Disclaimer: I don't own the characters.

Warnings: This story contains characters who self-harm. Some themes might be touchy subject. If you're a close minded person, this isn't for you either. Read at your own risk. Thank you.

Author's Note: The next chapter would be uploaded after I finish writing the whole story which hopefully won't take more than a month. Some of the characters will be OOC to fit the story line, hence, Feliciano's inconsistent use of ve's.

This is more of an experiment on my part, actually, but I hope that I won't mess it up.

Drop a review if you can/want. They are appreciated. A Lot.

Thanks.

Feliciano is fine. He says so even if he sometimes cut. It's not like there's something really wrong with him.

Gilbert is bipolar. He insists that he doesn't need help, but he knows he had to stop denying.

Ludwig is just caught in between, so he turns to alcohol.

And Lovino… oh… he's never coming home.

Chapter One

The first cut doesn't bleed. Feliciano Vargas was well aware of this fact. Unless you wanted to die, moving the blade across your skin doesn't draw blood the first try. The chances were pretty slim, almost always, at least.

It was like testing the waters when you get to the edge of the shore. Little by little, you come closer until you feel the small ripples touch your toes… until you find yourself waist deep in the salty ocean.

Perhaps, he was wrong too and that for some, the first cut does bleed. Maybe, they weren't cowards like him. Maybe they had had the guts the first time unlike Feliciano who, for a long time, waivered over and over again before reaching that point. Yes, seeing that red crimson make a thin line on his skin was an achievement.

He doesn't cut on his wrists. They were too obvious. It's where people would expect you to. As pitiful as Feliciano maybe, he wasn't dumb – a little slow to catch up on some things, but he was clever when needed. He had to be careful. If they see, they wouldn't understand. They would try to fix him.

There was nothing wrong with him.

He was fine, fine, fine!

He was fucking perfect even!

It's been so long since he started that Feliciano doesn't even remember why he did in the first place. He doesn't even know why he keeps doing it and it's a little scary how slicing himself up seem so trivial nowadays. He doesn't stop, because, as trivial as it was, it was a necessity. Or, at least, it felt like one.

When he sees those scars, some old and fading while others were freshly inflicted, he wonders if he hadn't done it that night, would he still have done it another time?

And the question remains unanswered and Feliciano tries his hardest not to think about it.

He tries his hardest not to ask why he keeps on hurting himself.

God knows he wouldn't stop either way.

He just can't.

"Fratello, I'm going out. I'll be back before dinner." Marcello, the youngest of the family, shouted from across the hall. Feliciano quickly turned off the faucet. He wiped the part above his knee dry and cleaned the wound. He didn't want it to get infected, of course, because if it did then he'd have to tell a doctor, then everyone would know.

"Si, si, take care!" He managed to answer but with a little strain in his voice.

If Marcello hadn't been hurrying to meet with his friends, it would have been obvious. But he was and, for some time, he would regret it.

Feliciano wrapped the blade in paper towels before disposing of it outside the house.

It was a lovely Saturday morning and everyone except Feliciano was home. Unlike usual, Lovino won't be coming back from the dorms. The oldest Vargas had called last night to tell them some things came up. 'Next week, for sure,' Feliciano thought, 'he said so himself. He'd be here then.'

Although grumpy and generally a bitter person, Feliciano loved spending time with his brother. Granted that he always yells at Feliciano and Marcello and Grandpa… and everybody else, Lovino kept Feliciano sane. He might be the only force keeping the younger Vargas from tipping off the edge.

Deciding that it was such a beautiful day to waste, the brunet resorted to taking a walk in the park. He grabbed a bag containing several art materials and left.

It takes approximately five minutes to get to the park when walking, if you're a normal person that is. Feliciano always takes about ten minutes.

He was that kind of guy. All smiles and laughter, always up for a chit-chat. Never mind that he has multiple cuts just above both of his knees. Pretty inconspicuous place, he thinks. Worst that could happen was get hurt bad enough that standing becomes painful.

It has never happened though. Feliciano was careful.

But maybe one of these days… just maybe he won't…

Apparently, many thought that it would be a nice idea to spend the morning in the park – mostly old or middle aged people though. Feliciano had no qualms sharing his sit with an aging woman in the less crowded part of the park. Maybe they both think it was best not to get hit by a stray ball or Frisbee, he thought.

In a span of three hours he had done five sketches. They weren't masterpieces, but they were more than doodles too. They were probably going to end up in the bottom of his drawer where all of his other sketches are. He doesn't throw a single paper.

Lovino says he keep a lot of extra baggage; he just shrugs him off every single time.

He even has the first present his nonno gave him: a stuffed bear. He's outgrown sleeping with stuffed animals, but that bear was safely hidden in his closet still. Then there were those ribbons he received from his kindergarten teacher. The small notes and recommendations that he ends up not using, they are still kept in a box.

Feliciano loved these little trinkets. Looking at them makes him feel valued.

"That's an awfully pretty drawing you've got." A voice said and Feliciano was driven out of his thoughts. The old lady was long gone and on her previous spot was an albino.

He's awfully happy for someone genetically defective.

"Hey, you wouldn't mind giving that away now, would you?" The man smiled, revealing a set of unusually sharp canines.

Feliciano was caught off guard. The man who was probably just a few years older than him was unlike any he'd met before.

"Ve~ Do you want them?" He says cheerfully adding his well-known "verbal tic" (Really, he could get rid of his ve's if he'd wanted to talk to the person on the same level.). Maybe he really hadn't wanted to let those sketches go, but he didn't have time to think. He doesn't regret it though.

"That'd be awesome! Still not as awesome as me though," the albino says, "You see, I'm leaving town for a while and I'd really miss this park and these would be a great décor on my new room. You won't mind if I take them all would you?"

Well, he was certainly assertive.

Feliciano continues to smile and he quickly signs all his sketches before handing them out to the strange man.

"Oh great!" The said man exclaims. "Oh I'm Gilbert, by the way, and I'm Prussian!"

Feliciano pays well enough attention to history class to know that Prussia no longer exists. But he keeps his mouth shut because, hey, if he could be happy and preppy for other people while slicing himself behind closed doors, then Gilbert could be Prussian all he wants.

"I'm Feliciano, ve~ everyone just calls me Feli though. Maybe they think Feliciano is a bit too long. Four syllables, si? It doesn't bother me much. Feli is cool too, but you see I read somewhere that pets named with two syllabled words get accustomed to their names faster it's like saying that people's brain capacity rivaled only those of house pets. It's scary, si? I mean…"

"Bruder!" He was cut off by a deep voice that belonged to a blond blue eyed man. Gilbert's brother was dressed nothing like him. Unlike the albino's sweat pants and long sleeved shirts (Feliciano guessed that it works better with the Sun.), the other man was wearing a neat button up shirt and slacks.

Just by looking, one could tell that this guy was serious.

Feliciano could just imagine it: the whole class would be muttering about a stupid project, but that guy would just get on with it, a teacher's pet, straight A's student, probably, a member of the student council, always wore the complete uniform. Yes, definitely a good boy.

"Oh West! Meet Feliciano, he drew me these awesome things. I'm bringing them with me." Gilbert ended with an unusual laugh, ignoring the glares he received from his brother.

"West?" Who would name their child West?

"My name's Ludwig and I'm sorry if my big brother is bothering you." Ludwig- sounds very German indeed. Where did 'West' come from?

"Oi! I wasn't being a bother."

Feliciano nodded. "Ve~ don't be mad at him Luddy. Gil was being nice."

"See? See? I was just being my awesome self."

Ludwig sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose as if easing an oncoming headache away. "Fine, but we have to go now." His voice was stern but Gilbert remained unfazed.

"Already? You're no fun, West," the older of the brothers whined and matched with a pout.

Feliciano couldn't help but laugh at the brothers' exchange. It made him think of Lovino. Not that they bickered that way.

"Feli! West is being a bully, save me." Gilbert latched himself onto the Italian refusing to meet the eye of his brother.

"Lunch," Feliciano said with a big smile, "Let's have lunch at my house!"

"Really?" Gilbert brightened at the suggestion.

"Brother!"

"Si! Si! I'll make pasta."

"Alright, then lead the way."

ooo

Ludwig wasn't sure what to expect when they reached the Vargas home. The bubbly Italian had seemed so, so irresponsible that it's a wonder how he'd manage all these years. To top it all, the house was pretty clean for someone with an attention span like him (or maybe the other family members took care of the house… or maids? Feliciano looks like he lived a privileged life.). The German wouldn't even deny that his first impression of the guy wasn't positive.

It was like something was just off.

But if there's one thing he was sure of, it was that Feliciano makes the best pasta.