Another month passed like it was nothing. Paintings turned dark, nights turned sleepless, and life lost its color. The days faded into each other like melting wax. Everyday, Feliciano would wake up, drag himself to school, go through hell, come home, collapse in bed, maybe talk to Gilbert, maybe talk to Alfred, fall asleep after he had finished worrying and panicking and dreaming and hoping Ludwig would come back, finally succumb to nightmares, then start that same record again. Of course, crying and lots of it punctuated every day. It was exactly like it was before Ludwig, only amplified. Being lonely was terrible, being lonely and knowing what it was like to not be was worse.

The nightmares only got worse. In the dreams, Feliciano would be sitting in Ludwig's bed, paralyzed. No matter how much he tried to move, he couldn't. He watched in horror, not even able to close his eyes as Ludwig was thrown against that same closet on constant repeat. Only this time, he'd lose limbs. His gut would split open. His head would explode as if he'd been shot. Feliciano's throat was closed, unable to scream for help, to do anything. Every time he had the dream, Feliciano woke up screaming. Screaming at the top of his lungs like a madman, flailing around in the darkness for Ludwig, searching for the warm body of the love that wasn't there. He would come to his senses and cry again, sobbing and sobbing no matter how sick of it he was into a house that contained no one that would hear him.

Lovino called a couple times. Feliciano pretended everything was okay. If anything, the life he was living now was at least a routine. Lovino was worried, that must have been why he called him first now. It didn't take a genius to know. Feliciano made an unspoken promise to himself that he would tell him, tell him about everything the first time they saw each other in person again. That was the best way to do it, he was sure. With any luck, he'd understand. If he didn't, did it really make a difference?

Somewhere along the line, Feliciano came across the first picture they ever took together. It was the day Ludwig painted with him and it ended in a face painting battle. He felt his lungs collapse when he found it in his cluttered room and immediately shoved it in a drawer. The cheerful, lighthearted picture served as a cruel, mocking reminder of a time he thought his life had finally turned around. But unlike the day Gilbert gave him a photograph, Feliciano did not breakdown or even cry. If anything, he was surprised how faint and far away the memory felt.

They continued to see Alfred, Alfred continued to ask questions that felt irrelevant and got them nowhere. Each and every time, Feliciano asked if they'd gotten any leads. The answer was always the same. No, there aren't any leads. Yes, we're trying as hard as we can. As Alfred put it, yeah, the system still sucks, dude.

Feliciano wasn't used to feeling angry, but he'd learned to live with it. It was a faint, unthinking anger that clung to the edges of his mind, but it was always there, buried beneath layers of grief and longing. He wasn't sure whom or what he was mad at. Maybe he was mad at Gilbert for being so hopeful when there wasn't any hope, even if he did try to hide it was falsified indifference. Maybe he was mad at the police system, or at god, or at himself. He was definitely mad at Ludwig's father. Still, he couldn't be mad at Ludwig. Now more than ever, Feliciano knew what it felt like to want to run away from yourself. The only difference was Feliciano wasn't able to. The only way he could run away from himself was if he ran straight into Ludwig.

Gilbert continued with his ridiculous plans to find him. The expedition they went on a few days after the three-month point pretty much summed up every other time it happened. Gilbert was sitting in the driver's seat, his hands shaking as he gripped the wheel. He looked too thin, too pale. Feliciano knew he wasn't sleeping. That was the only reason he would need to be hyped up on caffeine all hours of the day and night.

"Do you really think he's going to be here?" Feliciano knew the answer, but he couldn't help but ask.

Gilbert smiled, but it wasn't hard to tell that it was forced. "Ludwig is stupid. He wouldn't be able to get far," he said. "Not like I care, or anything. I'm doing this for you. Aren't I nice?"

Feliciano sighed. He was so tired of hearing him say that same sentence. "Why do you keep saying that?"

"Saying what?"

Frustration finally got the better of Feliciano. "That you don't care! He's your brother. Don't you care that your own brother is missing?" He stared at Gilbert's knuckles, white from clutching the wheel so tightly. There was no way he didn't care. It just wasn't possible. Someone who doesn't care wouldn't lose days worth of sleep over the thing he claims not to care about.

"For the last time, Feliciano," Gilbert paused, his eyes widening. "Wait, hold on!"

Feliciano was forced against the side of the car when Gilbert swerved around the corner, running a stop sign and nearly hitting a pedestrian. Feliciano lifted his head like a startled animal and looked around. Hope hit like a flash of lightening, but when he figured out what Gilbert had nearly crashed the car over, his heart sunk. A man was walking down the street, one that just happened to have blonde hair.

"Gilbert, he's like, forty." Feliciano laid his head back against the window. This wasn't the first time Gilbert done this. "Not everyone who has blonde hair is Ludwig."

"I know that! But he kind of looks like him, right?"

No, that man looked absolutely nothing like Ludwig. Not even close. Feliciano nodded anyway, not up to arguing. "Maybe we should go home. We've been driving around forever."

"Alright, alright." Gilbert waved his hand in the air dismissively. If you looked closely, you could see that his smile didn't carry over to his eyes. If you looked even closer, you could almost see the tears that clung to the corners.

.

The day after the drive Feliciano was sitting across the kitchen table from Gilbert, who was holding what was probably his fifth cup of coffee that morning. Feliciano was sitting stiffly in the chair, his hands twisted together in his lap. After another visit with Alfred, Gilbert had decided he was done looking. Now, he had a new theory.

"We should at least consider it as something that could have happened. You heard what Alfred said, right? You read the pamphlet thing?" said Gilbert.

He didn't want to hear it anymore. Feliciano could have cried, but he didn't have any tears left. "No," Feliciano screamed, whispered, cried…he could not even be sure. It was as if he was trying to think through a fog. "Ludwig…he wouldn't do that. You said it yourself."

Gilbert's hands trembled around his cup. "It's been almost three months. We haven't heard anything." He dropped his gaze and stared into the coffee as if it would somehow hold answers. "All I'm saying…I mean, all the websites say we should prepare for a body to be found eventually." His voice caught on the word 'body.' He continued almost inaudibly. "I don't believe it, but I guess it's possible…"

That did it. Feliciano was wrong about not having any tears left. Even considering that Ludwig's cold, lifeless body could be sitting somewhere, rotting and alone, was enough to blur his vision yet again. If there was one thing he couldn't handle, it was the thought that the next time he saw Ludwig would be when he was six feet underground. "He didn't kill himself!" The very words burned his lips. "Please, just stop, Gilbert! Stop!"

"Dammit, I'm just trying to be realistic! It's like he's dropped off the face of the fucking planet!"

There was a pause. Feliciano looked at him blankly. He was used to this. Gilbert reeled himself back, shaking off the side effects of his caffeine high with a deep breath. "No, you're right. That's not our Luddy, is it? Eventually the little shit will run out of money. Or he'll miss us too much, either way, he can't be gone forever!"

Feliciano stared at the ground, wordless. He wanted to believe Gilbert's declaration more than anything. It was true that Ludwig he knew wouldn't do something like that. The problem? He wasn't sure if the Ludwig he knew existed anymore. The Ludwig on the phone definitely wasn't the one he knew.

Maybe Ludwig really didn't love him anymore… that's what all the evidence was pointing to. Feliciano balled his hands into fists, clenching his teeth together as tightly as he could to keep from crying out in the agony that had been growing in his body for the past three months. Maybe all of what had happened was just a phase for Ludwig.

Maybe it really was wrong after all.

.

Somewhere along the line, Feliciano learned how to survive without living. All those months ago, he had thought that Ludwig leaving again like his childhood self had would kill him. He was right, but not completely. After his angel flew away for the second time, Feliciano learned that you could be killed without dying. Still, he figured out that even though he felt dead inside, his living body still had needs. His body screamed from the neglect, and he finally realized that he still needed to eat and sleep and keep good hygiene because he was alive. Barely, but he was alive. Life went on; no matter how much he wished it wouldn't.

One night, Feliciano was walking to the corner store. He needed some milk and other essentials; something he realized after it dawned on him that he hadn't eaten since the day prior. He walked briskly, fearfully through the darkened streets. Usually, he would have never walked anywhere by himself at night. These days, it didn't seem to bother him quite as much. Feliciano didn't have much more to lose.

It wasn't until he was walking out of the store that he heard a voice. "Feliciano!"

His stomach dropped to his feet and he nearly dropped the bags he was holding. The voice disorientated him. His eyes darted around the darkened street corner, only illuminated by street lamps. There was barely a moon out that night and the clouds hung heavily in the sky. In the distance, a car whizzed by. A dog barked, a child laughed. Life was happening all around him. Why did he feel so disconnected from his?

His vision blurred. "Ludwig?"

Feliciano was convinced he was going mad. He'd barely been sleeping, so he must be hearing things. That was the only explanation. Frozen in place, Feliciano watched as not one figure immerged from the dark, but three. None of which were Ludwig. Still, he swore he'd at least seen these people before. Maybe they went to his school, maybe-

The flashback hit Feliciano like a punch to the gut. Well, maybe it was more like a rock to the back of the head. All those months ago, Feliciano had met Ludwig when he was semi-conscious, beaten and left for dead. It was as if someone had turned back the hands on the clock; leaving him in the same place it had all started from. Feliciano felt as though he'd aged a hundred years since then. Now, he knew that life could as beautiful as it was monstrous. He knew love as well as he knew heartbreak. He knew true pain that tore you apart from the inside instead of bruising you skin, the kind that didn't break you bones but snapped your heart.

There was a sickeningly familiar voice from the other side of the street followed by a clatter of footsteps, snapping him out of his thoughts. "Who the hell is Ludwig?"

Another voice this time. "His little boyfriend."

The world was moving in slow motion. Feliciano knew he shouldn't have gone out at night. Lovino would have smacked him if he tried that while he was still living with him. Roma would probably yell at Lovino for not watching him more closely. Ludwig probably would have been the one to go for him. At the very least he would have accompanied him, although Feliciano couldn't be see sure now. None of them were there now. No one was there. He had to fend for himself this time.

Feliciano couldn't breathe. "Who's there?" He knew the question was in vain, that he shouldn't be making noise, but none of that came to mind.

Feliciano commanded his legs to run, but they did not listen to him. He demanded that his lungs scream, but they refused. The figures were surrounding him now. Feliciano felt his breathing catch in his throat, yet none of it felt real. He might as well have been watching this happen to someone else from someplace far away. He heard speaking, but he couldn't make it out. Slowly, things came into focus. It was choppy at first, like an out of tune radio.

"…necklace…"

"…might be worth something…"

Reality came crashing down on top of him when Feliciano felt someone grip him by the back of his shirt and yank him backwards. The bags he had been holding fell from his hands and the milk crashed to the ground and exploded like a water balloon. Feliciano commanded himself to scream for the second time, but the hand clasped around his throat made it impossible. He quickly realized it would not make a difference either way.

Before he knew it, Feliciano was away from the lights, away from the cars and away from any sign of life. The air hung thick in the space between the two buildings, the grimy, stale smell piercing his nostrils. Away from the little light the streetlights had provided, it was too dark to see. A cold sweat broke out on his forehead and chilled him to the bone in the warm late-spring evening. The voices were speaking again, coming from the nameless, faceless bodies that were somewhere in the darkness.

Feliciano could barely breathe; much less speak under the force of his grip. He knew something like this was coming. The threats in the hallways had only gotten worse; each day foreshadowing what was about to happen. His eyes grew wide in the darkness as the hand that was around his throat forced him against the wall. "Give me your necklace." One of them said, his voice dark and demanding.

Why would they want the necklace? Maybe they thought the necklace was more than it was, that it held some value. Maybe they just wanted to hurt him further. Feliciano brought his trembling hands to his chest, forming a cage around his heart. He shook his head frantically. No. He didn't care if they took anything or everything else, if they broke his bones, it didn't matter. They weren't going to take the final piece of Ludwig, the one thing that proved to Feliciano that he had existed.

"No," he said, the word strained and weak, "you can't."

Feliciano had never understood people who claimed that their life flashed in front of their eyes. But when he was thrown against the concrete, a foot slammed into his back, and his hands desperately clutched the little iron cross like it was a piece of his soul, he started to understand. He saw Lovino, Roma, Italy, and more than anything, Ludwig. Everything was there, playing before his eyes like a slideshow. The first time he saw his blue eyes looking down at him. The first time he had heard him laugh. The way his hands felt against his, warm and callused and gentle. The swirl of emotions that nearly drove him mad, finally spilling over that day in his room. The feeling of his lips, his racing heartbeat and the blush that always crossed his cheeks. The way he said 'I love you.' The ten minutes that had ruined everything.

Somewhere along the line, Feliciano simply stopped feeling. The pain they were inflicting was nothing compared to the months of misery. He gave up control of his body and let himself be thrown around like he was nothing more than a ragdoll. Someone was screaming at him, yelling out slurs and demands. He ignored it. He was being kicked in the ribs like a deflated soccer ball. He didn't scream. Something shattered against the side of his face. The blood didn't bother him.

Feliciano never gave much thought to how or where he would die. If anything, he thought he would at least be scared. He never thought it would be this early in life, in a place like this, after three months like he had just had. He never thought his heart would die before his body. As the world around him faded to black, as he was deafened by tinnitus and blood filled his mouth, Feliciano realized he didn't care.

A split second before everything went dark, Feliciano was vaguely sure he heard a familiar voice, shouting above the others. But maybe he had imagined it. It would hardly surprise him.

To be continued...