There's a man standing in front of a gravestone. His thick blond hair and bushy eyebrows mark him as Arthur, Alfred's older brother, but he is a different man now. A respectful distance away, another red-headed man watches Arthur with concern. Anyone watching wouldn't have know the connection between the two, wouldn't see the similarities, but there is no one else there. The red-haired man is Arthur's last thread of sanity, a brother who is forcing him to move on, because he refuses to lose another sibling.
The gravestone Arthur stands in front of is no different than all the rest, grey and plain, even the names on it were not unusual. After all, "Alfred Jones" and "Mathew Williams" are pretty common names. One grave, two names. Somehow it feels like a spit in the face to Arthur, pathetically fitting, but that just makes the feeling worse.
Arthur doesn't cry. He can't anymore, he's cried all of his tears at Alfred's hospital bed, and then again at the funeral. He has no tears left. But Arthur has come with a purpose. He has a flower pot with a single flower stalk with two flowers growing from it in his hands. Arthur went to a lot of work to find this particular flower.
He kneels to plant the flower in the soft dirt in front of the grave, prepared before hand for this trip.
"A narciscus" He explains to the gravestone. His voice isn't as bold as it once was, layered with a tired tone, but it still holds love for his brother. Even for the brother from another world, that he hadn't been close enough to in this world.
"It's named after the story of a man who loved himself so much that he died, staring at his own reflection." He considers this. "In one story he turns into a flower."
He thinks that nothing suits his brother more. He's never met someone who fulfilled the description of narcissist as well As Alfred and Mathew. He doesn't think he ever will again. He's planted this flower as one last goodbye. He won't be coming back for a long time.
The red-haired man is shifting impatiently, and Arthur pats the dirt around the flower one last time.
"I hope, wherever you are now, you're happy."
The universe feels Stiller than before. Emptier. There's something missing now that should be here. Arthur doesn't want to think about it anymore. He answers the call of his older brother, and leaves the gravestone without looking back.
There's nothing left behind but a gravestone with two names, and a the flower blowing in the breeze.
Arthur will never tell his siblings the full story of the narcissistic lovers. Some sense of respect will keep them from asking. In another world, one that's dying, a lone and tattered book is blown by a dry wind and flips shut, as though signifying the end to the story.
There's nothing left to tell.