Happy Anniversary, by Motion City Soundtrack was the inspiration behind this. My memory on the end of the game is a bit fuzzy but whatever.
They would be graduating tomorrow and she would have to attend the ceremony even if they didn't remember her. She was tired but couldn't miss it; the chance that perhaps they would remember then was too much to pass up. However there was one face she would not see graduating tomorrow, and something told her she should see him now. Somehow tomorrow seemed too late.
Winter was over but the wind was cold enough that she buried herself in her coat anyway. The walk was familiar but the route seemed so different, though maybe she was the one who was different. A year ago, Iwatodai was like re-living her childhood, but it wasn't like that now. She pulled her coat tighter about her, thinking it had fit a lot better only weeks ago. She wanted to get to him before she succumbed to weakness for the night. She could only fight it for so long. She could feel it in her bones tonight.
The staff knew her, familiar to her visits, and even the greenest of nurses could recognize the strangeness shadowing her. Her feet led her, as the trip had taken much out of her. Finally arriving in his dimly lit room she sat down by the bed and took a moment to scan the various observational equipment, interpreting that the doctor hadn't been lying to her on the phone. There was more activity than before. Maybe he could sense what was coming better than even she could now.
Looking at him, something that had felt numb stirred too. For the first time she felt afraid of death and its dark bidding, and she shifted onto the bed besides him and though there wasn't much room she would swear he adjusted to allow her closeness. Before death seemed so comfortably close and never seemed so frightening, and now it rattled her to her previously cold core. It was like she was feeling the warmth of the sun for the first time and instantly the sky turned grey and unkind before she could open her eyes.
She curled into his still form and though she felt pity for herself, for her worn out and weary form, she felt pity more for her ever-sleeping friend. She held him tighter, eyes shutting, and thought of the time they missed together and would continue to miss. All the time he would have to make up alone. He moved in her arms and the LCD lines quivered, trembling as though struggling against something holding them down. Perhaps he was showing he was listening. Waiting for her to speak. Wanting to know what would happen next. She smiled and sat up a bit, petting his hair back behind his ear.
"I won't be here for long," she told him, "my dear." He was not as far away as she had thought. Perhaps she would see him again before it was time to accept fate. He exhaled deeply and she smiled through her sadness, kissing his cheek. He sighed at her in even when he shouldn't have been able to. "Show me how to calm your fears," she whispered to him, her eyes shutting again. The chill didn't seem so bad then. "I'll do what I can."
The cold sunk its claws in her. Her lungs restricted and she coughed harshly, gasping wildly between spasms and holding a hand uselessly to her chest, clutching at her coat. Her once-strong body was easily jarred by the rattling wheezes and for many moments she laid there and wondered if she would be there long enough for her friends to remember, let alone be there long enough to see him wake. As the pains settled she wondered what he would wake to. Would their friends remember by then? Who would comfort him for his loss?
She looked to him again; his scowl seemed to have returned. She had upset his sub-conscious state by bringing her disease in there. With a squeeze she held his hand and looked back to the ceiling.
"I won't be here to dry your tears," she murmured. "Send our friends my love." They had met less than a year ago, but had felt so much longer. Perhaps she could preemptively predict a new habit of his years from now, and she felt she wouldn't be wrong to think he would honor an annual date. She didn't want it and wanted it at the same time, and with a touch of melancholy she added, "Happy anniversary." That note seemed too dark and she continued, "Promise me you'll laugh, my dear, after I am gone."
Finally she wiped at her own running eyes, no longer up for dancing around what she was trying to say. "Cause I won't be waking up, my dear. Time has run its course." He seemed to be listening…and now only one other thing kept her from drifting to deep sleep then. The graduation was tomorrow, an anniversary she had promised to attend. She got up knowing it was late and she would be unable to fight the exhaustion much longer. What little energy she had left she would need for tomorrow. Continuing to hold his hand, she gently knitted their fingers together in an attempt to lighten his frown. "Now I'll say goodbye, my dear," she said quietly, squeezing briefly and loosening her grip. "This will be our last happy anniversary."
She left the hospital and stepped into the cold wind. Faint alarms rang in her mind at the feel of the nighttime air. She could feel it in her bones tonight.