owing 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.
* * *
With dinner done, both Yunho and Jaejoong were in the car again ready to drive home. Dusk had settled in, leaving the sky to blossom from the amber of day into the pale cool blue of twilight. A time of day when it is as if the earth pauses in its race around the universe, pauses for just one moment to exhale. To breathe away all trials, all difficulties and ease into the softness of evening. A strange time of day when the sky seems to loom higher than ever before and one might simply stand there-and breathe out with the universe.

Pulling the car back into traffic, Yunho’s thoughts were few. And though he was not particularly given to a romantic nature, as the sky melted into blue, part of him, an oft untouched chord buried somewhere far within, throbbed. A pulse deep enough to make him tremble, and deep enough to be wonderful.

For in the silence of the drive, the young man admitted to himself that there was much within himself he strove to keep buried. Vital, precious places he dared not risk being exposed for fear of bleeding. Crumbling. Fading away. Yet at the same time, though all he did was out of need, Yunho knew that a grayness lurked in him. A sort of colorless veil sinking into him, wrapping all it touched in a ashen mist. There had been days, nights when that leaden feeling frightened him; it seemed to him that his insides were collapsing and soon he would remain as nothing more than a shell. A hollowness.

But if he let himself, if he only lay his head back, and let the throb within him beat a little stronger, if he allowed the life trying to rise within him once more, than-than the steel veil rocked back, making way for a power stronger than itself. And parts of him long untouched, crippled and crushed, raised their frail limbs, trembling and hoping to breathe again. To live once more, before Yunho came, in his safety, his trepidations, to take all that stretched for air and bury them once more.

Yet, as the sky overhead rose higher and higher, its watercolors strangely vibrant, Yunho took this one moment. This one glorious moment to let all within him tremble. To be for this glorious instant, feeling himself shake and quiver-his hands unsteady, his vision blurred, himself barely able to take a breathe. A wonderful instant. If only that.

Jaejoong had fallen asleep. The quiet hum of the car’s engine lulled him into a doze, as it so often did. Yunho rolled up the window so that no outside noises might wake his brother, carefully reaching over to flip on the air-conditioning so the car would not get stuffy. He leaned over to Jaejoong then, wiggling the seat belt so it did not cut so tightly across his brother’s lap. Gentle and smooth by practice, the young man’s hands were tender as he leaned towards his brother so Jaejoong did not wake.

On they drove, Yunho deciding to take the long way home. In all truth, he was not ready to go home just yet. Right now, everything was so peaceful and still; he was not ready to leave this quiet, not for what he left it to face. Driving as he was now, it seemed to Yunho that he might just go on and on, the smooth pavement winding ever forward, turning away from worry and care. Far away from this weekend.

As it was though, Yunho could not help to think about the family reunion. About going into that house again. Seeing those same sickly lavender walls, the ones he had spent hours staring at during those long nights when Jaejoong could not fall asleep, when his body seemed to rebel at the new state it found itself in, and Yunho sat with him, cradled him, begged him to go to sleep. Yes, he had stared at those walls and promised himself, the same awful promise he made to himself at least once a day-that he would never come to that house again. That once gone, never would he allow either Jaejoong or himself to darken that door again. That place where Jaejoong seemed more animal than human. Where Yunho seemed more dead than alive.

To come now, like some defeated fool, bound and led by his brother’s enthusiasm, into that house. To be forced into a pseudo glee, looking at his family members and pretending to be happy to see them. Happy to see them when his heart quaked in the fear that Jaejoong would stumble here, upon some memory, some remnant of those old days and crumble. Yunho crumbling with him.

It was too much! Not after everything he had done. After all those years, striving and pulling for a haven, a haven he was determined to make for Jaejoong, so that no harm would ever touch him again-to have it all tumble down now. His house of stone. Made of straw. Once Yunho felt as if he stood in some semblance of triumph before them. How it all seemed like mockery now.

Remember the promise we made Jaejoong? On that summer’s night. I carried you. Because you couldn’t walk. I carried you on my back and set you down on the grass. You had the seed in your hand. I remember how tight you held it. Do you remember? We dug a hole, both of us, with our bare hands as deep as we could. And you put the seed in while I pushed the dirt back over. I remember how dark it was; I could hardly see your face, Jaejoong. You asked me. Asked me if the seed would grow into a tree. A kiwi tree. Because you said then we could go out and climb it together, you and me, and we’d fall asleep on the branches. If we got hungry, we’d just reach out and pick some of the fruit and eat it. Remember? Our kiwi tree.

“Will it be there, Yunho?”

Startled, Jaejoong’s question so much a part of his thoughts, there was a moment Yunho thought himself dreaming, that Jaejoong had not really spoken. However, the gentle voice, still thick with sleep, wafted out again.

“Do you think it will still be there, Yunho?”

“W-what, Jae,” Yunho croaked.

“Our kiwi tree. Remember? We planted it together.”

“Yes. . .I remember.”

“Will it still be there? Ana promised me she wouldn’t let anyone cut it down.”

“It’ll be there, Jae. She promised you.”

She had promised. It was after the trial. Yunho led Jaejoong by the hand out to the car, not wasting a moment’s time to get away, to get his brother away. Nor pausing a moment to say goodbye, to anyone. Ana had followed them. He remembered her calling out, begging him to wait just one moment. And though Yunho loathed to admit it, he might not have waited, caring not for the fact that he knew he was hurting her. However, Jaejoong heard her cries and stopped him, wanting to say goodbye to cousin Ana. It was then Jaejoong asked her about the tree; and she promised to make sure no one ever touched it.

The dark eyes were wide in worry looking towards Yunho. Reaching out, the young man took his brother’s hand in his own and said again, “It’ll be there, Jae.”

Looking down at his Yunho’s hand as if his words were truer because he held his brother’s hand, or if because in Yunho’s steady grip there lay the promise of their kiwi tree still growing tall-but at the feel of Yunho’s hand in his, Jaejoong nodded and lay his head back, closing his eyes. In moments, he was asleep again and Yunho did not try to move his hand.

As Yunho pulled the car into the driveway at home, the pale blue of twilight had deepened into the denim sapphire of night. Even the stars tonight did not pierce the heavy indigo. All the zenith overhead became a kingdom of lapis lazuli, reigning down a steep quiet only to be found long after the sun has set and the thickest part of evening has settled.

Jaejoong was hardly awake enough to stand, as if the serenity overhead seeped into his body and Yunho practically carried him into the house and upstairs to his room.

On any other night, his brother sleepy or not, Yunho would have insisted Jaejoong get up and brush his teeth and wash his face. But-not tonight. So, as Jaejoong tumbled backwards onto his bed, Yunho moved to take off his shoes and fold the legs under the covers. Then, slipping his arm around Jaejoong long enough to lift him up, Yunho slid off his jacket, laying his brother back down. The careful hands undid a few buttons on his shirt so he could sleep comfortably and pulled the blanket up the rest of the way. He paused a moment, perhaps to see if all his rummaging to make Jaejoong more at ease had in fact woken him. And when Yunho was satisfied that Jaejoong was indeed asleep, he moved quietly, flipped off the light switch and went downstairs.

Part of him knew he ought to get ready for bed as well. Tomorrow was going to be a long day. The drive to Aunt Yee’s house was several hours and though Jaejoong would, no doubt, be excited to be going to see the family, still, long drives were hard on him. Consequently, they were hard on Yunho as well. But if he went to sleep-

Then tomorrow would come.

The phone rang; Yunho leapt to answer it.

“Hyung,” came Yoochun’s voice from the other end.

“Hey, Yoochun. What’s up?”

“Nothing much. I called to see if you needed anything. I know you’re going over to Yee’s tomorrow and all, but-”

“Yea, you wanna come over and slash my tires,” Yunho asked, some levity in his voice. “No, I don’t think so. I mean, if you could pick up the mail for me, if we get any-that’d be great.”

“Sure.” Yoochun paused. “I bet Jae’s excited.”

“He’ll have a good time.”

Again, there was silence. “What about you?”

“What about me,” Yunho asked.

“I’m asking.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Yunho replied, a laugh somewhere in his voice, trying to express to Yoochun his thanks, his gratitude for asking; although he could not seem to actually say it. “I’ll be fine.”

Whether or not Yoochun truly believed him is hard to say, but all the same, he replied to his friend with the same lightness in which Yunho spoke to him, “Okay. Well, call me if you need something.”

Mumbling that he would, Yunho hung up the phone. And for some time, he lingered there, listening to nothing. Only silence.

Yes, I’ll be fine. Because there is something hollow inside of me. See, it’s been there for years-ever since that day. I lost something that day and it left a space, one I can’t fill. But that’s why I’m gonna be fine. If nothing’s there, nothing can hurt.

Moving suddenly, as if prodded, Yunho staggered into the living room, collapsing down onto a chair. It seemed too small to hold him, and he twisted and turned-writhing against the confines holding him. His skin crawled. Itching and burning, Yunho wanted to grasp at himself, rip into something. To tear open a hole and let some cool air in, to soothe the fire on his body. He clenched his teeth, stifling a groan, twisting and struggling against the chair.

Feeling as if he might scream out if he remained one instant longer, Yunho threw himself to the floor, burying his face. It felt cool against his hot skin, a semblance of reprieve. And there, his long body stretched out on the floor, Yunho closed his eyes.

As those days came flooding back, stark and clear. . . . .
~ ~ ~
That day, the one forever burned into Yunho, began like so many others. Jaejoong, then all over eight years old, came bouncing into his room, his face bright, the big black eyes fairly dancing with excitement. The hands, even then very small, shook his big brother with all the force he could muster, hoping to get Yunho up as fast as he could, because Mom said breakfast was ready and if they both hurried down and ate quickly, then both Jaejoong and Yunho could go and help at Father’s store downtown.

Turning over, swatting away Jaejoong’s small hands, stuffing the pillow over his head, Yunho, in all the wisdom and concern of a twelve year old, demanded Jaejoong leave him alone. He did not want to go to the store. Not today. After all, today was Saturday; he wanted to sleep in.

But Jaejoong was determined his brother get up. Father had said he could not go to the store himself unless Yunho came along. And he needed to go there today. It was important!

“Why, Hero? Why’s it so important,” Yunho groaned from under the pillow.

“Cuz! Yunho, cuz it is! I gotta go! I’m this close to getting it,” Jaejoong cried back, trying to pull the pillow off Yunho’s head.

“Getting what? You’ve been talking about getting something for weeks now. What is it,” Yunho asked, letting his younger brother take the pillow off.

At the question, Jaejoong looked down, scuffing his feet on the floor. His answer was a mumble. “Well, see-it’s-it’s a secret. I can’t tell you. But it’s really important, Yunho! Please!”

Yunho did not know it, but Jaejoong hoped that by working at the store, he would earn the money Father promised, and have enough to buy Yunho a birthday present all by himself this year. But Yunho did not know it then.

And would not-until it was too late.

So, realizing that Jaejoong was not to be swayed, with a reproachful groan, Yunho got up, doing his best to follow his younger brother downstairs.

How strange it was that after all this time, Yunho still remembered what he ate that morning for breakfast, as if the entire day had frozen minute by minute in his mind-a terrible dream.

But he remembered he sat down that morning to a plate of scramble eggs, no toast and no bacon. Really the lack of bacon would not have been a problem, except that Jaejoong had some on his plate. Pointing accusingly at the two strips of fried meat, Yunho protested loudly that it was not fair Jaejoong get bacon if he did not as well. Mrs. Jung, a lovely women who always seemed frail, smiled at her eldest’s protestations. And coming over to him, as he pushed his plate away, declaring he would not eat if he did not have bacon too-magically placed the two strips of bacon onto his plate Yunho had not seen she was still cooking when he came in. Feeling foolish, Yunho grinned and Jaejoong mentioned something about him being pabo.

When breakfast was over, Jaejoong practically dragged his brother back upstairs to get cleaned up before Father was ready to leave. Suffering himself to be led by Jaejoong, Yunho stumbled along. He did not want to go to the store today; as it was, he had to go twice a week after school to help Father at the cash register.

The store, as Yunho called it, was really a family run restaurant that Mr. Jung had been in charge of for several years. A local town favorite, the young boy was a welcome sight among the regulars. Just barely coming into his teenage years, Yunho was charmingly awkward, wearing an apron that did not fit him, carrying an order pad in his hands, his writing resembling chicken scratches far more than script of any kind. He was quiet and straggled from table to table, wrestling with trays and filling coffee cups to the brim.

On the days when he took orders and brought out food, it was not so bad. But today, because it was Saturday-the Jung restaurant was closed and he would be back in the kitchen, scrubbing the stove, the oven, the grill. Mopping up the floors, carrying crates of empty soda bottles out into the back alley. Those kinds of bottles that were made of glass and were very heavy. Yunho did not like Saturdays at the store.

Mr. Jung unlocked the doors, Jaejoong bursting in, running into the back before his father could catch him. Behind them both, Yunho slumped in, trying to ready himself for a long day of getting grease under his fingernails that stuck there for a week. In the kitchen, he could hear Jaejoong laugh. Well, at least someone was happy.

“Yunho,” came the steady sound of his father’s voice, deep and clear.

Sometimes, Yunho liked to hear his father say his name; he often hoped his own voice would sound like that when he grew up. “Yea?”

Coming into the back, Yunho saw his father tying Jaejoong’s apron with some difficulty as Jaejoong vibrated with energy.

“Yunho,” he began, “I just got a look at pantry and we are low on bread and potatoes. We’re low on milk too. I need to go out and restock. But listen now, I’m going to the supplier uptown. It’ll take a few hours. Do you want to come with or stay here?”

Hopping up and down, Jaejoong exclaimed, “Here! We want to stay here!”

Mr. Jung turned to Yunho, “Do you want to stay here, Yunho?”

Looking at his younger brother, nearly dancing, Yunho looked down and replied, “Yea. We’ll stay here.”

He wished now, they had gone with.

Soon, Yunho heard the clicking lock of the door as he and Jaejoong were alone.

In a flash, Jaejoong bounded out of the kitchen, saying he would bring the garbage out back. Yunho nodded, half-listening, moving to don an apron himself and settle into the smell of Windex.

And things went very well for a time. The store was quiet, save for the clatter Jaejoong made as he bounded inside and out. However, some time passed and Yunho realized he could hear the swiping sound he made as he cleaned the counters. He realized he could hear the squeak of the glass as he ran the cloth past. It was then something uncomfortable churned inside his young body. A sick clammy feeling, making his skin prickle. Putting the cloth down, Yunho went into the kitchen, looking for Jaejoong. But he was not there. Remembering that his brother had said he was going to take out the garbage, Yunho went back through the dinning room, outside, going around to the back alley. But Jaejoong was not there either.

He told himself it was silly his heart was beginning to beat so fast. The young boy tried to convince himself that nothing was wrong. How could there be anything wrong? But he wished the ringing in his ears would go away. Because it kept getting louder.

Coming back inside, Yunho called out. No answer came. He called again. However this time, the reply did come in the form of glass jingling. The sound of glass bottles clinking together. Relieved as much as he had been frightened, Yunho ran down into the basement, where they stored the empty bottles in those big wooden crates.

Stumbling down the stairs, he saw Jaejoong struggling to maintain the crate full of bottles he had just lifted.

“Hero,” Yunho sighed, “There you are. I was calling, didn’t you hear?”

“No,” came the determined reply. “I’m doing this,” he said, tottering somewhat, the slender arms not strong enough to heft the box.

“Well,” Yunho offered, “let me help you.”

“No. I can do it by myself.”

“Hero-come on. It’s too heavy for you.” But the answer was the same. No. “Fine then. But when you trip and fall, don’t blame me.”

Fool! Why didn’t you help him? Fool! You could have taken the box, did it yourself. Then none of this-none of this would have happened. Nothing would have changed.

Yunho watched as Jaejoong began to teeter out the door, having to walk up several stairs, as the basement was below street level, in order to put the bottles in the back alley. It was obvious he could not really hold the crate filled with bottles, and Yunho watched him carefully, follhim out the door, watching at the foot of the stairs as Jaejoong trudged his way up. And he did make it to the top, sweat pouring from his small forehead.

“See,” he said, breathing hard. “I can do it. I gotta, Yunho. So I can-”

Perhaps he turned too quickly. Maybe it was his excitement in having made it all the way up the stairs by himself. But there- at the top, the crate still in his arms-Jaejoong staggered back, losing his balance.

And then. . .

He fell.

Down each step.

The crate breaking over his head, as he hit bottom.