Archive of Our Own

“Hey, fratello…?” Feliciano’s high-pitched voice rang through the silent kitchen, grating down on Lovino’s already frayed nerves. He turned from the sink with a glare.

”What do you want, idiot? Can’t you see I’m busy?” He snapped, a half-dried plate in his hand.

”Sorry, sorry-! I just, I have some news, ve~! And I wanted you to be the first to know!” Although Lovino would normally push him away, he seemed unusually worried. He set down the plate with a small groan. 

”…Fine, what is it?” He rolled his eyes as Feliciano shifted in place, silent. “Come on, spit it out, bastard! I’m not going to bite your head off! Well, if it’s stupid, maybe.” Feli let out a small laugh.

”Well, okay…” He glanced to the side before meeting Lovino’s eyes. “Promise you won’t be mad?” Lovino clicked his tongue in annoyance.

”If it’s bothering you this much, then no! Now say it already, I don’t have all day!” He frowned, a bit uneasy. What could have gotten Feliciano this anxious…? The younger nation swallowed, building up the courage to speak…

”…Ludwig asked me out, and we started dating!”

Silence. Lovino’s eyes widened. Ludwig? That stupid potato bastard? He hated that guy!

But that wasn’t the main thought rising to the top of his head. Of course someone wants Feliciano. Of course they want to stay with him. Of course people love him. You’re not as good as him, are you? This is why nobody wants to stay.

Shame bubbled up inside him, hot and embarrassing. His brother tells him about something happy and the first thing he can think about is how lonely he is? Pathetic.

”…Lovi? Did you hear me?” Feliciano’s voice, more worried than before, cut through his thoughts. Right, he’s been quiet for a while, hasn’t he? “Y-You aren’t mad, right…?” He smiled, a little sad.

…Mad. Of course he’s mad. But he can’t say that, can he? Not when Feliciano’s looking so eager for him to accept him. “…No. I’m…not mad.” He picked up another dish, forcing his face into neutrality. “Just…why him?”

Feliciano’s smile brightened, but it was still a bit uneasy. “Oh! Well, he…” And so Lovino stood there, listening as Feliciano listed off every good quality about Ludwig, about that stupid German who always walked like he had a stick up his ass. But Lovino’s face had gone blank. Was he listening? Not really.

They only want Feliciano. Feliciano. Feliciano. Feliciano. Feliciano, Feliciano, Feliciano, it's always Feliciano—

Lovino hissed as the blade dug into his skin, thinking about his younger brother's confession. He really is a terrible older brother, isn't he? Only thinking about himself. Stupid— another cut—Selfish—one more,— Idiotic,—a third!—Bastard. That's what he is. Why does he want Feliciano to be sad? He sliced again, deepening the previous cut.

Such an idiot, he thought. You said you wouldn't do it again.

You promised them. Feliciano. He promised Feliciano. And Antonio, did he not? And here he was cutting his arms open. 

How disappointing. What would they think of him, if he walked downstairs right now, bleeding out with a knife in his hand? Pathetic. They'd think he was pathetic.

And he promised...Matthew, too.

Matthew. Lovino paused in his movements, thinking. Matthew. 

The boy that he found bleeding out on his own floor because nobody else cared enough to help him. The boy that he'd held and begged to stay awake, to talk to him, to do something. The boy he'd saved.

Suddenly, Lovino's problems seemed very small.

It's such a silly thing to relapse over anyway, isn't it? I'm making a big deal out of nothing. So what if his little brother was loved and praised by everyone in the world while he only got the remaining scraps of affection? It didn't matter. He didn't care.

He hated how hollow that sounded, even if it was just in his mind.

And so he drove the blade into his skin, repeatedly, ignoring the tears welling up in his eyes from the pain, ignoring the way his vision started to blur. He couldn't stop yet. Not until these ugly thoughts went away, the ones that whispered in his ears every time he saw Feliciano happy or praised by others.

God, he wished he could be like Feliciano. Just for once.

One day to become his stupid brother, to see what he does that makes everyone love him. Feliciano could trip over his feet repeatedly, get mad, mess up, be useless, and everyone would still love him.

And if Lovino did the same?

Well, then nobody would like him. It was obvious. There had always been a double standard with the way they were treated. Really, he could try to kill himself right now and nobody would care—

Ah, shit. He had forgotten to lock the door. And of course Feliciano wouldn't knock—!

He never knocked when he was excited, and he’d left the kitchen practically vibrating with relief that Lovino “wasn’t mad.” So when he pushed the door open with a bright little hum—

—the sound died in his throat.

Lovino jerked upright on the edge of the bed, sleeve yanked down too late, breath catching like he’d been punched. The room smelled faintly of iron. The floor had a few dark drops of blood that he hadn’t noticed yet. The knife was already shoved under a pillow, but the damage was done.

For one suspended second, neither of them moved.

Then Feliciano’s face crumpled.

“L-Lovi…?” His voice cracked, thin and trembling. “Fratello— your arm—"

Lovino’s stomach dropped. Oh no. No no no no. Anything but this. He could handle pain, shame, loneliness— he could handle all of it— but not Feliciano crying because of him.

“Feli, don’t—" he started, but it was too late.

Feliciano burst into tears. Cazzo!

Not the soft, sniffly kind. The full-body, shoulders-shaking, heartbroken kind. The kind that made Lovino feel like the worst person alive.

“Oh come on,” Lovino groaned, scrambling to his feet, clutching his sleeve tight. “Don’t do that. Don’t cry. Stop—stop crying, dammit! Why are you crying—?!"

But Feliciano only cried harder, stumbling forward and grabbing Lovino’s uninjured arm like he was afraid he’d disappear.

“You—you said you wouldn’t do this anymore,” he sobbed. “You promised me, Lovi! You promised—!”

Lovino winced. “I know, I know, I messed up, okay? Just—stop crying, you’re gonna wake up Antonio!"

That earned him a hiccup. A wet, miserable little hiccup that somehow made everything worse.

Lovino sighed, shoulders sagging. “…Look. I’m fine. Really. It’s not—” He tried to gesture vaguely with his injured arm, then hissed when the motion tugged the skin. “Okay, maybe not fine, but I’m not dying.”

Feliciano sniffled loudly. “But why...? Why did you do it again? You scared me!”

Lovino wisely chose to avoid the first question. “I scare you every day,” He muttered. “Usually on purpose.”

That got a tiny, wobbly laugh. Barely there, but real—good, he wasn't bawling his eyes out anymore. Encouraged, Lovino awkwardly patted the top of Feliciano’s head with his good hand. “See? There. You’re laughing. Crisis averted.” He rolled his eyes. "Somehow you're crying more than me."

Feliciano, ignoring his older brother's comment, wiped his eyes with his sleeve, still clinging to Lovino. “You’re not allowed to do this anymore,” he said, voice thick but firm. “I don’t care what you say. I’m your little brother, so I'm going to boss you around!"

Lovino snorted. “That’s not how that works.”

“It is now! I don't want you hurting yourself!" Feliciano wailed. "Please, if you're sad, come talk to me! Talk to Antonio! Someone that you trust! I just don't want you doing this!"

“…Fine,” Lovino grumbled, cheeks warm with embarrassment. “Whatever. Just—stop crying. You look like a kicked puppy.”

Feliciano puffed his cheeks. "W-Well, you're an IDIOT! For doing this again!"

“HEY! Don't call me that, bastard!" 

And just like that, the tension cracked—still there, still heavy, but no longer suffocating. Feliciano tugged him toward the bed with surprising strength.

“Sit. I’m cleaning your arm.”

“What?" Lovino clicked his tongue in annoyance. "Tch. Feli, I can do it myself, there's no need to baby me..."

“It's not BABYING, you're hurt! And I'm taking care of you! Sit DOWN!" Feliciano snapped in a rare fit of anger, but his lip quivered with worry. Lovino stared at him for a second in surprise, but he rolled his eyes and let himself be pulled down anyway. He did feel a little bad for making Feliciano worry.

Because Feliciano was still shaking. Because his eyes were still red. Because he cared.

And because—though he’d never admit it out loud—it felt…nice. To be wanted, and cared for. Even like this.

...Maybe there were people who truly cared about him.