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."