The piece of paper trembled slightly within Kyungsoo’s hands. It was just a piece of paper, and yet it had the power to ruin everything. No matter how many times he read it, it didn’t become any easier to comprehend. For the last week, he had been looking it over like this. He hadn’t told Sungmi about it – he couldn’t tell Sungmi about it. How could he possibly tell her about this?

Closing his eyes over, he leant back on the bed, allowing his head to rest again the wall. He didn’t know why, but it felt like his life had just fluttered by and that it was already time for him to wrap things up here. But he didn’t want to. He didn't want to leave this house and all the love he felt here behind him. It didn't feel like it was time yet.

There was a loud banging noise from somewhere else in the house, then the sound of a woman – the triplets’ mother – shouting. Kyungsoo opened an eye, then tried to listen. His lip twitched up gently into a smile, and he slid the letter down the back of the bed.

A moment later, the door to his room opened and in came Sungmi wearing an elegant dress that seemed to be weighing her down significantly. The expression on her face was nothing short of exhausted.

Hauling herself into the room, she collapsed onto the bed beside Kyungsoo with an almighty sigh, wiping her brow as if it was covered in sweat.

“That was horrific,” she puffed, stretching up to undo her hair that was tightly held in place.

Kyungsoo smiled a little, looking at her dress. “It’s pretty,” he said very quietly, meaning to tell her that she was pretty in it.

Sungmi also glanced to the dress, considering the pale blue and maroon fabric. “I like it better than the pink and purple concoction I had to wear for my parents’ anniversary. Do you remember it?”

Chuckling a little at the memory, Kyungsoo nodded. “And I remember when you ‘accidentally’ spilt food down it so you could change.”

Squirming a little, Sungmi rolled over to face him, the suddenness of the motion startling him a little. “That soup was too runny,” she defended pathetically.

Not arguing back, Kyungsoo simply smiled and rested his head against the wall again. He knew that this might be one of the last times they got to do this with one another. And yet, his mind couldn't help but remind him where Sungmi had been dragged to by her mother. It was always the same.

Swallowing once, Kyungsoo peeked down at her. "So, um, did you like him?"

Sungmi grinned but shook her head. “Nope,” she replied with a pop. “He was so old.”

Kyungsoo smiled, stretching out a hand and gently touching her loose hair, loving the way it felt like silk. He often wondered if all girls had hair this soft, but he doubted it – not this soft, at least.

“Is that why your mum is so upset?” Kyungsoo asked quietly, remembering the shouting from earlier.

Suddenly, the girl looked sheepish. “Ah, well, that’s… ”

Kyungsoo knew Sungmi well enough to know that her answer was a definite yes. She had this way of behaving in the exact opposite way than her mother wanting her to in situations like this.

“It just feels strange,” Sungmi admitted after a short moment of silence. “Meeting people who aren't you."

Heat instantly rushed to Kyungsoo's cheeks, but before he could answer, the door to his room was once again flung open to reveal Sungmi’s visual double, Sungsook. Like her sister, she was wearing a dress. The most noticable thing about her when she entered though were the tears down her cheeks as she looked helplessly between her sister and Kyungsoo.

“You have to come quickly,” she told them both, voice trembling a little.

The pair sat up at the command, then glanced to one another as Sungsook disappeared again. They got up and hurried down the stairs after her without missing a beat, finally finding her and the rest of the family in the kitchen. The first thing Sungmi heard was her mother’s sobs as she sat at the table with a piece of paper clenched into one of her fists. Sungmi’s father stood with Sunghee, one hand fixed tightly onto his son’s shoulder protectively, squeezing it as if to reassure him. The boy in question looked nothing short of horrified.

“What is it?” Sungmi asked, stepping into the room and moving straight to her brother. “What’s happened? Are you hurt?”

When neither of their parents spoke, Sungsook spoke up, her voice very different from its usual cocky tone. “Sunghee’s been called for. He leaves in two weeks.”

The words hit Sungmi in the face like a mallet. Her eyes darted to her younger sibling, almost willing him to tell her it wasn’t true. But Sunghee simply averted his gaze from his sister as if guilty. It was no wonder her mother was crying like this and her father was clinging tightly to his son like that.

“B-but they can’t do that,” Sungmi breathed out, her eyes running over Sunghee’s frail and failing body. “They can’t just take him. He’s not well.” She turned to the rest of the room, but no one said anything. “He’s not well!” she yelled suddenly, trembling.

At this, their mother let out another cry, sounding like she was in a considerable amount of pain.

“If he doesn’t go,” her father began, sounding very sombre as he attempted to soothe Sungmi, “he’ll be tried for treason and executed. The government are so desperate right now that they’d send anyone other than a female to fight. I’ve even heard talk of some fourteen year olds being sent.”

Sungmi’s eyes moved to her mother, then to Sungsook, and finally to Kyungsoo. She couldn’t understand why none of them were doing anything or saying anything to help. They all just looked as lost as she felt. This surely couldn’t be happening.

“Actually,” Kyungsoo piped up in a small voice, clearing his throat uncomfortably and stepping into the centre of the room quietly. He avoided Sungmi’s eyes completely as he did so as if looking her in the eye was a death sentence, and nervously at his lip. “I received my letter of subscription too. I have to leave at the end of the week.”

Sungmi could do nothing but stare at him. She couldn’t understand why he was saying this, because there was no way her world could just fall apart as easily as that. Why should her world be shattered into splinters because of two pieces of paper and some words? No. She didn’t like it at all. And Kyungsoo hadn’t even told her; he hadn’t even given her a hint. She didn’t know if he just wasn’t ever going to, or what was going through his mind, but all she could do was stare at him almost vacantly.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” Kyungsoo told the family, his eyes only briefly flicking to Sungmi’s blank ones.

“Not you too,” their mother wailed, getting to her feet and pulling the two boys close to her chest. “They’re just boys!” she exclaimed, looking at her husband like it was his fault that they were going.

With a hopeless sigh, their father fought back his own tears before moving to his wife and the two boys, embracing the three of them. “There’s no way they can’t go.”

“You’ll freeze if you stay out here much longer,” Kyungsoo called up the tree which Sungmi had nestled herself into.

She peeked at him once, not quite prepared to admit that she was cold, yet not happy enough with him to listen to what he was going to say. He hadn’t told her. How couldn’t he have told her?

“I didn’t want to worry you,” he called out gently, seemingly reading her thoughts.

“Well, you have,” she called back in spite of herself. “Both of you have.”

Kyungsoo wanted to climb up there to comfort her, but he knew that he wouldn't. Of the two of them, Kyungsoo had always been the one more concerned with safety, and as such had only climbed up the tree Sungmi was sitting in twice before, both times ending with her father having to lift him out again. He wasn’t stupid though, and he wouldn’t climb it to get to the monkey-girl right now.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, looking down to his feet. It hadn’t been his intention to upset her at all, but it was somehow impossible to tell the girl that their life together would be over so quickly. There was still so much they wanted to do together.

Sungmi couldn’t help but feel bad for her tant