Paviche Largo.
Known as the most dashing of all the Largo children. At one glance he seemed the most beautiful and vain person ever.
Always gazing into that beige, chiseled mirror of his. It was glued to his palm it seemed. But what people didn't know about Paviche, was how he really felt about the way he looked. How he really felt about his "face".
He wasn't pleased.
He wasn't happy.
He wasn't content.
He was disgusted.
He hated how he looked, everything about himself. Especially the face. He ran his finger across the pale skin of the face that didn't belong to him. He stared deep into the mirror.
His eyebrows furrowed in frustration at his figure. He cursed the reflection that stared angrily back at him. He sat in his father's office along wih his older sister Amber Sweet, and oldest brother Luigi Largo.
Amber lay sprawled out on the couch, hopped up on street Zydrate as usual. Luigi was glaring at a knife that twiddled through his fingers. Pavi watched him gaze lovingly at the knife as if it was his own young.
He seemed to love the knife more than he loved him. Luigi was never one for emotions or compassion. Pavi knew this, which is why he never expected the oldest son to sneak glances at his depressed face, staring in the mirror glass.
Luigi saw Pavi as a "faggy face brat" or "vain prick".
He never would let anyone catch him dead looking at him. But when he did, this time it wasn't full of hate or terror. The image of slicing his tender skin wasn't burned in his mind. His hard and menacing fist wasn't slamming into Pavi's bruising side.
This time, he'd never admit it, but there was a hint of-concern.
Why does Pavi look so sad?
Isn't he looking at himself again like a vain ass, like always? What's he got to be sad about?
He probably found a flaw in his "flawless" face.. the fag.
Luigi thought to himself, tearing his eyes away from the youngest Largo, and gluing them back to the knife in his hands. He tightened his grip on the black slender handle. He imaged mahogany blood running down it, sticking to his face as it spewed on him.
Suddenly, something crept into his mind that he couldn't ignore. It was Pavi. He never cared so much about someone at all. Not his sister, brother, father, GENterns, friends.
He didn't even think too highly of himself, let alone others. Pavi flooded his mind though, thoughts of concern and worry for the youngest Largo. Making sure nobody saw, he flashed a glance at Pavi to make sure he was fine.
He felt it was the only way to make these unusual thoughts go away. Be washed with wonderful, gory images of killing scenes.
But it didn't work. It just made him study the details of Pavi's disgusted face.
He ran a hand down the pale skin of the face he wore. He saw his fingers shake at the mere touch of it. He looked over at Amber to see if she was watching as well.
Maybe if she was, he'd feel a little better about so closely examining his brother. She wasn't. She was on that street Zydrate still. She had yet to come down from his little trip.
He looked back at the now empty chair where Pavi was. He looked up to see him rushing towards the door. "What's the matter with Paviche, Luigi?" Rotti asked, looking up from his paperwork for a minute.
"I-I don't know. You want me to check on him father?" he asked. Rotti's eyebrow shot up quickly. It wasn't like Luigi to care about anything or anyone. Especially not Pavi. He stood and made his way past Amber fussing on the couch and out the big door.
He walked down the large hallway to the door of Pavi's room. He knew that's where he'd be. He took a deep breath and thought of excuses to tell Pavi to why he decieded to suddenly care and check on him.
He knocked softly and leaned in to hear a response. "Pav? It's Luigi. I gotta talk to ya." he said. The door creaked open and he saw Pavi sitting on his bed.
He sat on one leg while the other hung off the bed. His mirror was on the floor. Luigi recognized this to be the first time he'd seen that damn mirror out of his hand.
He noticed something also- the glass was broken.
He looked over to see Pavi's bleeding hand. Bits of glass stuck out from his throbbing and bloody knuckles.
"Oh god Pav, you okay?" he asked. He didn't try to hide his concern now. He was full on worried about his brother. "It's nothing fratello." he said, shrugging off the help.
"Goddamn it Pavi! Just tell me what's wrong! I've noticed how sad you look when you look in the mirror, just tell me what's going on with you?" Luigi yelled, ripping a piece of his cloth shirt off.
He took Pavi's bleeding hand and wrapped it in it. The blood soaked through the white cloth easily, but he just didn't want Pavi getting infected.
"My face Luigi. That's what's wrong. I'm ugly with it and I'm even worse without it. I just wish you never had touched me with that blade of yours." he said, his voice cracking with sadness.
Tears formed in his eyes, running down the mask and his face underneath. Luigi went to reply but was taken back to that night.
When Pavi was eight years old.
He hadbeen a normal boy, a frolicing, prancing normal boy.
Until Luigi-ruined him.
He had snuck into the boy's room and sliced him with his knife. He had been having so much fun he couldn't stop at just one slice, not two or three.
He kept going until the surGENs realized the boy's face was unfixable.
What Pavi was today, what he hated most about himself, what disgusted him the most, was his fault.
And they'd both never forget it.
"P-Pavi.. I'm so sorry, I don't even know why I did it." he said. He did know why. SIck, twisted desire. As soon as he saw the boy he wanted to experiment with him.
See how he took to his knife. "I don't see.. w-was I not beautiful fratello? Was that it? Did you want to fix me? Try and make me-beautiful?" Pavi asked, looking up at him with the wettest and saddest eyes.
Luigi- the tough and hard and cold Luigi was crying. He bent down and hugged the youngest boy.
"You've always been beautiful Pavi. I'm sorry I didn't see that."