AN: So this is my attempt at angst. I've actually never written angst before so I'd love some critique. Pairings include GerIta, PruCan...and Germany/Canada. Hence the angst. (But you don't have to read about it.
Loads of thanks to my friend who RP'd this with me and my other friend (KonanDarkAngel) who forced me to upload this. 3
Feliciano slowly opened the door. He blinked and turned his head. The house, it seemed, was deserted; unusual to say the least, since it was usually occupied by Gilbert, who was loud, Matthew, who was quiet, or Ludwig, who was...well. He could be either quiet or loud, and in the end, it didn't matter either way. If one of them wasn't there, another one was. Seeing this house practically deserted was unnerving.
"Anyone here?" he called out. He stepped inside the house and closed the front door behind him. In truth, he had meant to go home and stay there; dinner had been downright awkward, thanks to a particularly bad fight Ludwig and Gilbert had had, and Feliciano had been somewhat eager to leave the awkward, heated atmosphere for the night.
But he had left his cell phone. Of course he had. That was why he was here-though the house was so deserted that it almost made him wish he had stayed home.
Seeing his cell phone on the table, Feliciano picked it up and slid it into his pocket. Suddenly, he heard a noise, and turned around. He breathed with relief-it was only Gilbert. Sure, Gilbert could be a little scary, but he certainly wasn't a threat. "Oh!" he exclaimed. "Hello, Gilbert." He paused to brush a strand of hair from his face. "I was just leaving, so please don't worry about me. I was only getting my phone, you see." Feliciano smiled weakly at him.
Gilbert's face reflected a look of seriousness that Feliciano found shocking. Why, it was Gilbert. Gilbert was never serious. Even when he was mad, he never looked like this: so stoic, so broken.
"Oh, don't worry about it," he said. His voice took on a chilling tone. He sounded calm, which was nice, but there was something that he was hiding. "..really, it's fine. You know what?" Feliciano looked up at him. "I have something to tell you. And if you don't believe me, I have something to show you. Come with me." With a sense of trepidation, Feliciano followed him upstairs.
'That doesn't sound good at all,' thought Feliciano to himself. As Gilbert approached what he knew to be Ludwig's room, Feliciano began to ask him questions. "What happened?" Something obviously happened; it was in his footsteps, his breathing, the way he gripped the staircase until his knuckles were white. "Is Ludwig okay?" Of course he was-he had to be, right? Feliciano was almost ashamed of himself, because really, that was all he could bring himself to care about.
He heard Gilbert snicker. "Is he okay?" he asked, repeating the question in what was clearly a mocking way. Now he was smiling, and Feliciano shuddered. "Why, he's better than ever! You'll never believe it." Feliciano felt himself tremble as Gilbert leaned in to whisper in his ear-well, it was a stage whisper, as it happened, bu even so, it sent it a shiver down his spine. "He even got laid."
Feliciano tilted his head slightly. Well, that just didn't make sense. Who got laid? He vaugely remembered the phrase as being English slang for 'had sex'. Okay, so Ludwig had sex-and that made no sense, of course, because there hadn't been anyone there to have sex with. After all, he himself had been gone, and had there even been anyone else in the house, anyway. So, then, with whom did Ludwig 'get laid'? Feliciano opened his mouth slightly, a look of confusion on his face, only for Gilbert to interrupt him.
"Oh, I know," he said, his hands on his hips. "But it's true." Feliciano stared at him. He couldn't bring himself to speak anymore. "It's just that-as it happens-it wasn't with you. In fact, it was with my boyfriend. You might have met him, his name is Matthew." The way he said the words so nonchalantly, the way he let them roll off of his tongue-it was horrible. Everything was horrible. The words were like a slap in the face. Feliciano barely registered Matthew's presence, in fact, though he was now standing at Gilbert's side, his arm slinked through his.
"C-che cosa?" Feliciano managed to stutter out. He shook his head, managing to repeat the question in English. Stress always did make him forget his English. "What? No. No, no no..." He shook his head. He felt the color drain from his face. "This is some kind of joke, s-si? A little joke you're playing on me? It isn't funny...please stop..." He shook his head again. Why wouldn't the throbbing in his head go away? He hadn't noticed it until now.
Gilbert was looking away now. "No," he said, his voice low and steely, "it isn't funny at all."
Feliciano frowned. He tried to make sense of it all in his mind, but his thoughts were messy and disorganized. Ludwig had slept with someone-okay, but who was it, and why? Matthew? Is that what Gilbert had said? That didn't make sense. Ludwig barely knew who Matthew was most of the time; why would he have sex with him? The pounding in his head was getting worse. Feliciano turned to Matthew.
"Please," he begged. He could hear the desperation in his voice. "Tell Gilbert-he's your ragazzo, si? B-boyfriend, boyfriend, I am sorry-but please, tell him to stop it. I-it's not funny..tell him to stop, please..." Matthew looked down at the ground and started to sob. Feliciano panicked. The sight of him crying made him naseous, if only because the sight of anyone crying made him naseous. Of course, it also made him ill because it meant that what Gilbert was saying was true.
But Feliciano refused to believe it. He shook his head harder, even though it hurt. He began to whisper quietly to himself. "No...nonononono." He looked up at Gilbert and Matthew, hearing himself scream. "It's not true! You're both playing a joke on me! Stop it! Stop it right now! It's sick! It's sick! It's not funny at all! Don't you see? That hurts people-"
Gilbert interrupted him again. Now he was shouting, too. "For Fritz's sake Feliciano, will you open your eyes?" Feliciano opened his mouth in shock, while Gilbert continued to talk. "It's not a fucking joke! Look around-look at the sheets, the floor." Feliciano did as he was told. They were, uncharacteristically, in dissaray. It made his stomach churn. "Look around you, Feli. Clearly there was some sex had here last night, and clearly you weren't here to be having it." He sighed and ran a hand through his bangs. Feliciano could only stare.
"It's not true! He would never do that! Never!" His eyes were aching. In fact, Feliciano was sure he was going to cry, but the tears didn't come. He turned to Matthew. "You must have d-dreamed it, si? A-ah, Matthew, it was only a dream and you shouldn't worry so much...you always worry so much...it's making you sick! You're a little sick but you're only dreaming!" Feliciano could hear how desperate and pleading his voice was now, but still the tears didn't fall. "Please...it was only a dream! It must be! It must be because I love him and he loves me too and he would never do that because it's so cruel and I feel like my heart has been torn to shreds." He was curled up on the ground now. Pathetic, no doubt, but he couldn't quite care.
Gilbert was glaring at him now. "Fritz DAMN, you fucking narcissist. You're not the only one with problems here. Just because your manslut of a fiance doesn't love you anymore doesn't mean you have the right to be a drama queen like that." Feliciano looked up at him. His voice was deathly quiet now. "My boyfriend got raped by that thing in the bathroom you claim to love."
Rape. The word was like a stab in the gut. Regardless of the context, regardless of the speaker, the word made him cringe. It was normal, he supposed. No one liked it, did they? But the word nearly drove him to illness, and it was almost worse now. Maybe it was that word that did it. Clearly, Gilbert had used it to try and break him. Feliciano wasn't sure why. After all, he was already pretty close to breaking as it was, wasn't he? But as it happened, the word did not make Feliciano break. Not at all.
It made him snap.
He opened his mouth to speak again, but to his near-shock, Matthew had interrupted him this time.
"Y-YOU THINK I'D JOKE ABOUT THIS?" The volume he had was shocking, to say the least. Shy, quiet Matthew. And now he was postal. Feliciano knew better than to assume that he, too, had even come close to snapping. No, he was just broken; not that a broken person could not hurt others. It was just that someone as broken could not be cruel, and Matthew was no more cruel for screaming at him than shards of broken glass were for causing cuts on peoples' feet. No, Matthew was not cruel at all. Just broken. Matthew probably could not have snapped
Feliciano stood up slowly, allowing him to elaborate. "HE FUCKING TIED ME TO THE BED AND... H-HE VIOLATED ME! YOU THINK THAT I'D LIE ABOUT SOMETHING THIS BIG!" Feliciano stared at him. It was funny how the world had changed. Before, everything had seemed hopeless. Now, it was like there had never been hope to begin with. He didn't feel sad, he felt empty.
Feliciano spoke to Matthew in a voice that was so calm and yet so angry that it surprised himself. "Do not speak to me in such a manner. It is very disrespectful," he said. Now Feliciano was pacing. It was like he couldn't control it. "Do you know that that is how feelings get hurt, Matthew? Please do not use that tone of voice with me." He picked up a tissue from the box on Ludwig's end table and played with it in his hands. "I-I...I am hurting, too. And I do not wish to believe it, but now I don't think there's any other way...I want to cry, I do...but the tears are not coming out, like they usually do."
Matthew was fierce. His anger was obvious, painful. Feliciano was nearly amazed at how much he could tune it out. Like it was white noise. Something about rope burns, it seemed. Feliciano pushed the thought out of his mind with a bit of difficulty. There had been mornings-many, many mornings-where he himself would wake up with rope burns around his wrists. Much like the bruises on his neck or the scars along his chest, he had rather grown to enjoy the mild pain that they brought. Seeing them had made him, paradoxically, happy. Feliciano had always managed to forget the term for this, but now it rang all too clearly in his mind. Now, masochism seemed naive.
Without saying a word, he walked downstairs, taking a sharp right into the kitchen. He opened up all of the drawers. Of course, what he was looking for was the one directly next to the kitchen sink, but he opened the rest of the drawers anyway. He glanced at the table. No one had ever gotten around to doing the dishes; odd, since Ludwig was always nearly obsessive about the dishes. Clearly he had been doing something else. Someone else. The thought almost made him shudder again.
Feliciano hummed to himself as he danced around in the kitchen. Dancing made him happy. It didn't now, of course-perhaps nothing ever would. But either way, the habit was not one he could so easily drop.
It took him a moment to realize what he had been humming-'Somewhere', from West Side Story. Feliciano recalled dragging Ludwig to the musical. The night had been beautiful; the stars had been particularly bright, and after the musicals' end, Ludwig had gotten into the car and complained, from the theater to the house, about everything from the plot to the stupidity of the cast. Feliciano had sung 'One Hand, One Heart', harmonizng with every complaint Ludwig had. The night had been beautiful.
Feliciano took the knife from the drawer and headed upstairs.
Feliciano opened the door to Ludwig's bedroom just in time to see him come out of the bathroom. In short, he looked like hell. His hair was in his face, his eyes were bloodshot, and his shirt wasn't even buttoned correctly. It was times like these that Feliciano always wanted to shower him with attention and love. Of course, now, everything was different.
Feliciano turned around to face Matthew and Gilbert. He gave them his best, winning smile. "I would like it very much if you would leave," he said. To his surprise, they did. It wasn't like people usually listened to him. Very odd within itself, but nothing to dwell on. He walked over to the door and closed it softly.
Feliciano smiled brightly at Ludwig. "Please lay down," he said, gesturing to the bed. Again, to his shock, Ludwig did. It was amazing how much influence he had. Well. At any rate, he had influence over two scared, angry people and a man who was hungover. Still, Feliciano smiled at him. "...I know how you are when you're hungover."
Ludwig frowned at him, squinting his eyes. "Eh...? What the fuck's going on...?" Feliciano refused to wince at the word. He hated cursing, he really did. But Ludwig always cursed when he was drunk, or in this case hungover. He decided to let it slide. Feliciano slid his knife into his back pocket, speaking with a casual tone of voice that was a perfect foil to the way he felt. "Please...do not look so worried," he said, speaking softly. "I'm only Feli...I will not hurt you...you look almost afraid, in this light. Do you know that?" Ludwig did not give him an answer.
Feliciano knelt by the bed, lifting the bedspread to see the boxes underneath. Feliciano knew what was in each of the boxes by heart. One had romance novels, one had porn, one had bondage stuff. Naturally, they were unlabeled and-unless you knew otherwise-relatively unsuspicious looking. Anyway, he needed the rope. He reached into the third box, feeling around through things made of leather and steel until he grasped it in his hand.
Maybe it was because he was hungover, or maybe it was because he didn't care enough to resist, but within minutes Feliciano had both of Ludwig's feet tied to eat bedpost and his hands tied to eat post on the headboard. Feliciano knew how to tie a knot, of course; he had known since he was young, but he had let Ludwig teach him anyway. Feliciano sighed. Seeing Ludwig vulnerable was downright uncanny.
"I just want to take a nap," mumbled Ludwig. Feliciano glanced at him, remembering at the last second to smile. He giggled.
"No, no, no...you can't fall asleep on me!" he exclaimed. "Not yet," he added. Feliciano pulled a chair from Ludwig's desk over by his bed, sitting down and smiling at him. He was smiling so much; normal, for sure, except that normally it didn't hurt so much. He pulled out his knife now, pressing the smooth part against Ludwig's face. The sunlight from his window bounced off of the metal. Beautiful.
"Ugh.. The hells going on?" Ludwig's question, though legitimate, was slightly less lucid than Feliciano was hoping for. Because now, Ludwig had to be there. He couldn't be off in la-la land. He had to be clear.
"It's only a game...I like games. Don't you?" Feliciano had to admit that he was speaking in rather simple-almost insultingly so-terms. But maybe Ludwig needed it. He didn't exactly seem to be on his game. Feliciano pondered how to explain it further. "It's a lot like 'Truth or Dare'. You know? Only instead of 'dare', it's a little...mm...different..." Feliciano stroked Ludwig's face with the blade. If Ludwig felt it, he didn't seem to notice.
Feliciano frowned softly at Ludwig. "I know it's bad to lie...and really, I didn't mean to...but you see, I did." He continued to stroke his cheek with the blade. It was calming, somehow, and it helped him focus his words as he spoke them. "You probably didn't know this-I mean, I didn't even really know this-but when I said I wasn't going to hurt you..." He trailed off. "You see Ludwig, when I said I wasn't going to hurt you, what I meant was that I was not going to hurt you yet."
Ludwig frowned. He was still out of it. Feliciano returned the frown, but only briefly. "Okay," he began. "I want to start with something easy, si? I will give you easy questions because I know you're hungover and your thinking is, let's be honest...less than optimal. My first question: what happened after I left last night?" The funny thing was that Feliciano didn't want to know. He wanted to kiss Ludwig's scars, give him water and an aspirin like he always did, and let him rest. Feliciano loved to watch him sleep. His breathing was always so steady and he was always so calm. It was what made Feliciano halter for a half of a second before Ludwig's reply brought him back to Earth.
Ludwig squinted at him. "I don't really remember. All I remember is having a few beers." Feliciano couldn't help but smile.
"Clearly," he said. Feliciano drummed his left hand on the end table, using his right hand to continue and lightly stroke Ludwig's face with the blade. "I mean, it's not as if you are sober. Well, perhaps you are sober, but you certainly aren't your usual cheerful self." The comment made Feliciano smirk slightly. "When you woke up this morning, what is the first thing you. remember?"
Ludwig's face was clouded with something between confusion and frustrarion. "Um," he began, "I don't know what you mean."
"No?" Feliciano asked. "Well. Colpa mia. I will try to speak slowly for you. When you woke up this morning, what is the first thing that you remember? Where were you? Was anybody with you? Things like that." Feliciano stared at Ludwig's eyes. It was a habit he had; every time he had ever been upset, every time something had made him sad, he had looked at Ludwig. Eventually he had learned to focus on his eyes. Feliciano sighed. Even bloodshot, they were beautiful. He pressed the blade harder against Ludwig's cheek.
"God, that's cold,"murmured Ludwig. Feliciano could see him squint his eyes as he tried to remember. "All I remember is waking up completely naked, a broken beer bottle on the floor, and no one with me, I guessed that maybe I was drunk while we dd it, I don't fucking know... I can't remember if my life depended on it." Hearing him confirm it was probably the worst part of it. Not just suspecting it, but hearing it from Ludwig's lips.
Feliciano forced himseld to smile. With that smile came a giggle; it was obnoxious and slightly loud. "Your word choice...I find it...what is the word? Ironic. I find it ironic that you should speak in such a manner." Feliciano removed the knife from Ludwig's face, twirling it in his hands. "Because you see, Ludwig, you say 'as if my life depended on it', when it should have been rather clear even to an alcohol-soaked mind such as yours, that your life does depend on it. Because if you don't answer me honestly, I am not just going to hurt you. I am going to kill you." Feliciano shrugged. "Come to think of it, I may very well do that anyway. But it is besides the point. Who did you sleep with last night, Ludwig?"
Now Ludwig was scowling. Feliciano was almost happy to see it. The scowl meant that Ludwig was, well, himself. "Feliciano, like I said, I don't remember shit." Feliciano watched as he growled, looking around as if he had just noticed his surroundings. Suddenly, Ludwig stopped cold. "Kill me? What the-"
Feliciano put a finger to Ludwig's lips. "Mmmm...shhhh...don't scream...no one in this house would listen, at any rate. You have dug quite a hole for yourself, do you know that? Anyone who might hear you would ignore it. I am positive that your brother and Matthew know very well why I am here." Feliciano lightly stroked Ludwig's cheek, this time with the back of his hand. "Now. Do you think you slept with Matthew? I am aware that you think you cannot remember; do me a favor and try." Feliciano put down his hand and lifted his knife to Ludwig's cheek, slowly carving a straight line from his cheekbone to his chin. The blood that slowly poured out transfixed him. Feliciano was sure he had seen Ludwig bleed before, but now it was like he couldn't tear his eyes away.
Ludwig made a noise that was something between a wince and a groan. To his credit, he continued to speak legibly. "I don't think I did, I don't have any reason to-God, that glass is sharp." Feliciano resisted the urge to dab at the blood with a tissue. Another part of him wanted to lick it off-but either way, he left the blood alone, watching it drop down Ludwig's face.
"Recall, Ludwig," he began, "that it is too late to spare my feelings. I cannot feel, right now. You have taken that away from me, so do not worry about sparing my feelings." Feliciano sighed, and spoke with a harsher tone. "Now. Tell me. If you did not sleep with Matthew, then, why is his underwear in your room?" In truth, he had only just noticed the incriminating piece of evidence. Up until that point, Feliciano had kept the smallest thread of hope that this was all a horrible, ugly misunderstanding, and that Ludwig didn't really sleep with Mathew, and that everything could still be happy. The underwear, however, had effectively snapped the thread in half.
Ludwig had a pissed off expression on his face now. "I don't remember, Feli! How many times do I have to say it?" He groaned and winced again, and Feliciano frowned softly at him. The use of the nickname 'Feli' made his heart break. Sure, everyone used it, but hearing Ludwg say it killed him. He tried hard to ignore it.
"Well," he began, "we certainly have a problem, don't we?" Feliciano sighed and crawled on top of the bed. Now he was straddling Ludwig, holding the knife above his chest, though not in a particularly threatening way. It almost made him blush, the way he was sitting, but not quite. He wasn't sure what his own face reflected. Perhaps it was stoic. All Feliciano could hope for was that it didn't show what he was actually feeling-if he was, indeed, feeling at all.
Ludwig still looked dazed. "How so?" he asked. It came out in his voice; clearly, he still didn't quite know what was going on. That much had to be obvious. If he had been lucid, Feliciano would have had another problem entirely. "What the fuck's going on? I'm confused." Feliciano tilted his head and stared at Ludwig. It was interesting to see his facial expression, because although Ludwig was a lot of things, confused was rarely one of them.
Feliciano took a deep breath and began. "You are smart, Ludwig." He allowed himself to smirk slightly. "Most, if not all, would say that you are a great deal smarter than I am. Therefore, I must ask you to aid me in some reasoning, if that is the right word." Feliciano was shocked at how fluidly the English came to him. Usually when he was flustered or otherwise upset, his English suffered. If anything, now he seemed to sound more intelligent.
"You were drunk last night, si? You woke up naked, si? Canada's underwear was in your room, si? Most of all, Canada is crying and telling stories about you rapng him, presenting rope-burned hands as proof. Perhaps you did not see it, but it is true, si?" Feliciano held Ludwig's face with his left hand once more. He wasn't sure why touching him like that made him feel better, but it did. Even though it should have made him feel worse. Feliciano sighed and continued. "It is for these reasons that I ask you. What do you think happened? Objectively, of course; please do not be so naive as to think you could possibly spare my heart. You have ripped out my heart and thrown it into the trash, Ludwig; there will be no saving it." Feliciano avoided his gaze now. It hurt too much to look at him. "Not anymore."
Ludwig looked more frustrated than ever. For the first time since he had woken up, Feliciano saw him struggle with the ropes that bound him to the bed. "Look, I don't know what happened, don't you get it? I was drunk off my ass last night and that's all I remember, I don't remember anything beyond that, I'm speaking the truth for fuck's sake!"
"I believe you Ludwig, I do," whispered Feliciano. He returned his gaze to meet Ludwig's. "May I confide something in you?"
And here it was. The most depressing story Feliciano knew. The sordid story of how he had met Ludwig. To think there had been a time where Feliciano had considered that a 'love story'. The worst thing was probably that he still did.
"World War II broke my heart, Ludwig. All of the atrocities against humanity that you-nonono, we-committed, well. It left me a shell of a nation. I was devastated. I didn't think I could feel anymore." He smiled softly. "But I did. You made me feel-all of those confusing feelings from the war, from close-range combat, from seeing you every day with the sun in your eyes and your perfect hair covered in dirt and falling to pieces-well, they never went away. You did something terrible, Ludwig. You made me love you. I never stopped, of course, but you made me think it, breathe it, see it. Live it."
To Feliciano's dismay, Ludwig interrupted him. "Feli. I do love you. I don't blame you for hating me. At first, I thought you were annoying and I did hate you, but you were my only friend. I slowly began to accept my feelings. I don't know what happened last night or why, all I know is that judging from what happened, I fucked up." It was the last thing Feliciano wanted to hear. It made him wince, hearing him say 'I love you' like it was the most natural thing in the world. It almost made him cry. Almost.
Feliciano spoke sharply. "Please do not interrupt me while I am talking." He sighed. "But I wasn't sure if you could love me back. So I pushed it to the back of my mind. And then you proposed. By God, you proposed to me, and of course I said yes. Then our love was solid, public, unavoidable." He held his left hand in front of Ludwig's face. "I have your ring, see?" Ludwig probably hadn't known how happy that damned little thing had made him. He had worn it everywhere; in the shower, in bed. Everywhere. But now looking at it hurt, as so many things seemed to, and he neatly took it off and set it on the end table. "I loved you with all of my heart. And sure, people told me I was wrong. Lovi said you couldn't love. So did your brother. But naively, stupidly, I believed that you could."
Feliciano couldn't bear to look at Ludwig anymore. He turned his head. "And that is why, when I found out about this, it hurt even more. Not because you slept with someone else, but because this meant that they were all right, and I was wrong. Because you can't love me. I don't believe you can love at all." Feliciano took the knife and carved a heart with it on Ludwig's other cheek. When he saw what he had done, he added a diagonal line through it. He didn't even know why he was doing it any more. Seeing him in pain hadn't made him happy, like he'd thought it would. He just felt sort of empty, like he had all along.
Of course Ludwig winced. "Feli, what are you-" he began, but Feliciano shushed him again.
"Shhh," he whispered. He could feel tears welling up in his eyes, but he blinked them back. "I'm killing you, Ludwig." Feliciano blinked at the name. For the first time all day-no, for the first time ever, saying his name made him feel dirty, unwholesome, unclean. "Ludwig," he said again. "Doitsu. Germany. I don't know what to call you anymore. Every name I ever called you was a vocalization of my love for you. Perhaps you hated me at first. I always loved you. I want you to know that. And I wish it didn't have to be this way, but it does. When I'm finished with you, I will probably kill myself." It was the first time he had thought of suicide. But now that he had said it, he knew it was what would happen. There was nothing he could do. He smiled at Ludwig, this time genuinely. "But please...don't think about that. I don't want you to think about that." Feliciano could feel his hand tremble as he brought the knife down to Ludwig's chest.
Feliciano could feel the tears falling now. They were messy and ungraceful, which was, of course, typical. "I love you," he said, as if he were realizing it for the first time. In actuality, he was realizing that it was still true for the first time. It was naive of him to think he could have ever stopped. But now there was nothing to be done. "I realize that now. Even now, it never went away. I wanted it to. But it didn't. It couldn't. Of course it couldn't." Feliciano drove the knife through Ludwig's heart.
It couldn't have been quick. That would have been too merciful. Instead, Feliciano watched him, struggling harder now, wincing more than he had before. Feliciano could have moved, he realized. He didn't.
Ludwig managed to break through the rope. Feliciano cried harder as he felt Ludwig's hand on his cheek. " I love you, Italy.. I fucked up..." Feliciano could barely process the words before he could feel Ludwig stop breathing.
Without saying a word, Feliciano stared at the body. He got off of the bed, walking over to Ludwig's end table and opening one of its drawers. There was a handgun in there, sitting amongst a pack of cigarettes and a photograph. Feliciano knew what the picture was of-he could recognize from the Polaroid style that it had been from quite some time ago, and he could only remember one picture that Ludwig would have wanted to keep-and he cried harder, nearly falling to the ground and catching himself at the last second on Ludwig's dresser.
Feliciano kneeled on the ground, away from the window, and neatly placed the gun in his mouth. He didn't have to think about it, but he did anyway; everything he had lost, everything he had gained. He thought about how the last thing Ludwig had felt had probably been something along the lines of heartbreak or betrayl. He thought about how stupid he himself had been to believe he could have ever lost the ability to feel.
He closed his eyes. He didn't want to die with his eyes open, staring at the ceiling. Ludwig had died with his eyes open. Well, maybe Feliciano didn't want to see anymore.
He steadied his breathing. Because he wanted to make sure he didn't chicken out at the very last second. Like he always had before. It had been the thing Ludwig had hated about him the most.
He counted to three. It hadn't occured to him to count in anything other than Italian, though he knew it in German from training and, of course, in English.
He pulled the trigger.