I already explained the reason behind this story on my profile page… Soyeah. I don't really know what to think about this one. The thing is, I read and edit and read and edit and read and edit until I can't tell whether the story is any good or not because I obsess so much over little details. So feedback - constructive feedback – is appreciated (but not expected).

Il Denaro

"Ludwig, can I borrow a euro?"

The shorter man had seemingly appeared out of nowhere, disrupting Ludwig's routine visit to the corner restaurant on his lunch break. The blonde stared a moment, trying to figure out where he knew this guy from. He looked so familiar, but Ludwig just couldn't place him.

Finally, he gave up and conceded. He reached into his pocket, produced a leather wallet, and located a coin. Even if he didn't know the guy, it was just one euro, right?

The other man happily accepted it, with an 'I owe you!' and ran off, eagerly.

Ludwig watched him, curiously, until he disappeared around a corner. 'That Italian accent… That smile… That unruly hair… I knowI've seen him before! Damn, what is his name… It's going to bother me now…'

It wasn't until some dumbass teenager that was trying to text and walk at the same time plowed right into him that he realized he was still standing in the middle of the sidewalk, right in the way.

He apologized (though it wasn't his fault), brushed himself off, and continued on his usual route.

The rest of the day at work, anyone watching Ludwig would insist he was focused on the task at hand, driven as ever. But he couldn't think of numbers or companies or prices right now. Behind a perfectly manufactured façade, he was racking his brain, trying to come up with where he possibly may have met that strange Italian man.

...x...

Two days later, the man met him again, on the same sidewalk, at the same time. He was slightly breathless this time, but other than that, he was quite identical to the first day.

"Ludwig, Ludwig, can I borrow a euro?"

"Um, sure." He raised an eyebrow this time, but again offered up the money. Whoever this was obviously very much needed the money for some reason. A man would not ask for money that way unless it was important. He especially wouldn't ask someone he barely knew.

Again, the Italian yelled 'I owe you!' over his shoulder.

The German shrugged and proceeded to the restaurant once again. 'This should be easy; there aren't very many Italian people that I know... God, if I could only think of his name… You'd think I would remember meeting someone so attractive.'

...x...

Upon his return to his office, Ludwig was called to a meeting. As he walked in, he realized half the office must have been called to a meeting. And at the head of the table was the big boss, the CEO himself, a man by the name of Mr. Weinstein.

'This must be important… I wonder who screwed up this time?' His mouth curled up on one side, betraying only a hint of a condescending smile. He did his job and he did it well, and there were few things more enjoyable than watching the slackers and goof-offs around him get called down for not doing theirs.

However, when the boss started his speech, he didn't sound angry. In fact, his tone was… tentative, almost.

When he finally got past formalities, Ludwig was slightly surprised to find out the real reason for the meeting. The 'management team' was thinking of overhauling the aesthetic design for the entire company: The logo, the advertisements, the website, everything. Apparently the appearance they gave off now was 'dated'. The boss was trying to get some opinions on the new design, so he called in some of the employees, to see what their reactions would be.

'What a waste of a meeting… Why do we care what our logo looks like? If you want to change it, change it. This is cutting into time that I could be getting things done. Well, as long as I'm getting paid…'

And people proceeded to ask the most trivial of questions: What was the timeline for the switch? Are the colors set in stone, or could they change? What did this or that detail in the ad represent? Who was the designer?

'As if it matters who the designer is. She obviously just doesn't want to go back to work.'

He waited for the boss to scold the lady for asking such an asinine question, but it never came. Instead, he answered, "There's this up-and-coming young man in graphic design that I've been working with for the past few months. Very talented, very talented, you may have heard of him. Feliciano Vargas. Yes, he was recommended to me by a fellow in my golf club, who…"

The boss babbled on as realization hit Ludwig like a ton of bricks. 'Of course! That's the Italian! How could I forget that?'

A few months ago, Feliciano had sauntered into the office, several folders in hand. Ludwig had just arrived for the morning, and was waiting for the elevator. The Italian had approached him, with a smile on his face, and asked what floor Mr. Weinstein's office was on. Ludwig had answered succinctly, and Feliciano had thanked him, and then started babbling on about being nervous for his interview.

"…And, I mean, I'm trying to look like I know what I'm doing, but the truth is, oh, I'm nervous as heck! I've never worked for such a big, important company before, and this is such a huge opportunity for me, and my God, what if I blow it?"

"I'm sure you'll do just fine." Ludwig halfheartedly reassured as the empty elevator arrived and the two stepped in. Ludwig didn't like this situation at all. He wasn't good at comforting people, or talking to people he didn't know, and here was this random guy, all of a sudden spilling out all his worries to him. What was he supposed to say? There was nothing he could do to make the interview go better. Then he felt awkward, and felt awkward for feeling awkward and…And it didn't help that Mr. Heart-On-His-Sleeve was oh, drop dead gorgeous.

"Ah, thanks!"

"Just uh, try not to act nervous, I guess." As Ludwig spoke, the new guy fiddled with a cord holding one of the portfolios closed. "He doesn't have the patience for nervous people. Pretty much the best way to screw up an interview with him is to be intimidated by— "

Suddenly, the cord on the portfolio broke, the thing snapped open, and papers went flying everywhere.

Then Feliciano was on his hands and knees, desperately trying to sort out papers and shove them back into the broken folder.

As Ludwig bent down to help him, the elevator stopped at Ludwig's floor. The elevator was old and jolted a bit, which caused the two to bump heads.

Ludwig quickly muttered an apology, embarrassed. Feliciano rubbed his head. "It's alright, just… Help me out?" The elevator opened, but Ludwig didn't even think about leaving, nor did he even notice it close, a few seconds later.

"Of course. Um, where does this go?"

"Doesn't matter, just stick everything in the folder. I'm a little early, so I can get everything in order while I wait."

"You sure?"

"That's about my only choice right now."

"Oh. True."

'What a stupid question…' Ludwig mentally smacked himself for asking, as he shoved papers into the portfolio.

'I didn't know this kind of crap actually happened. What next, our hands accidentally touch as we reach for the same thing? Good God.'

"So what are you interviewing for?" He asked.

"I'm a graphic designer. He said he might have a project for me."

"Oh. I wonder what."

"I don't know. It probably doesn't matter now." He laughed, ruefully.

"You might have a shot. He must have liked your work in the first place, to even call you in for an interview."

"Hey, I guess you're right!"

"I usually am."

The Italian laughed.

By now, they were down to the last paper, and they both reached for it. Ludwig nearly rolled his eyes in disbelief, and pulled his hand back before anything could happen.

They stood back up.

"Hey, thanks for helping me. You didn't have to, but you did."

"No big deal." Ludwig shrugged. "And uh, when you get hired, you can come to me if you ever need anything. I'm Ludwig, by the way. Ludwig Beilschmidt."

He held out his hand for the other to shake.

"Feliciano Vargas." He took the German's hand and shook it, with a smile. "Nice to meet you."

'He's so cheerful. Like nothing just happened!'

The elevator dinged again.

"So. Good luck."

"Oh, thanks!"

The door opened, and Feliciano did a little wave over his shoulder as he stepped out.

And that was that. Ludwig thought he'd never see him again.

And, sitting in a stuffy, boring meeting room, Ludwig finally realized that, for once, he was wrong.

And, for once, he didn't quite mind.

...x...

The next week, Feliciano again met Ludwig, this time, quite close to the door of Ludwig's office building.

"Ludwig, please let me borrow a euro?"

What was going on? Once was a coincidence, twice could still somehow be construed as a chance occurrence. But three times in two weeks? Something was afoot.

"Alright." He handed over the coin, almost reflexively, and once again, the Italian answered with an "I owe you."

By now, Ludwig was dying to ask him his intentions, confront him about it, ask him if he got the job, anything, but couldn't make words out of his thoughts fast enough to make the other man pause.

Again, Feliciano disappeared.

...x...

Nearly a week passed, without a single sight of Feliciano. Ludwig was starting to fear that he'd missed his chance, that he'd never find out what was going on. It was frustrating. He didn't even particularly care if the guy stole three euros from him and never bothered to pay him back; no, it was the fact that he was just dying to know why.

Finally, after Ludwig had given up on the idea, Feliciano finally appeared.

This time, however, he didn't call Ludwig's name. He wasn't running. He wasn't out of breath.

He simply walked up to the blonde, looking slightly nervous.

"Feliciano?"

The Italian gave a little wave. "So. I owe you, right?"

"You do say so. It's not really a big deal, or anything."

"No no, I need to pay you back."

"Oh come on, really. Keep it."

"No, I… I want to. Let me, ah, take you out for lunch."

"Oh, you don't have to, really." If anyone ever asked, Ludwig would certainly deny that his heart leapt into his throat like a high school girl getting asked to prom at this suggestion.

"No, I know this great little place that makes the best pizza, like a block from here. You'll be back in time, don't worry."

"Well uh," Ludwig cleared his throat. "If you insist, then."

Feliciano grinned, locked arms with Ludwig, and proceeded to drag him down the street, babbling happily about random things.

...x...

A Few Months Later

"Feli?" Ludwig asked. They were walking down the sidewalk, hand in hand. It was dark and snowing, and Ludwig was walking Feliciano home after a wonderful date.

"Mmhmm?"

"You remember, before we started dating, when you ran up to me, begging me for money?"

Feliciano made a face and sighed, as if he had been caught doing something wrong and Ludwig was going to reprimand him. "Yes."

"What did you need it for?"

"You really wanna know?"

"Would I have asked if I didn't?"

"Of course… Well, not a damn thing."

"Huh?"

"Nothing! I didn't need money. I just wanted an excuse to owe you something, so I could have lunch with you and hang out with you without having to call it a date. You see, I get nervous and…"

"Seriously?" Ludwig was shaking his head.

"Well, yeah. You're not mad, are you?"

"Of course not. I just… Didn't think things like that happened in real life."

"Like what?"

"Those cliché things. Romantic movie things. Like how we met in the first place, in that stupid elevator. Or that time I worked so hard to make you dinner, and you hated it, but you ate it anyway. Or you teaching me to ice skate. Or…"

"Or how we're on the stoop of my apartment, and it's a perfect night, and there's no one else around, and you're totally about to kiss me."

Ludwig smiled. "Yeah. Like that."

END

[Insert personal list of 'Oh my God, this part was awful!'-s and 'Did you think that part was okay, or was it awkward?'-s here]

Seriously, when I said feedback, I meant it. Anything. Style, grammar, characterization, structure, logic, language, whatever. Please tell me.

Also. This WAS FORMATTED QUITE WELL WHEN I WROTE IT. (Cry of outrage) There were DIVIDERS BETWEEN SCENES, and it DIDN'T RANDOMLY BECOME ITALIC FOR NO REASON. Let it be known that I TRIED.

Oh yes and, the prompt word 'Il Denaro' is Italian for 'Money'.