I loved you.

There was a darkness building inside him, and he didn't know what it was. A hole was being filled with all things black and unclear and evil, and it was placed where his heart used to be. Another mouthful of the clear alcohol went down his throat like a waterfall, merging with the tears that refused to fall.

I loved you, but I never said it. I was scared.

He was a child at first, but they had been together since as far back as he could remember. Forever. They had shared everything: secrets, lives, puzzles, dreams…

But now he drank alone, and he knew he was hurting himself more with every sip.

This was not an illness that could be cured overnight. It was physiological, and he was never good with psychology. So, he had no way of getting away from it, pushing the darkness back at pulling free.

"Luke, my boy, this reminds me of a simply marvellous puzzle..."

How was it he never noticed? Never felt that whoever they spoke, his heart would speed, his voice would stutter, and a red blush would tint his cheeks lightly, like sunshine on the sea? Never realised that final time he called, when his voice had been calling his name, the fear and terror that haunted him day and night took hold of his heart and squeezed, making tears drip from his eyes as he ran?

How could he have not felt those tears on his cold face, on his grave, on the flowers and on the soul?

I wish I knew how to quit you.

Did he mean Layton or the drink?

'I guess I'll never know.' And he drowned. Drowned in sorrow, memories and drink, and through it all he knew, he felt, that he was hurting himself. And he couldn't escape.

You quit me. I had no choice. If I had the choice, would I have chosen you, or me?

He would have chosen the you, not the me. Because he cared so much that he wanted to give for him, give more than just life and love and everything - wanted to give what no body else could.

He just hadn't worked it out yet.

He slipped and slid on the grass. The bottle, held tight in his grip, almost broke, and he hissed at the ground, as though blaming it for his clumsiness. He knew it was his own fault - the clear liquid's fault - but the ground didn't need to know that. Luke snorted to himself - the ground cared for nothing.

When he reached the clear marble, he slid again, slipped and fell, and when he hit the ground, the soft grass protecting him, he laughed.

He laughed because he had nothing else left within him. No more tears, no more sorrow - only laughter. And he could swear, somewhere in the distance, Layton was laughing with him. He could hear it echoing in his ears.

Luke rolled over, his face planted in the mud, his hand - the one that was bottleless - reached over and rested on the clear, clean dirt that was his mentor's - his dream's, his nightmare's, his secret's, his Professor's - grave, and he closed his eyes, and he stopped hurting, if only for a moment. Because now, he was with Layton again. For now, he could smile, and remember.