They were alright. Lying in bed, with its familiar white sheets and musty smells, Leeteuk closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. His ankle injury was only a mild sprain; he wouldn’t be able to walk without crutches for a few days, but there had been no blood spilt and for that, he was grateful. Next to him in the room’s other bed, umma and Henry were busy treating the cuts and scrapes on his little brother. Though the streaks of blood had seemed severe, once cleaned up, Leeteuk saw that they were shallow injuries and would heal with time. Kyuhyun, for his part, remained quiet throughout the whole procedure.

“So let me get this straight,” he heard Henry say. “You got attacked by birds?” Kyuhyun mumbled some reply. “What kind of vicious birds would attack a human? Especially in this part of the country?”

“Doves,” Leeteuk responded automatically. After umma and Henry arrived and Kyuhyun had calmed down, Leeteuk had taken another look at the animal before he was led away. Lying a mere few feet from where Kyuhyun had landed on top of Leeteuk, it was majestic, in a horrific sort of way. With its head cocked to one side and its wings outstretched, it had fallen, the perfect symbol of peace. The blood that trailed from his head proved it had been a clean hit.

And Leeteuk had stared at it, his repulsion of blood subdued by his fascination with its wings.

“An angel without wings,”Kyuhyun had called him. So then what would doves, with their pure white wings and connotation of holiness, be?   

He tilted his head towards the window and opened his eyes. The skies were still a light shade of blue.

Kyuhyun was a gentle spirit at heart. The way he carried himself, with his lightness of step and carefree laugh, always inadvertently caused Leeteuk to want to protect him. His fragile build and deep eyes spoke of a childhood tempered with illness and suffering, yet somehow he managed to bring his smile to the world every day. His compassionate demeanor extended to nature; he refused to even kill the insects that would occasionally wander into their bedrooms, much to umma’s dismay. And on more than one occasion, Leeteuk had caught him seemingly engaged in conversations with the birds as they built their nests in the lower branches of the trees, or perhaps with the flowers as they blossomed in early spring. He was that type of child.

Only once had Leeteuk tried to ask him about what had happened to his parents. It had been on the same day they first met, that spring day in May when Kyuhyun first joined the orphanage—about six months after Leeteuk himself had entered through the same heavy doors. Kyuhyun had walked into his room, with wide eyes and wet cheeks, his hands tightly clasped with umma’s.

Something about his expression moved something in Leeteuk’s heart—how to describe it? He had never seen someone look so confused.

“So young,”umma had whispered sadly. She had been talking to another man, one of those nice teachers who used to frequent the orphanage before the war. Later, Kyuhyun would give him a nickname—Gentleman White-Coat Mimi, because he looked so regal in his white coat with lapels and complementary blue tie. In response to why he always dressed so, the Gentleman had once explained it was because the colors had a calming effect on those who saw him.

There had been something soothing about his appearance. The gentle colors of his clothing and persona had reminded Leeteuk of clear skies, spring days, cool winds…

Leeteuk had then watched as the young man leaned down and whispered something to Kyuhyun, before placing something in his head. Then he had nodded his head and bid them a farewell.

“What was it?” Leeteuk had asked. “What did he give him?”

Umma’s simple answer had surprised him.

“Hope,” she had said, and both had watched as Kyuhyun’s face lit up with the first smile Leeteuk had ever seen on him. “He gave him hope.”

A few days later, Leeteuk was pleasantly surprised when he saw the back of the familiar white coat again, its owner bent over in deep discussion with umma. He hobbled over with his crutches as fast as he could.

“It’s starting again, those signs—”

“How severe are they now? Perhaps we can still do something—”

“Why delay the inevitable?” Leeteuk was startled; he hadn’t seen Henry standing in the shadows. “There’s no hope left anymore for him, isn’t there.” It wasn’t a question.

“For whom?”

All three conversationalists turned around, and like that, Leeteuk knew the discussion was over.

“Leeteuk-ah, how have you been?” Though it had only been about a year since he had last seen him, Gentleman White-Coat Mimi looked so much older. What was it about worry and stress that seemed to age people beyond their years? Leeteuk wondered. Even umma and Henry were affected.

“Fine,” he answered honestly. “How about you, Teacher Zhou?” Unlike Kyuhyun, who openly called him by his nickname without fear of judgment, Leeteuk had always felt too shy to do the same. Somehow, he had always suspected the Teacher to only be barely older than him.

In response, his Teacher only rubbed his eyes and looked at him even more closely. “Leeteuk-ah, how are you really?”

“I don’t understand your question…” And really, he didn’t. He was perfectly fine, wasn’t he? Actually, perhaps he was even better than fine—“I don’t think I’m as scared of blood as I used to be.”

“Oh?” Something flickered across all their faces—was it hope?

Leeteuk nodded, encouraged. “Yeah.” He considered mentioning the floating sense of transcendence that he had been feeling recently whenever he saw the skies, but then thought better of it. Better to keep quiet until he could confirm things for sure. Speaking of which… “Excuse me, but there’s someone I need to talk to. Teacher Zhou, it was really nice to see you again. You’re staying, right?”

“I wouldn’t leave for the world.” Teacher Zhou had been wearing an interesting facial expression as he said that. Puzzling over it, it wasn’t until after Leeteuk had retreated into his bedroom and stared at the fish tank for a good minute or two did he finally remember why it seemed so paradoxically familiar and foreign: Kyuhyun had worn the same look back then. Six years ago, as he grasped that tangible hope in his hands, his face had shown that same unique mixture of happiness and hope.

Knowing that this time his words were the cause of that special moment sent a bubbling warmth throughout his entire body, and from his heart, Leeteuk felt his budding wings grow just a bit more.

“Leeteuk-hyung, wake up.”

“W-what? Who are you?”

“Hyung, it’s me, Eunhyuk. I’m here to say good-bye.”

Leeteuk rolled over and opened his eyes blearily. “Eunhyuk? What are you doing at this hour? Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Hyung, I’m leaving now. I’m going back to my family.”

“You’re at an orphanage. We are your family.” Even in his groggy state, Leeteuk had managed to break through the usual cloudy fog and say something intelligible.

When he later recalled that conversation, he would always be proud for noting that. After all, it was true, wasn’t it?

Eunhyuk shook his head. “No, hyung, you’re wrong. I don’t belong here. You don’t, either. Our real families are waiting for us outside. Donghae already left. Now, it’s my turn.”

While Leeteuk blinked and tried to make sense of his last few sentences, Eunhyuk had been rustling around for something in his pocket. “Hyung, I want you to have this. In remembrance of Donghae and me.”

It was the ‘fin.’ Leeteuk turned it over in his palms a few times, feeling its rough texture in the dark. “You sure you want me to have this?”

“Why not?” Leeteuk could hear the shrug in his voice. “Where I’m going, there’ll be plenty more of where that came from.”

“Eunhyuk…”

“Bye, hyung.” A creak, and the weight on his bed lifted as Eunhyuk stood up. “I might come back to visit. But I’ll be different. Look for me then, won’t you?”

“Wait, what are you talking about?” Eunhyuk had woken him up for a mere thirty-second conversation? Leeteuk still hadn’t properly adjusted to his sudden return to consciousness. Perhaps he was still dreaming, after all.

“You’ll know,” Eunhyuk chuckled. “I’ll be swimming among my family, with whom I truly belong. But whenever you need me, I’ll come back.

“Hyung, I’ll come back, just for you.”

Leeteuk stared at the anchovies as they lethargically swam around in the make-shift fishbowl. One in particular seemed to be swimming in aimless circles close to the strawberries he had placed in the tank, and it was this one that he now addressed.

“Eunhyuk-ah… it’s been a while, huh.”

“Hyung, long time no see. How are you nowadays?”

“Not bad. But Eunhyuk-ah, I’m here to apologize.”

“For what? Did something happen?”

Leeteuk hung his head, embarrassed. “I accidentally lost the fin you gave me. Kyuhyunnie was being attacked by birds, and I—it was the first thing my hands closed on, and I threw—” He paused. Eunhyuk was laughing. “You’re…not mad?”

“Why would I be mad? I can’t think of a nobler way to go.”

Leeteuk smiled ruefully. Of course. Eunhyuk had always been the forgiving type, even back then. “I suppose you’re right.”

“But Kyuhyun’s not doing so well now, isn’t he?”

“You think so, too?” Leeteuk paused, wondering how to phrase his next thoughts. “He’s been acting weird lately. Ever since that incident with the birds.”

“Hyung, you have to take care of him. Don’t fail him the way I failed Donghae.”

“You didn’t fail Donghae, Eunhyuk. He just had his own ideas; that’s all.”

“In the end, I didn’t even have a chance to say good-bye. He left, just like that.”

“I’m sure he’s happier now. He’s returned to his family, hasn’t he?”

“But he would’ve wanted to fight for our country. Remember how he wanted to join in the naval warfare?”

Leeteuk paused, thinking. Come to think of it, there had been a news report published some few months back concerning that. It had been one of the few times that any information reached the orphanage, which due to its secluded location almost never heard anything otherwise. What was it, again?

“In 1950, hyung. A few days before the Battle of Inchon, remember? The ROK ship PC 703 had sunk the North Korean minelayer sailing vessel.”

“Oh, right! The Battle of Haeju Island, wasn’t it? Didn’t the PC 703 then go on to sink a few more ships a few days later?”

“That’s the one. Donghae left shortly after that, if I remember correctly.”

Yes, Leeteuk remembered now. Umma had been crying uncontrollably that day—surely out of happiness, though, right? Since it was a South Korean victory. She must have been proud.

“Or had she been crying because of Donghae?”

“Leeteuk-ah, I want you to tell me exactly what happened the day Kyuhyun got attacked by those birds.”

Leeteuk looked up from the puzzle he was completing with Ryeowook. “Teacher Zhou,” he said in surprise. Recently, though the Teacher had come back a few weeks ago, he had rarely been anywhere except outside Kyuhyun’s room. Leeteuk pitied his dongsaeng, who was probably being forced to receive private tutoring lessons while Leeteuk and others played.

“Ah, found a piece!” Ryeowook picked up a puzzle fragment and placed it in a corner of their developing scene. “I think it’s part of the sky.”

“We were playing soccer,” Leeteuk explained. “Then he accidentally kicked the ball into a birds’ nest, and broke the eggs…” As he went on to further explain how the doves then attacked him, and how Kyuhyun had seemed strangely inconsolable, and how he had thought he was a murderer, Teacher Zhou furrowed his eyebrows and nodded.

“But prior to this, had he been expressing special attention to the presence of blood?”

Leeteuk blinked. “Well, the day I got scratched by the tree branches when I was looking for Eunhyuk, he did ask me why I was so scared of blood.”

“Eunhyuk?” Teacher Zhou’s eyes widened. “You went looking for Eunhyuk?”

Oops. “Uh, no, I wasn’t,” Leeteuk stammered. “Of course not. The pond is off-limits, after all.”

Teacher Zhou looked faintly troubled. “I see.”

 “And I explained to him that it was because blood is the manifestation of pain,” Leeteuk hastily continued. “That’s why I don’t like it.”

“It’s not because of your parents?”

“My parents?” Leeteuk tried to think. “I don’t think it has anything to do with my parents. They just cried a lot that day. My umma in particular.”

Teacher Zhou jotted down a note, looking slightly confused. “So then, what is your opinion of blood now? You said a few weeks ago that you weren’t as scared of it as you used to be.”

“Somehow,” Leeteuk confirmed. “I think it may be because—” He paused and changed his mind. “Teacher Zhou, what is your view on blood?”

“Mine? To me, blood symbolizes life.”

“Life, huh…” Leeteuk thought about the dove. With its blood spilt and pale wings stretched out in death, would that make it a contradiction of life, then? “The same way humans with wings are angels?”

“I don’t understand your logic, Leeteuk…”

“Found another piece,” Ryeowook exclaimed, to no one in particular. “I think this white one belongs to a cloud?”

Leeteuk glanced down and then rearranged it. “No, see here?—it’s the wing of a bird in flight.”

“Eunhyuk-ah, I’m so confused.”

“Hyung, what’s wrong? Talk to me.”

Thinking about the past few weeks, Leeteuk sighed. “I just need someone to talk to. I need advice.”

“Our roles do seem to have reversed as of late.”

“Today, I saw Kyuhyun again. He’s so skinny now. Maybe it’s because he’s going through another growth spurt, but—”

“That’s not the reason, isn’t it?”

“But perhaps it is. He’s aging so fast, Eunhyuk. I don’t know how else to describe it. And Henry’s started crying again.”

“Henry does cry a lot. He cried when I left, too, remember?”

“Yeah…I guess he doesn’t like being left behind. It’s human nature, after all.”

“But how much of your humanity do you think you still have left?”

Leeteuk rubbed his eyes, and then his back. “More and more, I can feel them growing, Eunhyuk. I’m changing.”

“You’re transforming. Just like how I did.”

“But why? What triggers these physical changes?”

Eunhyuk was silent and had stopped moving. “But are they really physical changes? Have your wings really been growing, Leeteuk-hyung?”

Instinctively Leeteuk turned around to see, to point out—that wasn’t it obvious?—and his eyes met umma’s.

“Leeteuk…” she said.

“Umma,” Leeteuk responded, hastily getting up from his kneeling position on the bed. “Why are you here?”

“Who were you talking to?” she asked faintly. She took a few steps into the room. “Are those—anchovies?”

Perhaps he could explain without revealing where he found Eunhyuk. “Umma, Eunhyuk came back!”

She walked over, and then cried out in horror. “Leeteuk-ah! Why are there strawberries in the tank?”

It was a strange question. Surely she must remember that strawberries were Eunhyuk’s favorite food. Though Eunhyuk himself was being strangely silent.

Leeteuk glanced over for help, and was disappointed to find Eunhyuk engaged in some strange floating game with his family. That always meant he wasn’t going to respond anymore. “Oh, I guess he just left…”

He turned apologetically back to umma, and was surprised to find tears silently streaming down her face. “Eh—? Umma, why are you crying? He’ll be back. I know how to bring him back.” His face flushed with guilt. “I’m sorry for disobeying. But don’t you miss him, too?”

In response, she reached over and enveloped him in a constricting hug that left him breathless. “If only it were that easy,” she murmured. There was the sound of muffled sobbing. “If only that were the true solution…”

Like mother, like son, Leeteuk inwardly sighed. Why were they always crying?

As if on cue, Henry ran into the room, followed by Teacher Zhou. After taking only one look at the scene, a series of emotions flitted across Henry’s face—shock, horror, anger, and then resignation. Teacher Zhou, being the older of the two, directly registered the last expression.

“No!” Henry suddenly burst out, and without warning, he lunged forward. Teacher Zhou only barely restrained him in time. “Let go of me! Let go! Stop it! Stop hurting my mother!” he screamed. Leeteuk watched in shock as the two ensued in a mini wrestling match at his doorway. Henry was sobbing, thrashing hard, beating his fists against the white lapels of Teacher Zhou’s coat. “Let go of me, Doctor Zhou. I said, let go!”

“Stop it,” hissed the Teacher. “You’re only making everything worse!”

“What’s the point? Things can’t get any worse anymore, can they?” Henry yelled. “Everybody’s going to die! There’s no one left. Not one!”

Umma had finally let go. Taking a breath, she turned and without facing him, quietly spoke. “Leeteuk-ah, from now on I want you to promise me you won’t leave the building without our permission.”

Leeteuk was too confused and scared to disagree.

“Leeteuk-hyung, have you seen Ryeowook-hyung?” Henry stood at his doorway with his arms crossed, looking in.

Leeteuk paused in his exercise, folding his wings back a little behind the folds of his gray shirt so that Henry wouldn’t notice and comment on them. He wanted Kyuhyun to be the first. “I think he’s outside.”

Henry gave him an incredulous look. “Right now? But it’s supposed to rain…” Both then automatically glanced over at the window, through which they could see the skies getting steadily darker.

A faint, distant memory of a long-ago past seemed to resurface in Leeteuk’s consciousness. He had once learned about rain. “Maybe he’s looking for Donghae.”

Henry opened his mouth with a frown, but then shut it quickly. “Go on.”

“You know.” Leeteuk shrugged. “All rivers eventually lead to the sea, which evaporates into the skies, which then comes down as rain.”

“Uh-huh...”

 “It’s been a while since Donghae left. Maybe he’s coming back tonight.” Leeteuk’s eyes met Henry’s.

There was a small pause. “Do you really believe that?” Henry asked softly. Their eyes remained locked. A silent plea, a desperate clarity, a moment of truth passed, and—

“Yes,” Leeteuk said with certainty, and after another second, Henry gave a small nod and breaking their gaze, he wordlessly left the room.

His wings were growing bigger. Though Leeteuk still didn’t quite understand the theory, he suspected it had something to do with the life-force of those around him. After he had released Eunhyuk and his family back into the pond, he had felt a sudden burst of energy and pain—as if something were blossoming in his chest. It was an aching kind of nostalgia—a thought Eunhyuk surely would have coined—and when he turned back from the pond and squinted through the sun’s heavy glare, he was sure he saw them.

His wings. With their white feathers and glossy coats, they reflected the sun. Stemming from his back, they were a combination of the innocence of doves and the splendor of angels, a majestic manifestation of the stars. And because of that, Leeteuk wanted Kyuhyun to be the very first witness of their existence. Out of everybody, his spirit was most aligned with Leeteuk’s; without fail, he would understand the most clearly.

More than anything, Leeteuk wanted to become an angel with wings. He wanted to fly up, high into the sky, bringing Kyuhyun along so he could show him the purest definition of liberty. He wanted Kyuhyun to see the world the way birds did, with its limitless choices and endless directions for flight. He wanted him to be free.

But it was getting harder to keep them hidden. Much in the same way a secret burdened the knower, Leeteuk’s wings were becoming heavier, a pressing weight on his back that sometimes constricted his chest and left him breathless.

He was running out of time.

Leeteuk walked into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water, noting the eerie silence of the building. Umma and Teacher Zhou had both left a few hours ago, he knew; they said they were going to bring back medicine. Henry was probably outside, looking for Ryeowook or possibly Donghae. Kyuhyun was probably still resting in his room. Who else did that leave…?

Once again, Leeteuk found it hard to remember who was and who wasn’t supposed to still be here at the orphanage. Was Shindong around, perhaps? But he hadn’t seen him in a while…

A sudden noise near the bottom of his feet interrupted his thoughts and caused him to glance down. Leeteuk blinked. “Ryeowook? Why are you lying there?”

From under the chair legs, Ryeowook opened his eyes and gazed upward. “Leeteuk-hyung.” His hands were balled into fists close to his chin, his arms and legs positioned tightly in front of his chest in fetal position; the sight would have almost been funny if it weren’t for the terrified expression on his face. “I’m scared…” His voice was barely a whisper.

Leeteuk quickly placed his glass on the counter and crouched down to his level. “Of what? Or whom?” Henry? He had been acting weird lately, after all…

“Kyuhyun,” Ryeowook answered in a hushed tone. He stretched his arm through the chair legs and shakily reached for Leeteuk’s. “He’s so—bloody, right now—I-I don’t know what to think anymore—”

Bloody. For a second, Leeteuk felt his chest constrict again. Then the moment passed and he shook his head to clear the stars and the metallic smell.

“What do you mean? Bloody, how?”

In response, Ryeowook just closed his eyes and shook his head. “I don’t want to remember anymore. I just want to escape, to become invisible and disappear from this place.” He shook his head more violently and tears began to form. “Pretend you can’t see me, hyung. I don’t want to be found. Just let me hide forever...”

Leeteuk was torn. Part of him wanted to lie down and comfort Ryeowook, while his other half urged him to quickly find Kyuhyun, before it was too late.

But too late for whom?

The metallic fumes were getting stronger. No matter how much Leeteuk tried to clear his head, he couldn’t block out the smell. Every olfactory neuron in his nose was screaming in pain, telling him to turn and run the other way, but he ignored them. Against his better judgment, he meandered through the hall, heading towards the source of his pain.

Kyuhyun’s room.

At the doorway, he paused, staggering and almost retching. The effluvium was on the verge of collapsing his mind, but then in a brief moment of clarity, Leeteuk remembered why he was there.

Hyung, you have to take care of him.

He opened the door and was greeted with a sea of red.