Warning: Self-harm, depression, strong language.
You have Veniziano's eyes, he thinks languidly as he gazes into the mirror, glazed eyes scathing over his features. You have his eyes, his lips, his nose...
Everything.
He hates himself in times like these. Or maybe all the time. He hates himself and wants to fade, wants nothing but to disappear.
He loves the way it makes him feel.
Masochist.
He loves to hate himself, and so hates him all the more for it.
Ah!-
A gasp breaks through, a sudden pain, and he glances down to see. Teeth marks stencil across his skin, but he doesn't remember making them. Tch, he's got to be more careful or someone's going to notice. These are going to bruise... A small smile ghosts his lips, until he catches himself in the mirror.
Veniziano's smile.
Romano's smile is depraved and cynical, but it's his brother's nonetheless. He scrubs it off acidulously and bites down again before he can remember to stop.
Sometimes he almost thinks he could be happy. Maybe he could learn, he thinks. Maybe... he could teach him?
Romano stiffens sharply. He sinks his teeth again, harder.
Him.
He would rather have his brother.
And he'd be well to have him, and vice versa, the whole happy fucking lot of them.
Besides, he knows, he's fine this way. Fine. Happy, even.
He makes himself sick.