. There’s nothing wrong. I-”

I’m afraid I’m going to watch you collapse in front of me, where I can’t help you. I’m afraid I won’t be there fast enough. She doesn’t know. How wrong all this could be.

“It’s okay, Jae. I think I’m just tired. That’s all.”

The dark eyes expectant, eager to help, Jaejoong replied, “Maybe you could take a nap?”

And though laughter was far from him at that moment, hearing his brother, realizing his own absorption, the young man felt a smile come over himself, and from the smile-a laugh.

Maybe he laughed at himself. Maybe he laughed to apologize to his brother. Maybe.

At the door to Mrs. Morton’s, the piano teacher was quick to greet both brothers at the door. All smiles, she was everything of glee for them to come in, saying that her friend was already inside and waiting. Yunho let Jaejoong go in ahead of himself, suddenly wishing very much he did not have to be here. Wondering if there was some way, even now, he might get out of it. As it was though, with a sort of resigned air, the young man trudged in, settling onto a couch, on the far end of the room.

However, despite his wish to be left alone, Yunho saw a rather round, congenial looking gentleman standing in front of him. The round man held out his hand affably saying-

“Hello, Mr. Jung. I am very pleased to meet you. My name is Roger Lune. Linda has told me so much about your brother. I’m sure she’s told you how during every one of my company’s performance’s I like to offer a chance to any new young talent-just to get that moment up there. And when Linda told me about your brother, about how well he plays-well. She knows what good music is.”

Stretching out his hand to catch Mr. Lune’s, though he did not stand up, Yunho replied, “Thank you. Mrs. Morton was very generous to offer this to Jaejoong.”

Obviously thinking Yunho would be just as excited as he was, Mr. Lune seemed baffled by the brevity of Yunho’s statement and waited for a moment, thinking he might say more. Yet, when it became painfully obvious that Yunho did not intend to say more, Mr. Lune offered the best bow he could, and backed away.

On the other side of the room, Jaejoong had already sat down at the piano, his fingers arched over the ivory keys, the way a bird might hover near a flower. Next to him, Mrs. Morton spoke softly, explaining to him just what was going on. She spoke gently, her words slow and careful. In turn, the dark head nodded, as the deep eyes took in everything she said. Mrs. Morton told Jaejoong that this was a wonderful present, a gift just for him. To have a chance to get up on stage, with a whole orchestra behind him, and play. Play a lovely song for everyone to hear.

“What do you think, Jaejoong,” she asked. “Would you like to play?”

“Yes,” came the soft reply, Jaejoong looking at the keys, them. “Yes, I want to play.”

“There might be lots of people. And we’ll have to practice a lot harder.”

“Yes,” he said, nodding his head. “I want to play.”

Across the room, Yunho, his eyes bent on Jaejoong, seeing the soft face light up at the idea of playing in front of people, hearing his brother’s voice agree-Yunho felt a hard, heavy and cold stone settle atop him. Like a grave. And his temples throbbing, wishing he could get out of here-Yunho lay his head back.

It was then, something chill settling over him, that a melody lilted out. A song softer than rainwater, smoother than any silk to be found in this life. Music born not from the keys it was played on, but born from the air itself, floating down upon all those who listened. And as the sound filled the room, Yunho felt the melody come to him, asking him to sit up, to be okay. The melody wiped the sweat starting from his brow, soothed the throbbing in his temples.

As Yunho sat up, a sudden ease upon him, he saw Jaejoong. He saw his brother, now a man. No longer the prince in his castle of clouds, he was a new king riding a fantastic winged horse, the world below him. His fingers did not play the keys; he the keys as one might the feathers of a swan. And the piano, in Jaejoong’s hands, did not simply respond to the chord struck; the instrument breathed, inhaled and exhaled for the first time in its long life.

Yunho watched, every chord played inside him. He watched, his thoughts wandering-

I know, I said You took him from me. I accused You, in my hurt, my pain.

But You found a way for me to have him back. Of course You did. And If I’d had more faith-I might have known that.

It’s only a minute. While I can hear him play.

You give my brother back to me.

Thank you.