hello, loves!

sorry that update took so long

my computer crashed so.

but it's back now and everything is fine and i'm going to update TWO chapters today to make up for lost time (:

enjoy!

(づ｡◕‿‿◕｡)づ

12

Spaghetti and Tears

When Feliciano was on edge, he liked to cook pasta and listen to opera.

So that was what he did. His face scrunched up into an expression of disillusion, his hands moving rapidly in agitation, his apron tied a little too tightly around his waist, he moved like a storm through the small kitchen in the dorm building. The only things that were keeping his sanity in check were the sound of Pavarotti's voice and Ludwig's presence. He was sitting at the table, writing an essay for his military history class. Feliciano dropped the spaghetti into the pot of boiling water and began chopping onions and tomatoes.

"What's on your mind?" Ludwig asked, without taking his eyes from the computer screen.

"Oh, I shouldn't bother you with this," Feliciano sighed. "You seem so busy."

"It's fine. I am a good multitasker."

"Well..." Feliciano paused, letting the knife fall against the table. He was nearly shaking he was so upset—so confused—so utterly lost. "It's Lovi."

Feliciano wasn't entirely sure what he had been expecting when he'd arrived here. He knew that Lovino would be different (very different) than the last time they'd seen each other, a few weeks before Nonno's death. But he certainly hadn't expected to be at a complete loss as to what to do. He wanted so badly to be his brother's best friend again. To relive those days they had passed together in the sunny streets of Rome. Even after Lovino had moved to Sicily, the time they had spent when Feliciano went to visit contained some of the best memories he had. It seemed now that Lovino was a completely different person.

Though Feliciano couldn't very well blame him.

He just wanted desperately to see him smile again. He wanted Lovino to let him back into his heart so that he could hold it in his hands, mend its scars, return the missing parts he had left behind when he'd gone to Sicily and then to Spain. But even as Lovino reached out to him and held his hand and talked to him and went wherever he wanted...he was closed off. Especially in the past month. It left Feliciano frustrated and angry with himself for having abandoned his brother for all those years.

"What about him?" Ludwig asked. Feliciano knew that Ludwig didn't like Lovino. But he liked Feliciano enough to at least listen.

"I don't know how to help him."

"Does he need help?"

"Are you really asking me that?! Haven't you seen him?" Feliciano cried, throwing his hands in the air. "You've seen him! You've seen his mood swings, and how sometimes he won't get out of bed for days at a time..."

"Maybe he's tired."

"Luuuuuddwwwiiiiiggggg!" Feliciano crooned.

"Ah, you're right. I'm sorry."

"I missed him so much, you know? We haven't seen each other in six years. I was so excited to see him again, and..."

"And what?"

Feliciano wasn't entirely sure how to put it into words.

"I know he's happy to see me. And I know it means a lot to him that I'm here," he began. "I can tell by the way he hugs me. And how he only really listens to me—you know, when he goes through his ruts and he stays in bed for days, I'm the only one who can get him out. But then other times he won't answer my phone calls and he won't open the door for me, or he'll call me in the middle of the night saying that he wants to jump off of the ledge by the social science building, and it really scares me. But it seems like no matter how many times I tell him I love him and I care about him he doesn't believe me."

"Feliciano."

"Si?"

"I think this is taking a toll on you," Ludwig said gently. Feliciano stared in silence at his half-chopped tomato. "Don't blame yourself for his problems."

"Don't talk that way about him," Feliciano whispered. "Like he's just a problem."

"You know that's not what I mean."

"No, I know." The tears streamed silently down his cheeks. "It's not his fault, though."

"I know."

"It's not. It's really not."

"No, it's not."

"I just wish he wouldn't shut me out," Feliciano said, and his words were caught in his throat. He began desperately wiping his tears with the back of his sleeve. "I...I missed him so much. But now that we're together I don't know what to do."

"Ah, ple...please don't cry..."

He closed his eyes and saw the smiling face of his brother as it had been, bright and beaming and beautiful, twelve years ago. When they had been together. When they had held hands and sung songs and Feliciano had played piano for him and drawn for him. And then the face disappeared, and he saw his brother's current face. Constantly tear-stained, pouting, dark and brooding with hooded eyes that were once bright with a thirst for knowledge and a love for his little brother. Feliciano's shoulders began to shake.

"And, you know, it's gotten even worse lately," he said. "In the past month, I mean. His mood swings are really more dramatic now. Sometimes he's himself. It's so much fun when we have breakfast and lunch and dinner together and we talk and I can see him smile, or he gets grumpy and yells at you—at least then he shows emotion. He's always been a little bit grumpy anyway. But other times there's nothing there. It's like he's...it's like he's hollow. I wish he would reach out to me. I'm his brother."

"What exactly happened between you two?"

"Nothing happened between us," Feliciano replied. He took a quick glance at the pasta. "You know that we're half-brothers. When he was seven he was sent away to live with his mother's family in Sicily. We've been separated since."

"But when you first saw him, you said you hadn't seen each other only for six years."

"I used to visit him in Sicily. But when he was thirteen, Papá sent him to boarding school in Spain and I wasn't allowed to go see him. And then he came here."

"Ah..."

Feliciano didn't want to tell him any more than that. The rest was dark and they were Lovino's secrets, anyway. It wasn't Feliciano's place to divulge them, especially to someone he knew Lovino didn't particularly like (though he couldn't for the life of him figure out why). But he figured Ludwig was smart enough to infer that there was something much deeper, much more sinister, to the story.

"Do you want to hear something funny?" Feliciano asked with a laugh. A dry, empty laugh. "I was there when Nonno died. I was holding his hand and crying at his bedside. I knew he was going to die and I was trying to be strong, but I didn't want him to die. I didn't want to be alone. I was only twelve."

"I...I'm sorry."

"He knew he was going to die, too. He squeezed my hand and he smiled at me. He had a very contagious smile. He said something that confused me, then, before he died. It makes more sense now, I guess, but at the time I was completely bewildered."

Feliciano paused, smiled, to regain his composure. He found that smiling even when he wasn't happy helped him at least pretend that he was okay.

"He said, 'Feliciano, I know you are the younger brother. But you have to look after Lovino—he needs you to take care of him. Be kind to him and be patient with him. Look after little Lovi. Promise you'll look after your brother for me.'"

They both fell silent for a few minutes, letting Pavarotti's singing permeate the air.

"Of course I promised," Feliciano said. He smiled more widely so that his voice wouldn't break. "Of course I promised. But I don't think I'm doing a very good job."

"I think you're doing what you can," Ludwig said. Feliciano, still smiling his shaky, unconvincing smile, reached forward and put his hand over Ludwig's on the table. Ludwig smiled back. "You are very kind."

"I wish he would talk to me. I miss him."

"I know..."

"Sometimes I don't even know where he is."

"Actually, Feliciano, I know something that might help in that regard."

"Oh?"

"My uncle is a professor here. Apparently, he's good friends with the same professor that Lovino was talking about. The one who made him dinner."

"The Spanish one?"

"Ja. And I heard him saying once that lately, Lovino is at his office a lot. So maybe you could ask the professor about him."

"Lovi? At his professor's office?" Feliciano furrowed his brow. "That strikes me as strange...but maybe I should talk to him."

"Do what you want with that information."

"Okay. Grazie, Ludwig."

"Bitte."

Feliciano wasn't sure if he'd be able to gather the courage to talk to Lovino's professor about him, and he hadn't thought about it before, but it seemed to make sense. Lovino was a second-year here and it wouldn't have been all that surprising if the professors, especially ones that had taken a liking to him like the Spanish one, knew something about him that Feliciano didn't.

"I'm scared for him," Feliciano said quietly. The pasta was almost ready. "I'm scared that he's going to lose himself completely. I don't want that to happen to my fratellone."

"I'm sure everything will turn out fine."

"You really think so?"

"Ja."

Feliciano wiped the remainder of his tears and felt a terrible ache in his heart. A desperate, sad desire to be there for a brother who seemed as if he didn't want anybody to be there at all. But if Feliciano couldn't take care of him, he would be breaking his promise to Nonno. And he would be letting Lovino fall prey to the demons that had been growing within him for years.

He decided that the problem was not Lovino. It couldn't be. That wouldn't be fair.

Feliciano just needed to try harder.

"Thank you for listening to me ramble, Ludwig. You are a very good friend."

"Of course."

"Do you want some spaghetti? I make really good spaghetti."

"Spaghetti sounds lovely."

the only word I knew how to say in German before writing this chapter was Krankenwagen.

it means ambulance.

ich liebe dich

Translations:

Grazie (Italian) = thank you

Bitte (German) = you're welcome

ich liebe dich = i love you (: