TW: War descriptions? Nothing too explicit but proceed with caution if sensitive

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Wooyoung didn't waste any time to start his very theory-based rescue mission. When he had barged into Seungyoun's office to collect his uniform, the man had been bewildered but provided Wooyoung right away. Equipped with determination and his uniform, Wooyoung sped over to the travel room. He changed his clothes in record time and haphazardly closed his belt. While he tapped his foot impatiently in decontamination, he straightened his jacket and tied his shoelaces, too.

San had already been dead on the 16th of January, so Wooyoung tried the 15th. He prayed he wouldn't meet Hongjoong again since yet another meeting in the past before their actual one would only heighten both of their confusion.

Wooyoung stepped out onto the same field as last time. That day, the mist shrouded it in a mystery that made it hard to spy on the enemy on the other line. Wooyoung was ready to fight his way through the bullet fire that would soon hail down on them to kill all the men he had seen the day after. His determination distracted him from the horrible reality that was about to crash down on him.

Or so he thought. But the afternoon Wooyoung arrived, blood had already bathed the soil red. The bodies were still out on the field, nobody daring to collect them yet since the enemy still had their eyes on them.

In shock, Wooyoung stared at the still area. From time to time, heads or arms poked out of the trenches to drag one of the nearby bodies over before they got spotted. When a shot banged once, Wooyoung startled, but the soldiers hidden in the trenches had ducked fast enough.

The sight was horrendous, but Wooyoung had no time to dawdle. He raced off, leaving that horrible field behind as he searched for the tower Hongjoong had pointed out to him upon his last visit. He found it again and behind it was the tent where the same doctor as last time was currently hunched over a patient. The wounded soldier had gritted his teeth around a piece of wood as the doctor cut a bullet out of his arm. The bloodied mess had Wooyoung's knees weak, but he averted his eyes quickly.

"Where is Louis?" He called down into the pit. Without looking up, the doctor jerked his head towards the field.

"Went out a while ago to help the wounded on the field, don't disturb me!"

Wooyoung muttered an apology under his breath before he took off. The trenches started at a wall of boxes and bags that protected the entrance to the maze from any shooters. Wooyoung hastened down the stairs made of wooden stakes clinging to the muddy earth. Surrounded by the tall walls that were stabilised with simple boards and poles of the same material, Wooyoung felt claustrophobic and safe at the same time. If somebody appeared up there to shoot down on him, he would have nowhere to run. He was trapped between the narrow walls like a mouse in a hole.

Boxes with ammunition and weapons passed Wooyoung. They were dirty from the boots and blood of soldiers sitting on them. The rain had washed some stains off, but most had blended into the wood permanently.

He passed two soldiers that dragged each other over the muddy ground to escape the trenches. They had patched each other up as much as possible, but their pale faces still didn't look so good as they hauled their battered bodies to the medic tent. Wooyoung glanced after them worriedly, unsure if they were faces he had seen among the dead.

He wished them all the luck.

It took Wooyoung several wrong turns that led him into confusing sloped dead-ends before he got anywhere. By the time he had figured out the right trail to the part of the maze closer to the enemy, he also found more people. Soldiers rested their heavy limbs on the crates, dragged dead comrades from the field and patched up the worst wounds. From time to time, singular shots still fell, some from their direction; signalling that the French Army also still shot at the German trenches trying to preserve their own wounded. Each time, Wooyoung's heard jumped in terror and he ducked his head further between his shoulders.

Wandering the site was horrific, but Wooyoung could deny his eyes from most of its sights by wandering straight ahead stubbornly. He passed all the horrible wounds, the battered men and the empty gazes. The one he searched for was somewhere out here and Wooyoung had to be fast if he didn't want him gone.

After a while, Wooyoung spotted the doctor he had seen on the field the day prior in a corner. Carrier was his name. He talked to a wounded soldier as he wrapped his bleeding leg in layers upon layers of gauze. The dirtied wound looked bad enough to be amputated.

Wooyoung rounded the corner and marched in his direction. The path went on after that, and if San had come with the doctor, he might be in the area.

It took Wooyoung another ten minutes to find the man through the stench of death and gunpowder that bit in his eyes. San laid lifelessly next to the weakly twitching body of a man who babbled and whimpered under his breath unintelligibly. No asking him about what had happened was possible, as Wooyoung crouched next to San to turn him around. Sadness overcame Wooyoung once more as he gazed upon his pale and passive features. Features that were so expressive and gorgeous in life but lost all of their glory in death.

The wound on his head was still fresh and oozed blood and brain fluids. The sight was even grosser than his body after resting for a day, draining blood. Sticky, the pool under his head signalled he had laid there for a while. He probably got shot by the enemies while trying to save the wounded soldiers on the battlefield.

Some heat still lingered in San's body. Rigor Mortis had yet to set in and the man's eyes were wide open from the moment of sudden death.

Wooyoung closed his eyes for him before he stood with a shudder. He wanted to hold San close and cradle him in his arms, but there was no time. In his unsafe surroundings, Wooyoung shouldn't cling to the man's dead body. As much as his heart ached for the man, he had to leave.

He had failed. Not because his technique hadn't worked, but because he was too late. Somewhere over in the other field, some German soldier had just gained the upgrade of his life and didn't even know about it.

There was hope. If Wooyoung came earlier, it could still work. He had to try again, had to be faster. It was a race against time in a surrounding that could mean Wooyoung's instant death if he wasn't careful, but he didn't care. For San, who had to die so often for him, Wooyoung would not surrender until he could prove his theory right. The days of crying and moping were over.

Wooyoung retreated. His stomach was in twists as he passed all the suffering people once again and basically ran out of the trenches. He left behind the injured and the dead, and the lucky ones, who got off with only a few bruises from slipping in the mud. Like a frightful memoir, the sounds and the scent of death followed him as he climbed the stairs to flee back out of the tower door.

He emerged back into the institute shaken but willing to try it again.

But not today. He couldn't control the hour of the day with their machine, just always skipping back to the current time at the places he went. If he wanted to be early enough to make a difference, he had to try again in the morning.

Wooyoung changed his clothes impatiently. Some blood stuck to his hands afterwards, and they shook when he washed them under the lukewarm water of the bathroom that felt scorching hot on his skin.

He ignored how he looked in the mirror. How wide his pupils had dilated and how his hair stuck from his head messily. Wooyoung told himself he could stomach the horrors of war for San, but he didn't look like he could.

As Wooyoung wandered home, he watched the couples milling around to enjoy the last winter spirit. Christmas was over and the pretty decorations were gone, but it still snowed and the kids still threw snowballs at each other and squealed. It was a perfect and peaceful sight of Prague that Wooyoung appreciated rarely, but he saw its wonders now. Although its beauty was overshadowed by his worries and his envy that he couldn't stroll around the park with his lover the same way.

Was his effort worth it or would he just get disappointed continuously by San's death? Would he see the man die so often that Wooyoung's heart detached from him in its trauma and stopped loving him?

Maybe Wooyoung should make for his honours, after all. Maybe he should just steal a remote and never come back and claim to have lost himself in time. It happened rarely, but Seungyoun would cover up for him. Maybe staying with San in the past and living the last years in happiness was the only way they could be together.

But it was unfair and selfish. Now that Wooyoung knew the man would die, a prompt like this was his egoistic, loving heart speaking. How should he look San in the eye, knowing he would die? How would he explain he would rather die first instead of having to deal with San's death? How would he excuse San having to deal with Wooyoung dying first instead?

One of them had already gone through the pain of losing the other. All that Wooyoung could do was try to reverse it and to make sure San didn't have to suffer in the same way. Maybe San was glad knowing Wooyoung didn't have to live through the wars. His last thought might have been dedicated to Wooyoung and his happiness.

The thought was chilling, more so than the snowflakes slipping under the collar of Wooyoung's jacket.

He watched the couples again. Near the park was an ice rink that was still open in the cold temperatures of February. The couples on there spun in merry circles and others looked on as they decided whether to dare the slippery dance as well.

Wooyoung wandered past with his back hunched and his hands in his pockets. Having a lover he couldn't access, one he lost, was far worse than the regular single life. He didn't regret meeting San. But the cold reminded him of wolf pelts and naked limbs at the fireplace. The heat reminded him of orange veils and heavy wine. The scent of summer reminded him of sunny days in Florence and the colourful days of autumn reminded him of a thief in Nottingham and a gentleman in rainy London.

San was everywhere around him and yet nowhere.

Wooyoung knew he could live on without the man. Heartbreak was real, but Wooyoung knew he could. If San was anyone else, but who he was. If their love wasn't built upon centuries of yearning.

If Wooyoung didn't still see the weak glimmer of hope that maybe, maybe, he could defy time and bring the man back.

Wooyoung's walk ended at the entrance to his apartment building, but he hesitated from stepping into the spacious lobby. Up there, only loneliness awaited him. No home, no warmth. Just artificial dreams.

Wooyoung turned on his heel to wander back to the river. For many hours, he sat out there on a bench and stared out over the water. He pretended he was in London, that San sat next to him to kiss his hand and tell him how gorgeous he was. The coldness of the night couldn't touch their warm little bubble and Wooyoung's heart fluttered in his chest like it hadn't dared to do in a long time.

When the wind got unbearably cold under Wooyoung's coat and kept interrupting his romantic daydreams, he returned home. This time, he went up to his flat and shook the snow out of his coat before he took a long and hot shower.

He couldn't live without San, after all. His mission had to succeed or Wooyoung might go crazy from how much he missed the man.

He wasn't as patient with waiting as San was, knowing there was nothing to wait for. Wooyoung's time was so short already, so he had to bring San back, or he had to find a way to be with him in the past.

He saw no other way to save himself from the darkness that threatened to pull him under whenever he was alone.