It had started as a normal day.

Antonio had gotten up (three hours after his alarm clock had gone off, as per usual), dragged himself into the shower, dressed, and eaten.

Then, as usual, he went to check the mail before heading off to work.

He flipped through the mail, eyes barely registering the names of the addressors.

Bills, bills, bills, junk, bills, Lovino, junk, bills,wait—

Mail from Lovino?

That was rare; his former henchman disliked writing to him, and hardly ever did. The neat, loopy handwriting (for Lovino was a perfectionist, and even his handwriting had to be perfect) was unmistakable, though, and it made Antonio smile. This letter could join various items in his collection of "things from Lovino."

Antonio glanced at his watch and decided that he had time to spare before he was expected at work (and really, he was already late, so why hurry?) so he hurried back into his home, carefully opening the envelope as he did so. He couldn't wait to read what Lovino had written. What could it possibly be? Maybe it was an invitation to some sort of party (though Lovino was, admittedly, not the partying sort), or a late (very late) "happy birthday" card, or maybe—

His grin faded and his thoughts stopped as he read the first line.

"this is my goodbye letter addressed to you, my dearest"

no.

"this is my i-wish-i-could-handle-it-but-i-can't-and-oh-god-it-hurts letter addressed to you, my dearest"

nononoitcan'tbe-

"this is my pain-killing-acetaminophen-heart-numbing letter addressed to you, my dearest"

pleasenodon'tletitbe-

"this is my suicide letter addressed to you, my dearest."

Antonio felt his world begin shattering as he quickly read through the letter, quicklyquicklyquickly, and he could hear his heart pounding because his dear, sweet, Lovino was-

No.

He read and re-read the letter, frantically searching for the "just kidding, dumbass" written in that neat, lovely handwriting, only the words were nowhere to be found and—

No.

This couldn't be true.

It had to be a lie, because Lovino didn't (didn't, past tense because—no) love him. Of course not. There was simply no way that Lovino loved (past tense past tense, always past tense) Antonio the same way Antonio loved (this shouldn't be past tense, oh no, because Antonio loves, he does, and always will) him. It simply wasn't possible.

And Antonio

fell

to

the

ground

as his legs became too weak to support his weight

as he realized that this was real

as he realized that the man he was hopelessly, undeniably, irrevocably in love with is dead.

And when he hit the ground, his world and heart shattered.

And his life as he knew it, as everyone knew it, ended.