Balancing two bowls in his hands wasn't easy, Lovino found out. He attempted to open the door with his elbow, grumbling incoherent swears every time he slid off. The more he failed, the more he cursed, and right before he was about to curse the door's very existence, it opened. Frowning, he walked towards the single bed, located on the right wall, stepping over the occasional shirt or sock that was lying around. Damn, for a sick boy, Feliciano sure had a dirty room.

"Lovi…" Feliciano whined from the bed, "The window…"

"What about it?" Lovino took a seat next to his brother's bed.

"It's been open for the past hour," he said, "The sun is setting and it's shining in my eyes…"

"Alright…" a sigh. "Hang on." Lovino put both bowls of pasta on Feliciano's lap, getting up to close the window and then the drapes. A feeble "thank you" came from his brother in return.

Taking a seat again, Lovino noticed Feliciano stared at the pasta hungrily, his eyes bright with happiness at the food he loved so much. God, Lovino was sure that Feliciano would kill to eat pasta. Any time the boy saw pasta, or pizza, or gelato or any treat, he would brighten up the room with his smile. Lovino, with a small smile on his face, handed Feliciano the fork, and his brother took it and then stabbed the pasta with it, pulling up a bit of noodles and eating them. He was leaning against the headboard, so he wouldn't choke, as he gobbled down the pasta. Even when he was sick, in fragile condition, he could always brighten up when he was eating.

"The potato bastard wanted to boil his disgusting potatoes when I was boiling water," Lovino grumbled, "So if it tastes like shit, it's because there's lingering potato in the water."

"I could never hate Ludwig for anything," Feliciano giggled.

"It wasn't him," Lovino snapped, "It was the pseudo albino."

"Then I'm afraid you got your names wrong, Lovi," Feliciano took a bite of his food before continuing, "Gilbert would be the potato bastard's brother."

"Don't swear, Feliciano," The older one said, "It's fucking rude."

Feliciano gave a coarse laugh, followed by a fit of coughing. "You're funny, Lovi."

"I know I am," Lovino snapped. For joking around with his brother, he sure was very serious when doing so. "I'm a fucking riot."

"Calm down, Lovi, you don't need to swear around me-" Feliciano stopped to cough. He put a hand to his mouth, furrowing his brow. "Ew."

"What?"

Feliciano picked through his teeth, pulling out a potato skin, his tongue hanging out of his mouth a little bit. "This isn't any kind of spice…"

Lovino's face instantly flared red. Slamming his own bowl of food on Feliciano's bedside table, he stormed out of the room and leaning over the banister. Coincidentally, Gilbert was at the bottom, walking past.

"Fuck you!" Lovino shouted down to him. "Just fuck you!"

Gilbert looked up, quirking an eyebrow. "What, did a bee fly up your ass?"

"You know what I'm fucking talking about!"

"Calm yourself, I don't follow."

"Potato skins! Does that ring a fucking bell?"

Gilbert smirked, and then started laughing. "Lovino, seriously! Calm down!" He laughed, waving a dismissive hand up at the Italian, "Potatoes aren't bad at all, you just refuse to eat them because Ludwig eats them!"

"Feliciano almost choked on those god forsaken skins you bastard!" Lovino spat out.

"He probably just swallowed too soon and it went down the wrong way," Gilbert reasoned, oddly a bit softer and more resentful. It wasn't Lovino complaining about the skins, he realized, it was bed ridden Feliciano complaining.

Lovino, cheeks still puffed out and flaring red, stormed back towards his brother's room. Now, he knew the cause of Gilbert's softened voice - it wasn't every say Gilbert almost seems regretful in making a snide, cocky, assholic comment. Nobody liked to say 'sickness' or refer to it recently. It was almost an unwritten law that if someone said something negative about Feliciano, they were sleeping on the couch and eating alone that night.

Lovino had made it clear he didn't want the German brothers helping him take care of Feliciano. The Italians were brothers, right? Hell, they were twins. Family takes care of each other. If their grand father was still alive, he'd take care of Feliciano with Lovino's help. They'd make him better. Healthier. Back to the air headed, pasta loving idiot Lovino really did love, even if he liked to hide that fact behind curse words and threats.

Opening and slamming the door behind him, Lovino dropped down into the chair in a huff. Feliciano looked at him.

"Everything alright, brother?"

"No."

A sigh. "Alright."

Lovino opened the door, looking over at his brother asleep on his bed. The room was dark, light only pouring in from the hallway, Lovino waking up at the early hours of the morning to take care of Feliciano. Straining his ears, he heard Feliciano's raspy and sharp gasps for air. Had he gotten worse overnight? Lovino didn't want to believe it as he sat down, and extended an arm to shake Feliciano awake.

"Fratello…" Lovino whispered, "Fratello… fratello…"

Feliciano stirred, cracking his eyes open. "Buongiorno, fratello…"

"Buongiorno." Lovino ran a hand through Feliciano's greasy hair, looking at the short rise and fall of his chest. He bit lightly on his tongue, just hearing his brother struggle for breath was enough to make him worry a lot. No, even though it was clear his brother's condition worsened overnight, he didn't want to believe that.

Lovino shuddered, his body shaking so suddenly that Feliciano let out a cry of protest at his brother looking uncomfortable.

"Lovi, are you cold?" He asked, his voice tired and cracking.

"Yeah, I am, but I'll be okay, just got chilly for a second…"

Lovino took the thermometer off its place on the bedside table. Opening his brother's mouth, he put it under his tongue. Feliciano whimpered at the unwanted thermometer forced into his mouth, but could do nothing else to protest. Lovino's expression of worry worsened, seeing the red liquid in the thermometer rise high. Taking it out of his mouth, Lovino looked at the thermometer properly, sighing when he had come to realize… yes, Feliciano was worse. He didn't want to believe it, but he had to.

"Everything alright, Lovi?" Feliciano asked.

"Yeah…" Lovino drummed his fingers on his knee while he put the thermometer back on the bedside table. "Now, everything alright with you? You seem more tired."

"Yeah… I am. I feel worse, actually." Feliciano looked up at the ceiling, tired from two things; just being woken up and from his illness. "All night, when I coughed, it felt like my throat was on fire… is that bad, Lovi? The look on your face makes it look like you're scared."

Feliciano was a weird man. He flirted with random people, mostly girls. He could trip over his own two feet and apologize for it. He found Ludwig and his brother to be… cool and nice. He could survive a month off pasta and gelato. But what really was peculiar was how he couldn't tell that when a cough worsened to something like this, where it looked like talking drained his energy, and that he thought this was just the case of the sniffles. This flu was slowly putting him closer to his deathbed, it was like he had fallen in his coffin and was writhing in pain, and everyone in the neighbourhood was waiting for Lovino and the German brothers to nail the coffin shut already. They were refusing such offers; they wouldn't dare let Feliciano die like that (Even if the brothers down the street - Alfred, Arthur and Matthew - said they should put him out of his misery. What was he, a dog?).

"It's… not bad, Feliciano," Lovino said carefully, "It's the flu, Feli, it's just the flu, it's not bad."

Feliciano turned his head from the ceiling to Lovino. "Can you bring me some water?"

"Sure," Lovino said, standing up. He patted Feliciano on the head for a second, then left.

Feliciano watched him leave. Lovino was also a weird man. He swore. He shouted. He raved and ranted. He loved to fight and loved to argue. But what he didn't like to do was tell Feliciano that he was getting sicker and sicker, even though Feliciano himself already knew that. He wasn't an idiot.

He reached up into the cabinet and pulled down a glass. The Italian turned on the faucet, let the water run for a second, then began to fill the glass with cold water. The clock read 6:30, and from the sound of it, from the footsteps coming down the stairs, Ludwig was waking up. Lovino only got up early to take care of his brother; Ludwig seemed to have the internal clock of a soldier. If Feliciano wasn't sick, Lovino would be sleeping in until noon, something that Gilbert did too.

"Getting him a drink?" Ludwig asked when he walked in.

"No shit, Sherlock," Lovino snapped.

Ludwig didn't reply, just opened up the cabinet to pull out a tin of coffee beans. Lovino moved from the sink to the freezer while Ludwig moved from the cabinet to the coffee maker, Lovino seeing the label "Decaf". He rolled his eyes, knowing very well decaf coffee calmed your nerves. What, was Ludwig back in the military? He didn't need to be calm, for he snapped and shouted at people just as often as Lovino.

Lovino opened up the freezer door to get an ice tray. Before he could crack two ice cubes out of the tray, Ludwig lightly grabbed hold of Lovino's wrist.

"Let go, you bastard," Lovino growled.

"Don't put ice cubes in his water," Ludwig said calmly."Why not?" Lovino snapped, "After his drink he can suck on them! It'll cool his throat!"

"You don't want to give a sick person ice to suck on," The German warned, "They could choke on it."

"Fuck off," Lovino ripped his hand from his grip, "I know what I'm doing."

"You should listen to others sometimes," Ludwig remarked, "It seems you never let others help."

"Because I can do this all on my own!" Lovino shouted, "Fuck! I don't need your help!"

"Lovino, calm down."

"I can do this by myself! I'm taking care of my brother! My brother! If your lazy as fuck brother got sick I'd leave it to you!"

"I'd appreciate help, though." How could he always remain to level-headed when Lovino was blowing his top? "If Gilbert had the condition that Feliciano has, Lovino, I would definatly be concerned. Maybe even a bit overprotective. But you have to calm down over this. I just suggested something and you blew up over it."

Lovino gripped the ice tray and gritted his teeth. He shoved the tray back into the freezer and slammed the door shut, retrieving the glass from the sink.

"Shut up," was all the Italian said, storming out of the kitchen.

Ludwig, sighing, walked to the lounge room and looked in. Gilbert had fallen asleep on the couch last night, and woke up to Lovino's shouts. "He's being stubborn and morbid still."

"Let up," Gilbert tried to laugh, but just yawned instead, "Lovino's always stubborn and morbid."

"I still believe he needs to let us help him," Ludwig said, "He can't do it on his own."

"What are you talking about, Ludwig?" Gilbert asked, bewildered, "If anyone can save Feliciano, it's his brother."

Lovino stopped, his foot just about to go up the fifth step on the stairs. He heard what Gilbert had said, then began walking again. So Gilbert was sort of on his side. He had some form of backup. Good. He reached the top of the stairs with a small smile on his face. He was aware of this, so he then replaced the smile with a scowl. Reaching Feliciano's room and opening the door, he closed the door behind him and flicked on the light.

"Fratello…" Feliciano weakly cried out, lifting up his head. How did he get so weak in the few minutes Lovino was gone? "Fratello… water…"

"Sh-Shit." Lovino rushed to Feliciano's side, putting the water down on the table to prop him up against the backboard. Feliciano protested at the sudden movement with a whine.

"Lovi… not so fast…"

"God damn it, just wait!" Lovino, panicking, reached over and snatched the water, putting the glass to his brother's lips, a bit of water droplets splashing down his pyjama shirt.

"Drink," Lovino begged, "Drink and then breathe, Feli."

After a few desperate gulps of water, Feliciano pushed his brother's hands away, taking a deep breathe, the deepest he's taken in a while, and clutched Lovino's free hand. "My chest, Lovi, my chest hurts, why's it hurting…"

"Just breathe, Feli!" Lovino continued to panic, squeezing Feliciano's hand. Lovino was breathing more rapidly than Feliciano, panicking more than Feliciano, frantically looking for signs that Feliciano was going to be okay. It was like he was going mad. "If you need more water, tell me, but just keep breathing…"

Feliciano turned his head towards Lovino, clutching his hand just as tightly. "Lovino, stop panicking."

"I can't!" Lovino shouted, "Don't say Lovino! Say Lovi! It calms me!"

"Please, Lovino, calm down," Feliciano leaned against his brother, pressing his forehead against Lovino's neck, "I'll be okay."

Feliciano squeezed Lovino's hand one more time, tightly, and then his grip loosened, becoming limp. His body went cool.

Lovino took the limp hand and cold body as a sign Feliciano was dying. If Lovino wasn't truly panicking before, he was now, sucking in air and then screaming at the top of his lungs, jumping out of the chair and letting Feliciano's body fall back onto the sheets. He pulled at his own hair for a second, then started shaking Feliciano violently, forgetting all about trying to keep him still and to treat him gently, shaking him and screaming the younger one's name. He pleaded for him to wake up, screamed for him to return to him. Just before he felt like he was about to have a heart attack, Gilbert ran in from the doorway.

"Lovino! What's wrong?" Gilbert asked, and rushed across the room to Feliciano's bed, putting a hand to Feliciano's forehead, his hand shaking.

Lovino tried to ask if Feliciano was dead, but no noise came out from his throat. Lovino rubbed his arms, rather mortified at the thoughts going on in his head. Gilbert turned his head and looked at the Italian, reading his thoughts.

"He's asleep, Lovino." Gilbert outstretched an arm to pat his housemate's shoulder.

"Then why is he cold?" Lovino squeaked, continuing to shake.

"His fever broke," Gilbert chuckled, "Honestly, Lovino, you and your brother are inseparable. One of you goes, the other one knows it instantly."

Lovino began to cry. He hid his face in his hands, choking on a sob. After realizing the small laugh wasn't necessary, the albino stalled in reacting… but then pulled Lovino into a hug, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and resting his chin on Lovino's head.

"Lovi… It's okay."

"No it's not!" Lovino wailed, bawling like a baby into Gilbert's chest.

"Yes it is… you're scared, but he'll be alright… he's on his way to recovery."

Lovino knew that if Feliciano did die, a part of him would've died too. If one Italian lost the other, neither of them would know what to do. Lovino stayed in Gilbert's embrace, the German keeping arms around him, the two standing by a sleeping, recovering Feliciano.