A/N: this is based off of a headcanon that luke gets severly sick in unwound future. this is from Layton's pov. again, I do not own professor Layton or any of the characters in this fanfiction. hope you enjoy ^o^

I was surprised when Luke requested me to be by his bed side, and not his parents. I hopped into my old car, letting my mind to wander. This nightmare started with Luke's sudden illness, an illness so horrible that he was placed in a hospital. The doctors apologized and told us the news - that what Luke had caught was a mystery disease. Something virtually incurable, and unnamable. The news sent fear and panic all through my body, but I knew I must stay strong for the boy. When the news reached his ears, I was there. He cried and spoke in a barely audible, stressed voice that wasn't his own. "No! This can't happen! There's so many things I've wanted to do..." he had cried. I felt immense sympathy. He was only thirteen. He had so much to live for, but instead of going out and having fun, he was here, in this hopeless hospital room that reeked with despair, trying his best to fight off a sickness he (and no one else) knew nothing of. That was three months ago.

To calm Luke down, I suggested he and I come up with stories and drawings, and I'd write them down. That's how we avoided the problem for a while. I'd never forget seeing the twinkle in his eyes, eyes that seemed so out of place on his unusual pale face. He'd speak, his voice cracking and often interrupted with violent hacking and coughing, but his words always got through to me. "And then..." It would always start like this. Then, innocent laughing at words and phrases only we would understand. During these days, I learned how vivid his imagination was. He had so many wonderful ideas, and I wrote all of them down.

I finally arrived at the hospital. I felt an understandable sense of dread as I walked through the doors of the building. It was late at night, a bit too late for Luke to request a normal visit. He understood my routine, and knew it was impolite to interrupt my work, but of course, I told him I wouldn't mind. I was finally allowed into his room, and as soon as I walked in, I felt the lump in my throat. Luke looked half-dead, which was probably the case. His eyes were half shut, and his head was propped up on a pillow. But he still reached out as I lightly sat on his bed, looking down at him. We both knew his end was near.

Luke took my hand in his own, much smaller, much paler, and much shakier. I was afraid. Afraid of loosing him, but knowing that this was it. This was our final good-bye, the end of a friendship that could have lasted forever. At least, that's what it seemed like. As he held onto my hand, held onto his life, I began to recall all the hours we spent together. Our adventures, all complete with the joyous times, the proud times, and the tough times where it seemed like nothing went right. How did this happen? A boy who was once so energetic and loyal had suddenly been taken down by something such as an illness... This wasn't how things were supposed to end.

It took Luke a few moments the form his words. We was obviously weak from the ongoing fight. "Professah, I love you," he said in a shaking voice. I was so touched, knowing that these were the last words he would speak on this world. He could've said anything, most likely a phrase full of self-pity and despair, but no, the brave boy in the hospital bed was calm, the only emotion in his eyes. His brown eyes were sad, wishing he could've done more with me. I never thought I would get so close to a person after two incidents, truth be told. It seemed like everyone I held dearly met a horrible end. Luke was no different, but he was the only who accepted and knew his fate with bravery, understandably afraid at first, but facing the constant shots, tubes, and tests with a determined face. He was determined to live, to hold on to that 5% chance he had. Was all his hope wasted on nothing?

I took no time to reply a soft, "I love you too, Luke." He held onto my hand, and I felt the shivering stop. After a few moments, I knew he had passed. The expression he died with was a peaceful one. It wasn't a look of defeat, more of a look of acceptance. His eyes were lightly closed, not shut tight in pain. And on his mouth was the most beautiful smile I had ever seen, and one I vowed to never forget.