A sixteen year old Italian boy stared in the mirror, confused. Who was he again? What was his name? It started with an F. Feli…Feliciano! That was it. Right, Feliciano. He smiled, glad that he could remember his name. Feliciano Vargas. He had an older brother named…named Lovino. Lovino Vargas. Why was he having such a hard time remembering? What was happening to him? He sighed. He couldn't remember anything else other than that. Why not? What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he remember?
Angry, he punched the mirror and slid to the ground, not caring that his hand was bleeding. He ignored the pain.
"Dammit!" he yelled. "Why can't I remember?" he asked himself, ignoring the door opening.
"Feliciano, your hand," another boy said. Feliciano looked up. This face was…L…Lovino! This was Lovino. "Come on," Lovino stated, picking up the younger boy.
"W-Why can't I remember? What happened?" the younger cried.
"You're just confused. You'll remember soon," Lovino said, laying the boy on his bed. "Sleep," he stated, walking out of the room.
Feliciano closed his eyes. Once he did, his past memories came back. Everything hit him like a sack of bricks. He understood now. He understood everything.