(NO FLUFFINESS DON'T SHOOT ME!!!!)

When you woke up, sometime late at night, Ivan was there, sitting on the bed, watching you, the moon shining down on your face. You still clutched the sunflower in your hand.

"You're back…" you mumbled, guiltily happy. "And Feli… Ludwig…?"

"They're not in the house anymore. The police was still unable to identify the murderer. The only thing they know for a fact is that it was the same person's doing."

"I… That was… It was just so ho-horrible, and at my place, too... There… There won't be anymore murders, I hope…"

Ivan stared at you, a hint of darkness in those bewitching eyes. "Lovino and Antonio are gone."

You stared, dumbfounded. "Re—Really?" you said in a small voice.

"Yes." The darkness in his eyes grew more profound. "There will not be any more murders, I think. After tonight, at least."

"How… How do you know?" An unexplainable fear started to grip your body, but nothing was going to happen; this was Ivan, the only one you've ever loved, the one you could trust…

He smiled down at you again, that smile that had comforted you after the death of all your friends, but there was something a bit off about it this time… No, you would not think that, this was Ivan… His words from earlier today rang through your head again; Trust me…

Ivan bent his head down and kissed you; the deepest one that you had shared with him so far. Then, he unwound his scarf, and before you could fathom what he was doing, he had tied it around your mouth, tight.

"MMPHMM!" you screamed, but his scarf muffled it all.

"You see, I've been searching for one for so long, ___________." The dark, malicious gleam in his eyes grew stronger by the second. "A heart. Mine falls out sometimes, and I haven't been able to find it recently."

No, no, no, this couldn't… This wasn't happening. This was IVAN. You were just imagining it… Weren't you?

"Arthur's wasn't right. It was too focused on you, and too cold on the outside, but strangely warm on the inside. Then I thought Alfred's might work, so I got him while he was preparing for the funeral—didn't know that he was getting roses, not sunflowers though. Anyways, Alfred's was too focused on himself. But they showed so much 'kindness,' I think it's called, to you, but still-- their hearts weren't right. Then Francis came along, and I thought that maybe his would work, but no. It didn't. There was too much 'feeling' in it. Then that day Feliciano came in, blubbering, shedding… What's it called again? Tears? Right, tears. I thought maybe his heart would be suitable, what with his affection for that Ludwig, so I took Ludwig's heart for good measure, but it didn't work out either; theirs were too focused on each other, not to mention that Feliciano's heart was quite childish. 'Maybe it was a genetic thing or something,' I thought, so I just went over to his brother Lovino's, where Antonio was, also. Neither of them was fitting; it was the same thing with Feliciano and Ludwig's—they had already belonged somewhere, to each other. I think I finally know the answer though. I finally know what it is. Love. Even though I don't have one of those 'hearts.' I love you, _____________. And I know you love me. I've found a place where your heart belongs. So dasveedanya. Good-bye. I'll love you always. And you'll love me, too. I'll make sure of it. Trust me."

The last thing you can remember is a steady chant of "Kolkolkol," as a sharp knife carefully cut out a hole in your chest, where your heart was located.