Description: Unraveling in the capital of a certain European country are the stories of a privileged runaway and a composed university student (and their pets!) who met in the most unlikely of circumstances. One-shot.

Welcome to Brothers, Berlin, and a Lamborghini! It takes place in the same universe as one of my other stories, Three Weeks on Waikiki, but you don't need to read that one to understand this one at all.

In this story, the characters go to many real-life cities and places. Note that I as the author have not actually been to any of these places, and have only learned about them through extensive research and conversation with people who have been and seen. I do use some dramatic license. If you're a native of any of these places and find any mistakes, do enlighten me so I can do the best job at presenting them as possible!

Just to clear things up, the characters will be speaking their native language whenever they're speaking with another native speaker unless stated otherwise. It's all written in English.

Now, on with the show!

Before

Rome, on a hot, late summer's day

Feliciano burst from the house, tears gathering in his eyes. "Stop it!" he shouted to the sky, wiping furiously at his face. "Leave me alone, Lovino!"

"Oh, and where the hell do you think you're gonna go, you idiot?" screamed his brother from the immaculately-polished front doors. He stepped out to follow Feliciano, slamming the doors without a care.

Feliciano broke into a run, sobbing. How embarrassing; he hated to let his family see him cry, but he always cried anyway. "Stop it!" Due to the tears clouding his vision, he almost stumbled into one of the many flower patches that lined the broad footpath leading to the car garage.

Lovino was laughing, sickly, behind him. "Get your undersized ass back in here, Feli, you know you'll never get farther than—hey!"

"I hate you!" Feliciano screamed, dropping the stylish jacket that went with his suit but for once not caring about its fate. He gave his brother his best glare, then burst into wails, the tears streaming freely down his face. He ducked out of the blinding sunlight and into the garage.

"Come back!" Lovino ordered. "Where are you—the garage? Argh!"

Feliciano, gasping for breaths, heaved himself into the prized car nearest him. It was the Lamborghini Zumata, one of only five in the world. He hurled the door shut without a care. His heart was pounding as he stared at the wheel, waiting for his brother to round the corner. The keys were curiously already in the ignition, so Feliciano simply reached out and turned them.

Lovino eventually did round the corner. He saw his twenty year-old moody misfit brother behind the wheel of their grandfather's most prized possession and screamed bloody murder.

"Move!" Feliciano begged, his foot prompting the vehicle forward. Power itched beneath him, throbbing, pleading to be let free. His tears stained the precious black seats. The car had a full tank of gas, having not been driven in a while. He knew Lovino couldn't hear him.

Lovino stood in front of the Zumata and didn't dare move. He hollered at his brother over the slick hood of the car and through the shaded windshield, "I can't believe this, you—you crybaby idiot! What the fuck?! Get out of there and come back! This is Grandpa's! We don't touch it! You little—"

The engine revved, and all sense was lost.

Lovino flung himself to the side, shrieking obscenities at his brother. "Oh, this is just fine! You coward! Do you even know?! Huh?! How many times I wanted to do the same and get the hell out of—are you even listening to me?" He pounded at the driver's window, beginning to kick the fully-inflated tires. "Feliciano, vaffanculo, Feliciano! This isn't safe! Come back!"

Feliciano was staring straight ahead, his misery pouring everywhere as he slowly led the car from the open garage. Lovino yanked on his locked door handle, taunting him, calling him names, and Feliciano sped up. "I hate you," he whispered to himself, to the smooth driveway and the picturesque lawn and the open sky before him. The words fell out of his mouth faster than his tears; he was repulsed by them but couldn't stop them. "I hate all of this."

Lovino screamed again, chasing after. He picked up his brother's dropped jacket and mimed ripping it to shreds. When Feliciano didn't make any attempt to stop, Lovino actually tried ripping it to shreds. He didn't have the strength, so he wadded it into a ball and lobbed it at the flashy back of the retreating car, then ran back inside the mansion for help.

Inside the Zumata, Feliciano was wiping his nose on his pristine white sleeves. He wanted to turn the radio on but couldn't figure out how. All he knew was the monster of the vehicle beneath him, the widening road in front of him, and the horrible, horrible pain he was leaving behind.

He roared into the city, still in tears. His hair was a mess and his eyes were still blurred, but he kept driving. He didn't like to curse for fear that God was watching, but the stream of expletives he was letting out at his brother and his grandfather and his stupid, meaningless life would have caused the devil himself to turn over in slumber.

Feliciano didn't see the other car or the stoplight until it was too late.

The engine roared beneath him, someone may have screamed, and then Feliciano's cries were drowned out by a loud sound—the sound of metal rolling as easy as pizza dough.

After

Berlin, on a cool autumn evening

"Over here, little kitty!" Feliciano laughed. "No, this way! Kitty!"

The small cat—name tag reading Millie—peered out of the bushes bashfully. In its maw hung a decapitated rodent of typical size.

"Millie!" Feliciano gasped. "Put that down!"

Millie turned her head sideways in defiance.

Feliciano strained to keep the rest of the felines on their leashes, but was careful not to hurt them. "Millie, come on! Your owners have better food, don't they? If you come out of that bush and leave that poor mouse alone, I'll tell them you were extra good!" he bargained.

Millie understood. She dropped the rodent and bounded forward.

Even so, Millie the mouse-chaser was the easiest cat for Feliciano to handle with a leash. He got a lot of strange looks from people who saw he walked cats, but he got strange looks in the city anyway. He loved Berlin—the atmosphere was cool and carefree, the views gorgeous… The only thing that had taken some getting used to was the climate. Feliciano was bundled in a coat and scarf for October, and the mass of cats in only their multicolored furs still looked warmer.

He skipped along the wooden path, the felines darting distractedly in and out of his strides. Ed, the yellow Persian, was practically dragging in the back, while Brunhilde, the Sphynx Feliciano hadn't yet learned not to fear, stalked in the grass. Volkspark Hasenheide was a nice place to explore, he thought, with its many trees, hidden attractions, and friendly wildlife to discover, but the time was growing late. "Let's get you guys back to your owners now, okay?" he beckoned, watching the sky slowly dim above the treeline.

The small troop started back, cats confusedly scrambling everywhere, Feliciano humming a tune. They had just made it to a paved section of path when Brunhilde froze in place, prompting the rest of her gang to stand on end as well.

Feliciano didn't notice this until he heard a deep voice from a nearby section of forest call out, clear and loud, "Berlitz! Komm hierher zurück!"

And all hell broke loose. Three dogs exploded from the forest, bounding onto the path in front of them. The lead dog's leash was not attached to any human—it was tangled between the dog's legs and scraping across the pavement. The two other dogs were attached to a human—they dragged a poor young man behind them, stumbling and cursing. All the dogs were big, and all the dogs had noticed Feliciano and his cats.

The kitties yowled in protest. Feliciano joined them, quickly backing away. Dogs were common to see in this park, but Feliciano stayed far from them for obvious reasons. Still, there was nothing he could do to stop the canines from jumping on him in a flurry of excitement. Feliciano misplaced a step and sat down hard, attempting to shield his face from curious wet noses.

He held on tight to his cat leashes, hissing coming from their ends, as the dogs woofed and danced around, causing their frustrated owner chaos. The man shouted in German as Feliciano prayed the kitties wouldn't be hurt by the strain on their necks. The fluffy golden dog sniffed Feliciano in an awkward area, and he yelped.

Finally, the young man managed to grab hold of the rogue dog's leash, narrowly dodging a cat's claw. He pulled the three large animals away with some difficulty, scolding them, then petting them to calm them down. The dogs did not calm down, and neither did Feliciano's cats. They crawled over him as he climbed uneasily to his feet, breathing heavily and dusting off his coat.

"Fehlt dir was?" the German shouted to Feliciano over the animal noises.

Feliciano was still so flustered that he first shouted "Non voglio nessuna delle tue medicine!" in Italian, then "Wait, sorry, excuse me?" in English, then "Guten Tag!" in German. Then he brushed the hair out of his face and saw that the dog owner was one of the most handsome men he had ever laid eyes on, and quickly shut his mouth lest he say something more.

The German was deeply confused as he struggled to hold onto his dogs. After a few surprised seconds he asked, "Do I know you?" in English.

Feliciano struggled to think of what to say to this. "Um, no?" Then a vague thought crossed his mind, so he restated, "No, you do not know of me! I don't think so." Millie scratched at his shoes.

"Really?" asked the man, staring at him. "You look familiar."

"...We have not met?" He thought he would remember meeting someone like this before, but once he had forgotten to put on his pants for a public outing and had to ask the driver take him back home, so anything was possible, really.

The black dog barked.

"Ah!" The young man swept a hand over his already flat-gelled blond head, and his light blue eyes went wide. "I was meaning to say I am very sorry! You speak English, ja? Very sorry! My dogs like to have fun...they…"—the golden dog yipped, and he leaned down to scratch behind its ears—"they are meaning well… Are you hurt?"

Feliciano looked down at himself. His butt kind of hurt, and his head was still spinning into crazy dimensions, but otherwise he thought he was fine. He told the German this in the best English he could muster, then kneeled to check on the kitties, who still stood on end and were hissing at the dogs. None of them looked harmed, but the air between the two groups of animals remained tense.

"I give my deepest apologies," the man said again, the tips of his ears bright pink. "Is there anything…is there anything I can do for you?"

Feliciano smiled, rolling back and forth on the balls of his feet. "Wow, that is so nice of you! My name is Feliciano! I like your puppies!" Brunhilde made a curious noise of disagreement in the back of her throat.

"Oh." The German's mouth turned up ever so slightly as he continued to pet the dogs and talk to Feliciano at the same time. "Uh, I am Ludwig. You do not want me to...erm...walk you back, or anything? Actually, that might be a bad idea, with the animals…"

"Sure!" Feliciano said, quickly, maybe too quickly. "I do have to take the kitties to their owners!"

All three cats preened and hissed, not liking this idea. The German's dogs wagged their tails, very much liking this idea.

Ludwig concentrated. "Do you… Is this your work?"

"Yes! One of my jobs! I like it very much. And you? What is your job?"

"I go to university… I work an auto garage with my brother…" He frowned. "Do you mean that people pay you to give their cats a walk? Excuse me, but I was not aware that was...a job…"

Feliciano grinned. He couldn't think of anything to say, so he just said "Yes!" really enthusiastically and hoped it helped. "Do you walk these dogs, too?"

Ludwig shook his head. "Nein—no, I mean, they are my dogs. Berlitz, Aster, and Blackie. Er—yes, I walk them. Where are you going?"

"I will walk in front so the cats do not get mad. They're afraid." Ed, Millie, and Brunhilde were all indeed very disgruntled about the whole situation, and Feliciano could tell that at least. He fixed his scarf; he hadn't noticed, but the soft fabric had been torn a little by puppy paws. He decided he didn't care. "Your dogs are big and tall, just like you!"

When he turned back, he saw that Ludwig was blushing. "Um, thank you?" There was a pause in which he coughed. "I am sorry, but do you speak German? I only know English from school, and, and hearing others speak."

Feliciano shook his head sadly. "I'm sorry. I have not lived in Berlin for long, and I know only little German. I know English from school and lots of people, too. But I also speak Italian! I'm from Italy."

"Yes," said Ludwig. "I guessed."

The two walked along, lazy autumn breezes following them, passerby giving curious stares, and pets still showing no acceptance of each other. The cats were even more adamant about being walked, and Feliciano had to take extra time to herd them along. Squirrels that darted across the wooden footbridges excited the dogs. The sky was growing cloudier with every leaf that touched to the ground, and city sounds were heard in echoes, a far-off illusion. Feliciano and Ludwig drifted closer, even if their animals strained the leashes farther apart.

"So, what do you do in university?" Feliciano asked. "You are very smart, no?" He gave Ludwig's arm a friendly jostle.

Ludwig gave him a strange look, then passed it off. "I study ethnology at Humboldt. Er, and you?" He frowned. "You are of age to go to university?"

"I am twenty, sì," Feliciano offered. "I did, but then the job took over…" He waved his hands dismissively. "You know how it is—crazy!"

"Twenty, same as me," Ludwig commented thoughtfully. "Hm. Do you mean your"—he gestured to Ed, who was falling asleep in his collar—"cat...job?"

Feliciano laughed. "No, not that, I…I...hah. You know." He watched Ludwig watch him, interested and kind-faced. This was romantic, he thought. "Right now I also do taxi service for work. I get some bad reviews, which is mean, because I am a great driver! I don't understand! Would you like to see my car? It's super cool! People ask me questions and look at my car and take pictures all the time. They like my car. Everybody does. I do!"

Ludwig fidgeted with the collar of his coat. "Maybe some other time," he grunted.

"Okay!" Feliciano felt energetic and bubbly at the idea, warmth spreading through his coat once more. "Where do you live? I could pick you up sometime! I can actually do that. I think. I didn't read all the terms and conditions but I think…well, I would like to, haha!"

Ludwig may have smiled, or maybe it was just the tight pursing of his lips. Feliciano suddenly worried he was being too forward, as one of the dogs began to growl softly. At what, no one could be sure, but Ludwig was instantly kneeled and stroking the brown puppy's back in a comforting way. Feliciano gulped involuntarily, stepping back. The cats clambered around his ankles.

"I'm sorry!" he said quickly. "I didn't mean… I mean…"

"It's alright," Ludwig asserted. "He probably only smelled something strange. There are...yes. There are other animals in this park, a small zoo. And people." He glanced around. "And cats."

"…Sì." Feliciano tightened his hold on the leash. The back of his mind began to whisper to him. Maybe it wasn't a good idea to walk with Ludwig. He was going to be late with returning the cats, after all. They were near Hasenheide's exit, having passed another flat expanse where picnickers were packing away for the oncoming night, and could hear the sound of cars a little clearer. And after this, he would probably never even see Ludwig again—

"Would you, maybe, like to get kebabs or, or currywurst...sometime?" Ludwig asked tentatively, standing up to face Feliciano as they reached the end of the park's exit trail. "As an apology," he added quickly. "Er, I live in Kreuzberg. I do not know when… I'm not sure if… Actually, I..." He paused in conversation to frustratedly smooth his hair back again, his face taking on a cute pink hue.

Feliciano trembled. So Ludwig did want to see him again. The face reality mentality he had had drilled into his head by countless managers and unforgiving schedules over the years was gone once more. He was about to open his mouth to scream Yes! or something, when he heard his name being shouted from a distance away.

"Sir? Sir, you have my cat…"

"Oh!" Feliciano turned to see all three of his clients impatiently waiting for him at the end of the park's exit trail, looking quite angered at his tardiness. "Sorry," he muttered to Ludwig. "The kitties need to go at home!"

"That's—that's fine," Ludwig stuttered. The golden dog barked. "I will just...follow you out."

"I've missed my hair appointment," a young lady sadly stated while Feliciano deposited Brunhilde in her carrier. Ed left next, whisked away in his own carrier by a short angry man ("I know, right? Now I've gotta find another cheap idiot stupid enough to walk my cat!"). Ludwig observed it all from a ways away, still utterly confused. He glanced at his watch.

"She found a dead mouse, but don't worry because I made her spit it out," Feliciano told the last client, and old woman who handled Millie with uncertainty, then carefully passed over a few bills. "Have a nice night!"

"And...you…" the old woman offered. "Wow," she muttered to herself. "That boy has no sense of time management in his life. He really needs to get some."

Feliciano heaved a great sigh once all was done and delivered. He had earned a total of fifteen euros that day. Probably not enough for good kebabs.

Ludwig cleared his throat, bringing back Feliciano's attention. "I should probably leave now," he said.

"Oh." Feliciano faced him, suddenly at a loss for words. "Did you, um, did you want to say...um…?"

Ludwig wouldn't meet his eyes, staring at the ground, the darkening sky. "It is fine," he said, too quickly. There was a pause, and the black dog nudged up against its owner's side, as if prompting him on. Ludwig exhaled, lifted his face, and began, "Well, actually, I—"

The phone in Feliciano's pocket burst into impatient rings.

"Ah! Un momento, per favore," Feliciano said cheerily, digging the shiny piece of metal from his slim coat. He remembered he was wearing gloves, and their fabric got stuck on the pocket's zippers.

Ludwig watched this, and as Feliciano fumbled to take off his gloves, asked abruptly, "Pardon me, but is your coat...Gucci?"

"Yep, Guccio Gucci all the way, haha," Feliciano replied without thinking. He flung his right hand glove to the ground in frustration and danced around to move his scarf out of the way.

"...Oh," Ludwig said, seemingly dumbfounded. Or maybe it was just thoughtfulness. The brown dog sneezed.

Feliciano wasn't paying attention anymore. As soon as he had read the name on the screen, he stopped, the happy, make-believe atmosphere crashing down around him. This was supposed to have been an easy night—no interruptions. Walking with the dogs and the cats and the trees and the leaves had made him forget for a while, but forgetting was a mistake. He turned to Ludwig, and sadly stated, "I'm sorry. I need to answer this call. It's, um, private."

A gust of wind hit them, and Ludwig's broad shoulders tensed against it. He looked down. "That's fine," he uttered without hesitation. "You...have a good evening."

A streetlight above them flickered on. Pedestrians were giving them a wide berth. "Um, thank you," Feliciano said.

Ludwig nodded, taking a step to walk away. He turned back and said, "I am very sorry about the dogs. If you need anything, else…I work at Beilschmidt Autoreparatur."

Feliciano gave him one last feeble smile and a wave, blushing. There was nothing he could say now but, "Okay! Goodbye!"

Ludwig said his farewell and walked away down the tree-lined sidewalk, a sunset sky and the outline of an old church providing a backdrop. The dogs kept obediently to his side, but not without last peeks at Feliciano. Their silhouettes faded into the city.

With everyone gone but him, Feliciano began to walk away himself. His phone hadn't stopped emitting its original version of "Ti Amo" ringtone and really it was making him annoyed and sad more than anything else. He let out a soft huff to the sparsely-populated street, then pressed the button to answer the call.

Immediately, he held the phone away from his ear as his brother shouted, "What the shitting hell took you so long to answer, idiot!?" in frustrated Italian. Feliciano could translate that it meant Lovino was worried and didn't mean to hurt him with the profane words, but still felt remorse.

"Ciao, Lovino," he said quietly. "I miss you."

An indignant yell echoed from the other side of the line. "Are you serious right now? You think this is funny? We all saw the freaking pictures, okay! I don't even—God, you don't even know! You thought you could just hide away, and—" Lovino's voice cracked with emotion Feliciano knew he hadn't meant to express, and they both froze. Finally, Lovino continued, somber. "I'm coming."

Feliciano adjusted the phone. "Wait, Lovino, no! Please, just stay with Grandpa—"

"Don't you dare talk about Grandpa, you bastard. Just when things were looking better, you had to—"

"No! I'm fine, and no one knows, and—"

"Shut up, Feliciano. You always turn everything into a big mess. You don't think!" A burst of static, and then "In two days."

Feliciano bit his lip, the back of his throat feeling raw. "Two days? No! You can't. I—I don't think it's funny, Lovino! I just…I'm sorry."

"Yeah, yeah, we're all sick and tired of hearing how sorry you are. I—Grandpa arranged a flight, that's it. That's...that's all."

"I didn't mean for the reporters to see me," Feliciano huffed. "I promise. I was being responsible."

"A taxi service, Feliciano." A loud thump on the other end. "Dio! You're the luckiest dumbass on earth that Grandpa knows how to negotiate."

"I miss you very much, Lovino, and I miss Grandpa too. But I don't—"

"Do you know dealerships now have people out themselves? Looking? You better tell me it's safe. You better tell me."

Feliciano took a deep breath.

"Feliciano, tell me right now or when I get there I'm going to—"

"It's safe, Lovino! It is safe."

A pause. "Is that a promise?"

"Pinky-swear." Feliciano cursed himself quietly, flexing his gloved pinky in the empty night air.

"Pinky-sw—damn, you're such a kid. Fine. Just...get your stuff. We don't want this to become a bigger deal than it already is. I'm calling you later to arrange a meeting place, okay? So you better pick up your fancy phone this time! Hear me?"

Feliciano bit his lip, wiping at his eyes, damp with frustration and grief both.

"Feliciano! Answer already!"

"I don't like it when you're mad at me."

Lovino, in fact, sounded close to tears himself. "Then—then don't give me a cause! It's not even your decision!"

Feliciano wanted to argue that Yes, it is my decision! but knew it would be useless. He held back his tears, biting his lip. Once again, the rug had been pulled out from under him, and his life was in someone else's hands.

Lovino's tone lightened. "Listen, um, don't do anything stupid and reckless, okay?"

"I won't."

"Good. I mean, you better not. We'll be there soon."

The words bubbled up, and Feliciano knew he had to say them before he boiled over. He was never very good at keeping his mouth shut. You don't run my life, and neither does Grandpa! I'm not a kid! I like the city, I like the car, and I like Ludwig and I want to go on a date with him! No one can stop me from doing anything, even if it is stupid and reckless! His heart raced. He opened his mouth to retaliate, which was when his phone buzzed.

Feliciano held it away from his ear to check the screen. Lovino had hung up on him.

"Whatever." He whispered to himself one of his brother's favorite words, slipping the device back into his pocket with some difficulty. He felt like a slowly-deflating balloon, the extra hot air releasing into the cool night sky. He hadn't cried.

Feliciano continued walking, paying less attention to where he thought he wanted to go in this sprawling city, and more to his thoughts. Lovino in that statement was right; Feliciano didn't often sit and actually think over things. He had developed an intolerance for looking back, but now he would have to finally face the problem, and the problem was that Feliciano wasn't ready. He had ignored Lovino's over-the-phone questions and complaints for long enough, thinking distance would simplify things. Thinking a telephone link to Rome would be all the Rome he would need.

He knew all along that he could never truly escape, but how terribly he had counted on escaping. How terribly he had prepared for when everything would crash down around him.

He missed Rome. He missed home.

But Feliciano also felt safe here, on the streets of Berlin. He pictured Ludwig's concerned face and outstretched helping hand. Then Feliciano pictured the hotel apartment he was currently living out of, and his four-million-dollar secret, parked easily in the courtyard between tight rows of buildings. Maybe it had been a hasty decision to keep it there, but finding private garages was difficult and confusing in the big city, and it wasn't as if Feliciano cared about the thing that much anyway. But he knew he needed to move it before Lovino came. Somewhere where people—even hotel staff—couldn't be tempted, because apparently nothing mattered more to his grandfather than that damaged-but-still-beautiful Lamborghini Zumata.

He continued his way down Graefestraße street, thinking he should have taken the U-bahn instead, even though the hotel was only a few blocks away. The faster he got to the car, the better. But where to hide it?

Feliciano's betraying mind danced back to Ludwig again, remembering how he hadn't given Feliciano a phone number, but a location. His business location, apparently. Beilschmidt Autoreparatur…Beilschmidt Auto Repair. Leaning against one of the trees that seemed to border every street in Berlin, Feliciano tapped the name into his phone so he wouldn't forget. He knew he was spelling "Beilschmidt" wrong, but wanted to remember where to find Ludwig again so they could—

It all snapped together, and Feliciano gasped in surprise. Ludwig owned a car shop. Feliciano owned a car. If he could store the Zumata in the shop for just a day or two, would it be safer than keeping it near the hotel? Maybe. He could fix it! And then Feliciano had a legitimate excuse to see Ludwig again.

He smiled brightly to himself and continued walking with a new purpose, waving at a pretty woman who was mounting a sleek yellow motorcycle. She stared at him. It was dark and cold out, but to Feliciano it was sunny and warm again. For once, he had a plan. He knew what he was going to do.

Kind of.

Before

Munich, on a mild, early-October's day

Ludwig was regrettably having his most painful birthday since childhood. It was a pity. Stuck inside a crowded tavern with a gargantuan headache, an empty stein of beer in front of him, the television blaring noisily, and his brother—oh Gott, his brother.

"Come on, you baby!" Gilbert urged, tugging on Ludwig's limp jacket sleeve. "It's our last day! Where's your Oktoberfest spirit, man?" He backed up into a passing woman in a dirndl dress, causing both their glasses to spill onto the floor. The woman glared daggers at Gilbert; Gilbert gave her a sheepish grin and she stormed off.

"I think I showed enough Oktoberfest spirit in the first whole week we've been here," Ludwig remarked at the blurry form of his older brother, clad in ridiculous lederhosen he had been so excited about before they left Berlin for the trip. He blinked rapidly a few times, and Gilbert's pale form appeared clearer, but yellowed by the bar lights. Ludwig could hold his liquor well, but after carousel rides, loud folk ballads and a week…

Still, he had to admit, it was a lot of fun.

"Would you like a refill?" a curious barmaid asked Ludwig, gesturing to his abandoned novelty mug.

"Heck yes!" Gilbert shoved his own half-empty stein onto the counter. The weight exchange threw off his balance, or maybe that was just the man's blisteringly obvious intoxication.

Ludwig groaned. "Just go back to Theresienwiese. I'll pick you up later."

Gilbert gave a drunken giggle, grabbed his beer, and promptly stumbled out the door without a backwards glance. A small party entered after him, more poor souls spilling over from the fairgrounds. He bleakly hoped Gilbert wouldn't get hit by a bike.

Overhead, the TV continued to blare at its obnoxious volume. Ludwig did his best to drown it out, sandwiched between the wall and a young Asian man with two small notebooks and no beer, but there was really nothing else he had to do. He found himself halfheartedly listening to the reporter, who was standing in front of a sunny mansion, subtitles in many different languages scrolling under the microphone she spoke into.

"...months ago, Roma Vargas, one of the richest and most notable private car collectors in the world, announced that a priceless Lamborghini Zumata of his would return to the public market. The Zumata is one of only five ever made, and is now the only one of its kind not currently owned by private or public businesses alike. The car is worth a net total of 4.1 million euros…"

Ludwig happened to glance over at the man sitting next to him and noticed that he was also rapt in the news story. Maybe even...unnervingly so. In fact—was he taking notes? Ludwig listened closer.

"...whatever the case, a mystery of rumor and suspicion does surround the Lamborghini Zumata. Two days after the announcement was made, groups of reporters and eager agents from top-of-the-line dealerships visited Vargas's residence looking to haggle over the purchase of the Zumata, except the Zumata itself was not at Vargas's mansion. Vargas stated that he had allowed his youngest grandson to take temporary ownership of the vehicle after moving…"

The man with the notebook leaned closer, squinting at the fuzzy screen. A bolt of pain seized Ludwig's skull, and he squeezed his eyes shut for a second to bear it. When he opened his eyes, the man was facing him.

"Excuse me?" he said in heavily-accented English. "I apologize. No German. Name? I did not...um..." He gestured with a business-branded pen to the TV.

"W-What?" Ludwig stuttered, completely thrown off by the stranger's words. "You want my name?"

The Asian man stared for a second, then shook his head. "Apologize. Little English. Name in...telly?" He was stumbling, clearly flustered as he glanced back and forth between Ludwig and the babbling reporter. "Tele—TV?"

Ludwig repressed what would have been an embarrassing burp. "The name in the television? I…I do not remember. Was it Rome-something? Ah, do you mean the reporter?"

The man shook his head quickly, and they both refocused on the TV. Ludwig noticed that of the many subtitles, one row held Japanese characters.

"...persons and paparazzi in multiple cities across Europe reported seeing the Lamborghini Zumata on the streets, including Munich, Germany during Oktoberfest, but a permanent location for neither the car nor Feliciano Vargas has been announced anytime recently. It seems as if the priceless vehicle is still up for grabs, but whoever wants it has to find it first. The chase is on…"

"Name!" the young man declared, pointing again at the screen. "I apologize."

"Ah." Ludwig rubbed at his temples. "Vargas, I think it was. I—I did not hear the first name." He wondered why this frustrated foreigner cared so much about an old news story on a noisy television at a bar outside Oktoberfest, but couldn't bring himself to ask.

The man looked desperate, shaking his head sadly. "Apologize." He turned away, scribbling something down in his notebook. (Yes, he was writing in characters!) There was an unexpectedly tense moment. Then the young man turned back to stare at Ludwig, looking about as comfortable as Ludwig himself felt. "Thank you," he said, still appearing confused. "Car...story is...big...with me. Apologize."

"Er, sure," Ludwig said. The TV screen was now flashing commercials.

The man nodded, turned, put on an awkwardly formal jacket, stuffed his notebooks into what looked like a work bag, and left the bar. Ludwig, still in a haze, watched him exit onto the street. A second later, the door swung back open, and Gilbert was back.

"Hey, bro!" he laughed, smacking right into the doorframe. "I forgot you! Haha! They kicked me out of all the tents! Haha! Let's go on the rollercoaster! Haha! You're twenty!"

Ludwig ignored him and solemnly put his head into his hands, wishing he had accepted that beer refill a while ago.

After

Berlin, on a cool day

"Hand me the wrench again, would you."

Only Gilbert's scuffed boots were visible from beneath the car, striding across the stained garage floor. "Which one?"

Ludwig adjusted himself on the creeper. His shoulder really ached. "The ratchet, Gilbert!" he hollered over the blaring Scorpions.

After a few metallic clinks and clanks and a general shuffling about, Gilbert dropped the tool right next to Ludwig's exposed feet. Ludwig almost slammed upwards in surprise, and caught himself at the last second. "Gilbert!"

"Hey, sorry!" His older brother's head appeared, stark, contrasted with all the black leather and denim that covered the rest of his body, and grinning like mad. "You almost done there? I think someone's at the door!"

Ludwig grunted, and after giving a few firm twists, asked, "Did they phone in?"

"Don't think so. I'm goin' to check." Once again, only Gilbert's feet were visible as they stomped off, turning the radio's volume up to compete with the popular techno music their neighbors down the street were blasting.

Ludwig finally got the muffler's heat shield to the degree of tightness expected of the good Beilschmidt brothers' reliable auto service, and sighed. Another lazy morning of autoshop to precede another stressful night of textbook studying. Dinner would improve the mood. He rolled out, grumbling to himself, and shoved his greasy hands into the communal sink, practicing in his head how he was going to tell Frau Adkins over the phone that her Volkswagen would rattle no more. Gilbert slammed out of the garage, preparing to meet their customer.

Ludwig caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror they had hanging above one of the cabinets. He wished he could pet his dogs. Sure, he had just seen them a few hours ago, but...they were due for another walk, right, and maybe if they went to Hasenheide again they might see…

He scratched his head, hair gel having slightly melted away, leaving him with a few annoying rebellious strands he wanted to smash down. He wondered where that noisy Italian was now, and how the elusive job of "cat-walker" had ever fallen to someone so strangely befitting for it. He had wondered a lot about Feliciano since last night. Had the interaction really only happened last night?

Ludwig knew the weekend would pass, and that snappily handsome, yet undeniably scatterbrained young man would forget about him, just as Ludwig would forget about him. The meeting was all too bizarre to ever happen again. His grandfather was proudly paying his funds for school (even if the tuition was free—thank goodness), so he would focus on that instead. Humboldt was a good institution, and Ludwig was lucky to be learning there.

The door to the garage flew open, and Gilbert flew back in. In the mirror he looked panicked, but when Ludwig turned, he was grinning again. "Yo! There's...uh...well…" He tugged on his dirty T-shirt. "You'd better come and see for yourself."

With one last grumble, Ludwig quickly snatched a small, golden snake decoration from a pile of spare parts, knowing it could only be Mr. Overschmidt, wanting his treasured hood ornament back. He came to the door, but paused when his brother made a wide-eyed face, tilting his head in the direction of what lay beyond. "Just warning you," Gilbert whispered, "it's insane!"

"Oh, I'm sure. Move, please," Ludwig said, sidestepping.

What lay beyond was a small office area attached to the garage that the brothers used for customers. There was a dusty desk, a dying plant, a fake stuffed yellow bird perched on the wall Gilbert had picked up on one of his adventures and thought was hilarious, a bulging waste basket, and exactly one metal fold-out chair. On that chair, wearing a full suit and what Ludwig was ashamed to know were Prada sunglasses, sat none other than Feliciano from the park.

Feliciano jumped up and whipped off the shades. "Hi, Ludwig!" he said, only it was more of a squeal than an actual greeting.

Ludwig's heartbeat pace burst into a run, and he pushed back his messy hairs. "Oh," he stumbled out with. "Hello." The stains on his work shirt seemed to grow, and why was he sweating more all of a sudden? "It's, um." He gulped. "It is nice to see you again."

"Yes!" The small man was practically bouncing up and down on the oily concrete floor, that one wild curl of his swaying from side to side. "How are you?"

"I'm"—he self-consciously looked down at himself, then cleared his throat once more—"fine. And you?"

"Good, good, sì!" Feliciano smiled, and Ludwig was once again reminded again of just how snappily handsome he was. "I came from church, you know, and then I had lunch and I ate the kebabs you said about and it was super good! It is a very good day! Then I thought to come to find you! How are your dogs? My cats are good, but I have not seen them since last night. Do you live nearby? It was hard to find this place because I was spelling the name wrong again and again but I finally got it and it only took an hour, and I had time to give a taxi ride to this nice Japanese man who always is really excited to see me even though he always gives me strange papers to sign and we had a nice conversation and then when he got out he vomited in the street and it was terrible! But I found you now so it is okay! Actually, I want to talk to you about my car because—"

Gilbert interrupted, which was good, because Ludwig was only understanding about two-thirds of the rapid monologue. Except his brother was speaking to Ludwig and giving him a look. "Well, well. It's clear you really know this guy, Ludwig. You know, I thought it would take a hell lot longer for you to finally see the light."

His words were German—Gilbert's English was rocky at best and he hadn't accepted their grandfather's university donations—but they still made Ludwig bristle. "What do you mean," he muttered.

Gilbert just laughed and Feliciano smiled on obliviously.

Ludwig tried his best not to focus on the minor details. He breathed and asked Feliciano, "You want to talk about your car?"

"Yes! I brought it in front to your garage. It just has a…dent, and I wanted to know if you could fix it. Also if you could keep it here for one and a half days, please. That would be very nice. Will you come and see it?"

Ludwig looked at his brother, who simply shrugged, then burst into another fit of cackling.

"Yeah, you better go look at his car now, bro! Go on. Go ahead."

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing. But man, you picked the right one, if I do say so myself!"

Ludwig gifted Gilbert with a glare, then turned back to Feliciano. "Very well. I'll take a look."

"Great!" Feliciano led him outside through another dusty door, where there was a large section of crumbly concrete lot that formed the boundary between the garage and the city road. And parked at an impressive angle on that lot was Feliciano's car.

Ludwig dropped the hood ornament he had been holding. The air went as still as a summer day.

"It is nice, right?" Feliciano asked, timid.

Ludwig could only close his gaping mouth and give a short nod. So this was the car Feliciano said everybody liked? No wonder everyone liked it; everyone would want to steal it. Ludwig felt like just looking at the thing should have cost his grandfather's entire fortune, and he blinked a couple of times to be sure it was real. The exterior was painted a bizarre hue that could have appeared either white, gray, or black depending on the lighting, and glimmered like the Reichstag building after Christo and Jeanne-Claude had finished with it. A patriotic slash of the Italian flag colors accented the single row of doors which Ludwig could already tell flipped up when you opened them. The whole thing looked built for speed—more of a rocket than a car. He couldn't even visualize Feliciano driving it, but maybe posing next to it, holding a checkered flag…

He snapped out of it. "Yes. I suppose it is very nice," he said.

Feliciano seemed to be happy about this answer. "It can go over three-hundred fifty kilometers per hour, and there are only a few of them in the world! I crashed it, though, so I need to fix it. Also I think the front tire on the left is a little flat. And I'm low on gas. If you look here...look, it is the big crash mark."

Ludwig's utter disbelief at the entire situation was stunned into silence. He didn't see any mark or dent, but was still worried, for it appeared that a simple fingernail scratch could total the vehicle. "What is the make of this car?" he inquired.

"It is called Lamborghini Zumata!"

Ludwig was feeling a strange case of déjà vu, but deemed to ignore it for now. He had to get this thing inside the garage before someone saw it, and saw him with it. Suddenly, he had the need to ask Feliciano some other questions.

First, Gilbert opened the garage door, and Ludwig cleared space inside for the new addition to their current collection. Feliciano was so excited that he accidentally bumped the pointy front of the Zumata into Gilbert while he was pulling it in; Gilbert got up and continued laughing. Ludwig wrote down Feliciano's name in the log, and then had to shyly attain his phone number to go down next to it. He gave one last vexing glance at his pencil-printed spelling of Vargas, then turned back to the company.

Gilbert was inspecting the car for damages while Feliciano meekly pointed them out. "Oh, I see mark you talk about. I thought this was supposed to be here."

Ludwig had a look for himself. Indeed, there was a wide dent on the front of the Zumata, but it aligned almost perfectly with the car's dramatic landscaping, making it more difficult to see. "How did this happen?" he politely asked.

Feliciano's face heated up, and he looked down. "I hit a stoplight. And other things. I will tell you later."

Ludwig was concerned, but didn't press the matter. Gilbert wondered, "Could we use a plunger?"

"We also want to make sure not to damage the paint…" Ludwig was still afraid to touch the machine. He himself didn't even own a car, and drove a bike or used public transport when he needed to get somewhere. Both brothers had learned auto repair from their grandfather. "You know, I think I have an idea."

Gilbert stood up. "Oh, good. Can I leave, then? I'm starving. And I'm sure you'd like some time alone with your...client." He nudged Ludwig in the shoulder a little too roughly. "You do have an expensive-looking client, there."

Ludwig pushed him away. "And just where are you going to go?"

"Aw, you know." Gilbert brushed off his frayed knees and stood. "I'll just… I'll just try to get into Berghain or something."

"It's a Sunday morning!"

Gilbert winked. "Ah, but that's always the best time! Get with the lifestyle!"

Ludwig stood, unsure of what to do now while his brother simply walked out the door. Before exiting, Gilbert gave the two a salute. "Take good care of the flat while I'm out!"

"What was he saying?" Feliciano asked.

"He is abandoning us," Ludwig explained. "If you will excuse me, I need to leave too so I can buy a hair dryer. Um. Can you wait here?"

"Oh!" Feliciano jumped a little. "Is it for the car? Lovino one time got a dent out that way! I'll come with you!" He paused, tilting his head. "Or is it for your hair?"

And so, the next few hours became more of the most interesting to occur in Ludwig's life. He and Feliciano scouted around for the perfect hair dryer, riding the metro up and down Kreuzberg. Feliciano took his time pointing out his favorite graffiti murals, and when they finally made it back to the garage, Ludwig discovered that the bright, shiny pink hair dryer did not mix well with the compressed air he used to contract the metal. They set off again to buy a fun, helpful dent-popping kit that would work better. The kit broke on the first try. He used a plunger. The plunger worked, and Feliciano threw down the magazine he had spent the last hour reading to leap up and cheer.

Ludwig wiped the sweat from his brow. Feliciano made sounds of awe as he inspected his vehicle, the paint job still intact. Then he looked up at Ludwig and Ludwig sweated more. "Wow, you look really tired! Um, let's forget about the car for now, okay?"

"Okay?" Ludwig indeed felt exhausted, and remembered that all he had eaten for lunch was a bag of chips from a vending machine along their shopping route.

Feliciano smiled. "I want to make you early dinner to say thank you! Is that okay? You did really good! Do you have any pasta at your place? I make that best, you see, because—wait! I have some here!" He dashed to open the door of the Zumata—which did flip upwards—and rummaged around inside. "Is lasagne good? Hmm, I hope you have sauce…"

Ludwig's better judgement and upbringing said No, you must politely decline, but the screaming from his heart and stomach overpowered them. And he still needed to figure out the story behind the esteemed Lamborghini, even though taking Feliciano—whom he had just met yesterday and who could still turn out to be a psycho killer—back to his and Gilbert's apartment would be incredibly awkward. But, as Gilbert had said, "Get with the lifestyle!"

So, a few minutes later, the two had set off again down the street, Ludwig wheeling his bike—which he normally used to drive to the garage—alongside. Feliciano was practically skipping, the box of lasagne noodles flashing in his hand. They passed a large mural depicting a butterfly emerging from its cocoon (captioned Widerstehen der Falle) and Feliciano commented, "You know, I'd like to do one of these. I've always liked doing art. I wish I had been an artist."

Ludwig lifted his bicycle over a bump in the sidewalk. "Does cat-walking take up that much of your time? And, er, driving taxi?"

Feliciano stopped skipping. "...No. Well, now it does. I...do not really know how to say. I could still do other things, I suppose." He frowned to himself, staring straight ahead.

A quiet moment passed, and after a while of not hearing Feliciano's melodic yet constant voice, Ludwig found himself growing uneasy. "Who is Lovino?" he asked. "You said that before."

The Italian perked up. "Lovino is my older brother! Like Gilbert! He is...well...Lovino I will see soon on a visit, actually. Um, the Zumata is going to go with him. That is why I need to keep it at your garage."

"Oh." Ludwig pondered this. "When is he coming?"

Feliciano shrugged. "Maybe tomorrow. He should call me. We have to find a place to meet."

They reached the apartment building belonging to the Beilschmidt brothers. Ludwig stored away his bike, and they went inside. The building was humble but not cramped, and from his bedroom window Ludwig could see Landwehr Canal and the heart of the city. As long as Ludwig went to school, he would stay here, and as long as Gilbert was Gilbert, Ludwig would have to deal with his company whenever he was around. He was content with his life. The only big issue was the limited space the dogs received.

Feliciano standing in his kitchen with his Prada sunglasses, though, was a sight unto itself. Ludwig had tentatively asked about why the suit, forgetting he had been to St. Hedwig's earlier, and the young man had spontaneously burst into song of "un vestito gessato sul blu, e la moviola la domenica in TV" as he prepared a pan and searched for sauce, canines swarming around him. Ludwig tried to help and keep his excited pets from jumping too much, but was only shooed away, which strung his nerves even thinner. He crashed on the couch and tried to catch his breath, wondering how and why it had all come to this. Aster snapped up and licked him all over the face, and Berlitz was barking every time the oven timer beeped in reminder. Blackie was—impossibly—snoozing, under the table. Feliciano seemed happy, watching over his food the whole time with the most concentration Ludwig had seen him use yet. But then again, Ludwig was watching over Feliciano the whole time.

They both came to pet and feed the puppies while waiting for the lasagne to cook. Feliciano and the dogs had finally gotten used to each other, and the tacklings to the floor had become less frequent. Ludwig even laughed as Feliciano tried to mimic Berlitz's barking, which set off a chain reaction of howling and caused the downstairs neighbors to pound on the ceiling in irritation (he would make sure to apologize to them later). Ludwig gave Feliciano a small tour of the small apartment on request—maybe it was a thing rich Italians were accustomed to—and then tried to find out more about his job. However, they were interrupted by the oven timer going off.

Feliciano dashed the three meters to the kitchen. "Ah!" he exclaimed when opening the oven, and Ludwig almost fainted at the heavenly smell. "It is not like real lasagne because of the instant noodles and everything," Feliciano warned, holding up the finished product for all to bask in the glory of, "but I hope you like!"

Ludwig didn't care about the disclaimer, but it didn't matter anyway. He wolfed down seconds, thirds, and fourths. The frighteningly-domestic dinner table setting was completely silent as they ate. He thought himself a rather proficient cook, and had only broken down and eaten cereal all day thrice in his college career, but this lasagne was somehow new. New and beautiful. "Do they all cook like this where you come from?" he asked once he had finished, feeling bloated and calmed. "I mean—sorry—I mean to say thank you very much for the food."

Feliciano laughed, stretching out his arms. "Of course we do, haha! Maybe I should have been a professional cook instead. Oh, well! I am happy you like it!"

There it was again, the little blip in Feliciano's words that made Ludwig resurface and wonder again what he was doing here. He leaned back in his seat, sighing. Should he voice his thoughts? Would it ruin this—whatever this was?

A voice in the back of his head whispered This is a date.

And yet Ludwig still had to know.

So he said it. "You are not really a cat-walker or taxi driver, are you?"

Feliciano's relaxed smile froze on his face. Carefully, he said, "I am a cat-walker and taxi driver, yes, that is my job? Sorry?"

Ludwig persisted. "But you have not lived in Berlin for long, I am correct? I can tell, do believe me. And you have the expensive car. That Lamborghini Zum—" Something in his mind just then snapped into place, and Ludwig himself froze. "I—I remember."

There was silence, and then Feliciano's cell phone began to ring. This time, he didn't reach for it right away, trapped in Ludwig's stare. When Aster sauntered over and prodded his pocket, Feliciano finally broke and checked the screen.

"Let me guess," said Ludwig, "it is your brother."

"It is." His voice was quiet.

"Do you need to—"

"I'm sorry, it is important again. He was angry last time." Feliciano stood up, no longer smiling at all. "Um...I will be right back." He took a deep breath, then strode off into the living room. Ludwig remained at the table, stunned, and within a few seconds could hear distressed Italian seeping through the thin wall.

How could he have not known from the beginning? Ludwig rose, collecting their plates and silverware. Of course, a blurry news reel in a crowded bar shouldn't have remained so present in his memory, but it had only been a couple weeks. He set the utensils in the sink. Feliciano Vargas and the Lamborghini Zumata everyone wanted, why didn't I remember when we were at the garage? A lid was placed on the lasagne pan, and it was stored in the refrigerator for later. He wanted to look up the story online to be sure, but felt too guilty while Feliciano was right here. Mein Gott, what do I do with the car? Ludwig wiped the table off, then refilled the dogs' water bowls. He suddenly felt sick to his stomach from all the wonderful food. And he still had homework…

"Ludwig?" called Feliciano from the living room in a strained tone.

Without realizing he was already waiting to do so, Ludwig made his appearance in the room. Feliciano was on the couch in a visibly exhausted state, so Ludwig joined him. "What did Lovino say?"

Feliciano offered a shy smile. "His plane will arrive tomorrow at nine o'clock in the morning. We will meet in front of the Brandenburg Gate to give the car."

"Ah, das Brandenburger Tor? That is a very public place…"

He shrugged. "Lovino told me Grandpa thought it would be better that way, to be public. I do not know. He said that he 'talked to some people.' He knows what to do."

Ludwig sat back. Their shoulders were brushing. "Will you...tell me more? Who is your grandfather? Um, and would you like a beer first?"

Feliciano smoothed his hands over his pants, unable to sit still. He shook his head. "I prefer wine. Thank you." And then he began. "Grandpa is a car collector. He trades and sells cars, cars that cost a lot."

Ludwig nodded. "I have a grandfather that does that, too."

"Oh, really? Hm. Well, the Zumata was my grandpa's favorite, and it cost the most. He bought it right from Lamborghini company, I think. Is that true? I think. And, so, well…"

"You took it."

Feliciano nodded solemnly. "It is difficult to say. Grandpa told me after I took it that he was going to sell it. Maybe because he was mad. So then he told people he was only lending the car to me, but he did not know where I was going. I did not know where I was going either, hah! The first month was a big mess. Lovino was so angry. He still is angry. I miss him so much."

Ludwig considered this soup of controversy. "Wait...but why did you leave at all? You used to live where?"

"Rome," he said, a far-off look in his eyes. "I wish I could see it again—" His words stopped, and he looked down. "I am sorry, Ludwig. I lied when I said walking cats and driving people was my only job. I left Rome because of my other job. I hated it. I started it when I started university, because Lovino had the same job. It was fun at first, but it took up so much time and the people were mean and hard to understand sometimes! And so much pressure, and clothes."

"What was the job?"

Feliciano looked straight at him. "I was a professional male model."

"...Oh." Why did that make perfect sense? "T-That is probably why I think you are familiar. Maybe I have seen you befo—"

"Lovino liked it even less than me. A lot, he yelled at his manager! But my managers were even more difficult. There was a big...um, what do you say...contract! Coming up, and it was full-time and I have to get out of university, and I did not want to do that. I tried to quit the job. Grandpa would not let me. He said that I was too good to quit. So I ran away and I took the car. They thought—and I thought, too—that I would come back soon, but turned out I really like traveling and living here, so I stayed. I still miss home. But then something terrible happened! The paparazzi, you know, were trying to follow me, and sometimes they did catch me, or people would take pictures and tell the news. I hid the car in my hotel apartamento, and I used another car to drive taxi. But then I forgot to pay for the other car and they took it away, so for last week I used the Lamborghini. And I got caught. It was on TV, I think. And on the Internet. So Grandpa and Lovino got mad again and called me on my phone. Remember when we were at the park?"

"That was they who called you?"

"Lovino, yes. They want to take the car back for real, so my grandpa can sell it for real or maybe keep it again. I do not know."

Blackie climbed onto the couch, plopping right across their laps. Ludwig absently began to pet his dog, still thinking it over. He could definitely see how the ordeal was embarrassing. If something like that had happened in his own grandfather's business, the hell would be paid immediately, and any skirmish would be shut down and painted over as easily as the graffiti on the streets outside. It seemed like Feliciano's grandfather was less effective, or maybe just more busy.

Ludwig had been told by a lot of foreigners he had met that he had a naturally strong, threatening voice, so he asked as softly as he could manage, "How do you feel about this? Where will you go?"

Feliciano met his eyes again, and Ludwig could see that his soft brown irises were rimmed in red, a thin layer of tear stretched over them. "I do not feel good about this. I want to see my family very badly…but I do not think they want to see me as much as they want to see the Zumata." He brought his head down to rest on Ludwig's shoulder. "It is so awful. I am so sorry."

Ludwig reached an arm around to awkwardly pat Feliciano's shoulder. It was the same way when Gilbert got depressed and tired, or came home drunk. He attempted to say the right thing. "Um…it's okay. I am sure they will be happy to see you after so long, right?"

A small sniffle. "I think I want to go with them. Rome is my home." He offered up soft, noncommittal laughter. "But, I don't know if I will stay all the time. I like lots of places. Do you think you will ever leave Berlin?"

"I...I don't know." Ludwig and his family used to take trips out into Germany's countryside when they were little, and he could fondly remember quaint villages, castles, and lots of trees. Gilbert always seemed to be going places and crossing borders, and though Ludwig had come with him a few times, he was still content where he was. "Maybe after school."

"Ah, right. School." Feliciano scratched behind Blackie's ears. The dog closed its eyes, content. "How is school?"

Tastefully dull, yet all-encompassing and stressful at the same time. "I have a lot of work. Very much. But the work I do is…interesting. Sometimes." He realized that this was a whole new social experiment in itself. Quieter, he admitted, "I think I should have been in engineering instead, but it is now too late to change."

"What? I don't think so. You can always do more, right?"

"Maybe. I don't know."

Feliciano kept his head balanced on Ludwig's shoulder, but didn't say anything more. Ludwig was afraid to move, but only uncomfortable at how much the conversation was making him doubt himself. Maybe it was time to do something else. He never thought he'd be the one to bring about the distraction, and yet his mouth was opening, and he was asking "Would you like to see my favorite graffiti painting?"

"Your favorite?" Feliciano sat up. Blackie rolled off of them quite gracefully, sneezed, and sauntered over to the food bowls. "Of course!"

"It is very close, near the bahnhof…"

"Ah, yes, yes, I should be getting home too. I'm sorry for staying so long."

"Oh, I don't mind," said Ludwig. Then he had to turn away to blush, again.

Feliciano eased himself off the couch, and then stretched like he had just woken from a siesta. He gave each of the dogs one last scratching behind the ears. "Bye bye, puppies! You keep the lasagne, Ludwig."

Oh, hell yes. "Thank you." Ludwig got up, slipping his phone into his pocket and reaching for his jacket. "Are you cold? Do you need—"

"I'm fine!" Feliciano remarked cheerfully. "This suit has wool and fur inside it that you cannot see! Versace autumn collection!"

Of course.

With one last heartfelt farewell to the dogs, they departed from the apartment. The nearest railway station was only a five-minute walk away, but Ludwig was sure they would find a way to draw out the journey. If Feliciano was leaving for his home tomorrow morning, then this might be the actual last time he ever saw Feliciano again. He felt more strongly about this goodbye than their previous one.

The sky was the color where blue met gray, and it was dark. Ludwig imagined that behind the darkness there were clouds. Quiet gusts of wind peeled through the city, startling the trees. The streetlights, few and far between, illuminated the passing cars and bicyclists, who all got friendly waves from Feliciano and returned confused stares themselves. Ludwig gestured for the two of them to turn the corner and cross the street. They were walking in a part of Berlin Ludwig knew very well, as he had to pass through it on his way to Humboldt Universität.

"Do you think Gilbert will be back?" asked Feliciano, a happy spring in his step. He seemed to always walk like he was ready to swivel and burst into dance at any moment.

Ludwig let out a small snort. "Probably not until one in the morning."

Feliciano skipped ahead of Ludwig, then turned around to face him, walking backwards. At Ludwig's raised eyebrows, he tilted his head and smirked. "I wish that I knew what he and you were speaking about at the garage."

Ludwig pretended to adjust his collar to hide his reaction to that comment. Offhandedly, he stated, "Um, Gilbert barely ever says anything important."

"Hm, really." Feliciano slowed his pace, narrowly avoiding a bench he was about to crash into. "You know, you are not bad speaking English at all."

He grunted. "English is hard to translate, maybe."

"Yes, I understand. Maybe." It could have been the light, or the wind, but it looked as if Feliciano had winked.

Ludwig's heart seemed to be pumping an unnecessary amount of blood for this short walk. Amongst the street signs, warning signs were popping up everywhere—Thisisflirting!Heisflirtingwithme!OhGottwhatdoIevendo!Help!

He reached out and tapped Feliciano's arm. "Look out, the street is right there. We turn this way."

And then he mustered every last reserve of courage into full preparedness, and took Feliciano's hand as they crossed.

Feliciano made a little noise, but immediately intertwined their fingers. Cars sped past them. It wasn't uncommon in Kreuzberg to see two guys holding hands, really, he guessed, and Ludwig was feeling pretty proud of himself—this was maybe one of the boldest things he'd ever done? No. Yeah. Let Gilbert see him now. Yeah.

He led Feliciano off the road, where a small pseudo-park lined the sidewalk. Streetlamps were haphazardly placed, making it even darker under the cover of all the trees. There was a canal running through the area, and if they listened carefully they could hear the water lapping against its concrete restrictions. And across the murky canal waters was where the mural waited.

The painting had faded, but it was long and bordered by numerous other tags and designs, so it stood out. They stopped right in front of it, where two stone benches were placed, and Feliciano softly said, "Wow."

Ludwig wasn't much into art, but this work's meaning could strike true to anyone. What looked like a line of paper dolls—attached at the wrists and feet, organized in alternating genders—was painted in stark black outline against the wall. Inside the shapes, detailed roughly but clearly, was a world map. Continents and oceans stretched into the dolls' bodies, until it all faded away at both ends in a vague green-blue haze. The painting needed no caption.

"Do you know who did this?" Feliciano questioned.

"No. I saw it first when I was in last year of Gymnasium. I used to live on the other side of town with my grandfather. It is a little silly."

"I don't think so." Feliciano took a step away from him, stretching out their limbs so they were lined up with two of the humanoid figures. "It is magnificent!"

A whooshing noise was heard out among the wind and the the cars. It got closer and closer, until the train was right on top of them, making the trees curl and seeming to blur the mural under it. Ludwig turned to Feliciano. "I bet that is your train."

"I bet it is! Let's go!" Feliciano took off, hauling Ludwig behind him. He had to shout up directions.

They raced through the park, past more and more canal murals, and emerged onto an intersection adjacent to the bahnhof. Feliciano dragged his other arm across the stone barrier fence, pointed at a lone statue in awe, and kept going under a bridge. There were no cars, so they cut across the intersection and stopped by the bike racks outside of the station gate.

"I will see you tomorrow morning to get the Zumata, okay?" said Feliciano. "Thank you very much for helping me."

Ludwig began to nod, then stopped, then pushed his hair back. "It was no trouble," he said, despite the long afternoon and the things they had still left unfinished. "Er, thank you for the meal."

"I am glad you liked it!" He bounced back and forth, then came to a halt, looking down at his shoes. "Yes, um, tomorrow when I meet my family, will you come with me please?"

"What? You want me to meet your family?" Already?

Feliciano shied away from meeting his eyes. "I want to show grandpa that I got the car fixed. I think...I think Lovino knows that I have kept the car at my hotel, and...well...I have."

Oh. Ludwig's jaw loosened, but his stomach didn't stop turning. He felt bad for Feliciano again, that he was so concerned about what his relatives thought of him, and had to prove to them that he, an adult, could do things on his own. But then again, he had stolen the car and run away in the first place, so…

Ludwig nodded. "Okay. I will come and tell that the car is fine." I will come and meet your rich Italian family, whom I would have had no idea existed if I hadn't met you yesterday by accident in the park. Oh, well, it would give him one last chance to see Feliciano before he left.

"Thank you! Thank you. Okay. Good." He went back to bouncing. "You are very nice, Ludwig. Tomorrow!"

Ludwig wasn't sure what to say to this. "Um, goodbye, then!"

Feliciano gave him another one of those I'm-definitely-a-model smiles, and then dashed up the stairs to catch his train.

Before

Rome, on a humid, mid-summer's night

Feliciano pushed through a crowd of hairdressers. "Grandpa! Grandpa!"

"It's okay, it's okay! All we need is your signature, signore," said the manager, chasing after him.

Feliciano finally spotted his grandfather. He was standing under the wide window in the mansion's foyer, and looked like he was trying and failing to break up an argument between Lovino and Lovino's manager. Feliciano dashed over, the young woman huffing behind him.

"Grandpa! I need to talk with you! Right now, please!"

His grandfather turned for a second, but all he did was give Feliciano a curt smile and turn back. Lovino was pounding his fist on the decorative side table, shaking the flower vase and shouting something incoherent while his manager squirmed on the settee.

"Grandpa!" Feliciano reached him, interrupting the argument and tugging on his grandfather's tailored suit jacket sleeve.

"Feliciano." Grandpa gently brushed him off. "I will speak with you in a second, okay? We're kind of in the middle of something—"

"—and for the last time, stop calling me that! I am a professional, damn you!"

"I'm so sorry, dear Lovi, it's just—"

"You did it again! You absolute bastard!"

"NO! It cannot wait!" shrieked Feliciano. Everyone stopped.

"Sir, sir, please." Feliciano's manager arrived, the flares of her pantsuit swishing. She was huffing and cursing to herself presumably in her native Hungarian, fixing the stylish flower perched in her hair. "There is no need for this. You look wonderful!"

Feliciano's second manager showed up out of nowhere. "Indeed," he added, stern and flustered. "Fashion week is right around the corner!"

"What is going on?" Grandpa stepped back. "Feliciano, of course you are going to fashion week. Do you not want to see London, Milan, Paris—New York? What, what is he saying?" he demanded to the managers.

"We're shooting in five!" someone across the room shouted. "Cinque minuti!"

The second manager heaved a great sigh and straightened his glasses. He said slowly, "The contract clearly states—"

"University!" Feliciano protested wildly, waving his arms and accidentally knocking Lovino's manager's hand off the settee armrest. "Grandpa, I would miss too much! They won't let me! I need—"

"What you need is to calm down, child." Grandpa put his hands on Feliciano's shoulders. It was a comforting gesture, but it did not make Feliciano feel calm. "It will be alright. I'll talk to the school—aren't there online classes these days? It is only a short time. You will be fine."

Lovino snorted. "The kid does not want to do fashion week? Hah, keep wishing!"

Feliciano shook his guardian away. "It is not only a short time! I read the paper!" He pointed accusingly at his male manager, who threw a hand to his heart and gasped.

The female manager approached Feliciano, absently fixing where his hair had gotten mussed. "Feliciano, do not worry!" she chided. "You will just love the outfits I have helped picked for you! You look so handsome in pictures!"

Grandpa carefully nodded. "I read the papers too, Feliciano, and you have a good team. I believe in you. It is okay to give your signature."

Feliciano stumbled backwards. Everyone was speaking English for the convenience of the managers, but he couldn't seem to make sense any of the words at all. "I do not want to give my signature!"

Lovino's manager shook his head sadly. "Poor child."

"And I am not a child!" Feliciano felt his voice jump up a few distressed notes. "I can decide on my own self!"

Grandpa loosened his tie. "Feliciano, what you are going to do is you are going to apologize to your managers, finish this show, and then think about it again when you feel better."

Lovino stood up. "Oh, hell, you are really so helpful, aren't you, old man?!"

"Lovino! I said no more cursing!"

What Lovino spat at his grandfather next made Lovino's manager flinch and both of Feliciano's managers to turn away in disgust. The three-way shouting match between Grandpa, Lovino, and Lovino's manager resumed, and Feliciano was left to just stand there and watch, his lip trembling and throat aching.

"We're shooting in one minute, people!" the person from the other end of the foyer shouted. "Un minuto!"

Feliciano turned to his male manager. "Can you bring me water, please?"

The man humphed and fixed his embroidered jabot. "Disgraceful! You still owe me an apology!"

The female manager rushed back over, this time with a pretty girl wearing an exotic dress in tow. "Feliciano? Feliciano! This is your partner, okay! Stand next to her and hold her arm like this and smile big—oh, I have a call coming in, hang on…" She turned and hollered in a war cry, "Roma! It's Beilschmidt on the line again..."

Feliciano took the modella's arm and felt miserable, even when she gave him her name and a flirtatious grin. For not the first time since beginning this job, he longed to be anywhere than here.

There was a giant crash across the room. Lovino had broken a vase.

"Adesso!"

After

Berlin

Feliciano was the most excited and elated he had been in months. His phone had been going off all morning with calls from his family and another unidentified number, but he didn't want to answer them. He was too busy packing all his things into a durable Louis Vuitton case and buying his first-class, one-way plane ticket to Rome. And besides, he was tired of communicating through a cell phone. When he spoke to his family next, he wanted to do it in person.

Oh, now he couldn't wait to see them! Lovino! Grandpa!

Feliciano checked out of his hotel apartment. He felt some nostalgia, having stayed here for almost a month, but passed it off with happy thoughts. He told the cute lady at the desk that he might stay here again the next time he visited, and she nodded and politely wished him well. He caught transit to the station nearest Beilschmidt Autoreparatur.

Missing these Kreuzberg streets and the Berlin atmosphere would take a toll on him, but he knew he would come back. There was more here for him than freedom now.

Ten minutes later, Feliciano was standing outside the garage. "Ludwig!" He knocked on the office door three times. "Are you ready? Ludwig!" He knocked thrice more.

A beat passed, and the door eased open. Gilbert Beilschmidt stood in the threshold, blocking the entrance.

"Oh, guten Tag!" Feliciano chirped happily. "Can I come in? Is Ludwig ready?"

Gilbert got an eyeful of the outfit Feliciano had chosen to wear that day—a haute-couture blazer, slim-fitted khaki capris, a purple silk scarf, bright red loafers and an Armani watch—and slowly broke into a grin. "Just where are you going on this good day?"

From inside the garage came a deep German yell.

Feliciano bit his lip. "We are meeting my family at Brandenburg Gate. I need my car!"

"Car, yes." Gilbert opened the door just barely wide enough for Feliciano and his suitcase to squeeze through. "Brandenburg Gate?"

Ludwig appeared around the corner in fresh clothes, giving his brother a stern look (really, his stern face wasn't much different from his normal face). "Vergiss es, Gilbert!"

"Buongiorno, Ludwig!" Feliciano held up his suitcase and other hand in greeting. "Are you ready?"

Gilbert crossed his leather-covered arms. "I want to ride in the car!"

Feliciano thought for a second. "Okay! There are seats in the back!"

"There are?" asked Ludwig, perplexed. Then he shook his head. "No, Gilbert, nein!"

Gilbert was already climbing into the Zumata, over the front seats, tossing a taunt over his shoulder.

Ludwig hopelessly looked back at Feliciano. "Well?"

Feliciano smiled. "It is okay. He can come too, if it is fun for him. It will be very fun!" He crossed over to the front of the car, opening the trunk. Fortunately, there was just enough room for his suitcase to fit, and absolutely nothing else. "You have the keys?"

"Ah, yes!" Ludwig opened the garage door, then retrieved the set of keys from the lockbox where they were kept. But before he dropped them into Feliciano's open palm, he hesitated. "You…you are alright with driving? You know where Brandenburg Gate is, yes?"

"Of course!" Feliciano snatched up the keys, giving them a confident jangle. "I am an excellent driver! No speed limits in Germany, right? Haha!"

"What?"

"Get in!" Feliciano graciously flipped open the passenger side door. "You can sit up in front by me!"

Gilbert said something and made some gestures from the backseat, which they both ignored.

Ludwig still looked doubtful, and a little green as he stared emotionlessly at the black, black interior of the car. "I do not think I will fit."

"You can find a way!" Feliciano crossed over to his own door, admiring how nice the front of the vehicle looked without the dent marring it up. He was itching to take them for a ride.

After some stretching and squeezing, Ludwig was able to buckle his seat belt. Feliciano had to help him close the door. Then, the moment they were all waiting for; Feliciano plunged in the key and revved the engine.

Both Gilbert and Ludwig jumped at the noise.

"It's like a blender, right? A machine!" Feliciano pushed louder, laughing at the feral roaring noise. No one else did. With glee, he rolled the Lamborghini out of the garage. The drive felt a little…tight at first, but that was probably just Feliciano getting used to it again. No one asked if they should close the garage door, so Feliciano assumed it didn't matter.

"Fun, yes?" Feliciano honked the horn for good measure, whooping. A pedestrian down the street turned, saw them, and started walking fast in the opposite direction.

Gilbert and Ludwig started talking in panicked, rapid German while Feliciano pulled the car onto the street. He reached down over the green, white, and red-colored tabs to turn on the radio. An electronic station came on. Coasting along, Feliciano rolled his window down and sped up, so the wind could really tickle through his hair. He loved to drive. His grandpa had always organized a limo for him, or made him use the Vespa, but it wasn't the same as a real car like this. He could feel the engine pulsing behind them, the acceleration when he wiggled his toes on the pedal, the trees shaking as they zoomed by—it was beautiful.

They cruised through an intersection. "Let us hold hands again!" Feliciano proclaimed, reaching across to rest his hand on Ludwig's arm.

"No!" Ludwig practically shouted, grabbing Feliciano's hand and throwing it back at the wheel in one big flinch. "No. Drive." Feliciano looked over and saw that he was shaking.

"Okay!" Feliciano drove. "Hey, look! The market! The are preparing for tomorrow!"

"Eyes at the road!" Gilbert shouted from the back of the Zumata.

"It is so cool!"

A large truck sped past them, wildly honking its horn.

Feliciano honked back. "Guten Tag to you, too!"

He swerved around a construction crew, feeling powerful and important. The dial of the speedometer was representative of his joy—the faster he went, the better he felt. Lovino and Grandpa were probably at the Gate already, waiting for him! Feliciano put the pedal to the metal, and it was like a sonic boom echoed across the city. Gilbert yelped, turning whiter than ever before. Feliciano was grinning, reaching around for his sunglasses and trying to turn up the music at the same time when from Ludwig came a great cry—

"WATCH OUT FOR THAT PERSON!"

There were multiple screams.

Brakes squealed, and Feliciano swore he could taste the burning rubber. The Zumata skidded, lurched, and finally jolted to a stop a centimeter from the white lines that indicated a pedestrian crossing zone. A short man stood frozen in the middle of the street, hunched into a protective position, covering his face.

Feliciano was out the door in two seconds flat, both Germans yelling at him in two languages. "Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh!" he exclaimed, bringing his hands to his face. The man did not move. "Are you okay? I am so sorry! Hello? Hello? Guten Tag?"

Another tense second passed, and then the man slowly, slowly removed his arms. He looked down at himself—he was wearing a typical business dress shirt and pants, unmarred by blood stains and metal debris—and then slowly, slowly glanced back up at Feliciano. He then looked at the car, blinked, and looked back.

Feliciano approached, studying the man more intently. He then stopped, and gasped. "Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh oh my gosh o mio Dio it's you! I almost ran you over, haha!" He gasped again, laughing with joy. "I cannot believe it!"

The man heaved a great sigh, sweeping his dark hair out of his tired face. "Kon'nichiwa, Mr. Vargas."

"Ciao, ciao, ciao!" Feliciano jumped up and down, in time with all the car horns honking behind them and the frustrated German yelling. "Mr. Honda, Mr. Honda, you see my car? Look, right? I am giving it back today! Oh, today is a very good day, yes, yes! Do you want a ride? There is space! We have been having fun, lots of fun! Oh, you have to meet my friend Ludwig—well maybe we are more than friends but I do not know in English what that means—and Gilbert is there too! Mr. Honda, you have to come on ride with us! We will see my family at Brandenburg Gate and you have to come! You are my favorite customer!"

Mr. Honda—all Feliciano knew him by—only stared and waited, his eyes growing bigger by the second. Feliciano decided to help by taking his arm and dragging him to the car. He did not like this and tried to break free, shouting "No English, please!" but Feliciano would not relent, knowing better. Mr. Honda, ever since they had met when he had flagged Feliciano down in the rain, had shown great interest in the Lamborghini Zumata. He had endured the entirety of Feliciano's run-away story, probably not understanding the majority of it, but nodding along and exchanging phone numbers with him anyway. He had ridden in the car at least three times, spoken a lot in a mix of Japanese and English car terms, and always seemed to have a handful of papers on hand that he occasionally asked Feliciano to sign.

And now Mr. Honda sat in the back of the Zumata next to Gilbert, still protesting gibberish, and looking very worried.

"You are blocking the street, Feliciano!" Ludwig informed, pointing behind them. "And who is this? You almost hit that man; why is he coming in?"

"Yes, yes, SORRY, PERSONS, FOR BLOCKING YOU!" Feliciano stood backwards on his seat and addressed the traffic behind them before getting back in the car and closing the door. "This is Mr. Honda! He is my friend!"

Mr. Honda began to shake his head fervently, inching away from them all and clutching his briefcase to his chest.

Ludwig made a face, scrutinizing Mr. Honda. "Do I know you?"

Feliciano started up the Zumata again, and more growling noises ensued. "Wow, Ludwig, do you Germans say that to everyone you meet?"

"No! Ahh, hurensohn—slow down!"

Gilbert had his head in his hands, hood up, and it looked as if he were praying.

Mr. Honda carefully opened his mouth and tried his best to explain. "I do job…"—he gestured at the vehicle surrounding them—"car. Japan." He thought for a second, then opened his briefcase and extracted one of those official-looking papers Feliciano could never read and displayed it for all to see like it explained everything.

"You...sell...buy...exchange...repair...cars? And you're from Japan…" Ludwig lit up, slamming his fist against his knee in triumph which startled Feliciano and caused him to hit a pothole. "You are the man from the bar at Oktoberfest!"

Gilbert looked up. "You sell...Honda cars?"

Mr. Honda stared. "My name is Honda."

"Huh? You are the Honda?"

"Yes?"

"Wow—awesome!"

"Almost there!" Feliciano warned. Trees zoomed past him, and he wanted to know where the sky opened up again. He was proud, having cut an estimated fifteen-minute drive down to maybe seven minutes, with time to pick up a passenger, as well. Ahead of him, the road was clear except for the parked cars on the sides that rattled when the Zumata roared past. "We could get there early!" He swiveled back to look at Mr. Honda. "Are you happy with your taxicab driver service? I can get us there even faster!"

Mr. Honda began to hyperventilate.

Ludwig placed a comforting hand on Feliciano's shoulder. Feliciano tried to look over at him, but was sternly told again to keep his eyes on the road. "You can do this. Keep going, and it is up there. Slow. You can do this." He repeated this mantra over and over.

"I know where I am going, do not worry!" The trees fell away, and Feliciano was delighted to see the sky above the monstrous concrete buildings. It was sunnier now than it was that morning, and he took that as a good sign. The nice weather, the happy people in his car—it was God telling Feliciano that everything would be alright. He sat back in the beautiful leather seat and closed his eyes in complacency.

"Open your eyes!"

Ludwig was right. The Brandenburg Gate was just ahead, and they could see the side of the stone goliath from a kilometer down the divided highway. As the car progressed down the road, a news truck also became visible.

Feliciano swept his hair back, but the wind blew it forward once more. "Grandpa and Lovino are there! We are late!"

"You do not have to go faster, we are not late!" Ludwig insisted. "Be slow when you come to this part, there are lots of cars!"

And Feliciano did slow down. Just a little. The rest of the scene was becoming clear. He could see two limousines—why there were two, he did not know—stretched out under a light post, and a polizei car nearby, monitoring. They were facing the backside of the giant facade and could see occasional groups of people through the six gargantuan walls. And Eirene with her three-horse chariot on top—how majestic! Feliciano was having a hard time concentrating simultaneously on the gate, the road, and his grandfather and older brother stepping out of one of the limos right now.

He brought the Zumata down to the quietest speed he could manage, suddenly not wanting to be driving anymore. And the weird pulling feeling the car was giving him? He watched his family watch him approach. They couldn't see him through the sleek dark windshield, but he could see, even from a distance, that they were both dressed in formal attire, standing uncomfortably next to each other on the stone slope. Grandpa had his hands casually placed in his suit pockets, but Lovino's hands were clenched in fists, his arms rigid-straight against the sides of his pink pants.

Mr. Honda dared to lean forward in his seat and tap Feliciano on the shoulder. "Um, Mr. Vargas?"

Except Mr. Vargas could not register anything but the expressions his relatives were making as the distance between them closed, however slowly. The Zumata was at snail speed now. A car behind them honked its horn.

Gilbert tapped on the console. "Fast!"

Ludwig was sweating. "Don't tell him that!"

Feliciano watched as a woman holding a microphone disembarked from the news vehicle, another person with a camera following her. They looked poised to report, but were waiting for his car to turn onto the wide stone platform that surrounded the Gate. The wind was still. And then, across the area, a chauffeur pulled open the door to the second limousine. A man Feliciano had never seen before stepped out.

The wind outside picked up again, blowing the stranger man's distinctive long blond hair out behind him.

Ludwig and Gilbert traded identical gasps, and began speaking confusedly in their own language.

"Mr. Vargas!" Mr. Honda tapped the back of the seat with a clipboard he had pulled from his briefcase.

Another car honked behind the Lamborghini, and Feliciano finally turned off the main curved road and onto the stone semicircle. He could see his family's faces clearly now; Lovino's mouth was set in a tense perfect line, and Grandpa looked uneasy but professional as he scratched his stylish facial hair. Feliciano eased the car into a complete stop in the center of the sidewalk, that annoying flop commotion dying down. Feliciano could feel everyone's eyes on him as he turned the car off, the flashy red exterior lights fading to black. He was used to being watched—the zealous eyes and the dazzling cameras came in any model's job description. But he was not a model anymore. And that meant he didn't have to care.

Feliciano flung off his seatbelt and threw open the door, stumbling when his feet first touched the ground, but then regaining his balance. He leapt across the public square and seized his brother in his arms.

At first, Lovino protested. "Get off me, you bastard!" But Feliciano was relentless when it came to hugging. He laughed, burying his nose into the patterned maroon suit jacket he knew Lovino's manager had probably had a say in. Eventually, the wiggling and the cursing stopped, and he felt Lovino's hands tightly on his back. Lovino whispered "You know I am mad at you for leaving me—I mean, us."

The cameras caught it, but weren't able to hear the words like Feliciano heard them. His heart clenched; he knew Lovino meant "I love you and I'm overjoyed you're back."

"I love you, too!" he whispered, kissing Lovino's cheek.

"Feliciano." Grandpa spoke up with a polite voice, stretched thin with whatever emotion he concealed beneath.

Feliciano gulped and let go of his brother, meeting his grandfather's eyes with uncertainty. He still had to look away. This was it. Quickly, he said, "I...I brought you your car. I fixed it up all nice, too. I'm sorry."

Grandpa just watched him. In vain, Feliciano gestured to the sparkling Lamborghini Zumata, which his friends were in the process of climbing out of. "This is Ludwig, Grandpa. He and his brother Gilbert fixed it. And this is Mr. Honda. He knows stuff about cars, too. They, um, helped. So I brought them along. I'm sorry if this is really hard for you. I know plane tickets are expensive and you probably had to wake up really really early and I'm sorry everyone's watching us and I'm sorry I was late—the roads are so clogged, you know?—and I didn't mean to cause such a mess, I really didn't, but things just happened all too fast and—"

"Feliciano," Grandpa repeated. He glanced at the news crowd once, then at the other crowd of curious pedestrians and tourists, then back at his grandson. He blew air from his nose, and then attempted not the smolderingly-attractive grin he was known for, but a lopsided smile. "You need to learn to talk slower so people can understand. I'm sure you can tell us the whole ordeal with the car later, okay? Right now I want to get you home."

"You...what…" Feliciano took a step back.

Grandpa leaned back as well. "You did pack your things, right? You're...coming home?"

Lovino scoffed. "He said he was last night."

Feliciano nodded carefully. Why was this so weird and hard? "I...And how did you organize for the car to get back?"

Grandpa massaged his temples. For the third time, he said, "Feliciano!" A stern look, this one much less often seen, passed over his face. "I just want to know if my grandson is okay! Do you realize how horrible you are at communication? I called you five times this morning! You…" He lowered his voice. "You barely told us anything when you left. It's been over a month, child."

Feliciano protested. "You didn't even try to find me! You didn't come! Because you didn't want to bother!"

"You were hiding! I barely knew where you were until last week, when the paparazzi found you! That's…that's not how it's supposed to be!" Grandpa was frustrated, his hands mussing up his dark curly hair. Feliciano had not seen him distressed like this in years. It was like the cameras were nonexistent, and that feeling had never happened before. "And what was I supposed to do? You made the choice to—to—to move out on your own, however unexpected and frightening it was! God, Feliciano, it doesn't hurt to tell people things once in awhile."

"I told you things. You wouldn't listen," Feliciano said, softly and full of regret. He was a horrible grandson and he knew it.

Grandpa covered his face with his hands, and took a deep breath. Finally, he leaned down until he was level with Feliciano. "I know I didn't listen. And I'm sorry about that. Look, I thought you were happy and I was wrong. I thought so many things, and I was wrong. But you're still my family, and I think we both owe it to each other—we both need a second shot after all of this."

Feliciano could only nod. "Y-Yes, please."

Grandpa stood to his full height and cleared his throat. "Would you…would you like to…" He closed his mouth and opened his arms, that lopsided smile reappearing.

Lovino snorted as Feliciano jumped into the hug. "We will talk about everything else later," Grandpa told him. "Also, hey, I like your outfit. Also, I want you to tell me why all these people were in the car with you. Are these all your boyfriends?"

Feliciano pulled back, unable to resist laughing. "No, Grandpa! I told you, they helped with the car!"

Grandpa surveyed the lot. Ludwig and Gilbert looked like they had woken up on another planet, and were standing near the front of the Zumata commenting to each other in stiff, puzzled German. Mr. Honda still clutched his briefcase. He had drifted over to the news crew, probably trying to see if the translator spoke Japanese, too. "Really? Not even one of them?"

Feliciano teasingly poked him in his broad, dress shirt-covered chest. "Ssh, Grandpa. We will talk later."

"Gotta be kidding me." Lovino rolled his eyes. "Freaking Germans, Feliciano, really?"

Gilbert took a step forward, pointing between Feliciano and Lovino. Ludwig made an attempt to stop him. "I did not know there are two of you!" he called in English to Feliciano.

"Who's this lowlife joker?" Lovino snarled in Italian to Feliciano. Quieter, he snorted out, "Jesus Christ, we look nothing alike!"

Feliciano could only laugh. The other pedestrians seemed to have understood that this was a scene not intended for them, and were moving along, though still glancing over from time to time. The police were chatting with the news people. A soft breeze continued to blow, making the trees in the park across the street dance mesmerizingly. He turned to his Grandpa. "What do we do with the Zumata?"

Grandpa crossed his arms. "Yes. The Zumata."

An unfamiliar deep voice appeared. In heavily-accented English, it said, "Is that the car you are talking about, I assume? You forget, Roma Vargas, that we have unfinished business in that department."

Everyone turned. The man from the second limousine had approached them. He stood in an almost identical position as Grandpa, suit and all, with his arms crossed and his back straight. His face was cold sober. And Feliciano noticed, that with the flaxen hair color and stormy blue eyes…he looked a lot like Ludwig.

"Herr Beilschmidt. You still refuse to give up." Grandpa finally sighed.

"You still refuse to make things easy," Herr Beilschmidt noted. "And why do you have my grandchildren here? I never understand."

"Hallo, Opa!" Gilbert waved.

Herr Beilschmidt merely looked at him, then shook his head and turned back to Grandpa. They began a stumbling conversation—or more accurately, argument.

Feliciano backed out, dancing over to Ludwig. "This is your grandpa, like you told me? Your name is the same."

"...Yes," Ludwig confirmed, carefully, unmoving. "I do not know at all what he is doing here. Last time we talked, he was in Essen."

Gilbert kicked a pebble. "Essen."

Mr. Honda came back, appearing no less traumatized and weary. "Mr. Vargas, we finish talk." He nodded fiercely, conveying a gravity to the situation no one else was able to register. He picked the paper he had held up before out of his briefcase, attaching it to a clipboard. Both were shoved into Feliciano's hands, along with a pen.

Feliciano wasn't sure what he was supposed to do with it all until Mr. Honda pointed to a thin line at the bottom of the page and said "Name."

"Wait, what is this for?" He asked, scanning the words. Japanese characters titled everything, with smaller subtitles in English underneath. The language tone must have been very formal and important, because it was a little hard for Feliciano to decipher. A familiar Japanese logo was stamped in the top corner of the paper. "This is...official, like the others?"

Mr. Honda nodded. "Car. Official, yes." He glanced down at his cell phone. Google Translate was open. "Final. Last. Last final document."

Ludwig looked over Feliciano's shoulder, reading the paper. "Are you giving him the car?"

"I do not really know what I'm doing," Feliciano said as he signed his name on the line. "He talked with me about this before. I think he wants to help."

"Help with…what, exactly?"

Lovino, who had been watching both conversations back and forth, suddenly stomped over. "Alright, what the hell is going on?" He snatched the paper from Feliciano's hands, glanced over it for a long minute, then plunked it back into Feliciano's arms. "You idiot! You did! You just sold him the car!" He laughed disbelievingly, throwing his hands up. "I can't believe this! We're right here!"

Grandpa halted mid-speak. "What?"

Herr Beilschmidt echoed, "What?"

"No, no, I don't think so…" Feliciano scanned the document again, then looked back at Mr. Honda helplessly. "I just gave you the car?"

Mr. Honda nodded, but looked confused. "I have money…"

Grandpa stomped over. "Money? He is buying the car. How? He cannot do that… The car is not Feliciano's to…sell… Oh, wait, yes it is, I remember, I gave it to him."

Herr Beilschmidt rubbed his chin. "I understand. You gave the car to your child, so he gave it to this man. But your child will get the money…"

A perturbed beat passed in which they seemed to come to a conclusion.

Grandpa suddenly raised his fist in triumph. "And that means you can't have it, Beilschmidt! This...this fixes everything!"

Herr Beilschmidt coughed.

"What?" Feliciano and Lovino exclaimed at the same time in the English everyone had switched over to. Then they looked away and awkwardly covered their mouths.

Grandpa began to rant to them in Italian, his tone unclear. "This man's been after my business for years, boys, like you wouldn't believe. And the prized Zumata, always at the top of his list. I bought it right out from under his nose fifteen years ago—don't you remember, Feliciano, you even came with me that first time to Berlin I think—and he's been trying to get back at me ever since. When he heard it was on the market again, of course he wanted to get it back. But I forgot that—"

Feliciano had to interrupt, or he knew his head was going to explode. "Grandpa! Are you not mad?"

Mr. Honda meanwhile was hyperventilating again.

Grandpa snatched up the document. "No, no, I think I'm proud. I think. A little disgruntled, but it was my mistake in the first place letting the world know you had it...and…it looks like the Lamborghini Zumata is now property of some conglomerate corporation in Japan. Sneaky bastards. Oh well. Maybe it's better that it's far away from all of us." He frowned at Feliciano, as if he was trying to convince himself, too. "I hated that car more and more with every week that went by. We'll just get another one. How about that?"

Feliciano sighed, feeling dizzy and euphoric. He put a hand on Ludwig's shoulder to steady himself. "Okay. Okay. I think I just want to leave now."

Lovino groaned, glaring unabashed at Ludwig. "No kidding. I hate this place."

Herr Beilschmidt's face was a mask of conflict. He took a deep breath, then muttered something in German that even Feliciano could tell meant, "Damn Italians." He said something else to Ludwig and Gilbert, beckoning them to him with a hand, but neither moved. Gilbert said something, Ludwig nudged him and said something else, and Herr Beilschmidt nodded. He began to walk away.

Grandpa meditated for a second, then chased after his business rival. He called back to the boys, "Hop in the limo when you're ready!"

Lovino put his hands on his hips, a common pose he was told to strike. "That's it?"

"That's it, I guess," Feliciano stated. He switched back to English and repeated the phrase. "That's it." His brain throbbed from all the switching.

"What just happened?" Ludwig questioned. "Was that—was your grandfather alright with selling the car?"

Feliciano scratched his collar. "I think so. I am happy. But it is like everyone is going crazy."

And then it happened. Right then of all times. Mr. Honda just simply...lost it. He went crazy. He dropped the clipboard on the ground safely, then hurled his briefcase to the stones next to it. "Sore o norou, Sonī!" he lamented to the sky. He reached to his belt and extracted some sort of ID card, tossing that away, too. He gave each item a firm stomp with his loafer.

Feliciano rushed over. "What's wrong, Mr. Honda?"

Mr. Honda shook his head firmly. "No. My name is Kiku." Then he walked over to the Lamborghini, sitting still and pretty, and kicked its front driver-side tire. "Bad, bad, bad."

The tire was unmistakably flat.

Of course, Feliciano thought, remembering the trouble.

Ludwig cursed. "I...I must have forgotten...was it on the record? We spent so long getting the dent out…" He blushed, guilty like he had gotten caught at the wrong Kreuzberg bar.

Gilbert simply shrugged, remarked, "I call for help," as if it was his responsibility to do so in the first place, and sauntered off.

"What are you going to do, um, Kiku?" asked Feliciano, touching the man's arm.

Kiku Honda's eyes were bright with some emotion that for once wasn't evident trepidation or exhaust. "No job." He loosened his tie. "No work! No!" He looked delighted, and gradually his breathing became calm. "Now…" A breeze blew through his hair, his eyes finding a spot off in the distance to stare at. Feliciano and Ludwig were rapt as Kiku took a deep breath, and then declared as if the matter had already been settled, "I take…a vacation."

"Oh. Have fun!"

Kiku bent and retrieved the clipboard with the document proof, but left his briefcase on the ground. He dialed a number on his phone and let it ring as he walked away. He held his head high. They shared one last Goodbye wave.

"Well," announced Ludwig. "That was very sudden."

"I am still happy," mused Feliciano. "It is weird, but everything became...okay. Mr. Kiku is finding his own way now. I think. I hope I see him again."

"What about...our grandfathers?" Ludwig asked, his tone ambiguous. "I think my Opa is concerned at me. I don't know what to…" He paused to clear his throat, meeting Feliciano's eyes, then glancing away. "I guess...I go back to school after this."

Feliciano felt it then, the weight of what he would leave behind. It made his heart feel heavy, and not a comfortable kind of heavy like before. Across the common, Lovino leaned against the Vargas limousine, watching them. Gilbert sat on the curb, muttering aimlessly into the phone, his eyes on the Zumata. Herr Beilschmidt and Roma Vargas were finally being interviewed by the newspeople, and by the way they kept interrupting each other, Feliciano could guess this event wouldn't make much of a story. The Brandenburg Gate gleamed above them in the light of the bright, early morning sun.

Behind them was a boulevard of linden trees. North of them was the Reichstag building. In front of them was a multitude of people, and beyond them was an entire city practically oblivious to what was happening now. Feliciano shivered, looking up at Ludwig. "You know, you and your brother could be models, too like us brothers. You are a very handsome person."

Ludwig looked down, but he was smiling the widest smile Feliciano had seen him wear yet. "Thank you, but I don't think that job is for me."

"It is never too late to change anything…" Feliciano sang to him. He instinctively grabbed both Ludwig's hands, surprising them both. "I will send you lots of lasagne in the mail, okay? You have to write down your address. And...and I want you to take a picture of the...wall...thing...mural! And send it to my phone. Do you have my phone number?"

Ludwig cleared his throat. "Er, yes."

"Good! And when I come visit again, I will have lots of gifts for your puppies! Ooh! I should make a lasagne for them, too?"

Ludwig's face lit up even more. It was so handsome. "They like gifts very much! Um, thank you!"

Feliciano jumped up and down. "Good, sì, good!" His heart felt nice and light again, as if it would float away at any second. "Ludwig, I want to kiss you now! Oh!" He stopped jumping, stunned. "I just said that out loud for real! Wow!"

Ludwig blinked. He involuntarily squeezed Feliciano's hands. "You want to…"

"Yes!" No stopping now, no going back. "We met each other two days ago! Wow! Is that okay?"

"Um." He glanced around at everyone who was and wasn't watching them. "I...fine, I—ja—yes." His eyes fluttered shut. "I would like...for you...to...kiss me."

Feliciano remembered to breathe. "Okay."

A pause.

"Well, you are needing to come down here first so I can reach, Ludwig."

"Oh. Sorry."

Feliciano carefully held Ludwig's face, wanting to see his reaction. Ludwig's eyes were squeezed shut. Feliciano brought their lips together—oh, it felt fantastically gratifying and just nice to kiss him—and watched as Ludwig's eyes opened wide when they parted. "I will miss you," he said. softly.

Ludwig nodded. "Y-Yes. I-I mean, er…I will miss you, too."

Lovino hollered something from the limousine. Luckily or unluckily, his words were carried away by the wind.

Gibert swaggered over, bringing a boot up to rest on one of the Lamborghini's wheels. He crossed his arms, fake-pouting at Feliciano. "I get a kiss, too?"

Feliciano laughed it off, and Gilbert grinned. "Crazy kids."

Ludwig finally regained his composure, though his face was as pink as Lovino's pants. "You..called for help?" he said to Gilbert, using English.

"Nein. The Honda man takes care of it. I called Opa's drive and he told me to talk with him later. Then I called the news and told them I want to talk."

"Mein Gott, Bruder."

Feliciano laughed. "I guess that means we have to leave for real now. Um. Thank you very much for taking care of the car...and me. If I had another Lamborghini Zumata, I would give it to you!"

Ludwig caught a glimpse of his grandfather across the pavement, who was shaking his head at Grandpa as he stepped into his limousine. "We will see about that."

"So...um…" Everyone was leaving. Mr. Honda was already gone, probably to fly back to wherever he came, the police had deemed the situation unworthy of their time and had left, and now it was his turn. Grandpa was waving to Feliciano from the limo.

"It is amazing that your grandfather let you to give the car away so easy," acknowledged Ludwig.

"Yes," thought Feliciano. "But I think he will give me punishment later. I am kind of sad to say goodbye to the car, too." He looked at the Lamborghini Zumata and realized that none of this would have ever happened without it. It was the source of all their problems, complications...but it had also brought adventure and happiness into their lives. Or, rather, it had brought them to adventure and happiness. One car, impossibly worth more in memory than actual wealth. "I hope the people in Japan like it very much."

They crossed in front of the car, lifting the hatch to retrieve Feliciano's designer suitcase. It looked so lost on the cobblestone ground.

"Goodbye, Feliciano," said Ludwig kindly. "Do not miss your plane."

Feliciano hugged him. "I will see you soon!"

Ludwig smiled again, and it was then that Feliciano could finally turn away and run to the limousine, wanting Ludwig's smile to be the last thing he saw of Berlin, not even the car or the massive famed gate only meters from him. He felt like he was going to explode in allegria. Lovino was holding the black door open, and Feliciano just fell right in.

"Shit, you're such a hopeless romantic," Lovino scoffed, taking his place beside his brother. "Why do you do this."

Feliciano hugged his brother until he was silent. "Because life is beautiful, Lovino, and I really love you and I am so happy all of this happened even if it was a disaster!"

"Sure." Lovino turned away. On his face was a hidden smile.

"And when we get home, I'm going to draw a picture of the car, and Ludwig, and I'm going to cook up the biggest dinner you've ever eaten, and I am going to go buy a pet cat, and paint the street, and wash my clothes, and sing a song, and, and…"

And they let Feliciano keep talking, reciting his plans, all the way back to Rome, all the way back home.

Bravo!

I give credit to Hidekaz Himaruya, Umberto Tozzi, Toto Cutugno, my friend TheMagicLamp on who came up with the mural idea, a bunch of fashion companies, other companies, and anyone and everyone else I missed.

A note concerning the Lamborghini Zumata: I know virtually nothing about cars, let alone fancy cars, so I created this one myself. It's modeled after the real Lamborghini Veneno (which is pretty darn slick and hilarious to picture Feliciano driving). And yes, "Lamborghini Zumata" translates kind of somewhere in the ballpark to "Lamborghini Zoom."