Chapter Text
The funeral haunted Fuegoleon.
The sight of his baby brother lifeless on the ground, because of how careless he had been. Because he wasn’t there to care for him. And now it was his fault.
He sat in the room of his deceased sibling. He was picking up the area, since Leopold’s depression had caused him to have a messy room.
Food was tossed around, and so were clothes. Trash and string and beads. Pillows and boxes and decor. His bed was stained with the blood and vomit of his last day. The sheets had been kicked off to the corner and were wrinkled up. The blanket that Leopold used; his baby blanket; was on the floor. His pillows were in odd positions since Leopold preferred to sleep sitting up than laying down.
His desk was cluttered and messy. The gorgeous, carefully carved wood was stained with ink and blood. On it was a pile of papers, such as battle reports and a few goodbye ones. Pills sat off to the side and a few metal boxcutters, too.
An ink bottle was tipped over and a quill snapped in half. A few half-read books that Fuegoleon had lent him. And a bottle of water that was growing mold.
Fuegoleon grabbed the water and looked inside. Black mold was growing and the water looked disgusting and dirty. He was about to toss it away, but instead just put it in a large cardboard box where he would store all of Leopold’s things, to keep his memory alive.
He could wash out the water bottle. Fuegoleon didn’t have the heart to throw it away. He took all the moments of Leopold chugging out of that bottle after training for granted. He didn’t think twice about all of it. So he didn’t notice when he stopped.
He gave a few glances at the battle reports before he crumpled them up and put them into a trash bag. He saved a few reports that Leopold had doodled on or written on. So he could remember Leopold’s handwriting. He always took for granted the sight of his brother writing papers. He couldn’t remember the last time that Leopold had finished a paper. Before he took his life, he started ignoring all papers that came his way.
He puts them into the box. He throws the quill and ink pot away, seeing as the pot was cracked and the quill was snapped in half.
He put the books into the box. They didn’t belong to Leopold, but they smelt like him. Like his room. He took for granted all of the moments that Leopold would smell like smoke and burned food after training, and how he would smell like his favourite body-wash after taking a shower.
Fuegoleon grabbed the goodbye notes. He hadn’t read them yet, and hadn’t let anybody. The handwriting looked shaky, and there were droplets of what he guessed was water and blood.
He folds them and tucks them into a pocket in his cloak.
He grabs the pills and turns them in his hands. They were Leopold’s depression meds, two bottles of lexapro. Both were empty. Fuegoleon remembered Leopold saying he needed a re-fill the week before he took his life. So he ended up over-dosing, is what Fuegoleon decided. The medical mages were still working on figuring out what happen. The biggest suspect was blood-loss, since it was pretty obvious. When Fuegoleon walked into his brother’s room on that day and saw the ginger surrounded in blood and gasping for air.
Fuegoleon could remember the last moments he had with Leopold. How he held his little brother’s hand. He could remember Leopold sobbing from the pain, saying he didn’t want to go. He remembered the boy staring up at the ceiling and saying that he was sorry.
Fuegoleon’s jaw trembled and he took a deep breath.
Leopold was gone, and there was nothing he could do about it. Not anymore.
He puts the pills into the box and grabs the other two bottles. These ones were drugs. Both of them were cyanide capsuls, or more commonly known as suicide pills. Leopold must have taken multiple at once. Fuegoleon couldn’t imagine the pain he must have been in.
He puts the bottles next to the others and grabs the box cutters. All of them were stained with blood, although one was noticeably broken. One was growing mold and all of them smelt awful.
He decided to leave them be, and clean them later before he left. After all, he still needed to clean Leopold’s washroom.
He spent the next hour or so cleaning the floor. He put dirty clothes into baskets and old food into his bad. There was a lot of evidence of what Leo did to pass the time. String and beads; Fuegoleon remembered Leopold saying something about getting into making jewelry.
Maybe if Fuegoleon had encouraged him enough, he would still be alive.
He picked up every small bead and piece of string and tossed them away. With jewelry that was done or half-finished, he tossed into the keep-safe box.
He ran into a few bugs. There were a couple roaches and ants that seemed to enjoy the rot and mold of old food on the floor. And bedbugs on Leopold’s mattress.
He killed them all with toxic spray.
He certainly wasn’t finished, but everything was picked up. He still needed to vacuum the ground (especially the bug corpses), make the bed, go through Leopold’s drawers, and his washroom.
He threw everything on Leopold’s bed to the floor. He flipped the mattress over to the side that wasn’t stained and reluctantly threw the sheets, pillows, and blankets into the washer. He knew he was washing away Leopold, but he couldn’t put such dirty things onto the bed. It felt wrong, even though Leopold wouldn’t ever touch it again.
While the fabrics washed, Fuegoleon moved on to vacuuming. He had a member of the Crimson Lion Kings use their magic to pick up any small pieces of dirt, dust, bugs, food, ect, and put them into the trash can. They didn’t say a word, and neither did Fuegoleon. He merely waved his hand to dismiss them when the floor was clean.
Fuegoleon sat on the ground and opened Leopold’s dresser. He looked inside. There was more food, trash, some clothes, but it was very full of bugs. Roaches, spiders, beetles, ants. They were everywhere inside.
Fuegoleon sighs. He hovers his fire arm over the bugs and flares it, killing all of the insects. The clothes were mostly safe, buried under trash.
He cleaned out the drawers and killed all of the bugs. He took out the clothes that Leopold had in his dresser and laid them down. He wasn’t going to wash them.
Leopold had a few copies of his uniform, he had his bedwear, and a few random outfits he threw on to go out with his boyfriend or his friends in general. He had a few suits for special occasions and a fancy training-suit that Fuegoleon got him for his fourteenth birthday, although he only wore it once.
He folded the clothes and wiped down the insides of the drawers before putting them back neatly. He scrubbed down every surface he could to pass the time; everything except Leo’s bedframe and desk. He wiped down windowsills and nightstands and whatnot.
Eventually Leopold’s bed sheets were done. Fuegoleon put on the sheets, a big, fluffy red blanket, Leo’s pillows, and his baby blanket on top.
Fuegoleon then put one of Leopold’s favourite lion stuffies by his pillow. He got it for Leo when the boy was six. Leopold often forgot about the plushie unless he was scared. Then he would seek it out and cuddle it until he fell asleep. Fuegoleon had found the lion sitting in Leopold’s desk chair.
Fuegoleon stared proudly at the large clean space before heading to Leopold’s washroom.
It was also dirty, with a few roaches, but the thing he noticed was all of the mold.
And blood.
Blood was everywhere. The tub, the sink, the walls, the toilet.
The floor only consisted of crumbled paper towels, damp and moldy shower towels, and, much to Fuegoleon’s surprise, human waste.
Fuegoleon didn’t want to imagine what Leopold must have been going through for him to not use the restroom in.. well.. The restroom. On the floor of all things surprised the older man. He didn’t feel any disgust and he didn’t feel creeped out. He just felt sad. He grieved for his lost baby brother. He felt shame he didn’t notice the signs earlier.
It took him a little longer to clean the washroom, but he was done quickly. Nothing of importance was really in it, except Leopold had a picture of him, Fuegoleon, and Mereoleona when they were all younger. Nozel was in the background with Sister Theresa. Mereoleona looked around 19, Fuegoleon 17, and Leopold in his toddler years. It was the moment that Mereoleona saw Leopold’s left fang grow in. She was so proud of her brother.
Leopold took the photo. He saw the happy moment. He was looking at Leopold with mild amusement and concern. Mereoleona could be wild back then. She was still wild.
He gulped down a sob. Mereoleona wasn’t still wild. She was quiet. When Leopold died, everyone expected Mereoleona to just get louder and fiercer.
Nowadays, she stayed cooped up in her room. She didn’t eat, and Fuegoleon didn’t think she slept either. He only saw her once, and that was right after Leopold’s funeral. She didn’t look at Fuegoleon at all. She had a dead look in her eyes that made Fuegoleon’s throat tighten.
He took a few deep breaths and stepped out of the clean restroom, putting the picture in the keep safe box.
He looked around. Now, Leopold’s room was fully cleaned. It smelt of him. Stale, but it was certainly him.
Fuegoleon stared at the room a few more seconds before the dam broke. He started sobbing.
“Leopold- oh, Leopold.” He sobbed. His tears ran down his face and dropped onto his chest.
“Why didn’t you tell me? We could have worked it out together. You left us alone. My baby brother-” He sobbed, wiping at his own tears. He couldn’t remember the last time he cried like this. Maybe when he found out about Lady Acier’s curse. But then, Mereoleona was at his side, not crying at all. Acier was like a mentor to her, but back then, she didn’t back down. She didn’t hide and go quiet, not like this.
He calmed down before turning to the box. He closed it and taped it shut, sliding it under Leopold’s bed.
He took another whiff of the scent of the room. Soon, the smell would be gone. Leopold’s scent would go away, and soon Fuegoleon would forget it.
He stood up and straightened his cape. He took another deep breath before walking out,
Leaving Leopold’s room still and lifeless again.
”Dear Fuegoleon,”
”I want to start this off by saying it isn’t your fault. I was too unhappy to stay here, and I’m sorry. I know this is selfish of me. I love you so much.”
”Please make sure everyone else gets their notes.”
”You were my mentor, my brother, my role-model. But you’ll be better without me.”
”Love, Leopold.”