This weekend, his auntie came to visit with his son. Marcello, he introduced himself, smiling.

Feliciano liked him upon first sight, his cousin.

Light brown hair, bangs fell to one side, a strand of hair curling angularly so similar to his to fratello's, bright green eyes, and a friendly smile on his face. Feliciano smiled back to him, wide and beaming.

Mom was chatting with auntie on the living room, so Feliciano led Marcello to his room.

Marcello was a fun person. He liked to talk, he had a light and cheerful voice, not as high as Feliciano's nor as deep as fratello's (might be). He smiled a lot, and he listened when people talked.

"You have a twin?" He asked, the old photo in his hand. It was taken when they were five, messy hair from playing tag, he was on dad's back and mom had her arms wrapped around fratello. Smiling, all of them.

He nodded, smiled a bit because the photograph made him, but it was painful inside.

"Where is he now?"

"I don't know."

Marcello eyed him for a moment, eyes still bright and friendly, held a twinkle of curiosity. He sat down beside him on the bed, small bed that only fit for one person when it should be two.

"Mind to tell me?" He still held the photo, framed in simple frame, the glass was smooth and it caught light, blurring the figures inside.

And Feliciano told him. About how mom and dad couldn't be together anymore, about how they got divorced, and how the law forcefully separated them because they said mom wouldn't be able to afford both of them, they said the younger should go with her, they said the older would be finer with dad, they said everything would be alright that way.

They were twins. Twins.

Feliciano told him about how mom left with him only with him, about how not long after that dad moved away somewhere else they didn't know taking fratello with him, about how mom had been and was still saving to hire a private detective and maybe to pay a lawyer so they could find fratello, so they could be together again, so law would never tear them apart again.

Mom was still saving.

And unknown to her, Feliciano was too.

Several days a month he wouldn't have lunch.

He bought the cheapest clothes, the cheapest but still good paint, being efficient.

That was a small prize to pay,

because loneliness was far greater

he was lonely, mom was here

he was lonely, he had Ludwig and Feliks and Toris

he was lonely, he had art, oil paint, poster color, acrylic and watercolor

he was lonely, the wide art room and the waiting canvases

because even when they were all here for him they still weren't the same.

He was sure fratello was lonely too

as lonely as he was, maybe even greater

who knew if dad could get as much time as he could with him?

Dad most likely was really busy, because mom was too.

But something else was greater than the loneliness itself,

and it was content,

the feeling that he felt when he shouldn't be

because fratello wasn't here, but he was content.

Marcello listened, truly listened he could tell, because his face was serious and his eyes were calm.

"Are you still searching?" He asked.

Feliciano nodded.

"What can I do to help?"

He blinked, face slowly curved into a smile. "You will?"

Marcello smiled back, eyes were bright again. "Of course. I want to meet your fratello too."

"There's nothing much we can do," Feliciano admitted, "But I ask people that go outside of town. If they had seen my brother, that is."

"It's like a detective," Marcello laughed, light and friendly, no mockery inside. "Sounds fine. I'll do it too. I have friends from Austria, Sealand, even from somewhere near Australia."

"The range is so wide," Feliciano laughed, "Ve." Marcello laughed with him.

"What's your brother like?" He set the photograph back on the desk. "What's his name?"

"His name's Romano, I'm not sure what he looks like now," They are twins. "But I think he'll look like me…" Darker hair, golden eyes, scowl and frown that he was so accustomed to wear "Oh, and his curl's dangling in front of him, not left like me."

"Like us," Marcello added, twirling his own curl playfully. "What is he like? His attitude, what he likes, what he doesn't,"

"He's often harsh, but he never really means that." Often yelled at him "He often frowned or scowled or pouted, but that doesn't always mean that he's angry" Often smacked him lightly on his head "He's much more sensitive and a soft person inside." Protected him from mom and dad's yelling sessions. "He likes drawing, he loves art."

"The three of us would make the greatest trio," Marcello grinned, so wide, so bright, and so convincing.

And Feliciano believed him, smiling back to him.

No, the curl doesn't act as an erogenous zone in here. It's just normal curl.