Archive of Our Own ^beta

The fireworks show in Arakawa is tonight, but her schoolmates decided to put on a smaller show right here in the park. This way, they could all watch fireworks together without needing to travel, since she's still recovering from… whatever landed her in the hospital this time.

This isn't the first time the group's had such a gathering, but it's the first time they've invited Ukyo. He suspects it's only due to a secret plot he overheard to get some attractive single men in the vicinity for Sawa and Mine's review. Still, he's grateful to be here, talking and laughing with Shin, Ikki, Kent, Toma, and the rest. It's almost like he's one of them.

When the sun sets, Mine begins passing out sparklers. She hands one to Ukyo—already lit—and he twirls it anxiously between his fingers, trying to keep his breathing even. Not long ago, he burned to death, and, while he knows this fire is safe, it's difficult to look at the dancing light without tensing.

In an attempt to calm down, he wanders away from the group, near the old well. Maybe he'll drop the sparkler down there. If he did, could he get a glimpse of the bottom? Or is the well so deep he'd lose sight of the sparkler before it landed?

No, better to hold on to it. It's good practice, right? How can he bear an eternity of summer fireworks if he can't even hold onto a sparkler?

He sighs and turns his back on the well, resting against the edge. Back with the group, Sawa sets off a rocket. Her antics have put him on edge all evening, but this time doesn't bother him so much, with more distance between them. Objectively, that's foolish: If Sawa manages to set fire to the woods, that will pose a far greater danger to him than the sparkler in his hand.

Still…

He stares at the end of his sparkler. Awful. But pretty.

Someone else detaches from the group and approaches him. Ukyo lifts his eyes from the sparkler to see Shin. He's sort of flattered. Shin's spent the whole evening glued to his girlfriend's side. That he'd leave her behind to talk to him is like some kind of honor.

"Hey, that well's ancient. Is it really safe to lean on it like that?" The words alone would be kind and concerned, but his voice is so hostile they sound like an insult, or a threat. It feels like Shin's not only calling him an idiot but telling him his idiocy pisses him off.

"No," Ukyo responds, "It's very dangerous. They should just fill it in."

He remembers the cold, damp despair of dying down there. But that won't happen right now. Even if he did fall in, the others would see it happen and find a way to rescue him.

That's how he knows he won't fall in. The fate of death which follows him from world to world is adept at its task. When death comes for him this summer, it will be certain, with no hope of rescue.

Shin's nose wrinkles, but he says nothing. He retreats to gossip with his girlfriend some more. Ukyo tries not to stare at them.

It's kind of funny, that having all the others around keeps him safe from dying in the well, because it keeps her safe too. If he were to somehow get her alone…

Sawa sets off another rocket, a red starburst hanging low in the sky. There was a time he would've wanted to try to get photos of these fireworks, but tonight his eye is drawn to the more striking images on the ground: The way the red glow lights up all their faces, the rich dark shadows that form in contrast. He'd love to take some pictures, but that could lead to uncomfortable questions about where his camera's pointed.

Ukyo's sparkler runs its course, and he feels a twinge of relief when it fizzles out. He stands to throw it away, and a rock slides under his foot, nearly toppling him. He freezes in terror for several seconds, heart pounding, but doesn't fall. When, at last, he regains his senses, he shakily walks away.

It's a lot darker now the sun's fully set, and the adrenaline in his veins makes him jumpy. He peers at the shadowy trees, wondering what could be hiding around here.

No, he's being silly. He's with a group; why would someone attack him? And it's not as if there's dangerous wild animals here of all places… right? The twenty-fifth's still a while off. He needs to stop listening to his fried nerves and relax.

By his estimation, he's too jittery to socialize just yet, so he walks back to the well after dropping his spent sparkler in a trash can.

"Ukyo!" Shin calls to him from the rickety old pavilion the group's claimed for the night, "Why don't you stop testing your luck over there?"

"Come get another sparkler!" Mine adds.

Is Shin really so worried about his safety? Or is there some other reason he doesn't want Ukyo by the well? Or simply off by himself? Then again, does it matter?

Ukyo complies and returns to the group. He grits his teeth through another sparkler and more of Sawa's rockets. If the others think he's too quiet or tense, they're at least polite enough not to say so.

Eventually they run out of fireworks, and all the girls want to leave in a group. Toma, Ikki, and Kent all offer to accompany them. Chivalrous of them. Or perhaps something else: Only Shin and Ukyo are left behind to clean up the remaining trash.

"So what's your problem with us?" Shin unfolds and shakes out a garbage bag with alarming ferocity. Ukyo blinks at him.

"Sorry?"

"Don't play dumb. You've been eyeing me and my girlfriend all night. Why?"

Oh. He hasn't been as subtle as he thought, apparently. He watches Shin stomp over to the dirt patch where Sawa set off her rockets and start picking up debris.

"…you really want me to answer that, Shin? Can you imagine an answer you'd like?"

"Stop dodging. Do you think I pushed her off that cliff or something?" Oh right! That's this summer's hospital stay. "Are you angry we're still together after that?"

"I know you didn't push her off that cliff." Ukyo stands at the edge of the pavilion's floor, close to the northwest corner. He keeps his eyes trained to the ground, ostensibly searching for abandoned sparklers. "That said, I did warn you, didn't I? That the forest is dangerous at night? That, if you were to run into an accident, you should watch out for a second accident? You could've stayed at the lodge, after hearing that."

"What? When did you say all that?"

"Hm, perhaps I didn't. I did warn you, but I suppose it wasn't 'you' I warned. Oh well."

"What?" Shin looks confused—naturally—but mostly angry. He shakes his head violently, drops his trash bag, and stalks toward Ukyo. "Stop trying to distract me and answer my damn question: What's your problem? Are you jealous? Are you obsessed with her? Is that why you visit the café so much?"

Ukyo crosses his arms and leans his back against one of the pavilion's four wooden support beams. It gets harder and harder to care about what he says to the rest of them, the further he gets into August. None of this'll matter by the end of the month anyway, after all. And, besides, he's played enough poker with Shin to know better than to lie to him.

"You got me. I'm obsessed with her. Have been for a long time."

Shin's eyes widen—Why did he ask if he finds this answer so surprising?—but then quickly narrow.

"A 'long time,' huh? So this started before she fell off that cliff?" The boy stands uncomfortably close to him now. The support beam pressed against Ukyo's back is suddenly claustrophobic and he straightens up, feeling better when Shin backs off a hair.

"Yes." Long before.

"Huh. I should've figured this out sooner. Wish I had."

"It wouldn't've mattered." Why would it? Unless… "Hold on, you don't think I could be your 'culprit' now, do you?"

"Why shouldn't I, Ukyo? Can you give me any evidence that proves your innocence?"

Ukyo chuckles.

"For once, Shin, I can call your bluff. Come on. You know it wasn't me. You just wish it was. That would be so much easier, wouldn't it?"

Shin gapes at him but doesn't bother asking how he knows. Instead, he lets out a long sigh. Even in the dim moonlight, Ukyo can see how exhausted he is.

"…yeah. Okay, you're not the culprit," Shin grumbles, "But since you admit you're obsessed, I don't want to see you at the café anymore. And if Mine invites you out with us again, turn her down."

"You're telling me what to do now? And what will you do if I don't obey?" Ukyo doesn't actually have a problem with Shin's terms, but he's curious.

"Don't test me and you won't have to find out."

"Oh?" It's hurtful to laugh at a time like this, but Ukyo can't help himself. "But what if I want to find out? What will you do, Shin? Will you kill me? Prove you really are your father's son?" Even as the words leave his mouth, he feels guilty for such unnecessary cruelty. It's just so hard to stop himself sometimes, when the time limit draws near. He wants to blame moments like this on the other him, but, is that really fair?

Everything suddenly blurs in a starburst of pain and next thing Ukyo knows he's flailing backward and slamming into the support beam. Shin punched him in the mouth. Hard. He can't claim he didn't deserve it, but—

Crrraaaaaaaaaack!

The support beam shudders and splinters beneath his back. Damn, is tonight the night after all?

Ukyo's first instinct is to examine the roof above his head. (Have his many deaths eroded away the self-preservation instinct that would have him get out from under the roof?) Metal. Yeah, that'll be heavy enough.

The support beam breaks, and he falls the rest of the way backwards. Everything moves in slow motion. Before he hits the ground, he catches sight of the neighboring corner's support beam, already buckling. He hears Shin shout, and a red-gloved hand enters his field of vision, trying to pull him out of the way. Instead of taking it, Ukyo slaps Shin's hand away, like a startled parent keeping their child from touching the stovetop. No point letting the boy risk maiming himself just to die on him anyway.

The look of stunned and sickened horror on Shin's face is the last thing Ukyo sees, before the roof comes down and crushes him.

Friday

Ukyo evaded the last few gatherings at Shinano, but this time around, that's not an option. This time, Shinano is the one and only chance he gets to see her in this world, to make sure she's okay.

He has a plan. The lodge is safe enough during the day, so long as he stays with the group, never going off by himself. Nighttime is the problem, when everyone goes to their separate rooms. Far too easy to catch someone off-guard and away from witnesses, during those dark hours. So he leaves the lodge at night.

It's a good plan. He brings his camera—he could use the practice working with moonlight anyway—he explores the woods—though he keeps a healthy distance from that damn cliff—and, when his eyelids grow heavy, he finds a soft patch of grass and sleeps under the stars. It's cold—so cold his fingertips go numb—but people go camping in worse conditions than this, don't they? And this'll only be one weekend. It doesn't matter that it's uncomfortable. It's safe.

Saturday

He sneaks back into the lodge around sunrise. No one's rooming with him, so no one noticed he wasn't in his room. At breakfast they do notice the dark circles under his eyes and the persistent cough he can't repress. Sawa and Mine petition the lodge owner to make an extra pot of tea for him and turn up the furnace. Shin offers to trade rooms with him, saying he found his uncomfortably hot, but then Toma teases him about being hot blooded, and the idea gets lost in the ensuing argument.

Throughout the day, the girls keep bringing him mugs of honeyed tea and scolding him for not going to his room to rest. A nap in a real bed sounds amazing, but he resists temptation. If the girls are so eager to tend to him when he's with the group, who's to say someone won't come check on him when he's alone in his room? Too risky.

His cough worsens as the day wears on, but he still leaves the lodge again that night. He expects to feel awful the next morning, but it doesn't matter. The next morning the trip will end, and they'll all go back to Tokyo. He can take care of himself then.

Sunday

Returning to the lodge is difficult. He could swear he didn't wander any farther than half a mile from the building, but hiking back takes well over an hour. He keeps getting dizzy, keeps needing to stop and rest.

When he finally gets back, he's late for breakfast, and this time it's obvious he hasn't been in his room. He tries to explain himself—mumbles something about going out stargazing and getting lost—but the room is spinning and then he's on the floor, listening to them shout his name. It's been a while since he last heard his name in her voice. It's a nice sound to fall asleep to.

The rest of the day goes by in a blur. They take him to the hospital, a comically large group piling through the glass doors just to bring in one man. Kent helps him fill out paperwork. Toma and Shin coordinate train schedules, transferring everyone's tickets to the afternoon. Ikki takes his glasses off and sweet talks the staff into getting him in examination quickly.

A stethoscope presses against his chest, and the doctor frowns when he takes a breath.

A nurse puts an oximeter on his finger and shakes her head when she sees the reading.

Rika stays close by during the chest x-ray. (The doctors attempt to shoo her, but she proves too intimidating.) Ikki (No one wants to shoo him.) consults with her in murmurs, then slips back toward reception to pass on the latest update to the rest of the group.

Ukyo won't be leaving the hospital today.

Monday

It's so late now that it's technically early, and most of the group has returned to Tokyo. They all told Ikki to tell him they wanted to stay, but work and school demand their attention.

Ikki remains. He doesn't work at the café this time around, and he's on break from school, so his schedule's more flexible than most. Some of the hospital staff tried to get him to leave after visiting hours, but he took off his glasses and said something like "I'll owe you a huge favor if you'll just consider me his family for now, okay?" and they let him stay.

Ukyo lies in a hospital bed, drifting in and out of consciousness, despite the thin tubes in his nose that feed him pure oxygen. The pneumonia in both his lungs is only partially to blame for his loose grip on the waking world, after two straight nights of barely any sleep.

Every time he wakes again it's so dark outside the window, and he's sure he must be alone. But then his eyes scan the room, and he finds Ikki slumped in a chair staring at his phone or leaning out the door to talk to the staff or fidgeting with one of those tiny paper water cups.

Eventually, Ukyo wakes and doesn't immediately feel a dark wave of sleep pulling him under again.

"Ikki?"

Ikki's head jerks up and he fumbles his phone back into his pocket.

"Ikki you didn't have to stay with m—"

"Hush. I'm not leaving someone in your condition all by himself. Now listen, Ukyo, before you pass out again: Do you have any family we can call? How do we reach them? We checked your phone, but, you don't have any contacts."

Right. It's a new phone, purchased when he'd just arrived in this world. He sees no point in maintaining a contacts list. There's only one number he ever wants to call anymore, and he has that one memorized.

"It doesn't matter," he mumbles dully.

"'Doesn't matter'? What does that mean?" Ikki's eyebrows shoot up, and a pained expression creases his smooth features. "Do you mean you don't have any family?"

He doesn't bother answering.

"Look," says Ikki, "The x-ray looks bad, and so does your blood oxygen. They said unless you start improving soon, they'll have to intubate you. Do you know what that means?"

"A breathing tube?"

"Yes. You… you won't be able to speak, understand? They'll give you pen and paper to write notes, but you're going to want someone here to represent you. If there's anyone in your family we can call…"

"Forget it," says Ukyo, more sharply than intended. He tries not to think about family anymore and resents Ikki for pushing it, even though it's a reasonable request. Apologetically, he adds, "That's… not an option."

"I'm so sorry…" Ikki swallows. "In that case, I'll stay with you, alright? Unless you want to do this alone, but, I can't imagine…"

"I don't want to be alone." It's true, though he feels bad for putting Ikki in such an uncomfortable position. It's unfair: Ikki may think he's only volunteering to stay with him a few days, until the doctors fix him, not to watch him die. Ukyo knows better. The time limit is too close. If he's bad enough to need a breathing tube now, there's no way he'll leave the hospital soon enough for something else to get him. He hadn't planned on a self-inflicted death for this time around, but, in a way, that's what he's gotten. He's never died of pneumonia before. His deaths are usually so much more violent. This should be peaceful in comparison, right?

They intubate him around sunrise. It doesn't hurt, exactly—they administer anesthesia for that—but the sensation is terrifying. To have something shoved down his airway when breathing's already a struggle… And then, having a machine breathe for him is awful, somehow worse than drowning. He'll need to take a breath and the breath just won't come; he has to wait for it, again and again for hours. So much for "peaceful." Every couple minutes or so he's overcome with an overwhelming urge to grab the tube sticking out of his mouth and rip it out. It takes all his energy to fight that urge, and he finds staying awake an unbelievable struggle, going dark in between visits from the nurses who check his vitals (never looking pleased) and administer additional tests.

Tuesday

At some point—The afternoon, maybe?—he wakes to see Ikki pacing in front of the window, phone to his ear.

"Yes, probably the rest of the week, at least. If he… ah, if we're still here by Sunday, I… well, I'll think of something then."

A pause.

"Thank you, Ken, but no. Go to your conference. You're going to do a fantastic job and then you'll see me after, okay?"

Another pause. Ikki chuckles.

"We'll see about that. But I refuse to look at any 'weapon' of yours until after you've given your presentation, got it? And, one more thing…"

A brief pause.

"Yeah. Tell her you need her help organizing your notes or something, will you? And don't tell her what the doctor said. Don't let her come up here, and don't let her push it. I'll be fine without her."

Ukyo simultaneously resents him for lying and appreciates him for keeping her away. Much as he hates the idea of deceiving her, he doesn't want her to see him like this either. And, petty as it is, he's glad he won't have to spend his final hours watching her be Ikki's girlfriend.

Wednesday

A lot of words pass between Ikki and the doctors: "no sign of improvement," "sepsis," "rapidly declining."

Ukyo quickly learns Ikki was right: Even though Ukyo can hear everything—so long as he's conscious—and has his pen and pad of paper ready to respond, the staff is only interested in talking to the man who can speak. At times, they seem barely aware he's in the same room, giving Ikki bleak updates on his prognosis without so much as throwing a glance his way. Ikki does his best to make up for it when the two of them are alone together, repeating everything he might've missed, weakly offering encouragement, even as he starts to have trouble meeting Ukyo's eyes himself.

Over and over, he hears the shock in the staff's voices, how someone so young, so otherwise healthy, could have so much trouble fighting this infection. One doctor theorizes he has an undiagnosed immune disorder. It's as good an explanation as any. He doubts they'd believe the undiagnosable truth.

Thursday

For this conversation, the doctor finally stops deferring to Ikki and faces Ukyo instead. His state continues to deteriorate, and at this point he has two options: Leave the breathing tube in another few days and pray for a miracle, or take the breathing tube out, at which point he'll be made "as comfortable as possible."

When Ukyo picks up the pen, Ikki says, "Now hold on Ukyo, you don't have to choose right this second. You can take some time to think about it—he can take some time to think about it, right?"

The doctor nods, but Ukyo shakes his head. His trembling hand writes, "Take it out."

Ukyo's decided to never do this one again, if he can help it. Even if he ignores the unique horror of intubation, everything else is too dreary and drawn out, swimming in and out of consciousness for days on end, his brain going all blurry while everyone stares with their pitying eyes.

Here at the end, though, he must admit, they've made him very… "comfortable."

All the pain is gone. All the fear and despair is gone. His hospital bed—the off-white tomb he's been confined to for days—has transformed into a soft, warm, cocoon, the safest possible place to rest. He looks to Ikki and can't stop smiling. They may have their differences, but he's so glad he's here, so glad he stayed.

Ikki catches him staring and raises his eyebrows.

"So they gave you a good dose, right? You're feeling good now?"

"…wonderful." The intense rasp of his own voice startles him, but, after a beat of thought, it makes sense: It'd be strange if his voice didn't sound different after having a tube down his throat for two days. He's lucky he can't really feel how sore it must be.

Ikki smiles.

"Glad to hear it. Hm. I should've snuck something to drink in here. Could've made a proper party of this."

Ukyo snickers.

The door opens and a woman—one of the nurses, if memory serves—comes in to ask him some questions. Ikki scrambles to put on his sunglasses before she can get sidetracked. It's a maneuver Ukyo's witnessed several times. When the group first brought him to the hospital, Ikki's power was a handy tool for streamlining the check-in process and ensuring he could stay at Ukyo's side. Since then, however, it's been worthless at best and an unwelcome distraction at worst. The staff always give him weird looks when they see him fumbling the sunglasses back onto his face, but no one's questioned it, at least.

The glasses come off again once the nurse leaves them alone. Ukyo looks to Ikki thoughtfully.

"Hey. Will you come closer?"

"Alright." Ikki scoots his chair closer to the bed. Now Ukyo can get a better look at him, and his suspicion is confirmed.

"Did you know your eyes are actually very beautiful, Ikki?" he whispers dreamily, "Such a shame you have to hide them all the time. You made a wish, right?"

Ikki's amused at first, but at that last question he's shocked, offended.

"Who told you that? Was it Kent?" Interesting. Apparently with sufficient betrayal he stops being "Ken." Ukyo feels guilty about this discovery.

"It wasn't Kent." It was Ikki himself who told him, in another world. Every so often Ukyo gets the urge to ask Nhil if he knows anything about Ikki's story, but he hasn't bothered yet. Discussing wishes with Nhil often turns depressing. "Hey, listen, if you watch the night sky on August twentieth or twenty-fifth, you'll see a shooting star."

"I—what?" Ikki blinks at him, then shakes his head, restarts gently: "We're already past the twentieth, and stargazing tonight would mean abandoning you."

Oh, right. But still.

"I'll be dead by midnight, trust me. Probably sooner. You could still try. You could make another wish, to be rid of your condition. I don't know that that'll work, but, will you at least try it?"

"I, uh. I suppose I could…" Ikki's still clearly confused by this conversation's trajectory, but Ukyo wonders if there's something more to his hesitation.

"You want to be rid of your condition, don't you?"

"I, it's…" Ikki shakes his head. "Look, I don't know how you know about me making that wish, but do you also know when it happened? I was just a little kid. By this point I've lived longer with my condition than without it. If I could go back in time and stop myself from making that wish, I would, but, to change now?" He frowns, eyes downcast. "Isn't the damage already done?"

Ukyo blinks slowly and swallows. It's starting to feel like he needs to chew on his words a minute before he can say them. At last, he manages: "You realize you're not the one dying tonight, right?"

"Painfully aware, my friend," Ikki retorts with a forced laugh, "What are you getting at?"

"The 'damage'… if, if tonight's shooting star did work, and you were cured, in another ten years you, you'd've lived longer without your condition than with it."

"Huh. I've never thought of it that way. I try not to think a lot about… that."

"…about living another ten years?"

This gets a more honest chuckle from Ikki, though there's an edge to it.

"About getting 'cured.' If I spend too much time imagining what life would be like without my condition, I'll find reality that much more disappointing."

Ukyo ponders this. He spends a lot of time thinking of what he'd do if he ever got to see September with her. Is he only tormenting himself by doing so?

Ikki takes his thoughtfulness for disbelief, and adds, "It's the same as imagining a world where my condition works on my girlfriend."

"What?"

"What?"

Ikki seems to realize he should have kept that thought to himself.

Ukyo can't judge Ikki's filter failure, though, because now he asks, "You'd rather have your condition work on her than simply be rid of it, wouldn't you?" It's something he's suspected about Ikki a while, but always hoped wasn't true.

"I wouldn't say that…" Ikki says quickly. But then his eyes meet Ukyo's, and something shifts. "…but, then again, why deny it? It's not as if you'll get a chance to tell her."

Not in this world, anyway. Ukyo's a lot less grateful for Ikki's presence all of a sudden. Still beats dying alone, though. He hates dying alone, having no one but himself to trade last words with. Talking to himself is bad enough at the best of times. It's pure torture at the end, when the decision's been made.

"No offense," says Ikki, "But you're such a strange one, Ukyo. Are you psychic or something? Are you like me? Did you make some kind of wish?"

It's getting harder to speak, and before Ukyo can get out the words "I'm not like you" Ikki goes on:

"Or are you merely more observant than the rest of us? That would serve you well as a photographer, wouldn't it? Well, whatever it is, you're right. More than anything, I want her to love me the way I love her. So long as that happened, I could live with whatever else came with it."

"She…" Ukyo's vision is going dark. He'll pass out again soon, likely for the last time. "She deserves better than you."

Ikki sighs.

"I suppose there's no use denying that, either."

Uyko can't keep his eyes open anymore.

"You look tired, Ukyo."

He has no idea how right he is.

"Go on and rest. I'll be here, when you wake up."

If he wakes up. The unspoken thought hangs heavy in the air.

"I told you I wouldn't leave you alone and I meant it, okay? If you've read me so well, then you must know that too."

He knows. It's a paradoxical aspect of Ikki, how, under precise circumstances, he's surprisingly loyal, devoted. Ukyo's grateful as he drifts off, almost enough to regret his final words.

"You know what?" Ikki's voice sounds distant, as if Ukyo's underwater while Ikki remains above the dark waves. "Maybe we'll sneak up to the roof later, if you're up for it. See if we catch that shooting star after all. I mean, can you imagine how the others would react if I returned with normal eyes? We have to try."

That sounds nice. Ukyo dies hoping he means it.

Train station, August seven. Train station, August seven.

The mantra silently repeats in Ukyo's mind. This demise is avoidable, so long as he commits these details to memory.

Train station, August seven.

He sinks to his knees, watching his blood stain the pavement. The color's so vibrant in the light of the setting sun, some dizzy part of his brain wants to get a picture.

Train station.

There's screams and pounding footsteps as his attacker flees the scene, clutching his bloody blade. Ukyo knows from months of painfully-acquired first aid education that, ideally, he would've left the blade behind. You're supposed to leave the implement inside a deep stab wound and let the doctors handle it. It helps block the bleeding, both internal and external.

August seven.

In future Augusts it'll be best to just avoid this place on this day, right? His attacker must have chosen him at random: Ukyo doesn't know this man, nor can he think of anything he did that might have provoked him.

Is that last thought technically hypocritical?

He's fully lying on the ground now, trembling and gasping. The pain is incredible. There's so much blood pooled around him, but that's not his biggest problem. His attacker's blade was long and sharp, and took a deep path up through his stomach into his chest, skewering organs along the way. His intestines? His liver? A lung? Ukyo doesn't know anatomy well enough to identify which organs are radiating agony from his abdomen, but there's a familiar urgency to the pain that tells him he'll die soon.

His breathing's uncomfortably shallow all of a sudden. He coughs and tastes blood.

A crowd has formed around him. There are shouts and gasps and frantic questions, all indistinct to him. Distantly he whispers, "August seven…" as his eyelids flutter.

"Hey!"

A tall man pushes his way through the crowd and kneels beside him. He's… wait.

Is that Kent?

Ukyo almost laughs at the appearance of such a familiar face. Isn't Kent the one she's chosen in this world? Ukyo's already forgotten. More importantly, though, she's not here with him now. Good. She won't have to watch this one.

"That man is summoning an ambulance," Kent says. He points to another startled bystander on the sidewalk. "I'm going to apply pressure to your wound until it arrives." His voice is even and calm. He's handling this remarkably well. Only the beads of sweat on his forehead indicate how stressed he is.

Ukyo yelps without meaning to when Kent does as he promised, pressing his palms to the stab wound and leaning his weight on them. Such a shame. Kent's getting blood all over his clothes, and for what?

"That's very kind of you, Kent," Ukyo wheezes, "But it's already too late for me."

Kent's eyes widen with a gasp at this. So much for keeping his composure.

"Did you… do I… Do I know you?" His glasses slide down his sweaty nose and he can't push them back up, busy as he is trying to hold all Ukyo's blood in. Ukyo realizes, for the first time, that seeing Kent's eyes without the barrier of his glasses is somehow even rarer than seeing Ikki's. He smiles at the thought.

"You don't. That's why you should try to forget this, as much as you can. Go home, Kent. Wash this blood off. Water your plants and hug your girlfriend."

Is that a blush? He only said "hug," right? Not even "kiss." Ukyo forgot how easily flustered this one is.

"I…" Kent has no idea what to say. He settles on repeating: "I'll apply pressure until the ambulance arrives."

Ukyo feels warm, in spite of the cool evening.

"Do what you want." A smirk pulls at his bloodstained lips. "But I'm going to be dead by then." A depressing sentiment, but the way he says it makes it sound like a challenge.

To Ukyo's delight, Kent looks like he actually wants to argue with him. He did not forget how easily baited this one is.

Sadly, it all goes dark before Kent can present his rebuttal.

This attacker isn't as skilled with his blade as the train station assailant. The pain in Ukyo's torso isn't so searing this time, and he's not coughing blood out of his lungs. He still loses blood at a dizzying rate, though: It pours out the many wounds in his chest and stomach, like something squeezed out of a sponge. He'll bleed out for sure, and then be just as dead as he was that August seventh. His attacker then fled the scene immediately, but this one stays at his side. It makes sense. The train station psycho chose him at random, but for this one, it's personal.

Ukyo knew this was coming the moment he spotted Toma here at the park, near the old shrine, so out of the way, and so late at night. Walking at night is more dangerous for him in worlds like this one, but, in worlds like this one, it's also so much harder to sleep, knowing where she's spending her nights.

Will Toma dispose of his body in the old well, once he's dead? He would have to drag it a ways, but that'd be a good strategy. Ukyo hopes he will, hopes even in death he can keep Toma away from her just that little bit longer. Maybe she can find some peace in this timeline yet: Of the two men she should fear the most, one will soon be dead and the other… will have at least gotten this out of his system.

Even as painful as the stab wounds are, this is better than last time. Last time Toma strangled him with his bare hands, a first for Ukyo. He hasn't suffocated many times, but he rates strangulation as much worse than passively running out of air. Tonight, in comparison, isn't so bad. The first time Ukyo ever bled out was terrifying, but he's had that death many times since. With the repetition came a sort of peace. Now that he knows there's no way he'll survive anyway, it's almost comforting to watch it all spill out on the ground, a sticky crimson countdown to his next trip to another world.

Toma's cold, dark eyes watch him with strange intensity. Probably wants to make absolutely sure he's dead before leaving or disposing of the body.

"You know," Ukyo murmurs, his voice quiet but clear, "You're the one I like the least. Maybe not the worst of them—maybe—but the one I most hate to see again."

Toma's eyebrows pinch together in puzzlement. He says nothing.

"That said, you won't leave me, right Toma?"

Toma's not surprised Ukyo knows his name, even though he never gave it this time. He thinks Ukyo is some crazed stalker, like Rika and her cronies. Ukyo wheezes in a rattling breath.

"I'm glad. I hate dying alone. Even having you here will be better."

"What the hell are you saying?" Toma speaks at last.

"Forget it…" Ukyo shudders as he takes another breath. The fear of bleeding out may have faded with repetition, but the pain's still quite present. "…you get intense tunnel vision when it comes to her, huh?"

"…that's right."

"Would you believe I know the feeling? Perhaps even better than you do." After all, tonight Toma's only killing for her, while Ukyo's dying for her. Nevermind how much both prospects would horrify her.

"You're some kind of sick. So yeah, maybe I could believe that."

Some kind of sick. Laughing hurts so much at a time like this, but Ukyo can't help himself. Toma has no idea. No idea.

"Hey!" Toma's voice carries a mix of anger and revulsion. Ukyo laughs all the harder. "Hey! Shut up, will you? If you keep making noise, I'll have to slit your throat."

"…ahaha, ha, oh, you will? Why didn't you just do that first, then? Could've saved us both some time…"

Perhaps he was wrong to think these stab wounds were random, that pure dumb luck kept the internal bleeding to a minimum. Perhaps Toma attacked him this way because he wants him to bleed out slowly.

"Toma." Ukyo swallows thickly. "Is there something you're hoping I'll tell you? Before my time is up again?"

At first Toma looks too angry to answer him, but the coldness seeps back into his eyes.

"You're different from the others, aren't you?" he says, "You're not interested in her because you read the rumors online or saw those pictures, and you're definitely not in Ikki's fanclub."

"You're right. I'm not like the others."

"What, then? You're too old to be one of her classmates. Is it the café? Did you see her in that damn maid outfit and become obsessed?"

"Do you plan to make her quit permanently if I say yes? Or were you planning on doing that anyway, just in case?"

Toma's eyes narrow, but he doesn't respond.

"No, we didn't meet at the café."

"You didn't 'meet' anywhere. She said she didn't know you. Unless you're telling me she's wrong? Or that she's lying?"

"She's not, she's not." Damn, that was dangerously sloppy of him. "I misspoke. Call it wishful thinking." Toma looks unconvinced. "She doesn't know me. Some days that's what hurts the most, you know, that she doesn't even know me."

Now Toma looks satisfied with his explanation, like he no longer suspects her of lying. Good.

"You still haven't told me how you know her."

"You don't need me to. Focus on the fanclub and the Internet stalkers. I promise you'll never find another one like me."

Toma frowns for several seconds. Ukyo's vision blurs around the edges. If Toma takes much longer thinking, Ukyo won't live to see his conclusion.

With a sigh and a shrug, Toma finally says, "I'm not even sure what you mean, but I believe you."

"I know better than to lie to you."

Toma's grip tightens on his blade. Is he uncomfortable with the familiarity in Ukyo's voice? Or is he simply ready to put him out of his misery, now that he's gotten him to talk? Ukyo's dead before he can find out.

He's heard of this before, but thought it was an urban legend: The man who gets hit—gets dragged, gets sliced in half—by a train, but his top half remains alive and conscious when the train stops. The man pinned to the tracks until either he bleeds out or emergency workers manage to get the hundred-ton freight car off of him.

Maybe it's his brain fighting to keep him from passing out, or maybe it's because roughly half his nerve endings are no longer attached, but he doesn't really feel the pain. He can't decide if this is better or worse than the last time he fell on the train tracks. On the one hand, that time had been unbelievably painful, but, on the other hand, it'd also been quick. Who knows how long this will take? He's bleeding out, but slowly, the train's wheels blocking the flow. A sort of macro version of leaving the blade inside a stab wound.

A familiar voice shouts his name, and he knows: Last time was better. Last time she wasn't there to see it.

The way the train pinned him has him lying on his back, staring at the sky. He can't sit up, and moving his head is difficult. So he can't look at her as her frantic footsteps draw near. That's okay. He's kind of happy to be stuck looking at the sky. The sun is setting, and it's so beautiful. The summer sky is always so beautiful.

She skids to a stop on the gravel and kneels beside him, panting. Then her hands slide under his shoulders. Is she trying to sit him up? That can't be a good idea, first-aid-wise. He doesn't mind, of course. Actually, it makes him smile. She's so impulsive sometimes. It's something he's come to love even more about her, how no matter how many replayed summers he endures, she can still find ways to surprise him.

Next thing he knows, she's sitting on the ground with his head in her lap, his view of the summer sky replaced with her face.

So beautiful.

"Ukyo!" There are tears in her eyes. "Hold on, okay? He's going to get help. You're going to make it through this!"

An optimistic claim, even if he wasn't already fated to die. And "he"? Damn, her boyfriend's here too? Which one it is this time again?

"Can you hear me?" she asks, "You have to stay awake!"

"I hear you…" he murmurs. Staying awake sounds challenging, though. It's so quiet now, like her voice and his are the only sounds in the world.

"You have to keep your eyes open, okay? Please!" Her voice cracks on that last word.

He doesn't even remember closing his eyes, but, sure enough, it's dark. He forces them back open, even though that's suddenly so hard to do. Anything to keep from hearing her voice crack like that again.

He hates dying alone, but, if he could, he'd do it a hundred times before letting this happen again.

That's a lie.

Such an awful internal conflict always comes with these. His heart aches at putting her through such trauma, but, at the same time, it's such a relief to have her with him. A sense of peace washes over him when he looks into her eyes, even as hates himself for feeling something so selfish. He doesn't know whether to tell her "I'm sorry" or "thank you."

She's actively sobbing now. Without thinking, he reaches out to stroke her cheek, wipe away her tears. His touch startles her—she flinches—but she doesn't lean back or push his hand away. Is it possible this feels familiar to her? Or does she just pity him too much to reject him?

"I'm glad I got to see you again," he whispers.

Her hand comes up to hold his hand on her cheek. Not push away, simply hold. Her hand's so very warm. Or is his hand very cold? He's lost a lot of blood.

"Ukyo…" There's a strange look in her eyes. He lets himself hope.

"Do you remember…?" How could she? He was never meant to exist in this world. And yet…

"Remember?" she repeats slowly. He could swear he sees gears turning behind her eyes, some hidden part of her gathering steam, enough steam to break through…

But is that what he wants? For her to remember how she once felt for him, just in time to watch him die like this?

"You don't have to." His hand starts to fall from her face—it's gotten too heavy to hold up there—but she squeezes it and refuses to let go.

"You, you have to hang on…" she murmurs helplessly. She can tell he's fading.

"I can't." He hates the look on her face. "I'm sorry." Last words are hard. "Goodbye." Doubly so when he says them to her. "I… love you." Is it his imagination, or does she look unsurprised? "See you soon."