This is part of my sixties verse. Ludwig is wearing the uniform of the Bundespolizei.

0o0o0o

August 12th, 1961, West Berlin

Feliciano wouldn't admit it, but he loved the trains that ran during the day. There were dozens of people just like him, with their own lives and dreams and hopes and fears, reading the paper or watching the city speed by past the window. He itched to read Lovino's letter tucked deep in his pocket again, but he shouldn't bring it out. He could imagine only too well the look Lovino would have given him if he were here. Looking around at the people crowded in the train car around him, he couldn't help but think-how many of them were in the same situation he was? How many had letters from loved ones pressed firmly over their hearts, paper crinkled from use?

If Feliciano could, he'd try to stay on the train forever, except the guards at all the stations already didn't like him. If he tried to paint on the train, they'd definitely ban him and it would be terrible. Not that he wanted to paint at the moment. It felt like there was a block between his hands and his mind's eye, his body betraying him, and it was frustrating. He hadn't sold anything in a few weeks.

And so Feliciano was on the late train-it was cheap enough for the people who made up the broken backbone of the city. The cars were populated by the poor, the workers hunched by years of physical labor. Their hands were always stained with grey dust and their shoulders slumped with a palpable loneliness. Feliciano couldn't stand the loneliness. West Berlin was bright and colourful and loud, but he didn't know people, and Lovino wasn't there. Lovino almost never came to visit him, and he told Feliciano to stay in the Western sector as much as possible.

Tonight, there was a man sitting across from him on the late train who couldn't be one of the construction workers. His olive green Bundespolizei uniform was pressed and clean, distinguishing him from the grey.

Feliciano was fascinated. The officer sharply differed from others of his rank. His gaze, though hawklike and alert, betrayed no ill intent. He sat straight, stoic, and silent, bored even, watching the city lights slip by through the window. Feliciano wanted to draw him, and this time, he thought that it might turn out well.

Though the train was nearly full, Feliciano risked slipping out of his seat to stand closer. The man looked up in surprise. His face was stern, but younger than Feliciano expected, and he had startling blue eyes. The whole image-this man in the grey train car, blue eyes bright but guarded, was just what he needed.

'Can I paint you?'

'Excuse me?' the man asked, voice deep and accented, his words clipped. He clearly hadn't grown up here with the sharper accent the streets afforded. Everything about him was controlled. His eyes landed on Feliciano's paint-stained hands.

'Please?' Feliciano tried to smile, but his glare was intimidating and his heart was beating faster. The man's brow furrowed.

'Why would you want to paint me?' he asked haltingly. Feliciano hesitated, thinking of how many people surrounded them, but the train car ignored them. Answers he couldn't say rested on the tip of his tongue-that he was fascinating in a way that was more than art, that his eyes were blue, and simply that he wanted to, more than he ever had.

'Because I'm an artist,' he said instead. The man's eyebrow raised.

'Do you normally do this?'

'Well-no, not really,' he admitted. His courage was fading. The man's eyes were piercing, like if he looked long enough he would find out everything about Feliciano, including things he himself hadn't figured out yet. 'I...I'll go, forget I asked anything.'

'No, wait.' He reached out suddenly and caught his sleeve, and Feliciano turned back around, barely daring to believe before he pulled away again, gloved hands bunching up the material of his uniform trousers. He opened his mouth, seemed to reconsider, and shut it. Their gazes met, and Feliciano felt his heart jump, shaky fledgling wings and legs pushing out of the egg that was his heart and making the whole world stumble. The officer took a deep breath and held out his hand to shake. 'I do not...mind if you paint me. It is for art, after all.'

'Really?' He couldn't help his smile. He wanted to shout and spin and jump, but he settled for shaking the officer's hand enthusiastically. 'Grazie, grazie! My name is Feliciano Vargas and I'm glad you're my model. What's your name?'

'Officer Ludwig Beilschmidt,' he said, making as if to offer his hand again, but Feliciano was already gripping it. He instead did a strange, jerky half-nod. Feliciano was struck with the feeling that Ludwig was out of his depth, and didn't quite know how to react. Despite this, he straightened, shoulders back, chin tilted up. 'I would be honoured to be your...model.'

Feliciano's half of the city may have been roaring with art, but sometimes it felt grey. Tonight, though, it was as if the world had been flooded with color, Ludwig the center of it all. He took hold of the rail, still and poised as if commanded, and his eyes were the exact blue of the sky in the countrysides of Italy. He touched Feliciano's wrist and it was like lightning through his veins, filling his chest with summer thunderstorms.

'Where is your stop, Feliciano?'

0o0o0o

They got off into the cool night air. Feliciano almost expected to wake up. Here he was, walking home with an officer as his model. Excitement sparked in stray lightning bolts beneath his skin.

'I think you'd look good as a portrait. You'd look good in anything.'

Ludwig's ears turned pink. 'Thank you.'

Feliciano only barely stopped himself from giggling at his expression. 'You know, I can teach you how to paint one day. You can teach me about what you do as an officer.'

Then he realized Ludwig had stopped, looking up towards the East.

'Ludwig?'

Ludwig blinked for a second and then deliberately turned his back on the East. 'I was distracted. My apologies, please go on.'

'Did you see something?' Feliciano's mind went first to soldiers, but Ludwig was standing beside him, strong and fearless, and so he didn't worry.

'No.' Ludwig paused to consider. 'I sincerely hope not. I would prefer that this night be uninterrupted.'

'My brother lives in the East,' Feliciano told him. A second later, he felt like he should regret saying so much, but talking was just too easy out here.

'Mine does as well,' Ludwig said, so softly Feliciano almost didn't hear. Before he could ask what he meant, blue eyes were pinning him in place again. 'Why does your brother live in the East?'

Feliciano floundered for a moment before ending up with the truth. 'Because he runs a bar there, and I like the art scene here. Why?'

'My brother… told me to move to the West,' Ludwig said. Feliciano wanted to ask more, but the clench of Ludwig's jaw told him the matter was closed. He looked sterner and forbidding, so different than the hints of the man who was underneath the uniform. Feliciano didn't want Ludwig to look like the rest of the officers when he'd been so bright and different when he'd first seen him.

'Tell me about being an officer,' he said, in an awkward bid to change the subject. 'Have you ever had to fight a criminal? Have you ever arrested someone?'

Ludwig's mouth quirked slightly. 'I am afraid it is not as exciting as you make it seem. No, I have not arrested or fought anyone yet.'

'If you did, I think you'd win.'

Ludwig very nearly smiled. 'Yes, I would.'

'Have you seen the Red Army much? Lovi said they always come and terrify him and-' Feliciano stopped dead. He wasn't supposed to mention his brother's name. He was doing something secret and important, according to his letters, and he needed to be called Romano. He peered up at his companion, hearing every shallow breath he took, palms suddenly sweaty. What would Ludwig think?

Ludwig hadn't seemed to notice.

'I haven't seen many soldiers. I was only assigned to the border recently.'

'What do you do there?' Feliciano asked cautiously, relieved nothing had happened. Ludwig shook his head.

'It would not interest you.' He coughed. 'Besides, I am off duty right now, and I am not supposed to talk about it.'

Feliciano supposed that was reasonable. 'You know, I've never properly talked to an officer before. Usually they just yell at me. You're off duty, though, so you can't yell at me, right?'

Ludwig looked bemused again. 'I am not going to yell at you, I promise.'

'Good, because you look really intimidating and that isn't a bad thing, Ludwig, it's probably just because of your-' His gaze fell on Ludwig's broad shoulders and the tension in the uniform fabric where his muscles strained against it, and the large, slightly calloused hand that was brushing very close to his. He swallowed. There seemed to be something stuck in his throat. His face felt hot. 'Your uniform.'

'Really?' Ludwig's mouth did that strange quirk again, and Feliciano realized he was almost laughing. His face didn't feel any less warm. 'Would I look less intimidating out of it, Feliciano?'

Ludwig's deep accent curled around his name like a promise and Feliciano choked on his next breath, struggling to think of what to say. Even Ludwig looked surprised at himself. He looked away, ears red.

'I apologize.'

'I'll have to find out,' Feliciano blurted, and tried to save face by adding, '-unless I end up painting you in uniform.'

Ludwig was watching him carefully again, body tense, eyes piercing, but that tiny motion still flickered around his lips. 'Which would you prefer?'

Feliciano felt lightheaded. Ludwig had the slightest hint of a real smile, and the moonlight played off his hair and the planes of his face. Feliciano wanted to reach forward and touch him, feel the strength under his stiff uniform, but he didn't. He couldn't.

'I haven't decided yet,' he said.

They walked the rest of the way back to Feliciano's flat in a charged, almost giddy silence. Their hands brushed occasionally and Feliciano felt acutely aware of the cool night air and the faraway sounds of cars and the train. When they finally arrived, Ludwig hesitated at the door, hand hovering over the door frame, but finally nodded to himself and stepped forward.

'It's not much,' Feliciano said, suddenly conscious of the small quarters.

'I wouldn't worry about it.' Ludwig was gazing at a painting on the wall. 'Did you do all of this?'

'Not all of it. But that-' Feliciano stopped. He hadn't looked at that painting in weeks. He should try to sell it, but he could never bring himself to. 'Oh. That's of my brother.'

He'd painted it right before Lovino had taken up the bar and they'd gone their separate ways. The man in the painting seemed too many years younger without the weight on his shoulders that Lovino always had now.

'You look very alike.'

'I got a picture of him smiling for it,' Feliciano said softly. It had been so long since he'd seen Lovino smile. He shook the thoughts away and pulled on Ludwig's arm. 'Here, come over and sit down.'

Ludwig did, awkwardly arranging himself on the chair. Feliciano almost had to laugh. He leaned in to help, easing him into a position that looked more comfortable and fixing the folds of his uniform. After a moment, he ended up at Ludwig's collar, and without thinking, tugged at his severe tie to loosen it, revealing the pale skin in the hollow of his neck. Ludwig's pulse was fluttering against his fingertips. Feliciano glanced up and found his startled blue eyes, and gloved hands loosely curled around his wrists.

'Feliciano,' Ludwig said unsteadily. His eyelashes were longer than he had expected, and caught the faint light. When Feliciano made to step back, the grip on his wrists lingered for a second more before releasing.

'Is that good?' Feliciano asked quietly, unsure himself what he meant. Ludwig pulled his collar straight. It was slightly crooked-not enough for anyone else to tell, but for him. He left his tie looser.

'Good,' he said, voice only barely catching on the word. Feliciano's whole body was humming with energy, leaping between the space between them. What would happen if they touched again, this time skin on skin?

Feliciano tried to push the thought away, but it lingered dangerously and so he turned to his easel. It was no good, because Ludwig was sitting there in the soft gold of the lamplight, looking so heart-achingly beautiful his whole body hummed. The only good thing was that it was easier than anything to paint him, even though he didn't know how to capture the fireworks that went off when Ludwig looked at him, or the questioning hint of his smile.

Feliciano leaned over, put on the radio, and lost himself in the painting. The music crackling from the old speakers was tinny, but the tune was familiar.

Every kiss brings a thrill, and I know that it will, as long as I have you…

There was nothing here except the soft music and the paint and the undefinable something between Feliciano and this officer. There was nothing to do except try to capture this beauty until the tension became too much.

Feliciano put down his brush. He couldn't concentrate. The weight of those blue eyes on him was making him reckless. If Ludwig didn't stop looking at him like he could see the galaxies written on his skin, Feliciano was going to do something like walk over and tell him exactly how beautiful he looked.

'We're done for today. If you're willing to come back tomorrow, I can finish it.' He glanced up, heart in his throat. He could finish the painting from memory, because the way Ludwig looked and talked and smiled was pressed into his soft heart, but he wanted to see him again. 'Will you?'

Now, Ludwig didn't look able to hold his gaze, eyes flicking from the painting to his hands and back, but when Feliciano finally caught him, there was a strange vulnerability in the blue that hadn't been there before.

'If you wish,' he said, sounding slightly breathless. Feliciano was walking forward before he realized, standing there in the amber light. Waiting. Their hands brushed, brushed again, and then twisted together in a rough squeeze, leather seams pressing against his thumb. Feliciano couldn't tell which one of them had first held on and didn't care, because his pulse was thrumming in the tips of his fingers so loudly he was sure Ludwig could feel it. The world stretched out the the span of their breaths.

Ludwig suddenly let go, his collar crooked again. His carefully slicked back hair was starting to come undone. He glowed in the soft darkness, and Feliciano wanted to touch him, slide his hands up in his blond hair and lean in to feel the press of muscle back. To ask him to stay.

He didn't. He couldn't. So Feliciano let Ludwig go, lingering at his door for a moment longer with an unreadable expression before disappearing.

0o0o0o

Let's think of the future

Forget the past

You're not my first love

But you're my last

-As Long As I Have You

:: Copper gone green with age