“Leeteuk-ah, you’ve turned nineteen this year, right?”

“Yes, umma.” Leeteuk lowered his head respectfully, mentally counting the years. He had arrived at the orphanage back in ’45, when he was thirteen. That was six years ago.          

“You’re an adult now. It’s almost time for you to leave,” she said softly. At her words, Leeteuk looked up. Here it was again, that familiar tone of resignation in her voice. Too often, it seemed, he would hear it—her perpetual sadness.

“Yes, umma,” he repeated, trying to bring her smile back. “I think I already know what I want to do.”

“Oh?”

“I’m going to follow Kangin and Heechul’s path,” he said boldly, referring to two younger kids who had already left. “I want to join the army and fight in the war.”

She sighed and looked away. Leeteuk knew how she felt about his decision, and the guilt of understanding twanged his heart. He knew from personal experience how she daily worried, always wondering if they were still alive, always wondering if they would ever return. He himself felt the same oppressive fear every day, a gnawing feeling which only intensified in progression with the ongoing war.

And yet, hypocritically, he was still choosing to join their ranks. To join the ever-growing male MIA list of the orphanage.

But though children left, they never forgot their roots here. Even after they found loving parents to adopt them, the grateful ones usually came back. Usually returning unexpectedly or without warning, they nevertheless always reappeared when called. The children who didn’t were the ungrateful or the unhappy ones.

But they were still missed, nonetheless, Leeteuk mused, as a particular face flashed across his memory. They were still missed.

The noonday sun was already shining brightly by the time Leeteuk finished his meeting, and as he pushed through the thick doors into the outside world, he stopped for a moment to take a breath. The fresh air and scenic view that surrounded the rural location of the orphanage always calmed his nerves. He walked through the field, relishing in the feel of the cool layer of wetness that coated the grass against his bare feet, passed the small hill that overlooked the pond—which was still marked off-limits by tape—and then climbed over a fence or two, until he arrived at the clearing. He paused for a moment, surveying his surroundings.

“I knew it,” he laughed. “I knew I’d find you here, Kyuhyun.”

“Leeteuk-hyung!” The younger fourteen year old ran over to him, expertly kicking a soccer ball as he went. “You’re back! How did the talk with umma go?”

“Not bad. I told her I wanted to join the army.”

“Like Kangin-hyung and Heechul-hyung, huh,” Kyuhyun said reflectively. “Me, too! I can’t wait for my turn. I want to be able to serve our country, too.”

“You’re still too young,” Leeteuk teased, poking him. “Wait till you grow up, like me.”

Kyuhyun pouted. “Five years is so long…”

In truth, Leeteuk thought, as he watched the boy suddenly call out to somebody outside his line of vision, Kyuhyun had already started. Puberty had finally struck his youngest brother, and over the last few weeks, he had shot up several centimeters and lost quite a bit of his coordination and balance in the process. Though he still retained his happy and innocent demeanor, there were also now times when he would seem a bit off. Adolescence seemed to have that effect, Leeteuk mused, as Ryeowook now came into view.

“Hey, Ryeowook,” he greeted him. “Playing soccer with Kyuhyunnie now, are we?”

Like Leeteuk, Ryeowook also seemed unable to resist spoiling the magnae of their self-classified family. Though Kyuhyun had stolen that label from Ryeowook, the latter never seemed to hate him for it. On the contrary, it appeared that the original magnae liked to dote on him almost as much as Leeteuk did.

“I hate sports,” Ryeowook now groaned, panting a bit, while next to him Kyuhyun stood beaming. “But someone had to play with him today, so I figured…”

Leeteuk laughed appreciatively, and then reached over to ruffle Kyuhyun’s hair. “See, being young has its perks, doesn’t it?”

Kyuhyun looked confused. “Sorry, what were you talking about?”

Leeteuk shook his head. “So spoiled, you!”

Kyuhyun opened his mouth, but before he could answer—would it have been a retort or a question?—they were interrupted by a new voice.

“Mom says it’s time for lunch now,” Henry announced, poking his head above the fence. At thirteen—though he personally insisted he was still twelve, something about how modern Chinese age counting systems were different—he still had yet to hit his growth spurt and as such, even standing on his tiptoes, his face barely made it above the highest rung.

Somehow, Leeteuk thought, as four started making their way back to the orphanage, he always did seem to forget about Henry’s status as the real magnae of the family. But then again, perhaps it was because he was different.

He was umma’s only real son, after all. Her own flesh and blood.

And the rest, they were just adopted. By default of misfortune or rejection, or perhaps a combination of both, they were merely taken in because they had nowhere else to go.

Sometimes, he dreamt of his real parents. In his last memories of them, his mother had been crying. Clutching the creases of her husband’s clothing, she had endlessly sobbed into his chest, while Leeteuk’s father had stoically returned his gaze.

“Go on, now,” he had said. “Please be happier in this life. Be free from all the pain…”

And then he would wake up, in confusion. Always, in confusion. What pain? There was no blood. Surely, then, there was no pain.

As the years passed, Leeteuk found himself gradually forgetting. At times, he would remember the last image of his parents the way his dreams portrayed them, but on other days, he would recall a much more violent picture: He had seen the carnage, heard the screams, stood there rooted to the floor as the psychotic soldier shot the life out of their bodies...

There had been blood, lots of it, Leeteuk remembered, as a chill ran down his spine. Blood was the ultimate manifestation of pain.

“You told Mom that you wanted to join the army,” Henry said after lunch.

Leeteuk gazed down at the younger boy, wondering where his defiance was coming from. “Yeah, that’s right.”

Henry’s face still hadn’t lost its incredulous look. “Do you know what you’re getting yourself into? Why do you want to die so badly? Is your life really that hard to live?”

“What’s that mean,” Leeteuk retorted. “I just want to serve my country. Is there something wrong with that?”

Henry glared at him. “If I knew my time were limited, I’d try to enjoy life as best I’d could.”

“I repeat,” Leeteuk said angrily, “What’s that mean—”

“Henry,” his umma said in a warning voice as she walked up behind them. “Watch what you say.”

Leeteuk watched as Henry’s facial expression changed. For a moment, he lost his fierce expression and looked—was it lost?—but before Leeteuk had time to process the emotion, Henry had already turned around and ran away.

Leeteuk made to go after him, but after a few feet, Henry suddenly spun back and this time, there was no mistaking the anguish in his face.

“I just hate seeing you get hurt over and over again,” he said bluntly, before twisting his face away and slamming the door.

His umma sighed. “Don’t mind him. He’s just having his mood swings. You know how he still misses Hangeng.”

Leeteuk exhaled. “Don’t we all?” he asked rhetorically. His gaze traveled to the window, where the sun was shining through the clear skies. “I wonder if he ever did find that freedom he was looking for.”

In response, his umma merely reached out and lightly touched his arm. “I’m sure he did,” she whispered before walking away, leaving Leeteuk alone to deal with his ruminations.

It was confusing times like these when Leeteuk thought about Hangeng the most. The younger boy had run away two—or was that three?—years ago, taking a good part of Leeteuk’s heart and happiness with him. As the self-proclaimed “leader” of their small group of boys, he had considered it his responsibility to oversee their welfare. Hangeng’s disappearance had been a blow, but the image that would be eternally solidified in his mind was the hollowed look in Henry’s face when he broke the news. There was such a depth of despair in his eyes so unrelated to any instance of blood—after all, Hangeng had left quite nonviolently—that for a long time, Leeteuk found himself unable to puzzle it out. And ever since then, Henry had been distant from the others, always held back, as if afraid to get close.

Leeteuk gazed up at the sky. The heavens were a clear blue now, but he knew that come nighttime, the evening hues transform into a dark purplish red.

“This is it! This, right here,”—the brown-haired boy was holding up a large hard object and waving it wildly—“this is from the warships!”

“It’s just a piece of metal, Donghae,” the blond laughed. “Give it up. If you want to find real fins, you’ll have to ask my family.”

Donghae pouted. “This is a real fin, Eunhyuk. They said so.” He gestured backwards towards the pond. “The war is coming here.”

Eunhyuk was sitting at the edge, his bare calloused feet kicking ripples in the otherwise clear water. Occasionally, fish would swim by, and he would pause, leaning over in interest. “Hey, my fellow anchovies. How goes the world down there?”

“I can’t wait to join the navy,” his companion commented dreamily, kicking back and lying in the grass with the blond. “It’s going to happen soon, I’m sure. This fin right here is a sign. I just know it.”

Eunhyuk laughed, before turning to Leeteuk. “Hyung, what do you think?”

“I think you’re both insane,” Leeteuk replied.

Leeteuk stood knee-deep in the shallow area of the pond, with pants rolled up and hand on hip. His other hand tightly clasped the telescopic handle of a small fishing net, as he plunged it into the water yet again and waited for success. 

He had a question to ask.

After a few minutes, there was a slight movement, and he instinctively jerked the net out of the water. He peered inside and smiled with excitement when he found five helpless anchovies thrashing against the thread.

Finally! Leeteuk thought, as a one of them suddenly slapped out, striking him across the face. Leeteuk involuntarily jolted, causing his arm to graze against the low-hanging branches of a nearby tree.

All the euphoria he had felt upon finally capturing the elusive fish disappeared as a red streak appeared on his arm.

“Ugh…”

He barely had time to set the anchovies down in a nearby bucket of water before swaying and falling into the pond with a loud splash.

“Hyung!” Leeteuk shook the water from his eyes and looked up. Kyuhyun and Ryeowook were running over, the latter holding a soccer ball in his hands. Despite himself, Leeteuk smiled.

“What are you doing in the water?” Ryeowook asked anxiously. “You know you’re not supposed to go in there!” At the same time, Kyuhyun cried out.

“Your arm! It’s bleeding!”

Leeteuk closed his eyes. “I’m aware,” he said through gritted teeth. He also realized that he was turning pale.

“I’ll get help,” Ryeowook said, dropping the soccer ball onto the ground, all traces of his previous disapproval gone. “Kyuhyun-ah, you stay here and watch over him, okay?”

“Yes, hyung,” Kyuhyun said obediently. As Ryeowook dashed across the field en route back to the orphanage, Kyuhyun turned his worried gaze back to Leeteuk. “Are you okay?”

Leeteuk had been opening and closing his eyes. At the anxious tone in Kyuhyun’s voice, he fluttered his eyelids again and forced them to remain open. “I’m fine,” he said faintly. “I just don’t like blood, that’s all.”

Kyuhyun looked troubled. “Why not?”

“Because of what it represents.” He couldn’t do it. He closed his eyes again. “I can’t take it. The sight of blood. The manifestation of pain.”

Kyuhyun was quiet, presumably processing his words. Leeteuk heard his deep breaths.

“How was your soccer game with Ryeowook? I’m sorry I interrupted it.”

“Ryeowook?” Kyuhyun asked blankly. “Who’s Ryeowook?”

The honest confusion in his voice caused Leeteuk to open his eyes again. “What?”

Kyuhyun was staring at him. “Leeteuk-hyung, are you truly alright?”

His question seemed to stir something in Leeteuk, and with an effort he stood up and stepped over to the bank. “Let’s get away from the water, Kyuhyun. I don’t want umma and Henry to find us here.”

Kyuhyun obediently followed him. “Were you looking for Eunhyuk-hyung?”

His perceptiveness was uncanny sometimes, Leeteuk thought, as he gave a rueful smile. “How did you know?”

“Because Donghae-hyung wouldn’t be here,” Kyuhyun said solemnly. “He’s already left to ‘become something big.’ For the war.” Leeteuk nodded, remembering. His dongsaeng had once given a whole speech about his ambitions, titled ‘I AM.’ At that time, no one had thought too much about it.

Until Donghae disappeared the next day.

 “So which one do you think is Eunhyuk-hyung?”

From the corner of his eye, Leeteuk saw umma and Henry rushing over, running through the fields carrying first-aid. Ryeowook was leading the way and pointing. At the sight of him, Leeteuk suddenly remembered Kyuhyun’s strange response to his first question.

“Weren’t you playing soccer with Ryeowook?” Leeteuk asked. “See, he’s coming back now.”

“You mean Sungmin-hyung?” Kyuhyun was cupping his eyes to block the sun. “He’s brought umma and Henry.”

“Who’s ‘Sungmin-hyung’?” Leeteuk asked incredulously. “There is no Sungmin at the orphanage.”

As umma reached Leeteuk and began fussing about his injury, Leeteuk stared at Kyuhyun. He was doing it again. Being weird like that—is this supposed to happen during adolescence? He watched as Kyuhyun animatedly talked to Ryeowook, pointing at his arm and at the bucket of anchovies, using various hand signs to accompany his speech. What did he mean, ‘Who’s Ryeowook?’—

“It’s just a minor cut, really. Nothing to be worried about,” umma finally declared, her relief apparent in her voice. “The way Ryeowook was carrying on, I thought you were bleeding to death or something.” Leeteuk gave a weak laugh, appreciating how she wasn’t commenting on his wet clothes.

Henry had been watching him carefully. Now he spoke up again. “Are you truly fit to be a soldier?” he asked quietly. “If you can’t even stand the sight of blood—”

“I’m working on it,” Leeteuk snapped, suddenly angry, though at whom he couldn’t be sure. From the corner of his eye, he saw Kyuhyun wince at his sudden sharp tone and he softened it a bit. “I’ll overcome it. You’ll see. Don’t you worry about me.”

He stared at his hands, noting how his balled fists had turned his knuckles white. He relaxed them and began flexing his fingers, trying to get circulation running again. He would overcome his fear of blood. Because no matter what, he was determined to join the army. Even if it killed him.

It was Sunday. As all the members of the orphanage gathered together into the large dining room for the informal church service, Leeteuk took a moment to glance around. Locating Kyuhyun and Ryeowook among the scattered groups of boys wandering around finding seats, he made his way over to them.

“—hyung, your tie is slightly crooked,” Kyuhyun was saying, as he fixed Ryeowook’s shirt and tie. “You have to tie it like this­—”

“Hey, Leeteuk-hyung,” Ryeowook greeted him. “How’s your arm?”

“It’s been better.” Leeteuk offered a half-smile. “But I’m working on it.”

“Hyung, the service is starting soon,” Kyuhyun said, tugging at both of their shirts. “Let’s find seats!”

Sometimes, Leeteuk thought, as he settled into his folding chair, he really didn’t know why they still kept church service. Ever since the war had begun last year, so many things had changed. The number of males at their orphanage had decreased dramatically, and with each passing day, more and more seemed to leave.

For some reason, Leeteuk found it hard to picture their names and faces.

So many of the services they used to take for granted had disappeared. The contractors who were supposed to build that safety fence never arrived, the medicine trunks no longer made their weekly visits, and the teachers and tutors had stopped coming. Leeteuk barely remembered his last Hanja lesson; sometimes, he wondered if he even still remembered how to read the Chinese characters. Located in the countryside and cut off from society, the orphanage had essentially lost contact with the outside world. The only things that remained unchanging were the pastor’s weekly visits. But even then, he always seemed to say the same thing.

“Though death may be imminent, there is hope in eternity,” he was now reciting. “Do not be misled by what you see, for you live in a realm of false paths, false hopes, and false ideals. Think of this place as a mere playground of deception, and do not hold stock to it—for soon you will no longer be part of that reality.”

Every week, Leeteuk sighed, he said the same thing. His message never seemed to change. Perhaps it was because of the war, but he always seemed to preach as if one would die tomorrow—

“Remember,” Siwon the minister now concluded as Henry stood up with the donation bag to collect offerings, “just like how life must be based on truth if it is to last, the same principle applies to man. Fight the inevitable and resist fantasy; otherwise, you, too, will fall into the world of illusion and the mysteries of eternity.”

“Hyung, let’s play soccer,” Kyuhyun said eagerly upon the end of service. “The weather’s nice today.”

Leeteuk agreed. Summer was ending; who knew how many days like this they had left? “Let’s get Shindong and Nari to join us,” he suggested, noticing the couple making their way to them through the milling crowd.

They approached, still holding hands. “Long time no see,” Leeteuk smiled, lightly smacking Shindong’s shoulder. “I see you two are still together.”

Nari blushed, while Shindong merely shrugged. “Why deny a man his happiness?”

Leeteuk shook his head. Same dark attitude as always. Ironic, though, that among all of them, he was the only one with a girlfriend.

“We’re just stopping by to say hi,” Shindong was saying. Leeteuk snapped out of his thoughts. “Our nicer days are ending, so I want to take this opportunity now to enjoy them with Nari. Before we all forget these feelings of normalcy.” He sighed, and Nari touched his shoulder in silent comfort.

“Hyung, are you coming?” Kyuhyun called. Leeteuk turned around; Kyuhyun was already standing outside the open doors, idly dribbling the ball with his feet.

“I see,” Leeteuk replied. Then he shot a quick look to Kyuhyun. “Give me a second!” Turning back around to bid Shindong and Nari a proper good-bye, he was surprised to find that they had already vanished.

The noonday sun was suffocating. As both passed the ball back and forth with frenzied kicks and swift blocks, Leeteuk found his energy draining. Losing his sense of precision for a moment, he miscalculated his kick and accidentally sent the soccer ball a few meters off from where Kyuhyun had been waiting.

As the younger boy sprinted after the spinning projectile, Leeteuk took a moment to admire his grace. They had been playing for the same amount of time, but while Leeteuk was huffing and sweating, Kyuhyun still appeared pristine. Even now, with the way he moved across the field, so agilely and effortlessly, he almost appeared to be flying. Like an angel. He even had the personality and innocence of one, Leeteuk idly thought, and as he squinted, Kyuhyun reached the ball and turned around to aim his kick. His wings seemed to billow out behind his back, blending perfectly with the sun behind him.

Its glare was blinding.

Suddenly there was a sharp crack; halfway through its trajectory, the ball had struck a tree and gotten caught among the leaves. As Leeteuk and Kyuhyun ran over, something sticky and red was dripping from the branches. Scaling the tree in a hurry, Kyuhyun reached over to retrieve the soccer ball and then cried out in horror.

“Hyung—what do we do? We killed them—”

Eggs. There had been eggs. It had been a bird nest. Suddenly, Leeteuk comprehended the cracking sounds, and his stomach churned in disgust.

“I-it’s okay, the parents aren’t around. Just come down and—” There was a shriek, and as he spoke, something small and fast suddenly came speeding through their midst. It attacked Kyuhyun and he nearly fell from the tree. A long trail of red marked its flight trajectory through the air.

Kyuhyun cried out again, but this time, it wasn’t from horror.

“Kyuhyun-ah!” As he shouted, another white bullet came flying out of nowhere, screeching violently. Kyuhyun raised his bloody arm to shield his face, his body swaying dangerously on the branch.

“Stop it!” Leeteuk cried frantically. He wildly grabbed for something—anything—and instinctively, his hand closed on the hard sharp object he had been keeping in his pocket since the incident. “Stop it!” He took a swing, and the stone left his hand.

There was a deadening thump upon impact, and two bodies dropped from the air.

As the dust cleared, Leeteuk slowly opened his eyes and groaned, feeling a stab of pain shoot through his leg. He tasted blood in his mouth and nearly threw up at the revelation.

His body was shaking uncontrollably, and the burden on his injured leg was overloading his pain receptors to the point of blurred vision. There was a whimpering sound.

“Kyuhyun-ah?” The heavy weight shifted and his leg instantly felt lighter. Leeteuk reached over, hand outstretched. “Kyuhyun-ah—”

And then he stopped.

Kyuhyun was barely upright, sitting in a crumpled heap mere inches away from where he had fallen on top of Leeteuk. Arms encircling his torso, he was hunched over and trembling. Bloody trails lined the exposed skin on his arms and legs. But what was the most worrying were the sounds that issued from his lips.

He was crying.

“Kyuhyun-ah…”

He finally looked up. His eyes were wide and vacant. There was another cut on his cheek, Leeteuk noticed, but that thought was quickly banished with his next words.

“So…much…blood…” Leeteuk scrambled over. “Why…?” He lurched forward and grabbed Leeteuk’s outstretched hands. “Why do I suddenly see—so clearly—?”

Leeteuk shifted his weight and tested his foot. It was probably just a sprain, he thought, with temporary relief. Taking care not to touch the cuts, Leeteuk gently lifted his younger brother’s arms and attempted to raise him to a standing position.

“Hyung—stop, why are you helping me?”

“What are you talking about, Kyuhyun, you’re hurt! Can you stand?”

A light laugh. “Hyung, don’t you see? I’m a murderer. I killed those baby birds.”

“It was an accident, Kyu. You didn’t do it on purpose.”

Another laugh. “Hyung, then were your parents accidentally murdered, too?”

“Accidently murdered”—that phrase should not even logically exist, Leeteuk thought, before responding out loud. “Kyuhyun, what’s gotten into you?” The hollowed look still hadn’t left his eyes.

“I’m a murderer now,” he said sadly. He raised his palms, seeming to see something beyond the scratches and dirt that lined his wrists. “There is blood on my hands. But you, hyung—,” and then suddenly, his eyes seemed to sparkle—“you’re like an angel. You saved me just now! You’re an angel without wings.”

Leeteuk looked into his shining eyes, and for a moment, he forgot his inhibitions and found himself believing it.

“An ‘angel without wings,” he repeated. “Huh. I like that.”