Another story about the lovely German and Italian. This is a flashback of my other story, "Complicated," dealing with the episode in which Ludwig experiences his first symptoms of Gastritis.

More comfort and hurt.

Clouds drifted across the sky, casting luminous shadows on the face of the moon. The night was dark, pregnant with possibility and quiet. It was that time, the time where not a sound could be heard and everyone's voices had lowered to whispers. I clutched the pillow closer to my body, willing my internal organs to silence and resign themselves to the stillness of night. When was the last time I had eaten? Perhaps a week ago.

Consuming energy had become a chore. Each time I would try to eat, my stomach would push up on itself and demand emptiness. Now it was happening again, only my innards commanded food.

Beside me, Feliciano lay still and peaceful. His face looked almost angelic in the half-light. The curtains twisted in the wind, fluttering as a cold draft of air blew from outside. The air felt good on my skin. I adjusted my position, trying to reach a more comfortable spot in the bed. Maybe a dark cool area. I wrapped the sheets around myself and tried to lie on my back, the way Gilbert had taught me to do when I didn't feel good.

There it was again. My stomach bubbled and growled, growing restless with no food. Pretty soon it would begin to gnaw on itself. I felt an upsurge of panic at the thought. Nothing like this had happened before, I had always been healthy. Running around, performing the mile in record time, and lifting weights. Lately though, things had been changing. I no longer awoke to sunrise, exuberant with the expectations of a good day. Time seemed to be going backwards, and I was caught in the middle. Perspiration rolled down my forehead, reminding me that I was over-thinking things. Nothing could possibly be amiss with my life.

Sometimes it made me guilty to suspect Feliciano of my pain, maybe his loud tendencies and concern overwhelmed me. Then again, it was always nice to know I was cared for.

The pain came like a shot, cutting through my middle like a blade. I curled on my side, taking caution not to disturb the ache, or worse, prolong it. Gritting my teeth, I tried to think of something else. Only horrible images of death and war played in my mind. That was no help. Stupid stomach! What was wrong with it these days? A flood of fear washed over me and I cringed, hoping Feliciano wouldn't wake and discover my weakness.

Something stirred beside me. I became vaguely aware of the fact that someone was touching me. The moon was no longer my area of focus, nor the night. I had spent too long dwelling in my misery and longing.

"Luddy?"

The voice was quiet, a gentle whisper of concern. I grunted in response and swatted his hand away. Feliciano crawled closer, alert with the knowledge of my discomfort. I felt his presence next to me and secretly wanted him to stay, secretly wanted him to know about my pain. Then I wouldn't be burdened any longer. But I was obstinate, too stoic for a simple illness.

"Are you alright?" He pulled back the blankets, much as I tried to cover myself and disguise the evidence. Surely he would take one look at my shivering frame and exaggerate everything.

"Fine," I managed to hiss through the pain, wishing he would go back to bed.

Obviously not convinced, he maneuvered himself so that he could wrap his arms around me. His fingernails grazed my stomach and I exhaled with a short whimper. Mein Gott! He had hardly touched me, and I was already displaying signs of feebleness. I briefly ran over the list of things I had eaten throughout the day. Nothing except a few scraps of leftover bread.

"Come here, show your Italian some love!" Feliciano tightened his grip, and I let out an involuntary yelp.

"What's wrong?" He was attentive again, no longer saccharine in his naivety.

I was about to reply when another lapse of pain had me clenching my muscles again. He pouted, as he usually did when faced with a quandary. I knew he wanted to know, to hold the source of my displeasure. It was in his nature to heal and comfort. The room had darkened again, but my eyes remained plastered to the wall, anywhere but his face. Clouds obscured the moon once more, relieving me of my worries. Now he wouldn't notice. We would go back to sleep and everything would return to normal.

"I know something is bothering you. You haven't been acting yourself lately."

I thought of giving him the old justification. The "so much work to complete" excuse, but he wouldn't buy it. Over the course of our relationship, he had grown craftier. More immune to my lies.

"You've been skipping lunch and dinner on a daily basis. I'm worried about you. Is there something you're not telling me?"

"It's just my insomnia acting up. You know, all the stress. . ."

He looked dubious, but didn't say anything. At first I thought he would turn around and forget about the whole incident, but his next action startled me.

"Luddy! For crying out loud! Stop acting like you're so tough! I'm trying to help you."

Tears threatened to spill from his eyes. I felt a surge of guilt and considered telling him the truth, but I didn't need to. He embraced me once more, and I made no effort to conceal the pain I felt.

"Ah! Feliciano! Please don't!"

He drew back, abashed at my outburst. "Are you feeling okay?"

His hand instinctively found its place on my forehead. "Luddy! You have a fever, you're burning up."

My face flushed with embarrassment. "Don't be silly, you dummkopf! The blankets are too hot."

"Why didn't you tell me?" He enveloped me in his arms, but this time I didn't resist.

He had probably known from the start. The skipping of meals, the consistent bathroom breaks, the fatigue. I had become aware of my dilemma as well. Even after training, I still didn't feel refreshed. Sometimes Feliciano would even beat me when racing. My abs were less prominent, more sunken in. I didn't know if I was plagued by a condition, or if it was just a matter of bad dieting habits. Now Feliciano looked at me with both concern and exasperation, as if he had just discovered I had been pregnant for five months without telling him.

He cradled me in his arms, the way a mother might. Finally, after what seemed like eternity, he spoke.

"Ludwig, I think it's serious. You've been having stomach problems for a while now."

"I know," I blushed, suddenly self-conscious about the fact that he had his hands on my belly, which had grown bloated over the past few days.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He blinked at me, expecting some sort of confession.

"Nein, maybe later."

"Are you feeling okay?"

"I have a stomachache."

"Is there any way I can help?" He shrugged hopelessly, amber eyes etched with sorrow.

"I don't think so."

Feliciano chewed his lip, vacillating between his options. He could either help or neglect me. I wallowed in my misery, allowing my lover to figure things out for himself. I fingered my stomach, swollen and warm beneath my touch. When had things gotten so bad?

I would have to consult a doctor.

There we have it. The first chapter.

What a fail! Anyway, I love sick fics.