A/N: Going to be a very short multi chap.


Bright Eyed


The thing that you could find the most alluring about him was his eyes, huge irises splashed in perfect circles of brilliant blue - a neat pin-prick of black pupil in the middle carefully outlined by a fringe of violet. And although Mario might have nice eyes too, he always though Luigi's were nicer then his. It probably might be odd to be jealous of something so insignificant as that, but it was true. It's on Wednesday, sometime in November - or at least he thinks it was, his memory isn't very good - when it happened, the day he found Luigi sitting in the corner of his room. Covering his eyes, crying out in agony while huddled up in the corner of the room.

He remembers that part, he tried so hard to make the bleeding stop.

It is completely fascinating to experience the way memory works. Shapes, sounds, smells, colors, noises, whispers, screams, sign, faces. They can all bring him back to a certain moment. A certain memory that aches deep within his soul where he's been trying to hide it for so long. He's tricked himself into thinking that he threw that memory into the trash compactor. Ground up and never to be seen, heard, or experienced ever again. And then he sees the sign. He smells the smell. He hears that song. And he's are instantly transported into the past. So much so that he swears to God in heaven that he's reliving it all over again. Only this time everything, all his senses are heightened.

Mario doesn't like remembering these sort of things, but it doesn't bother Luigi. He looks forward, not back and Mario only wishes he were that way. And it's funny, because although that horrible thing happened to Luigi, it only seems to be haunting him. He sometimes lays awake at night and wonders why and sometimes when he thinks about it - how it felt for Luigi - his chest physically tightens, it hurts. It hurts so much, because he made a promise and he couldn't keep it. Mario can feel his eyes sting, sometimes burn. You're not supposed to cry, remember? No, you don't do tears. Mario takes a minute to wipe his eyes, being careful not to sniffle. Luigi sits idly on the couch, staring blankly at the television.

"Mario?" Luigi asks, voice sounding a little sad, but that's probably because he can sense Mario's sudden discomfort. "What's wrong?"

"N-Nothing," Mario replies softly, picking up the cup of coffee and walking over to plop down on the couch with him. "Here." He hands it to him and Luigi takes the cup, careful for it not to splosh out of the rim and stain the couch.

"Thank you," Luigi says, taking a sip and then placing it on the table near him - well, tried to - the white mug crashes onto the floor and shatters, Luigi flinches. Mario watches Luigi go off the couch and fall on his knees, feeling around and some of the coffee ends of seeping through the fabric of his jeans. "Oh, crap! I'm sorry, I'm so clumsy..." Mario plants himself at Luigi's side, wiping up the brown liquid with a cloth.

"I-It's okay! It's not your fault," He stammers, the cloth soaking up the coffee almost immediately as he spreads it across the floorboards. "I should know by now to always help you with this sort of stuff." Mario mumbles the last part under his breath. He looks up at Luigi for a minute, he sits on the floor with his legs folded underneath him and his hands on his knees, staring at nothing - confused look on his face. He feels for Mario's arm and latches onto him, snuggling into his shoulder.

"Your so nice, I can't thank you enough for putting up with me."

He's smiling now.

"Putting up with you? It's not like that, I actually like taking care of you." Mario insists, looking at Luigi.

Luigi squeezes his arm tighter and Mario doesn't understand the broken feeling inside his churning stomach.


It starts with her.

She was never well, or at least that's what Mario thinks, there was one point in their life where they were so sure she was normal. She used to be sweet and caring, she used to be a good mother. But then he left, the guy that was never really their father left her and then it just seemed to pry at the giant, cavernous crack that was running through her and then one day she just...broke.

Broke.

She shattered into pieces that fell all around him that he couldn't seem to stop stepping on. But it wasn't your fault, you didn't know she was hurting, she should have said something. You could have made things better, or at least have tired.

She didn't have to hurt him, he didn't anything wrong.

Mario assumes that she might have done it out of a drunken rage, ones that she has so often around the house, but when he found her she seemed sober. Sober and oddly enough happy, happy that she had done something like that, the shard of glass gripped tightly in her hand - so tight, that it end up leaving a deep cut in her pale skin. Blood all over her ruffled white dress and her sweater hanging off her shoulder blades, she looked a lot like a candy cane gone horribly wrong. The only reason she could come up with was that Luigi's eyes reminded her too much of his - to her this logic seemed reasonable, she had to get rid of Luigi's eyes - because they were haunting her.

The bleeding seemed like it wouldn't stop.

Splattered on the white walls, on the white carpet, staining it with it's pretty hue of red. His fingers decide to tremble. He let them fumble their way around the keypad and they still somehow manage to find the right numbers, cooper red rust staining them as well. But it doesn't matter anymore, that was years ago. She was a crisis and no one was looking to save her, and that may have been what had started this. But it doesn't matter now, or at least Mario hopes so.

She's dead now, neither of them attended the funeral, and neither of them are sorry.