Chapter Text
To whomever this may concern,
My brother, my baby brother, Feliciano Vargas was found dead. I found him and I wish I never did. Not because I want him dead, but because I'd rather be dead in his place. What a stupid thing for me to say.
I don't know the exact time when I went to go find that bastard, who has a clock ready at all times? I just know it was around 13:30. I called the police the exact moment I found him, so they should know.
The entire day he had been asleep with his boyfriend, Ludwig, or that's what I thought. My brother usually is, or should I say was, asleep all damn day. I'm asleep late, too, but he's often asleep until much later. Not usually after noon, though. He always chimes in for lunch at minimum and goes back to bed if he's really hungover.
Feli and Ludwig had come home late, drunk, and had rushed off to his bedroom. That's when I called Antonio if I could come over because Feli's room is next to mine and it's disgusting what they do.
So when they were home, I had left. Antonio, the biggest jerk bastard in Europe, had allowed me to come over. His jackass friends Francis and Gilbert were there and Gilbert was talking about Ludwig and Feliciano. I didn't get most of it because I was focused on much more important things than gossip, but I did catch that sometimes they'd get into petty arguments, a lot more recently as of late.
When I got home, around eleven in the morning, Ludwig's shit was there but Ludwig was not. I said Feliciano can't get up until the sun is at its peak, or noon, but Ludiwg is up at seven in the morning, at the damn latest. So his stuff being there but he himself absent was odd, but I didn't think twice because maybe Ludwig was just lying in bed with Feliciano still. So then I waited and waited for Feliciano and stupid Ludwig to show up, but they didn't. Not even a sound.
Whatever. When I went to go check on them both, the door was hard to open. When I opened it, eventually, the room was a fucking mess. Like, the type of mess I usually make, not him. Feliciano isn't neat, but that damned Ludiwg's stupid clean-freak ways are rubbing off on him, so his room isn't usually trashed like this.
Also, now that I'm saying it aloud, even his prized paintings were on the floor. Hell, everything was on the floor. Pottery, art tablets, canvases, clothes, sheets, blankets, curtains even. It was insanity. Ludwig was not in the room, but Italy was. I could see his auburn hair on the white sheets. But not a single bit of blond.
Well, when I looked at Feliciano in his bed, he was in a very odd pose. Very unnatural, if you want me to be specific. It was a ... a gross fucking site. He was in a pool of his own blood and it was stained into his sheets. His neck looked like it caved in with how much it was stabbed in. I don't know why the neck, no, but it was that. There were a few, maybe three, stab wounds on his back and I assume a lot on the front of him as that's where a lot of the white sheets were stained, around that area.
I knew he was dead the second I walked into that room, but maybe then, when I saw everything, I finally believed it. Just barely, though. I couldn't help it. Nobody wants to believe any of that shit. Well. Whatever.
I will find whoever took his life and I will kill them.
Dearest Regards,
Lovino Vargas