Passion? That was something that was easily preventable.

The dim, faded, warm glow that the crisp flame of the candle that resided on the nightstand of a rather barren room danced along the scratched, wooden walls, weakly lighting the barracks of which were possessed by the blonde brute. Despite the welcoming glow that radiated in the space, a bitter, chilly draft swept through the old floorboards, causing them to creak in a rather eerie manner. Even the trees that were usually rather quaint were unwelcoming, the branches scraping down the glass windows. A downpour that was harsh enough to rip tears into the dying leaves that dressed the branches had started earlier that night.

A face resting against the firmness that was his pillow, Ludwig's mind wasn't well aware of the fact that there was a deluge occurring in the yard outside of his old, indifferent house. His mind was on an internal rampage, caught in a war between emotion and logic. Emotions told him the truth… and logic told him that he shouldn't believe himself.

It had been nearly three days since anyone had seen Feliciano.

"And you're not going to do anything, Ludwig?" Bemused eyes of which were owned by that of a sour Austrian glared at him, an indistinct look swirling in the icy blue eyes. There was a mixture of sadness, anger, and frustration plastered on his face. Roderich had served as Feliciano's father-figure after Feliciano's father had died after a long life. His mother-figure, Elizaveta, was on the fritz, trying to find her little boy that she loved so much.

"He'll come home soon, he always does."

At least… that was what Ludwig wished he could believe. Something gnawed inside of him.

What if Feliciano never came back?

The night was long, and rugged. The rain hit against the tin roof, causing the house to sound like a battlefield. That was how it felt though. The scent of tomato-sauce lingered in the fridge, the smell of cheap cologne remained in one of the shirts that were thrown on his floor near the bed, small drawings on scrap paper were strewn across the office area in which he worked. Everything that Feliciano loved was filling the home. No…it wasn't home. It was only a home when the scrawny Italian was there. Without him, this was just an empty space. There was no love, compassion, or warmth. There was coldness, antagonism, and despondency.

It had been a week since Feliciano had vanished.

There had been no sightings of him by anyone. Some people thought it was him, but it was actually his older, twin brother, Lovino.

Lovino could never be Feliciano. He was an arrogant, bratty, inconsiderate being. Always having a snide remark or snicker when he saw someone get hurt, and cackled at the agony of others. He was brought up in a different home, however. He was brought up to be a spoiled snob by the one and only, Antonio Carriedo. Antonio was a rather genuine, gentle Spanish man who had fostered the young Italian under his wing. He was more like a slave than he was a father, doing Lovino's bidding on every little whim that was thrown at him.

Lovino had been in his office earlier, actually. He was crying, in hysterics, for nearly an hour, knocking over several items on his desk. One of those items had happened to be a framed picture of him, Feliciano, and Honda. The glass had shattered on the floor, the picture stomped on as the infuriated Italian marched out of his office, slamming the door hard enough the nearly make it fall off the hinges.

Feliciano's face was smudged so horribly by the mud on the bottom of his twin's brother foot that he had been unrecognizable.

Sleep also was something that wasn't going to come easy. Actually, it wasn't going to come at all. How could he sleep and wake up to another morning not knowing whether or not Feliciano was going to have the same opportunity. Though… his mind told him not to care. If Feliciano died, why should he care? The Italian was never beneficial to him… he always got beaten up, and he could never even stand on his own two feet. His mind told me that Feliciano was just a worthless, useless, cry-baby. Men like that were made into women in the army… at least, used like women were. He had no purpose, no usage.

Though his heart told him otherwise.

It had been nearly two weeks since Feliciano disappeared.

There was a sighting of him going into the forest.

Later that night there was a report of an alleged gunshot coming from the same area.

Honda sat in the office with the German since early that morning. His dead, blasé eyes staring him down for nearly twenty minutes before he broke the silence.

"You're lucky, Ludwig. You had someone in your life who would live and die for you, someone who was unafraid to say that they loved you. Most people would be happy to have a taste at what you could have had."

And Honda did have a point. His statement was true, and it wasn't likely that many would disagree with it. Honda and Feliciano had always been close friends, despite the fact that the Japanese man never really appreciated the fact that the Italian was always so intimate. But yet again, most didn't value Feliciano. Not even Ludwig.

"He was a nice person, Ludwig."

"Was". Did that mean that the Italian was dead and Honda just wasn't telling him? The odds of that were slim. Despite the fact that the raven tended to be a bit…sketchy, he still didn't hide the truth, especially if it was something that important.

"Precisely, he was a nice person. Nice people never have the opportunity to live in this world. They're slaughtered like pigs after being robbed and taken advantage of, being broken, beaten, and thrown in the dirt. And nobody cares in the end, because of the fact that they were nice. Because of the fact that they were so easy to manipulate, so naïve… the fact that they would do anything for anyone, that just makes them vulnerable for the predators in this world, who would reap them of such an innocence."

And that was the only thing that the German could say to the raven. He couldn't afford crying. Nor could he afford to lose it. He was strong. He didn't need to cry because of the stupid, scrawny weakling…

Even though he wanted to oh-so badly…

"You have your work, and you live for your work, and you're work, and you're just scared. You're scared of facing your failure, and your impending loneliness, and the fact that you live a lie. Maybe if you had compassion, maybe if you stopped detaching yourself from feeling alive, maybe then would Feliciano still be here in the office somewhere, instead of somewhere by himself, alone, cold, and probably scared."

"And guess what? I am the one of us to survive."

And it was true. He was the strongest… he was the only one who wouldn't crumble…

And late in the night, Ludwig found himself thinking of the day before Feliciano disappeared. The way the Italian was chipper and peppy as usual, jovial in the fact that he got to spend a day with the man that he called his "best friend". He remembered the way the auburn-haired sprout twirled with glee around the office in his usual ditzy manner.

Though the German remembered one crucial fact…

He had ignored him the whole day, despite the fact everything that he had done for him.

Feliciano had always had a kind soul. He happily cleaned the house if it meant that Ludwig would praise him, cook for him if it meant that Ludwig was satisfied, draw a picture if it would make Ludwig smile. Yet Ludwig didn't even say "thank you".

And before he left for the day, obviously looking down by the end of the day, Feliciano had surprised him with a gift. A kiss, the be more precise. And he remembered exactly how it felt. The Italian's lips felt like smooth blossoms, pink, little petals that moved in a delicate manner. Surprisingly smooth, not a single rugged patch on the creamy, pastel colored cushions. They were sweet, and chaste, and…loving.

And Ludwig cringed at what he remembered what he did next.

He hit the Italian. He smacked him away. Ludwig didn't know how to handle the situation. He had rejected the one man who had actually shown his love. And right after he did this… he instantly regretted it. He could see the tears that began to form in the eyes of Feliciano, his cheek sweltering, a dark, pinkish-red. There was going to be a bruise. He saw the fear that was materializing in the amber eyes of the tiny male. Scrambling towards the door, he saw him run. He obviously left the house, because when Ludwig found the courage to actually get up to search for him, he wasn't anywhere to be found.

And now, it had been a month since he had seen Feliciano… today was his birthday. It had always been his favorite day of the year, because he felt so proud of himself for surviving so long, and that fact that he lived such a fun, happy life. He enjoyed the party, the cake, the small presents that he received, and the bright, vibrant outfits… he loved it all.

And today, he wasn't there, celebrating it with his friends.

As the storm continued outside, Ludwig could hear the beep that signified that someone had called him… they were leaving a message. Ludwig hadn't even noticed that the phone rang… though he could hear the person's voice, and he recognized it to be Honda.

"Ludwig, he's gone."