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.