Wooyoung had no control over his own body. His desire to leave his house and return to the institute to find out what happened with San conflicted with the hollowness of his heart that kept him pinned to the bed.
He had cried all of his tears, had submerged his flat in rivers of sorrow. Whenever Seungyoun dropped by to check on Wooyoung, he nearly suffocated on the agony that filled Wooyoung's stuffy home.
Wooyoung felt hollow. He was alone and lost, void of any purpose. His love had died so unexpectedly and many years before the current year. From the moment Wooyoung had first met him, San had been dead. Every one of their plans, every hope they had for the future, all the promises Wooyoung had made to him. They were void and echoed in the emptiness of Wooyoung's heart.
No words Seungyoun had for Wooyoung could soothe him. He suggested going back to Victorian times and spending as much time with San as possible before the inevitable happened. Wooyoung couldn't. He couldn't look San in the face, knowing that his lovely and immortal darling would die after thousands of years of looking forward to loving each other as equals.
It hurt so bad. Like stabs of knives, Wooyoung's heart lurched in his chest every few seconds. He was exhausted and fatigued from crying, so hopeless, even when there was always an option to see San again in the past.
Wooyoung found it unjust. How San had waited so long but still didn't get to be with Wooyoung the way he wanted to be.
Wooyoung sniffled into his snot-spotted pillow. It was disgusting, but he hadn't showered in four days, so he was none the better. Showering and taking care of himself was just too trivial and didn't matter compared to what San had to go through.
Why had he not heeded Wooyoung's warning? Why had he died in the war?
Wooyoung curled up tighter around himself and wrapped his arms around his knees. He was heartbroken, and there was no way to make it better.
He also knew he would check on what happened with San that day. The cycle of misery would repeat because Wooyoung would never get to meet him in his time and he would always know when San would find his untimely end.
Wooyoung laid in his bed trying to sleep off his headache from crying when Seungyoun came in. He didn't bother announcing himself anymore, knowing Wooyoung wouldn't react. The beeping of the door code alerted Wooyoung as the man made his way in.
Seungyoun took off his shoes, but he didn't bother putting his coat down. As he came into Wooyoung's gloomy room that was shrouded in blackness at all times of the day using the blinds, he blinked to let his eyes adjust. As soon as he spotted the heap of suffering under the blanket, he came over to sit by Wooyoung's side. The bed dipped under his weight but Wooyoung made no move to make some space.
"How are you?" Seungyoun asked as he refilled the glass of water at Wooyoung's bedside table. He barely drank from it. Lifting his arm was too much effort.
Wooyoung didn't reply, too exhausted.
"Yongguk suggested I ask you again about finding out what happened with San. I can go, too. I don't mind it, Woo," Seungyoun sighed after a beat of silence. He ended in a relieved breath when Wooyoung rustled in the sheets to pick up his heavy head. Dull and throbbing, his headache came along as he strained to keep it up.
"Don't. He's my business." His nasal voice was raw from all the crying he had done over the past few days.
Seungyoun helplessly patted his shoulder.
"I won't steal him from you. We just don't want to see you sad once more."
His kind words woke stubbornness in Wooyoung's chest. When he sat up, Seungyoun's hand fell off him to land on his lap.
"As if I would avert my eyes from this. I love him. I deserve the truth."
"I could provide you with the same truth," Seungyoun tried again. His voice broke off when Wooyoung pushed his sickly body off the bed and marched over to the bathroom.
"We're going to the institute in fifteen minutes. Don't you dare bring this up again." The glare Wooyoung gave him was far weaker than Wooyoung had hoped, but it shut Seungyoun up. Troubled, the man was left in Wooyoung's bedroom while Wooyoung took a shower and got dressed in a sweater and some jeans. He shivered despite his hot shower and the warm clothing, but he doubted those shivers would stop soon.
The time he had spent with San wasn't as long as many other relationships. But the meaning those weeks had for the two of them resonated far more profoundly in Wooyoung's heart than any other relationship ever could. Wooyoung wouldn't let go of him easily. His heart would yearn for San for a long time.
When Wooyoung got out of the shower, Seungyoun wordlessly accompanied him to the door. He looked glad to have got Wooyoung moving, even if he hadn't succeeded in his solo mission.
Prague's post-Christmas air was crisp. Snow lined the sidewalks prettily and clung to the roofs and trees. Wooyoung would have loved the shine of the city lights on it if his heart hadn't got carved out of his chest with a dull knife.
As Seungyoun halted their walk next to a bakery, Wooyoung glared at him impatiently.
"You have to eat," Seungyoun appealed to his stomach. Wooyoung hadn't been hungry in four days. Everything he forced into his body, he wanted to throw right back up.
"Leave it and let's just go."
Despite Wooyoung's ignorance, Seungyoun reached into his coat and pulled out his purse.
"Give me a second, I'll be right back." Quickly, he dipped inside the store. From time to time, he glanced through the window to check if Wooyoung was still there. Upset feet kicked at the snow, ruining its perfect blanket.
Seungyoun returned and shoved the bag with delicious pastries against Wooyoung's chest. Some of them were still warm and wafted deliciously. Against his better judgment, he peeked inside the bag. The sight of a raisin roll among a few other of Wooyoung's favourites had his stomach twist.
With trembling lips, Wooyoung cradled the raisin roll that reminded him of Yeosang so much. He could barely eat through the lump in his throat, but he fought through it. Seungyoun's soft smile was worth his struggle.
It had been a while since he had seen Seungyoun smile.
By the time they arrived at the institute, Wooyoung had eaten all of his snacks. Seungyoun stopped bugging him to let him prepare in peace. Tense and uncomfortable, Wooyoung's stiff fingers put on the uniform again.
Should he just run off? Should he just return to Victorian England to spend the rest of his life with San and conveniently destroy his remote? Yongguk would get in huge trouble for this, but maybe being selfish would be worth it.
With a gulp, Wooyoung put in the date he had learnt a few days ago and that he hadn't been able to forget. 16th January 1944. The worst day in history. The day all happiness and hope ended.
Wooyoung needed a moment before he dared step through the door. He knew what awaited him. Trenches, bullets, tanks and the pungent smell of death. As grim as these sounded, however, the imagination of San amidst it was the absolute worst.
Wooyoung exhaled, trying to reassure himself. First, he needed to find San and make sure he didn't get caught in trouble along the way. Out on the battlefield weren't a lot of doors. Wooyoung had to stay vigilant.
After another moment of contemplating, Wooyoung stepped through the door. This time, he wore a French flag on his uniform to assert his role among the army he would infiltrate. He would be one of many, hopefully not questioned between the masses of faces and names.
Wooyoung stepped out of a ramshackle hut that the French commandants had put up tucked away in a corner of the forest. It served mainly as a roof above their heads for strategic meetings.
As soon as he had walked outside onto the grass patch, he shuffled out of the way so the hurrying people wouldn't have to round him. Judging by the sounds, there was no attack currently, and Wooyoung was glad about that. His working contract strictly prohibited Yongguk from sending Wooyoung into any area where trauma like war trauma was likely, hence why the current mission had to be subtle.
Wooyoung hoped to be gone before the bombs fell. This was not his place to be.
The hut was several hundred metres off from the main battlefield. In the distance, he could see soldiers running through the trenches, crossing through the ground like a maze. They were for defence; this area of France wasn't actively part of the attacks on German territory.
The French had built several guard towers that enveloped soldiers scanning the battleground. With attentive eyes, they observed the stark fields through their spyglasses.
Wooyoung walked around without a goal for a while. He wasn't sure where he had to go and if it was trouble that he looked so lost. It was impossible for him to tell whether the other people around him were relaxed or ready for an attack. The lines blended in the stuffy air that smelt of metal and death. On their pale and empty faces, Wooyoung found not a single emotion.
Asking where he could find the medical unit was nonsense. It would give his strangeness to the situation away.
Wooyoung was about to turn left and see if the medical station was hidden somewhere in the trenches when a hand caught his arm. He jolted, ready to pull some excuse out of his sleeve about why he stumbled around like a fool in an area that expected an attack by tonight, given that San had to die here today.
However, the face that looked at Wooyoung from under short-cropped hair was familiar to him. The last name stitched to the man's blue uniform, on the other hand, wasn't.
Kim.
Kim Hongjoong.
"What are you doing here?" The man asked with the same suspicion Wooyoung had heard in the future already. Instantly, Wooyoung stiffened and paid extra attention to his words. He shouldn't confuse the past with the present.
"I'm on a private mission; the sergeant already allowed me. I'm searching for a man in the name of his parents, a powerful family concerned with getting their son off the battlefield," Wooyoung replied. Hongjoong looked wary of him for a moment longer, then some of his tension fell. He rolled his eyes as he let go of Wooyoung's arm.
"One of those snotty families, eh? We see these people all the time. I have time right now. Tell me his name and rank and I will bring you to him. If it's one of the kids that keep crying about wanting their mommy back, I might be glad to get rid of him."
Wooyoung smiled confusedly at the man's rough statement. It was more bitter, more brusque than the conversation they had had in the future. Then again, this was the war. Hongjoong had no patience for fools either.
"He's called Louis Anctil, Medical Division."
"Follow me."
Wooyoung wandered through the camp behind Hongjoong. The man brought him behind the watchtower to a man-made hole he hadn't noticed before. The tent inside was white and had a red cross on it. The flap was open and a few doctors and nurses hurried around to tend to a couple of injured patients. Wooyoung spotted dead eyes and missing limbs before he turned to look at the woman Hongjoong had approached.
"I'm searching for Louis Anctil. Is he here?"
"Haven't seen him since he went out to aid the people on the field yesterday. Ask Doctor Carrier. He's in the back identifying the victims still."
Wooyoung's heart weighed heavy in his stomach as he followed Hongjoong back out of the pit. The man glanced at his pale features and grimaced.
"You might be a day too late."
Hongjoong marched towards the 'back' that was just an area near the forest where the bodies of the fallen laid in neat rows. The symmetry gave an illusion of peace and order, contradicting death. A single doctor in a hauntingly white coat went from one to the other and noted data on his board. As he left, he pulled white sheets over the dead soldiers.
He still had so many people to go to.
Hongjoong and Wooyoung approached him. Wooyoung slinked behind Hongjoong with little courage to look at the distraught corpses and their lifeless gaze at the sky. Memories of Norway bubbled up in him, numbing his limbs.
This time, no San was there to hold him through his tremors.
"Doctor. I'm searching for Nurse Anctil. Have you seen him?"
The doctor glanced between Hongjoong and Wooyoung with his bloodshot and haunted eyes. His gaze at the board brought up no answer.
"I haven't noted him yet, but none of the nurses who went out during the shootings returned. You may check for him," he said in a whisper. His hand offered them the rows of dead people before he moved on.
With Hongjoong by his side, Wooyoung slowly trudged forward.
He desperately hoped not to find San here and to be right ultimately that the man had faked his death. Yet his heart told him that this hope was that of a fool.