The room was quiet except for the scratching sound of a pencil moving across paper.
Scratch.
Scratch.
Scratch.
Small letters filled the page slowly, uneven and shaky in the way children write when they're trying very hard to make every word look correct.
The desk lamp cast a warm yellow circle across the bedroom.
Everything outside that circle looked darker.
Six-year-old *** sat alone at the desk, his legs dangling slightly above the floor because the chair was still too big for him. His small fingers tightened around the pencil as he continued writing carefully inside the notebook resting open in front of him.
A diary.
The cover was blue.
Bent slightly at the corners.
Every few seconds he stopped to think, staring silently at the page before writing another sentence.
Outside the bedroom window the sky was already darkening.
Voices from distant neighbors drifted faintly through the glass.
Then—
The bedroom door opened.
Cristian stepped inside.
Older.
Taller.
Already carrying that same rough energy he would grow into later.
Messy blonde hair.
A hoodie hanging loosely off one shoulder.
The smell of cold air and cigarette smoke followed him into the room.
He closed the door behind himself with his foot.
For once, he didn't make some loud joke.
Didn't smirk.
Didn't insult anybody.
He just walked quietly toward the bed and sat down heavily on the mattress.
The springs creaked softly.
*** kept writing.
Cristian watched him for a few seconds.
Then finally spoke.
"…Weren't you supposed to go out with Ema, Giulio, and Giacomo today?"
No response.
The pencil continued moving.
Scratch.
Scratch.
Scratch.
Cristian lowered his gaze slightly.
"…Cri."
Still nothing.
The room returned to silence.
Then—
A sound.
Small.
Sharp.
Like someone trying not to let themselves break.
***'s pencil stopped moving.
He slowly lifted his head.
And froze.
Cristian was crying.
Not angrily.
Not violently.
Not the way adults cried during fights.
Real crying.
Silent tears rolling down his face while he stared at the floor like he was ashamed of being seen like that.
For the first time in his life, *** saw his older brother look small.
Weak.
Human.
Cristian rubbed his face harshly with his sleeve.
But the tears kept coming anyway.
"…Why?"
His voice cracked badly.
He laughed once.
A broken laugh with no happiness inside it.
"Why does this always happen to me?"
*** stared silently.
Cristian's shoulders trembled slightly.
"Even when I try…"
His breathing became uneven.
"In love…"
He pressed a hand over his eyes.
"With people…"
Another shaky breath.
"With everything…"
Then finally the words escaped him.
"…it always ends the same."
Silence filled the room.
Cristian looked down at his own hands.
His voice became quieter now.
Smaller.
"Somehow…"
"…I always become the monster."
The sentence hung in the air.
Heavy.
Ugly.
Honest.
Cristian swallowed hard.
"I'm so alone, Cri."
The room suddenly felt colder.
*** slowly stood up from the chair.
His small feet touched the floor softly.
Cristian didn't even look at him anymore.
He just kept staring downward.
Like he already knew he was broken.
Then suddenly—
Two tiny arms wrapped around him.
Cristian's breath stopped.
*** hugged him tightly.
As tightly as a six-year-old child could.
His cheek pressed against Cristian's chest.
And in his small quiet voice, he spoke.
"It doesn't matter."
Cristian blinked.
*** held him tighter.
"No matter what happens…"
"You'll always be my big brother."
Cristian's eyes widened slightly.
"And even if one day you reach the top of the world…"
***'s voice trembled a little now too.
"…I would still run into your arms to cry."
Something inside Cristian shattered completely.
A sound escaped his throat suddenly—
Half sob.
Half gasp.
"CRI!"
He grabbed the child immediately.
Pulled him down with him as he dropped from the bed onto the floor.
THUD.
Cristian wrapped both arms around him desperately.
Tightly.
Too tightly.
Like he was terrified the child might disappear if he loosened his grip even slightly.
Cri could feel his brother shaking.
Cristian buried his face against him.
And suddenly the arrogant tone was completely gone.
No violence.
No ego.
No cruelty.
Just fear.
Pure fear.
"I'm scared…"
His voice came out broken.
"So fucking scared…"
His fingers trembled against Cri's back.
"All the time…"
Cristian laughed weakly through tears.
"It feels like I'm just…"
"…a scared little kid."
Another shaky breath.
"I just want someone to love me."
Silence.
Cri slowly lifted his small hands and held his brother's face.
Then he smiled softly.
A tiny child's smile.
Warm.
Pure.
And Cristian stared at it for a second like it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
Then suddenly—
Cristian smiled too.
A real smile.
The kind only Cri could pull out of him.
Bright.
Genuine.
Almost childish.
He grabbed Cri's cheeks dramatically.
"LOOK AT MY LITTLE BROTHER!"
Cri blinked.
Cristian laughed through tears.
"MY BIG BROTHER IS THE MOST BEAUTIFUL AND STRONG PERSON IN THE WORLD!"
Cri frowned slightly.
"…You're the big brother."
Cristian gasped dramatically.
"Not emotionally."
Cri tilted his head in confusion.
Cristian immediately pulled him into another crushing hug.
"You're too good for this world, Cri."
His smile softened.
"And one day…"
He closed his eyes for a moment.
"…someone's gonna love you properly."
The room stayed quiet after that.
Two brothers sitting on the floor together.
One trying to save the other.
Without realizing they were both drowning already.