Luciano had only met him once.
He was walking through the streets of a dull, lightless town.
Quite less people were outside, typically, on such a bleak, shadowy day.
The few pedestrians that were on the streets cast a dark look in Luciano's direction, something that had happened so repeatedly he forgot to think about anymore.
But he was aware, fully aware, of the people that spoke quietly behind his back, glancing sideways, undoubtly wary of his crimson eyes.
Then he heard much clearer, louder voices.
Unmistakably cheerful, for such melancholy surroundings.
Looking up, he saw a group of three people, which one of them looked hauntingly familiar.
With auburn hair, a smiling face, and a strangly recognizable curl poking out from the side of his head, only then did Luciano realize it was him.
Him.
Feliciano Vargas.
His cloudless reflection.
His double.
He was the very reason why Luciano had suffered so greatly.
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Fanfiction(( a Hetalia fanfiction )) (( 2p Italy-ness )) (( a veryveryvery short story ))
