Felix's disappearance was slow. It started with white walls, crying, screaming, small children begging. The hospital was filled with sounds that Felix wished he couldn't hear. He was yet to be yelled at by someone, probably his father, for letting Oscar fall; no matter, the cynical teen knew the arguments would come. Always the pessimist, this outlook hadn't changed with time.

He was still wearing the clothes from earlier, save for the striped grey hoodie Ellen had brought when she visited. He heard more sobbing. His mother. All she seemed to do was cry, repeating that same phrase over and over.

"My poor darling. My poor baby boy." Felix was sure it was ingrained in the brains of all the nurses, who scurried in and out of rooms, offering weak reassurance that Oskie would live.

Felix buried his head in his hands.

"Oscar. Baby brother." He whispered, voice harsh as sand paper.

Time passed with cautious footsteps, leaving the family in a fragile trance.

Though Felix wouldn't remember much more than a blur, he cried on the car trip home. His mother hadn't spoken a word to him, his father offered nothing more than strangled glances, awkward pats on the shoulder that were both angry and sympathetic.

Hospitals took their toll on everyone.

Felix had been bright. He had been pessimistic, yes, and for sure, a realist, but bright, cheerful, with a passion for guitar. He had spent most of his time outside, with Oscar, rather than in his bedroom, which had acted as more of an in-between for his various hobbies; when he returned home, he found it to be in much the same state as before.

Dorky sweaters adorned his closet, hair gel and bobby pins scattered across the surface of his bedside table. A pair of loose jeans had been folded carefully, still to be put away

But everything seemed tinted shades of grey.

It took him a whole month to figure out that it wasn't the room that had been altered.

To an outside observer, the differences, slight at first, might have seemed normal, natural, as though they would've happened anyway. Yet, like the few locks of blond hair at the back of his neck that turned blood red, Felix changed.

The lip piercings freaked out his mother, the wardrobe change angered his father.

Ellen showed up one day, a new black choker adorning her neck, to hear yelling through the thick walls of the house.

"Why do you insist on acting like a freak, after all that's happened with Oscar! Your mother is…"

She could remember Felix storming out, flyscreen banging against the doorframe, breaking up the shocked, furious expression of his dad.

Oscar came home the day after.

And while everyone tried to hide it, it was obvious things were different.

It was made all the more obvious when Felix started to disappear.

The first time, it took Oscar yelling at their mother to make anyone realise the now-goth hadn't been home for at least a day

So, the dark-haired teen became craftier, convincing his parents he was at Ellen's, or staying with one of the few friends he still had left. If there was one person he cared about, it was Oscar, and it was the job of an older brother to protect the younger one, not the other way around.

But, by the time Felix was fifteen, it was obvious he didn't even have to pretend. Days would pass where no one would notice his absence; not even Oscar, who spent his days being smothered, to the point that he hardly saw Felix anyway as the wheel-chair bound boy was dragged from one doctor to another.

If anyone noticed that Felix was missing, in more ways than one, it would be brushed off.

"I was with Ellen."

"I'm just tired."

"Mum knew, she was just frazzled. Oscar's sick again. Of course she didn't forget about me."

Because, despite his projected persona's tendency to brush things off with a cutting edge, it took Felix six months before he gave up with excuses. Before he abandoned the last shreds of who he used to be.

Before Felix Ferne disappeared altogether.