He was 14 when it happened. He didn't remember exactly what they told him, only that his caretaker, guardian, and beloved grandfather was gone. Something to do with an accident, and his grandpa's best friend had been taken away with him. But all He remembered was that his best friend in the whole world was suddenly gone. He was old enough to know he wasn't coming back again.

Giovanni was 14 when four younger brothers suddenly became his responsibility. He should have been playing with his friends, doing stupid teenage stuff, not playing mother to his siblings. But he knew if he didn't, he'd lose them. They'd all lose each other, taken away, separated, adopted and fostered out. In fact, they had been separated briefly, before he'd even realized it. He was still reeling, mourning the loss his siblings couldn't even register, before he realized it. Before finally, the eldest brother went to find and comfort his younger siblings.

Before he'd realized they weren't there. The rooms were empty, aside from the uncle who was staying there with him. Aside from his Uncle Alfonso, who seemed surprised to see Giovanni out of his room, there was no one there. Suddenly he was all alone. This alone sent Giovanni into a panic, calling for his siblings frantically. His uncle had grabbed him, pulling him into a tight embrace to calm his down, and explained calmly.

"Nipote, it's all right. They're staying with family."

Giovanni had struggled to process that. Family? What family? He was their family, their only family now that their grandpa was gone. It was just him, aside from the numerous aunts and uncles he barely knew that had shown up to the funeral to offer vague condolences After a moment, he began to understand, but the understanding brought horror, not relief. His siblings had been taken away by people he barely knew, and Giovanni remembered something he hadn't had time to consider at the funeral. What happened to children with no parents and guardians? They were put into the system, or adopted by relatives. But Giovanni had four brothers, Five children in total including him.

Did he have a relative who would take them all? The answer was as obvious as it was nauseating. Uncle Alfonso confirmed the growing fears, in a gentle tone meant to sooth.

"Sebastien and Matteo are with your Aunt Emma, and Feliciano and Lovino are with Uncle Antonio,my younger brother. They will be okay, Giovanni."

But what he'd told Giovanni was not okay. Not to him, anyways. His brothers, from the eldest of his little brothers, Lovino, only ten years old, who had tightly gripped his hand with one hand and Sebastien, the second youngest's with another at the funeral, with dark, but dry eyes, to the youngest, Matteo, held tightly by the third youngest sibling, crying because everyone else was, not understanding the reason why. He tried to remember the face of his third youngest sibling as he held Matteo in weak arms that could barely hold the heavy weight of the three year old in his arms.

He remembered the sound of Feliciano sniffling, almost covered by Matteo's wails, the feel of his brother's bowed shoulders under his arm, but not his face. He couldn't remember it. He hadn't looked at his brothers except to briefly ensure Lovino had Sebastien's hand. His eyes had been glued to that long brown box that didn't match the wonder, joy and playfulness of the man buried in it, like treasure buried in a shoebox. Then he'd ran to his room, and cried, and cried, and cried. It was Uncle Alfonso who made sure he ate, and who comforted him and took care of him. But then...who would have done so for his siblings in his absence? Who should have done that for them?

Giovanni's heart clenched, remembering words his Grandpa had said, only a few days before his sudden death.

"Vanni, you take care of your fratellinos well. You're a good grande fratello."

And who was taking care of his brothers now? People who were not Giovanni, strangers to the scared and hurt younger siblings. Giovanni hadn't taken care of his brothers when they needed it most, and he knew he needed to change that. It was Uncle Alfonso who helped him make it so they could all go back to living together, who fought Aunt Emma and Uncle Antonio to get the children they'd grown to live back together.

"It's not fair, fratello, Emma. They are a family, they belong together. They need each other, now more than ever. We cannot rip apart this family after they've already lost so much."

And to prove his Uncle's words, Giovanni had stepped up. He dropped out of school and did online schooling at home instead, he prepared breakfasts, and made sure that his younger brothers got to school on time, and dropped the youngest off at daycare and picked him up each day. He learned how to do bookkeeping and bills with Uncle Alfonso, and how to divide chores so it was less overwhelming. Even Sebastien, at age five, had learned to help dry dishes, and watch Matteo. Perhaps because they were glad to be together again, in a place they recognized with their family, neither the lazy Lovino nor uncertain Feliciano argued, both stepping up to do their parts.

And for a while, it was fine like that. It was hard, making time for each sibling and their needs, as well as taking care of his own. His social life began to slip away, and Giovanni noticed, but decided to let it. He couldn't protect both his family and his social life, so he choose one. But his younger siblings were much too young to understand the pressure he was under, and Giovanni was too young and prideful to admit it, to ask for help from his uncle again, or peace from his brothers. He was too scared, that if he showed he couldn't handle it, they'd be taken away.

He didn't remember when he started to hide away in his room, leaving the fuss of his younger siblings to his fourth youngest brother, who must have been just over eleven himself at that time, not an age suitable for babysitting, much less full time mothering. But he did remember that it was around that same time that the fights began. Lovino, angry and pressured from caring for children he didn't have, lashing out at Giovanni, abandoning them to Lovino to take care of financial school issues. Giovanni, already exhausted by his new job as sole guardian of four, trying to juggle and arrange and make sure what they inherited from their grandfather wouldn't expire before they could go independent. He was only a child, struggling with an adult's job, but his younger brothers hadn't understood.

Lovino, most of all, blamed him, for avoiding them and hiding in his bedroom. This only made Giovanni want to hide away more, pretending his problems didn't exist. But he should have paid more attention to his younger brothers, their lives, their friends. Because suddenly, without him ever knowing what happened, the house became chaotic again, wailing and sobs and Lovino struggling to comfort, but not coddle, Matteo's cries as he saw his older brother cry. It was an accident, he was told, serious but not fatal, a friend who his brother was close with was injured, taken away in an ambulance to a hospital, then again to a further One. He hadn't come back.

Feliciano who had heard this news after the incident, who hadn't been with him, but was instead babysitting his younger brothers, had gone hysterical. It was Lovino who explained what happened to him, so panicked he didn't even sound angry or accusing, just asking for help. Calming Feliciano took more wine than was good for a child, and finally, Giovanni realized why his brother was so upset. An accident, an ambulance, a person who was taken away to a hospital, but didn't return. Feliciano cried, not for a friend who was injured, but for a friend who had died.

Giovanni had reached out to the family, not far down the street from them, and learned the truth. He'd explained over and over until his third youngest brother began to believe him. But when the tears had almost dried up, the family of the injured boy moved away, to be closer to a better hospital to treat him, and Feliciano fell back into despair. Nothing Giovanni tried worked, and every meal, meeting, and embrace was wet with tears and punctuated with sniffles. Even Lovino's attempts at comfort, and the chubby hands of Matteo patting fruitlessly at Feliciano's cheeks had no effect. The second youngest, Sebastien, took to spending his time curled up in Feliciano's lap, like the only comfort his small form could offer was that of something to hold.

But nothing worked, even after years passed, and still, Feliciano cried. It was frustrating and heartbreaking, like a neon sign in Giovanni's face saying he wasn't good enough. He couldn't help, like some sort of karma was circling back from the last time he should have comforted his brother, but didn't. And Lovino too, was growing frustrated and sharp, and Giovanni knew it was concern that drove his younger brother's sharp words, but that didn't make them settle any nicer, nor soothe the stab of the jabs.

Trapped between the anger of the oldest of his littles brothers, the tears of the second, and the neediness of the youngest, Giovanni withdrew into himself. It wasn't fair, and he knew that, but he couldn't face his home life anymore. He faded away his presence into his small room, trying to disappear from the home that seemed so far from the happy house full of laughter and smiles they'd lived in with their grandpa.

And, in the midst of it all, the one brother who didn't cause him any inner turmoil came to him, uncertain eyes, twisting his small fingers together. It was clear he had something to say, and Giovanni felt his shoulders stiffen under yet another source of chaos, more frustration that he would direct towards himself. But Sebastien was only seven, no, eight, at the time, what problem could he possibly have? Probably a failed test, or a broken toy. So Giovanni swallowed past the guilt building in his throat, and cut off the head of the dragon before it breathed fire into his already stressful life.

"You've always been a good Fratello. Never caused me any stress, unlike your grande Fratellos."

And Sebastien's tiny face had fallen, then twisted, a mix of discomfort and pride, and Giovanni knew his little brother wouldn't say whatever he'd been about to trouble Giovanni with. But ignoring the guilt didn't make it go away,so he began to avoid Sebastien too, and because of that, also the youngest, always glued to Sebastien's side.

Giovanni felt like cracks were forming in his relationship with his brothers, invisible walls growing between them. Their home was falling apart, and Giovanni couldn't stop it, only wait for their lives to come crashing down around them. And it did come crashing down. Giovanni just hadn't expected he'd be the one to cause it.

It was a fight, about something so stupid he'd forgotten it. Or maybe it just seemed stupid to him compared to what happened next. It hadn't been stupid to Lovino, who had stormed into his room, flung open the door, and yelled and cursed every swear word he knew. Giovanni was the one at fault and he knew it, but at the time he hadn't thought about that, or the consequences of his words. He'd snapped back, with all the moodiness of a nineteen year old. It had escalated. Lovino had shouted something, a childish threat.

"I'm going to leave, and go far away, and find someone who actually cares about me!"

And he'd stomped off. Giovanni, suddenly overcome with the unfairness of the situation, that the life of his teens he'd lived only for his brothers was already almost gone, but unappreciated, started from his chair and rushed after him, snarling words he didn't mean down the stairs at the younger brother standing in the doorway.

"If you leave now, then don't come back!"

And Lovino had flinched, suddenly looking younger than fifteen, younger even than at their grandfather's funeral. For just a moment, Giovanni saw a six year old Lovino, alone in a park, crying because he couldn't find his older brother. Because he'd thought he'd been left alone in the world and didn't know how to deal with it. And he remembered the words his ten year old self had said as he comforted Lovino.

"I'm sorry, it's all my fault! I didn't mean to scare you! I won't leave you alone, ever, Lovi, I promise!"

But Lovino looked very alone in the open door, small back to Giovanni with shoulders curling forward. Lovino sounded small and alone too as he answered with a quietness that didn't suit his loud and angry younger brother.

" I won't. "

And he should have stopped him, ran after him, said something, anything to keep him, but instead, Giovanni stood on the top step of the stairs trying to feel victory in the second biggest loss in his life. The thing he'd been trying so hard for, the family he'd sacrificed his youth to keep together, was finally falling apart, and Giovanni didn't know how to stop it. Maybe it was then that he gave up. No, it was later, when days turned into weeks and Lovino still didn't come home. Giovanni hadn't been worried, he knew where Lovino had gone. To the uncle that had comforted him when Giovanni hadn't. The same uncle had called and let Giovanni know that he would let Lovino stay with him for a bit, until he calmed down.

Except Lovino hadn't calmed down. Eventually the fear in Giovanni's heart won out over his pride and anger, and he'd gone to his Uncle's house, a place he hadn't been in years, to get his brother back. And he'd heard a sound he hadn't heard in such a long time he'd almost not recognized it. Lovino, angry, harsh, cranky Lovino, was laughing. Somewhere in the backyard, amongst tomato plants and out of sight, his fifteen year old brother was laughing in a way he never did with Giovanni. Then, just as he was finally working up the courage to go around the corner, and see the laughing face he suddenly craved to see, his Uncle Antonio's chiding and soft voice.

"Lovi, will you really not go back? Your brother means well, you know, and he really does love you. He worked hard to keep you by his side, you know."

And Uncle Antonio would know, the desperation in Giovanni's eyes and voice, the balled up fists that shook much like his voice as he had asked, demanded, begged, and cajoled to get his brothers back. A sense of comfort Giovanni hadn't felt in a long time, someone who was on his side, recognition he craved but never received. But Lovino's answer broke the small comfort he gained.

"By his side? He doesn't even want us around! I'm amnevergoing back!"

And suddenly his whole trip, his mission, was pointless. Why was he trying to keep together a family that didn't even want to be with him? Would he force Lovino to come back, even if Lovino couldn't laugh or smile at home? For what? Lovino was right, Giovanni always avoided them, and now, it was too late. A chasm he couldn't cross had formed between them, one he should have recognized when he couldn't comfort Feliciano, when he couldn't find it in his heart to listen to Sebastien, when he stopped holding Matteo and reading him to sleep. Giovanni had long ago given up his family, and now, they also were giving up on him.

So he didn't go around that corner, only quietly backtracked his way to the home full of nothing but sniffles, the only voice that brought any brightness was Matteo, too young to realize what was lost as he laughed bositerously at Sebastien's story-telling. Something in that scene had broken the last thing inside of him. A ten year old, playing with his little brother. Matteo was two years closer in age to Sebastien than Giovanni was to Lovino, but it felt familiar, a scene out of his memories. Back when Giovanni had been the older brother he'd wanted to be. Back when he'd been a "good" older brother. And now?

Giovanni was afraid of what his self reflection might reveal, and pushed past it, trying to avoid the painful truth. There was a padding sound of bare feet on the floor, a twelve year old's hopeful face at the doorway, then the face fell, disappointed that the brother that returned wasn't the one he'd been hoping for. For the first time in a long time, Giovanni met Feliciano's face, searching for the laughing and bright child that used to run up to him and climb on his back and hug him. Had Feliciano always been that thin? He looked too pale, except for his red-rimmed eyes and red nose, somehow seeming more like a wilting flower than a pre-teen boy.

Feliciano had always been closest with Lovino, almost more like twins than older and younger brothers, and Lovino's absence hurt him more than the youngest brothers. Giovanni felt a twisting thing in his chest, like seeing his own self in a mirror. Matteo had Sebastien, and vice versa, Lovino had Uncle Antonio, but who did Feliciano have? In a moment of understanding, Giovanni tried to reached out to Feliciano. But it was already too late, and Feliciano fled the scene as though he was worried he too would be yelled at like Giovanni once yelled at Lovino.

Giovanni realized what was keeping Feliciano from recovering from his heartbreak. The house that drove Lovino into a harsh and angry young man was the same house that withered Feliciano away, and the main root was him. If Feliciano was going to recover, he needed to be happy, and relaxed, and comforted. He couldn't do those things in their house anymore. Giovanni reached out to his relatives, for the first time since he was fourteen and still learning from Uncle Alfonso, asking for help despite choking on his pride. Aunt Emma had an answer, a person she knew who was looking for a boarder, and more importantly, a person with connections to the boy his brother loved so much.

Giovanni made the decision. He made the plans, the payment, signed the contract, bought the tickets, and helped his younger brother pack his bags. Feliciano hadn't reacted at all when he told him the news of his move, and Giovanni wasn't sure if that was worse than if he had cried, or shouted, or screamed. He wasn't sure if he preferred Feliciano's quiet resignation to the anxious stare of the ten year old watching from the doorway. Sebastien, always quiet, always obedient and helpful, did not make a fuss, but Giovanni felt like that was worse. His younger brother's eyes locked on him expectantly, like he expected Giovanni to fix this somehow, but Giovanni couldn't explain that this was the only way to fix it, not to the quiet child in the doorway, or the tantrum throwing youngest in the hall.

Matteo's tantrum was a relief to Giovanni, a reaction he knew how to deal with. When the crying and screaming didn't help, Matteo tantrumed by stomping, slamming doors and throwing stuff on the floor, but his anger was a small ripple in a stormy ocean of emotions. It was almost cure, to Giovanni, the toddler-like reaction of Matteo, ending with him running to his room and slamming the door to sob into a pillow. He should have realized at that point that the behaviour was much below where Matteo's emotional level should have been. He should have noticed that Sebastien's odd gaze and slow reactions were a sign of something deeper. He didn't.

And just like that, their home became quieter, a family of five became a family of three. Giovanni couldn't forget his brothers that left, he kept careful communication and contact with their guardian, but something in him wouldn't let him contact his brothers. A voice inside whispered that it was his fault, and if he reached out to them, he'd ruin the happiness they found, the mildness that Lovino was learning, how to be gentle as he gardeners, how to soften his words, the way to smile that Feliciano was learning again, the second chance they forged for themselves. The life they'd made without him.

But he'd paid too much attention to the brothers that left, and not to those in the same home. Matteo was already ten when the guidance counsellor called Giovanni in to recommend behavioural therapy for the child-like mentality that didn't suit a boy his age. Matteo had grown up, but his mind was still a child. The therapist offered opinions on what was the likely cause.

"Trauma." He had said, gently, "Maybe because how young he was when your guardian passed, or if something shocking happened in your home life when he was young."

Giovanni could name many things that might have been shocking to his little brother. The fighting, the way Lovino left, sending Feliciano away, so many different things.

"Matteo is afraid to grow up," the therapist explained simply, "Subconsciously he feels like he can only belong if he's a child. Just help him feel comfortable with his growth, and praise his achievements if he does well, or when he grows taller. Teach him that growing up isn't scary."

Giovanni couldn't remember the last time he'd praised Matteo. He couldn't remember the last time he'd even checked on his brother, what he did, how his grades were, if he needed help studying, what his hobbies were. It seemed like a very long time since Giovanni had even read a report card for Matteo. But then, who had done that? Who praised Matteo for good grades, helped him study for better ones when needed? Who marked Matteo's height on the wall where the other brothers had all been measured and marked?

Giovanni had thought the answer would be "no one". The answer was somehow both better and worse. Observing his younger brothers clearly for the first time, Giovanni understood. The one who praised Matteo and patted his head, who cooked for Matteo and read him stories, the one who still sang lullabies to sing his ten year old brother to sleep at night - the one who was both the only one to praise Matteo and the reason Matteo didn't want to grow up. Sebastien, only 12 himself, who babied Matteo like his brother was five, not ten. And Giovanni discovered another issue he'd never noticed growing beneath his nose.

Sebastien, who built his whole personality on being a "big brother" and taking care of his little brother, was stifling Matteo to the point his younger brother couldn't grow. Sebastienneededa baby to care for, so Matteo needed to be that baby. And he'd thought he'd resolved the issue, sending Matteo to behavioural therepy, scolding and putting a stop to Sebastien's excess coddling. Sebastien had seemed to listen, backing off and treating Matteo more properly, though still overprotective at times. Giovanni had thought it was fine. No, he'd decided it was fine, because he had made a goal for himself that he couldn't achieve if Sebastien and Matteo weren't fine.

Already past his twenties, wasted his whole younger years away, Giovanni was ready to escape that full house and responsibilities. He wanted to live the life of fun, recklessness and parties stupid plans and loud friends that he'd never been able to live. He wanted to live in a place that was his, not his brothers', and a life that was his, not his brothers'. And to do that, he needed to leave them behind. So he ignored the obvious signs, how Matteo had tried to hint that something wasn't right with Sebastien. Giovanni was 24 when he finally left that stifling and overpowering house.

Maybe it was cruel to do it on Sebastien's birthday, akind of Revenge for all the birthdays of his own he'd lost to being a parent and taking care of them, but Giovanni chose to disguise it as a gift, independence and trust like Lovino had sought so desperately. He tried to ignore the look on Sebastien's face that said he didn't like the gift he was given. He left a few words, nostalgic, a few orders to keep them alfoat. He'd take care of all the hard stuff himself. All they needed too do was live in their house, buy groceries with the inheritance in their bank account, keep the house clean, and study well. An easy life for sibling that didn't even understand how leisurely they lived.

Sebastien, as always, answered properly, taking responsibility and not arguing or causing problems. Without thinking, Giovanni let his true thoughts slip, somehow feeling a sense of déjà-vu, like he'd said the words before.

You've always been a good Fratello. Never caused me any stress, unlike your grande Fratellos."

And he knew something was wrong immediately, because Sebastien, good, obedient, untroublesome Sebastien, froze for a second, his face twisting into some sort of bitter look that was supposed to resemble a smile, but didn't quite succeed. And, for just a second, Giovanni remembered another time, so long ago, he'd seen a similar twisted look on his little brother's face, a time he'd cut off his brother before he could become troublesome. And Giovanni knew, in that moment, that it wasn't that Sebastien "didn't cause troubles", but rather, that he chose not to. He was certain, in that moment, that Sebastien would have liked to bring his troubles to his older brother too, and Giovanni wondered if his self of the past really couldn't have spared just enough compassion to listen to the trouble of a little brother who never brought him any.

But that time was past, long gone, and troubles of an eight-year-old would no longer exist, no point to asking what His second youngest had wanted to say at that point, no point in trying to listen now, when he was already leaving. So in the end, Giovanni only shook his head, bid his brother goodbye, and drove away to a future for himself, at last. And finally, finally, he'd felt free for a while. He learned how to have fun, howit felt to just go out on a whim, without worrying about who was whre, whether there was someone to watch his brothers, whether he needed to make sure they did this or that before he left. He simply decided to go out, and then left. It was a simple and incredible freedom he hadn't known before.

"Dude, why are you so tense allllll the time?" An acquaintance from America, someone he hesitated to call a friend at this early of a stage, but one he hoped would soon be one, often complained. "It's like you're a mom or something! You gotta let loose!"

And for a while, "letting loose" had been fun. Going out randomly whenever he felt like it, coming home at all hours, having the whole house to himself without having to worry about interruptions or distractions was freedom, and freedom was bliss. But only for a while. His whole life, he'd lived with his brothers, even if the number dwindled over the years. Living alone began to feel like a puzzle with one piece missing. So Giovanni did something he'd never thought he could have the courage to do. He reached out to his third youngest brother who he hadn't seen in almost seven years.

His letter was cautious, to the point of being timid, and even after writing it, it took him three weeks to gather the courage to send it, and once he did, he wished he could immediately undo the act. What if Feliciano didn't want to speak with him? What if he'd forgotten who Giovanni was over those seven years, or worse, just didn't care about Giovanni at all, like how one might regard that neighbour down the street they never talk to.

He hadnt expected the response to be so long, gushing pages of how he was, how his life was, current hobbies, what he'd done last week, how the boy who had caused him so much anguish in the accident years ago had forgotten him, but they'd grown close again anyways, Feliciano had even written "I've fallen in love with him all over again!"Which Giovanni couldn't tell if it was serious or hyberbole. But the thing he'd expected the least was the tiny postscript, smudged like it had been erased and rewritten many times, with a simple line and a phone number.

"I'd love to talk to you again, grande fratello."

It was impossible, it should have been, but somehow, with something as simple as a stiffly written letter, Giovanni had gotten back the bright and cheery brother he'd lost so many years ago, and he realized he didn't want to lose him again. So, with shaking fingers, Giovanni dialled the number, unheeding of time difference, partially not expecting an answer.

Feliciano picked up before it rang a second time.

It was one thing to reconnect with Feliciano, who seemed to be grateful for how Giovanni sent him away, having grown to understand the reason as he got older. It was another to connect with Lovino, who left him angrily. Feliciano, through their family, had gotten Lovino's number, and was in touch with him, and every phone call included a story about him, and Giovanni was painfully grateful for those tidbits of information, seeing glimpses of how his brother lived, taking small satisfaction in how he seemed happy, how his decision not to bring him home was the right one.

Until Feliciano asked for information on Matteo and Sebastien and Giovanni didn't have an answer to give. His information was old, and outdated, but Feliciano listened to every bit eagerly, making the appropriate reactions to funny stories, sad ones, with a small exclamation when Giovanni bit his lip and admitted about Matteo needing behavioural therapy.

"Ah, of course he would baby Matteo, I should have known! He learned that from Lovino, I'm sure! Lovi was always so overprotective."

A reminder of Lovino before he was angry all the time, who sincerely treated his brothers, teaching them how to cook- "No, Feli! I told you, you can't just add things randomly! Like this, see?" - holding their hands when they walked in public, the way he'd click his tongue in an attempt at sounding mature when they ate messily and got food on their face. A Lovino almost gone from his memory. It was interesting to Giovanni how that was the version of Lovino that Feliciano remembered best. Giovanni wondered if this was the side of Lovino that Feliciano saw the most, if It was only Giovanni that saw the sharp side. Somehow, that thought ached, even though it had already been too long to try to change that.

"Yo, Giovanni, you have younger brothers, right?"

The connection to Matteo was suddenly reformed in a way that Giovanni hadn't ever imagined, by his American acquaintance throwing himself over the back of the chair, facing Giovanni, and starting a conversation randomly.

"I betcha I can guess one of your brothers' names?"

It was so unexpected that Giovanni had found himself accepting the bet half-heartedly. He was surprised when Alfred got it right, but even more surprised when hefound out why.

"Your brother's name is Matteo, right?"

Giovanni flinched.

"I have four brothers, actually, but you actually got that right, my youngest fratello is Matteo."

Alfred beamed, chewing absently on some chewing gum.

"Cool, because he's waiting outside asking people if they know you."

Alfred's casual story sounded insane, especially given how long it had taken him to get to the actual point, but despite Giovanni's disbelief, there was a familiar form standing by the entrance to his college. Matteo was straight to the point.

"Give me your number, Vanni."

The reason Matteo gave was not "to keep in touch" or "because we're brothers" but "what If something happens?" Maybe Giovanni should have taken that as a hint something was wrong. Maybe he should have realized it when Matteo said he'd already moved out, despite it being barely a year and a half since Giovanni left him and Sebastien alone. Maybe he should have noticed when Matteo gave him Sebastien's number "just in case". Maybe he'd gotten too used to ignoring signs he should have paid attention to over the years, or maybe he simply didn't know his brothers well enough to pick up on them anymore. Maybe that was why he didn't notice.

Maybe that was why he was caught so off guard by Matteo's sudden call many months later.

It started with a tree falling. Not, not a tree, a violent windstorm, then the tree falling. Giovanni had been the first to contact the other, not vice versa as expected. He'd been in class when Alfred sent him the video with the caption "Dude? This is insane?"

Apparently, the video clip had been sent to Alfred by his younger brother, telling Alfred that they were looking for help with clean-up. It was one of several videos, one that shouldn't have caught his eye, but it did. Because the house in the picture was all too familiar. A place he'd been trapped in for most of his life, a placed he'd do anything to avoid, that he'd never intended to care about again -if only the house wasn't decimated, a tree taking out a good chunk of the side wall. If only the tree hadn't fallen right above where most of the bedrooms were. If only he couldn't clearly see the piece of missing roof right above where he knew Sebastien's bedroom was.

If only his little brother wasn't all alone in that big, splintering house, and Giovanni didn't know if he was okay.

If only Sebastien had picked up or answered the texts when Giovanni tried the number Matteo had given.

If only Matteo hadnt called him in a panic.

"The house was hit in the storm, and I can't reach Seb, Vanni!"

In the video, another piece of the house cracked and fell off, bouncing on the ground below. Nothing reacted inside the house.

The video clip ended.