This is the last chapter of this story. As the warning in the beginning mentioned, it is a tragedy.

The epilogue is included in this chapter.

Thank you for reading until the end, and thank you for all of your support!

I don't remember the way to the hospital. It's a dark blur, and even though there are tons of lights on the streets and headlights from the endless rows of cars, I don't see any. We take a taxi there, and we're in such a hurry that Matthew almost forgets to pay the driver.

Normally, I would have laughed, but I'm way too scared and panicked to laugh right now. We practically tumble out of the cab, scrambling to the hospital.

Or maybe that was just me. But hey, I have a lame knee so I think I deserve a break.

We rush to the waiting room, and I'm filled with anger at the fact that we have to wait to see him.

They say that they will only let family in, but Matthew tells them that I'm Arthur's cousin, and they let me in quickly enough. They are probably scared by the panicked expression on my face, anyway.

I feel like crying suddenly, and I'm not a crying person because I'm supposed to be strong.

...Right? I don't know why that thought pops in my head. I think I'm strong. I think I can handle it.

But I soon learn otherwise.

Arthur's there, in a bed that's too white against his pale skin, and his eyes are closed. There's red everywhere, staining his blond hair and pale face and even tainting his eyelashes.

There are tons of tubes attached to him and loud sounds and beeps and voices and I feel sick...

Matthew takes my arm and motions for me to move to Arthur's side, and I do, my gaze locked on his face.

Until today, he was supposed to be a stranger.

So why does my heart hurt so much when I see him like this?

So much pain, so much sorrow...

My face droops into a frown as I study him, but then some doctors shove me out the way. I shove them back, irritated.

"Hey, man, you can't just -"

"Please, sir. We're doing all we can."

"Then why aren't his eyes opening?!"

"Can someone remove him, please?"

"What the - you can't just remove me -"

"Alfred," Matthew says warningly. Sympathetically. We stand off to the side.

I don't remember how long we waited. It felt like forever, though.

Until someone came and told us that Arthur wasn't going to make it.

"Bullshit," I growl, pushing past them towards Arthur.

His face is deathly pale.

His eyes are closed.

But according to the machine, his heart is still beating. Feebly. But it's there. There's a pulse, though it's fading, a steady pulse, so like Arthur and so unfitting at the same time. Because Arthur is strong, and his heart should not be beating like this.

The doctors all stand away, they faces downcast. Meaning they gave up.

Why did they give up when he is still alive?

I walk over to Arthur's side, taking his bloody hand in both of my hands as I gently pull it up to my face. I don't know why I kiss it.

It just feels right.

And I'm crying now, even though he's a stranger.

My heart just can't take it. I suddenly feel as though I'm the one who is dying.

And just then, for one moment, his eyes flutter open. I see green, and my heart does a somersault in my chest, and I squeeze his hand as I open my mouth to speak. I want to tell him that he'll be okay, that I love him and that I never want to leave his side again.

If he'll heal, if only he'll heal, I can be strong for both of us. I know it. If only he'd live then I'd take care of him forever, and he would never have to worry again and...

But then I see him shake his head ever so slightly, and I stare at him.

He looks to his hand, tightly wrapped in mine, and then at me. And then he smiles.

And as he closes his eyes, the machine falls silent.

Matthew comes to stand beside me, slowly, as is his way, but I suddenly feel lost. I don't notice when he puts his hand on my shoulder.

I feel nothing.

I just hold onto Arthur's hand, and it brings me back, his warm hand, and a frown creases my face as I begin to remember something.

It feels foggy, at first. And suddenly I'm not in the room anymore, suddenly I'm lost, I'm floating...

A white room.

Sheets that don't fit me, that don't do anything to keep out the cold. A hard bed.

A hand. A hand that held mine, when I couldn't see and when I could.

Green eyes.

A voice.

A kind voice, that I broke.

And the sobbing.

The sobbing I never wanted to hear again, coming from the man I wanted to cherish, wanted to protect. The man who I wanted to be happy forever.

And my mind feels fuzzy all of a sudden, but somehow, instantly, everything clicks into place.

My life, my memories, are suddenly horrifyingly real.

"O-Oh...oh my..."

Words can't encapsulate what I feel right now.

Despair and shock don't even begin to describe it.

I start screaming, and crying, and howling all at once, and people are there, and they're trying to move me but I don't want to go, I don't want to leave him. I don't want to leave the only person that ever mattered, the only person that believed in me.

Everything fades as I retract into myself, and soon Arthur is gone and everything is gone and I am alone.

With pain, anger, sorrow, loss, frustration...but they're all weak. Not like Arthur.

Arthur was strong. Arthur is strong, he is beautiful, he is clever, he is adorable, he is wise, he is the kindest, most compassionate human being to ever grace the earth, and now, he is gone.

Forever.

Later on, I tell Matthew everything.

About how I remembered. Why I remembered. I tell him I made Arthur cry over and over, for years, and he tells me that it broke his heart to see me lie on the hospital bed next to Arthur after his death, asking the doctors to kill me too after I remembered everything.

Everything, from how I first met Arthur to the accident, to the years after that...

We are walking on the street now, three weeks after Arthur's passing.

Matthew wants to visit Arthur's old apartment before they vacate it. I tell him I don't want to, but he tells me I have to face it sooner or later.

He reminds me that Arthur was faced with a new Alfred every morning, and that the least I can do is visit his apartment.

I feel shitty.

When we reach, the first thing Matthew does is go to the garden.

I follow him, a bit surprised, and he points to the flower pot by the window.

My eyes widen when I see that the twenty-five blue flowers are still there, blooming, as if nothing had happened.

I feel a bit frustrated - how dare they exist when their owner was dead - and I stomp over to them moodily.

"You know, Arthur rarely shared the pain he went through with me," Matthew says softly, his eyes focused on the flowers. "But he did tell me this. You know these flowers?"

"Yeah, I watered them a lot."

I only remember fragments of my time with Arthur after my accident, but I remember there were lots of times when he asked me to water his flowers.

He never made me water anything else. Only those flowers, the blue ones that always managed to catch my eye.

"These are called Forget-me-nots."

My heart thuds painfully in my chest, and I feel like crying again.

"There's a legend around these, you know. Arthur always liked those sorts of things. Myths, stories, magic..."

A pause.

"Apparently, a long time ago, it was said that if you had the flower, your loved one wouldn't forget you."

I don't know when the tears begin to fall.

"Twenty-five of them for twenty-five years of faith."

Matthew hugs me as I cry, and when I sense that there are tears on my shoulder, too, I realize that I am not the only one who is suffering.

Epilogue

20 years later...

I walk along the path, the old cane in my hand as I slowly gaze at the flowers lining the road.

I am alone.

The wind feels good on my face, and I allow myself to smile. To enjoy what he can't.

But I can't help but feel that he's with me, in some way.

We went on a cruise, just like he wanted - me, Matthew, and Francis. It was a six week cruise around the world. He would have loved it.

But hey, we're getting old now.

And every year, I come back here.

The pain still feels raw as I approach his grave.

Arthur Kirkland

When I see the name, I feel it again. All the pain. The love, too.

For this man who gave me everything, taught me everything. Love. Devotion. Faith. Sacrifice.

I promised him that I would live. I would not wander around, a hollow shell, after his death.

It was tempting, though. I wanted to die right then and there, with him.

But I figured, he would kill me if I wasted his youth because I was sad, or because it was tearing me apart.

I chuckle as I imagine what he'd say to me.

Belt up, you twat! I spent a good twenty-five years taking care of you, and this is what you do?

His face would be slightly red, his thick eyebrows furrowed, and I'd call him adorable and he'd blush even more...

Matthew told me about the letter a week after he died. The letter that he left me.

He was prepared until the end. He hoped, he had faith in me, even after his death.

I have it with me, and I reach into my pocket and take it out carefully.

The paper is old. Crinkled. Like the notes he used to leave me, the same notes over and over again...

'To Alfred.

I cannot imagine what you must be feeling. If you are reading this, then thank Matthew for me. He has been holding on to it for quite a while.

So, you finally began to remember again. Unfortunately, I am not there to see it. To be with you.

For that, I apologize. I hope that I spent my last moments by your side.

I always thought about how I was going to die. Sometimes, I thought that you would drive me mad enough to kill me, and a couple of times you almost did kill me - do you remember? On the roller coasters, at the gym, at the rink, at the park, and on our hiking trips when I had to stop you from falling off the cliff? You nearly gave me a heart attack.

After that, I decided that trips weren't the best idea.

But I enjoyed being with you, Alfred. I loved every day, every minute, every second. Because I did not just grow to know you. I learned about the Alfred of today, remembered the Alfred of yesterday, and looked forward to the Alfred of tomorrow. And just as you grew to know me every day, I fell in love with you every day, all over again.

And I love you. All of you. I love you, and I know that it will last beyond me, beyond my body which is now gone.

But because I know you so well, I know that you will hate yourself. I know that you will think me mad for wasting my life on you - mind you, it was my privilege - and leaving you alone, after you've remember everything. You are in pain, and I wish that I could be there to comfort you.

But you are worth it, Alfred. I believed in you, and you did not fail me. Even if you didn't remember, I would love you just the same, because you are you.

You saved me by living, Alfred. I was broken by your memory loss, and I can't deny that I did cry for a long time after I found that you did not remember me. But that is infinitely better than you not living at all, than you not surviving the accident and leaving me stranded with your brother and a frog. (Matthew is pleasant enough, however. A good lad, really. But I am getting distracted.)

I have one last request.

Please live, Alfred.

But do not live for me. I am dead. Buried. My chapter is over, and nothing will change that.

Live for yourself. Not because I'm telling you to, but because you want to.

Don't cling to the past. Look to the future.

I trust that you can understand that much, even with that thick head of yours. Now, I could waste my time and yours reiterating how much I love you. But I will not, because you have better things to be doing right now, and I...am sitting here waiting for you to wake up.

You sleep terribly, you know. You really shouldn't sleep on your stomach like that. And you always take the blankets from me; no wonder I've caught a cold...

...My apologies, that was irrelevant.

...I love you, Alfred. Sometimes it's almost unbearable.

But I will not say goodbye, because I pray that we will meet again some day.

Yours forever,

Arthur Kirkland'

I slowly fold the letter and place it back into my pocket.

I have read his letter a thousand times, but I still cry every time I read it. Sometimes I wish that old people didn't cry, but now that I'm an old fogey and I'm still crying, I've given up.

I also sleep on my back now, so I don't have any clue what he's talking about. I chuckle as I think of what he'd say to that.

He always came up with some witty retort. Well, that was Arthur for you.

I break myself out of my thoughts to place a bouquet of twenty carefully selected forget-me-nots on his grave.

I bend down. My back protests, but I don't care.

I kiss the ground, with all of my love and gratitude, because I will not let the bad memories, the pain, poison my memories of him.

"I love you, Arthur. May you rest in peace."