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When the gunshot went off, Tol thought he was dying again. How many times had that happened? Tin never told him exactly, but in Tol’s foggy memories, it felt like a lifetime of dying. None of that pain prepared him for the sight of Tin on the ground, bleeding from the chest. In saving Tol, Tin had taken his place. A lifetime of dying felt less painful than that.
Tol was a foolish, hypocritical young man. He dated a girl he claimed to love, but he bought that love with hospital care. He told himself that was love, and he convinced himself it was worth fighting for, worth dying for. And he believed it all the way up until he felt the heart attack start, until he crashed his car, until he saw Dr. Tin leaning over him and begging him not to die again.
Tol’s life was like an hourglass that Tin kept flipping over. Again and again. And Tol never remembered the details, but the feelings started bleeding over from every timeline that no longer existed. Like grains of sand sticking along the edges of the glass.
He no longer felt the passionate demand of keeping Mai by his side. In fact, he felt like they had broken up a long time ago and were just continuing the motions. He felt like this man in his blue scrubs was someone precious, maybe from a dream, and his curiosity kept him coming back for more.
In the hospital, waiting to hear if Tin would survive, Tol cried and tried to press the tears back in his eyes. He could remember – but then again, he couldn’t – the way Tin’s eyes had turned red and wet as he wept over Tol on the ground, on a hospital bed, on the grass.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’ll get it right next time. I promise. I’m sorry.”
And Tol wished he could wipe those tears away. He wished he could tell his love that, in this last moment of life, he remembered everything about him and he forgave him. He’d never not forgive him. He loved him.
He loved the way Tin kissed his hand, his cheek, his neck. He loved the way Tin looked at him, like he’d finally found his miracle and he would never give him up. He loved the way Tin smiled, how one side of his mouth always tugged up first and one eye always seemed more alert. He remembered – but then he didn’t – all the subtle ways they teased and toyed with each other, at the shops or over meals or at Tol’s house. He remembered and he ached with the strength of someone losing the love of a lifetime.
To any outsider, their relationship must seem odd. Two men who met less than a week ago, suddenly and fiercely in love. But they did not know the depth of feelings from meeting again and again, hundreds of times and starting over again.
Surely such a love could win against a simple gunshot.
When he saw the other doctor coming out – Dr. Sing, he knew and didn’t – Tol was already on his feet, anxious over the lack of sound from the ER.
“Tol, right?”
Because of course they hadn’t met. Not in this life.
“I’m so sorry.”
No, not in this life. Tol had not died in this life. This had to be wrong.
“He’s gone.”
Tol was alone. How had that happened? His legs gave out and he stumbled into the nurses station, stumbled to the floor. On the tile… He broke. It wasn’t right. How could days and weeks and months of love be compressed into a single week and then get ripped away in the course of an hour? How could Tin do such a thing?
Tol looked into the ER, toward the curtain hiding Tin from his view.
“You said you would protect me,” he sobbed.
It had to be a dream. It couldn’t be real. Soon Tol would wake up and Tin would be there, asleep beside him just like that morning. Or he would wake up and have never met Tin, and he’d be waiting anxiously until the stranger in the blue scrubs found him again. Because Tin always found him.
They’d finally been together. They’d been happy. So this had to be a dream. They had to find each other again. Right? Turn the hourglass around and restart the time.
Tol just had to wake up from this nightmare.