A/N at the top to not disrupt the ending:

Thank you for taking the time to read this, and I hope you like it. Just something that popped into my head. Speaker is Romano.

Stop These Frozen Crystals

He's beautiful.

That's really the only word I can describe him with. His smile that lights up everything and blinds my eyes. I don't know how others look at him and don't have to squint through the light.

He's an angel.

That's really the only metaphor the suits him. Give him wings and a halo and he looks fit for the job—acts fit for the job. Is fit for the job. And if I didn't know any better, I'd say that he already had wings. Or was it that he'd given me his own to make my heart fly away?

I don't think I know any better.

He's perfect.

The only man that could ever make me come close to smiling.

And above all, he's loved by everyone—most of all me. Those who say they love him can't possibly love him more than I do. This is not an understatement. I don't think I could live without him. I can't imagine the world without his beautiful beautiful beautiful beautiful beautiful voice.

But he isn't mine.

Not that I care, as long as he's happy. He still looks at me, smiles at me, talks to me, that should be enough for me. I can't be greedy. After all, my brother would hate me for taking Antonio away from him. I can't upset Feliciano. I love them both—but in different ways.

People think I'm incapable of loving. Object or human alike, that's what they claim. They think I'm so angry and grump all the time. That I'm apathetic. Asexual. That I'll die alone—but perhaps that last one isn't entirely incorrect.

He isn't mine, though it's not like I can complain.

He's graced me with his existence and that's all I can ask. The kind words and nicknames I say I hate. The warm embraces I return with insults. I'm sure he thinks I hate him. That's what everyone thinks. Maybe even Feliciano. Does he think that?

I always thought Feliciano would go after Ludwig, but I am rather daft.

It did hurt a little when Feliciano told me he and Antonio were dating. It stung my heart like a wasp and it wilted my soul like a flower.

Just a smidge.

"Guess what, fratello? Me and Toni are dating now!" is what I think his words were.

And the bastard next to him grinning like he always had. It looked so much more radiant. So much happier next to my brother's own. Such luster that made diamonds swoon. I guess Feliciano always did have that effect.

"Does it look like I care? Go make out somewhere else," I yelled at them with curse words in the mix, turning my back on them and I know they didn't see me cry.

Cry? No, no, I didn't cry. I promise I didn't. I'm happy Antonio's happy. That's all that matters. Feliciano's happy, Antonio's happy, who cares if the Grumpy Old Troll's happy? No, I didn't cry. I didn't cry with tears like frozen crystals. I didn't deserve to.

So why did I?

I could think of a million comparisons to make to his eyes. The deep green emerald eyes that I wish I could steal and keep forever. Just so they'd stay trained on me.

No, no, that's selfish. You can't say that.

Behind the security of my painted bedroom door is where I live. Where I can lay on my bed without having to worry about others seeing me. I would look up at the ceiling for hours; the plain white paint looked so intricate.

And I would hum a tune to myself in minor tunes. An E flat there, an A natural next. I love to sing, but I can't. That's for Feliciano. Feliciano is a wonderful, magnificent singer, but I can't sing. I like to though.

I hum a tune, a melancholy tune, under my tongue and it hides and it hides away. Beneath my vocal chords, it hides.

Behind the security of my painted bedroom door is where I live. Where I can cry stifling sobs without any ear to hear. And some days, I would pick up the silver. The shining metal that was sharpened and pointed. It would glide and it would slide across such a surface, with crimson chasing after it where it led its trail. The crimson that hid in my sheets and dove under my carpet.

But I wrapped the wounds in cloth and paper, leaving to together with a stripe of tape. And for an entire three years, one noticed the ever-present gauze on my left forearm. And yet, they notice a bruise the size of a nickel atop Feliciano's cheekbone.

"I fell trying to make pasta!" he said cheekily to the crowds of lovers that swooned and gave him a band-aid.

"I cut myself because I know no one will care," I said quietly to the barren walls of my room.

I love him.

Antonio, he who can fight off darkness with a single word in a crisp Spanish accent.

And I know he's happy without me, everyone is right? As long as Feliciano's here, that's all that matters. I know it is.

Stop crying, stop crying, Stop crying, stop crying, Stop crying, stop crying, Stop crying, stop crying.

So no one would care if I just left one day right? Of course not.

Stop crying, stop crying, Stop crying, stop crying, Stop crying, stop crying, Stop crying, stop crying.

And the cuts on my arms on my wrist on my leg. The slices on my arms on my wrists on my leg. Gashes on my wrists on my leg on my arms they grow wider, they grow thicker, they grow deeper, they grow longer.

And breathing was far too laborious a task. Maybe I should rest my eyes… Just for a… bit…

I finally stopped crying.