On Saturday, the perfect opportunity arises.

The previous Friday evening Baekhyun had told Chanyeol he’d be out Saturday morning. He needed to meet with the owners of the theater downtown to finalize details of his upcoming performance and wouldn’t be back till around noon.

“How about I meet you downtown? We can have a lunch date at the deli – the one you like a few blocks down from the theater,” Chanyeol suggested. “The place with the apple pie,” he teased.

“How could I say no?”

On Saturday morning while Baekhyun is busy at the theater, Chanyeol strolls into a small jewelery shop owned by his old friend Joonmyun. The front door’s bell jingles and alerts Joonmyun to a new customer. When he spots Chanyeol sauntering up to the counter with his hands tucked into the pockets of his slacks and smiling ear to ear, Joonmyun can only shake his head and laugh.

“I knew I’d be seeing you in here sooner or later,” he says and sets aside a small case of pocket watches he had been polishing.

“What, I can’t stop by to visit my favorite old friend?” Chanyeol laughs and pats Joonmyun’s shoulder in greeting across the glass case of mens wrist and pocket watches behind which Joonmyun stands.

“Absolutely not. Not with that look about you.”

“What look, Joonmyun?” Chanyeol pretends to be clueless but elation is written all over his face. “What look?”

Chanyeol’s aura of happiness must bleed over into Joonmyun, whose eyes crinkle with a heartfelt smile that nearly mirrors Chanyeol’s own. But nothing can match what Chanyeol feels today.

“Chanyeol, you’re shining brighter than every piece of diamond jewelery in my shop.” Chanyeol bites his lip in an attempt to rein in his toothy grin. “Combined!’

“Shut up and show me your best gold rings.”

Chanyeol stands beneath the awning of the deli downtown waiting for Baekhyun, squinting up the crowded street to his left, keeping an eye out for Baekhyun’s trolley to make its scheduled stop at noon at the corner near the restaurant. During the entire three block walk down the bustling city streets, Chanyeol held tight the black leather box in his pocket. Inside nestled amongst crushed red velvet is a simple yet breathtakingly beautiful slim gold band. Joonmyun had thought to suggest this style ring instantly, telling Chanyeol the ring shouldn’t overwhelm Baekhyun’s own beauty; rather, compliment it. Chanyeol agreed, telling Joonmyun he had never been so right in his life. He pictured vividly the gold band glinting on Baekhyun’s slender ring finger as his hands glide over the piano in their conservatory. The sun would hit it perfectly. Chanyeol bought the ring without a second thought. He takes a quick peek at the watch on his wrist to check the time - ten till noon. Leaning back against the brick wall of the deli, partly to get out of the heavy foot traffic on the sidewalk, partly to stay out of the bright sun, he removes the black box from his slacks pocket and smiles down on it. It’s small in his hands. The box opens with a slight creak. Chanyeol admires the gold again, running a finger over its glossy surface. His heartbeat quickens with just the thought of asking Baekhyun…

Over the sounds of shrill honking horns of automobiles zooming down the street and loud chatter of couples and families overflowing from the sidewalk into the streets enjoying their Saturday afternoon, Chanyeol hears in the distance the loud bell of the trolley ringing, signaling its approach. He cranes his head to see over the crowd and spots the trolley nearing its stop. From where Chanyeol stands on the sidewalk he can see Baekhyun leaning out from the side of the trolley’s open window, as usual, so he can feel the wind whip through his hair like a child. Chanyeol always tells him not to, that inhaling so much polluted city air and car exhaust is bad for his health (and will turn his complexion ruddy, at which Baekhyun makes a wide-eyed, worried face), but Baekhyun hangs on to the hope of catching a rare breeze blowing through from the country; fresher, cooler, the faintest hint of honeysuckle. Baekhyun is laughing with his mouth open but Chanyeol can’t hear it over the noise of the traffic. He has the sound of his laughter memorized anyway. Baekhyun puts a hand across his brow to block the sun from his eyes as he scans the sidewalks looking for Chanyeol from up the street. Chanyeol spots him and stands on tiptoes, extending a whole arm in the air above everyone’s heads and waves erratically. It earns him a few strange looks but Chanyeol pays them no attention, not when Baekhyun is waving back at him from the trolley, dark brown hair ruffling in the breeze and the sun making his skin glow. He looks even more ethereal in Chanyeol’s eyes. Chanyeol chuckles to himself and snaps the lid of the ring box closed, hiding it deep in his pocket again. He lounges back against the exterior brick and hums cheerily to himself as he watches the trolley nearing the busy intersection before its stop across the street at the corner. The streets are clogged, a never ending stream of cars running like a river, competing against pedestrians crossing the street, trolleys charging their way alongside. It’s busy weekend days like this Chanyeol is glad he and Baekhyun have a home closer to the country rather than in the city.

In the middle of the intersection a police officer directs the traffic and controls the signals from his perch high in a traffic tower. The officer begins the transition of signals for the cross traffic to stop to allow the trolley to pass to the next block.

At the same moment Chanyeol feels his stomach growl and wishes the trolley would hurry. He wants to eat lunch and maybe feed Baekhyun a bite of pie or two. Maybe he’ll ask after lunch. Maybe he’ll ask when they return home. Maybe he’ll ask that evening, laying together on a blanket on the soft grass in the back lawn during sunset.

A second later the ear-piercing scream of the police officer’s whistle jolts Chanyeol from his daydream. He doesn’t even realize he’d been staring, too lost in his thoughts of asking Baekhyun, his gaze gone blurry looking out into the streets. He looks toward the traffic tower at the same time as the trolley is crossing the intersection. The traffic signal has changed to ‘stop’ for the cars driving in the opposite direction, but it appears as though several automobiles are ignoring the signal, ignoring the officer and his loud whistle, trying to race through the intersection to beat the trolley in their path. The scene plays out in slow motion, like a dream in Chanyeol’s mind – it still feels like a dream sometimes – but Chanyeol’s not sleeping. He’s not in bed at home with Baekhyun curled into him. He’s awake and standing stock-still watching on in disbelief in the middle of a crowded sidewalk downtown. He’s very much awake and Baekhyun’s on the trolley still smiling in his direction when three automobiles, racing against each other, racing to beat the trolley, breaking the speed limit so much they whip up enough wind in their wake to send stray newspapers and hems of skirts flying. It feels like a dream when everything in Chanyeol’s peripheral vision fades to nothing and the trolley, Baekhyun, come into sharp focus. It feels like a dream when those three reckless drivers miscalculate how much time they need to clear the intersection before the trolley does and tear past the police officer in the traffic tower and crash hard into the side of the trolley, one after the other like dominoes. A Ford. A Chrysler. A Cadillac. They all look the same when they’re smashed and crumpled in on themselves like a tin can. Chanyeol convinces himself it must be a dream when the force of the impact from the cars hurtling into the side of the trolley send the trolley car toppling over sideways and hits the pavement hard with an explosive and deafening crash and suddenly, Chanyeol can’t see Baekhyun anymore. Screams and cries and pleas for help and sirens in the distance slowly seep into his consciousness. The pedestrians around Chanyeol crash into him, jostling him like waves as they run in droves toward the sprawling accident in the middle of the intersection up the street. He stands wide-eyed and gaping at the brutal wreck of destroyed automobiles and overturned trolley, thick black smoke billowing into the air. Oil and gasoline trickle down the street and shine iridescent in the sun. This isn’t a dream. This is real. This is real and Baekhyun is –

Chanyeol is running before he even realizes his feet are moving. He bolts through throngs of men, women, and children flooding the streets around the rest of the traffic that’s come to a halt. For the next two days his throat will be sore from screaming so much that day but at the time he doesn’t even remember hearing himself cry; his sobs and shouts of Baekhyun’s name lost amongst the chaos of the crowd. He manages to plow his way through hordes of people and reaches the scene of the wreck as ambulance and rescue crews arrive. He’s close enough now to see things he wishes to never see again and has to force himself to look away. He covers his eyes with shaking hands and tries to catch his breath; he’s on the verge of vomiting or possibly fainting, but he can’t black out now, not with Baekhyun’s fate unknown. Chanyeol has to get to him. Passengers of the automobiles, those who weren’t killed on impact and left twisted in the metal skeleton of their vehicle, are trapped in backseats, bloodied and crying in agony. Some riders from the trolley were thrown from the car when it crashed to its side and now lay on the black asphalt, some with visibly broken limbs and wounds gushing bright red, others with minor injuries who’ve begun crawling away to wait for medical attention. Strangers in the crowd rush forward to help them any way they can. From beneath the fallen side of the trolley car small streams of blood seep out to mix with the cars’ fluids, creating a horrific mess of brownish-red pools puddling in the street. Chanyeol retches and chokes back a sob so he doesn’t start hyperventilating. He tries against everything not to imagine riders horrendously crushed between the trolley and pavement and can only pray they died quickly - before they felt any pain, before they realized what was happening, before they realized they may never see their families again. Chanyeol forces his way forward till he’s feet from the wreckage and screams and screams Baekhyun’s name. He shoves bystanders aside to reach the rescue crew and when he spots a group of men wearing white hospital attire he desperately grabs at their sleeves, the front of their shirts, anything, to get their attention and begs them to find Baekhyun and tell him he’s alive. Chanyeol is out of his mind with terror, panic, dread – he can’t even recall if the men answered him at all, but he does remember one man’s strong, reassuring grip on his arms and when he motioned toward the trolley they had begun pulling passengers out from the open windows and exit doors. Chanyeol trembles violently under the rescue crew member’s hands as he does the hardest thing in his life yet – he waits. Chanyeol tries to remember where Baekhyun had been on the trolley. Toward the back? By the door? A second later Chanyeol sees Baekhyun’s small body being lifted from the wrecked trolley, passed gingerly from the arms of one rescuer to another, cradled like a child.

“B-Baekhyun… Baekhyun? Baekhyun!” Chanyeol sobs and struggles to free himself from the man’s grip.

The man lets him run the few feet to the medical crew handling Baekhyun’s body. They lay his battered body gently on a wooden framed cloth stretcher, and when Chanyeol finally settles his eyes on his love again he turns away and vomits onto pavement. The sight alone is devastating, unbearable – sometimes Chanyeol still wakes up in a sweat seeing the scene replay in his dreams. Baekhyun is unconscious, or at least Chanyeol hopes as much; he won’t allow himself to think otherwise. Baekhyun’s head lolls to the side, his body limp and motionless like a rag doll on the stretcher. His hair is matted and sticky with blood; it’s smeared and trickling down his cheek. Small cuts are strewn about his face, neck, and hands and deep purple bruises already form around them. The left side of his once pristine, white shirt is saturated with deep red color. Chanyeol wants to tear his gaze away but he can’t stop staring as the blood slowly blooms further into the white cotton. Baekhyun’s left arm looks nearly destroyed, clearly very badly broken, under what remains of his ripped sleeve. Dirt, dust, oil, smoke cover his body in patches. Chanyeol falls to his knees beside his lover’s body whose blood is now staining the cloth stretcher and wants so badly to reach out and wipe Baekhyun’s face clean. It’s too beautiful to be covered with blood and dirt. He wants so badly to cradle him in his arms and hug him tight to his chest, but he knows he can’t, not when bones could be broken, ribs may be cracked. Chanyeol can only kneel by his side on the warm, sun-heated ground, holding tightly onto the hem of the right side of Baekhyun’s shirt, as he begs through his stuttering cries to get him to the hospital immediately. He holds on as the ambulance crew carefully lifts the stretcher and loads it into the back of the ambulance, along with several others pulled from the accident. He holds on as he sits in the back with Baekhyun when the ambulance speeds off, siren blaring. He holds on as the orderlies at the hospital carry the stretcher through the hospital corridors to the emergency room. He holds on until the nurses make him let go at the door of operating room.

An older nurse with a kind demeanor ushers Chanyeol away from the door and settles him into a plush armchair in the waiting room near reception. He’s still in shock and complies without a word.

“I’ll bring you a drink of water,” she says softly, leaning forward to meet his eyes and places a warm hand to his cheek. Chanyeol nods numbly.

Chanyeol replays his and Baekhyun’s last moments they had together that morning. When Chanyeol had eaten five thick slices of fried ham for breakfast, Baekhyun jokingly told him, “You are what you eat… Pig.” Chanyeol snorted (on accident, not to prove Baekhyun’s point) and replied that if he eats too much pie soon he’ll turn into one himself. Baekhyun elbowed him in the stomach. He replays the moment before they left their home, when Baekhyun curled his arms around Chanyeol’s waist and left a sweet kiss on his collar bone because even on tiptoes he can barely reach his lips.

Chanyeol doesn’t quite register the small paper cup that’s been placed in his hand, but he feels the cold seep through to his skin.

He doesn’t want to breath any longer if Baekhyun isn’t either.