Jaejoong popped up in the seat as far as the seatbelt would allow, “At a restaurant? Can I pick the restaurant, Yunho? Can I pick? Please?”

“Sure Jae,” came the gentle reply.

“The noodle restaurant,” Jaejoong said definitely, and with a certain amount of authority.

And though Yunho reached out to take one of Jaejoong’s hands, to steady the frame practically vibrating, the young man realized how easy he breathed, how light he felt.

Yunho realized, for the first time yet today, the sun was out today.
* * *
From out of the corner of his eye, Yunho watched Jaejoong bounce a bit in the seat; once again, bouncing as much as the seat belt would allow. It was as if just by saying that he wanted to go to the noodle restaurant excited him as much as actually going. Simply hearing himself say it, hearing his own voice. The slender hands fussed and clapped, sometimes inter-lacing his fingers together, in the best effort he could make to calm himself down.

The restaurant Jaejoong had chosen, the one he deemed “the noodle restaurant” was an Italian restaurant, located on one of those streets sometimes found in certain towns where every place to dine sits in a long stretch, never giving one reason to search for long for somewhere to eat. It was situated right between a Mexican restaurant and a very homey-type diner. On one side wafted the spicy scent of ground chilies and on the other rose that odd wonderful smell of hamburgers. Yunho used to joke that by the time one parked the car, they managed to perform a feat never before attempted-standing in the middle of Mexico, Italy and America.

This was the first restaurant Yunho had ever taken Jaejoong to when they first moved to the town what seemed like ages ago. Those had been rougher days. Hours spent in courtrooms for the both of them. Jaejoong not being allowed to move from a hard wooden chair, people staring at him, watching his every move-in the name of justice. Yunho remembered watching his brother in those times-a butterfly trapped in a net-its wings straining to break free, its colors beating, like the heartbeat of a rainbow. But the weave of the net was too strong and all the butterfly could do was sink down and watch the world through the meshing.

Yunho remembered watching when, in the course of those six hour days, his brother did get too excited, he remembered watching the physician hired by the court to monitor Jaejoong coming over with a long syringe in her hand, wiping the frail arm clean, and digging the needle into his skin. Jaejoong’s howls then sliced through Yunho and all at once he felt like his insides were burning and there rose in him a murderous instinct-and in the very same instant, Yunho felt all the blood drain from him, and he feared he may faint.

When the last session finally came, when all the material had been reviewed, after Yunho had been questioned dozens of times, Aunt Yee filing her claim, Jaejoong suffered to come up as a witness and testify-when the dirge finally ended and the court gave Jaejoong over to Yunho’s custody-the young man remembered sitting in the car, Jaejoong next to him, feeling as if he wanted to drive to the ends of the world; he did not know what to do. And as they drove, the gentle voice very weak, Jaejoong, pale and worn, said one word. “Hungry.” So Yunho turned the car down that one street in the middle of town where all the restaurants were, pulling in to the first one he happened to see.

Driving there now, the young man thought back to that first time, leading Jaejoong, weak and desperately thin, in through the doors and asking for a quiet seat. That day, Jaejoong was hardly strong enough to feed himself and Yunho cut up all his food, feeding Jaejoong every bite. Watching him chew, to make sure he did not chew too fast. He made sure Jaejoong drank an entire glass of water, even though he said he was not thirsty. That meal ended with Yunho realizing he had never once touched his own food.

And ever since that day, if Yunho gave Jaejoong the choice, his brother picked the Italian restaurant.

As he pulled in to the small parking lot, Yunho nearly had to reach out and catch Jaejoong’s hand, as the young boy was so ready to get out of the car, he did not hardly wait till the vehicle came to a complete stop. As they walked towards the door, Jaejoong looked everywhere, his head bent back nearly to the sky. His mouth moved in wordless conversation. And there was a moment, his head titled back, as the sun’s light flooded the gentle face-there was a moment the sun seemed to bend down, to lean in closer to hear what Jaejoong was saying. And when the sun stood up again, whispering to Jaejoong that he must return to his place in the sky, the young boy stretched his arms upwards, to catch one last warm ray. The sun, loathing to leave the child he used to play with, the one he wrapped in a blanket of pure golden beams, e last time, kissing Jaejoong. As Jaejoong turned to look back down to the earth, his face flushed a dazzling amber light-the sun’s caress still warm upon his cheek.

Maybe Jaejoong turned and said something to Yunho. Maybe. Yunho was not sure, for his brother turned towards him with the light of ten thousand years. The only thing Yunho was sure of, was that, for an instant, he could not breathe.

Yes, it was true. These ones do not come from our lives. They come not from the lives of men, of stain and soil. Far up into the zenith, there is tucked a palace. Floating on a cloud of mist, the castle sails across silver oceans, where stars swim like fish and the sound of the waves is that of crystalline bells. And inside the castle, with rooms more numerous than the mind can fathom, these ones play. Their steps are dancing; their laughter like chimes. Moon water is their drink and manna their food. All here is made of magic.

But the lives of men have forgotten what magic is, what grace looks like. To remind mortality what they have long forsaken, a child is lifted up and sent down through the clouds, far from Heaven. Sent to the lives of men. But they cannot come as they are-they cannot appear among mortals still glistening with the Father’s affection. For they would be too much, too far beyond understanding. So, He veils them. Shrouds their splendor that men may see them.

Yet there were moments like this when the veil lifts and something ineffable, intangible is very clear.

But an instant. Yunho blinked and it was gone.

“Yunho?”

“Y-yea, Jae?”

“I’m hungry.”

I forget sometimes, don’t I?

I know. It’s no excuse. Not for him. And I’m to blame. I need reminding. Life here is hard and I get buried.

Until You raise me up.

As Yunho and Jaejoong came into the restaurant, the hostess greeted them cheerfully and by name, knowing the two brothers very well. Motioning for them to follow her, she led them through a charming wind of tables and booths, coming to a booth on the far end of the dinning area. Seeing that he was to sit here, at this particular seat, Jaejoong patted his legs in excitement; Yunho thanked the hostess with an eloquent glance. For this was Jaejoong’s favorite spot to sit in the entire restaurant. His favorite because from this booth he could look at a model toy train that lit up and circled the entire room on a pair of tracks situated on the top of a dividing wall, separating the dinning room from the bar. The little electric train rolled through, blowing its tiny whistle every half-hour. Jaejoong watched the train with wide eyes, though many had been the conversations between Yunho and Jaejoong about not whistling when the train did.

The hostess laid down two menus, Jaejoong declaring he wanted the grown-up’s menu tonight and left only long enough to bring both two glasses of water.

Opening the menu, Yunho looked across to Jaejoong, who studied it with great care. “What do you want to eat, Jae,” he asked after a time.

“Noodles and sauce,” Jaejoong answered, though he still stared at the menu.

“You never finish the spaghetti, Jae.”

The dark eyes looked up from the pictures on the menu earnestly, “I will!”

“You will?”

“Yes-yes! I will! Please Yunho. Can I have noodles and sauce?”

He would not finish it and Yunho knew that perfectly well; he never had. But the large deep eyes very wide; Yunho nodded and told Jaejoong he could have the spaghetti.

A waitress came shortly and Yunho placed his order, which was a chicken dish special to the restaurant, and waited for Jaejoong to give his. The waitress turned and asked Jaejoong what he wanted; the slim hands clasped together and were tucked quickly into his lap. His cheeks flushed and he looked down. Yunho waited. Jaejoong shifted in his seat and swallowed very hard. Yunho waited still. Then Jaejoong, his chin buried onto his chest, slid out from his side of the booth, coming over to where Yunho sat. Sliding in, he tucked himself up against his older brother. Yunho could feel how warm his body was, how difficult this was for him.. But it was then, Jaejoong cleared his throat and managed to say, very quietly, that he wanted noodles and sauce.

Orders given, some time passed before their food came. Yunho leaned back in the booth, the worn leather cushion feeling very soft. Across the table, as Jaejoong had gone back to his side, the young man watched his brother watch the train. Softly, Jaejoong chanted the “choo-choo” sound as the toy went round and round. And when, faint though it was over the din of other diners, the little engine blew its whistle, Jaejoong’s lips puckered into a whistle too, blowing softly, only to look quickly at Yunho, and ask if he was too loud. For an answer, Yunho hollowed out his mouth and whistled too, causing Jaejoong to clap several times in delight.

Soon the waitress came to them again, a large tray in her hands as she placed onto the table a plate steaming with chicken in a garlic-lemon sauce and a very large portion of spaghetti. She smiled as she set them down, asking if there was anything else they needed, nodding to Yunho’s request for more water.

Right before Yunho and Jaejoong were about to eat, Yunho reached over the table pulling Jaejoong’s plate towards himself. Then, with a knife, he cut the plate of noodles into quarters before pushing it back to Jaejoong, who dove in with relish. Many eating’s out taught Yunho to do this. Many plates of spaghetti that were wound and wound, and splattered and slurped. Although possibly it was the evening when Yunho, thinking Jaejoong should eat before a school function, ended up bringing his brother to Purple Line in a white shirt bearing unintentional, slightly fragrant, red polka dots.

Taking one last glance at Jaejoong to make sure he was in fact eating and not simply pushing the food around on his plate, Yunho turned his attention to his own meal. The chicken was very hot, the steam lingering in his mouth and down his throat as he swallowed. Flavors of garlic and lemon tingled his taste buds, not even to be washed away with water.

Some time passed and Yunho noticed Jaejoong look up from his meal.

“Yunho?”

“Yes Jae?”

“Can I have dessert tonight?”

“Did you finish your dinner?”

“Yes,” Jaejoong replied simply, a mound of spaghetti still on his plate.

Trying not to smile at how mismatched was his brother’s answer to the noodle mountain, Yunho nodded. He knew Jaejoong had finished his dinner; not in the sense that he was actually finished with every last mouthful-but in the sense that Jaejoong was finished eating his dinner. He was full. Had not Yunho asked him if he was finished? And he was.

So, a slice of pie was ordered and brought along with two plates. But this time, instead of Yunho reaching out and cutting the portion, this time it was Jaejoong who reached out, sliding the plate to himself. Then, picking up his fork, the boy worked his way through the pie, cutting it as best he could into two pieces. Then, lifting one slice onto a plate, the filling toppling out as he did so, Jaejoong pushed the now separated crust and filling back to Yunho. And he smiled.

Every time Yunho ordered dessert, Jaejoong split it, giving one half to his brother. Trying his best to do as Yunho did, to mimic him.

“Here you go, Yunho,” Jaejoong said brightly.

“Thank you, Jae.”

How fine everything was. How very fine.

Nothing should change.