• E s s e r e _ M i n i e r a •
C h a p t e r _ O n e - T o _ b e _ c o n t i n u e d '
A cloud of elder down
Draws around me softening the sound
Sleepy time when I lie
With my love by my side,
And she's breathing low,
And the candle dies.
When night comes down you lock the door
The boot falls to the floor
As darkness falls the waves roll by
The seasons change
The wind is warm.
Now wakes the owl, now sleeps the swan
Behold a dream, the dream is gone
Green fields
A cold rain is falling
Near the golden dawn.
And deep beneath the ground
The early morning sounds and I go down
Sleep time in my life
With my love by my side
And she's breathing low
And I rise like a bird
In the haze and the first rays touch the sky
And the night winds die.
"I love you," He says, meaning the words with every inch of his soul, the smile evident in his eyes. His partner smiles back, but unlike the former, the smile doesn't reach his eyes. They're left touched, blue like the sea, yes, but stern, contorted. Ludwig - for that was his name - never answered with an affection of his own. He just nods, and at best smiles. They never sleep on the same side of the bed, even though the young Italian always snuggles up to his side. In times such as these, he is pushed away by a rough German hand. Feliciano always pretends that he is asleep, and rolls back over to his side of the bed, simply taking it as a confirmation that things haven't changed since last night.
It's not what you would describe as a happy marriage, in the least, but it's conventional.
Conventional was all they needed. They weren't married because they felt for each other, in the slightest. In fact, it was the pure opposite, to be perfectly honest, although it was never spoken between them. They both pretended to be happy with what they had, although this was a downright lie. As always, they both knew it, but didn't say anything.
This surprised Feliciano, at first. Ludwig was never one to keep his feelings bottled up, and if anything, he was likely to shout, his spit coating the Italian's doll like features in a form of extreme shame. It wasn't like that hadn't happened before, before everything settles down into a pattern of deceit.
• T e n _ y e a r s _ e a r l i e r •
The young Italian stares up at the German. His hair is in disarray; more so then usual, but he is in no fit condition to notice, not now. All he can focus on is the tall blonde above him, shadowing his thoughts. As he looks up at the contorted features of Ludwig, the German's fierce blue eyes burn right through him. It's not with love, like he would like, but rather something else. It's something Feliciano isn't familiar with - Hatred. But the brunette can't help thinking that even in his anger, he's so beautiful, the way his hair falls from the way it's parted perfectly, the way his mouth was forced into a obnoxious smirk, that would even rival his brothers.
He feels a grip on his wrist, vice like. Feliciano has always known that the German was strong, but he'd never had it used against him before, not once. Now that it's the German's thick, calloused fingers wrapping around the ashen white bones of his wrist, it hurts, having what he admired so much used against him. But Feliciano doesn't mind. He tells himself that he earned it.
Ludwig mutters something under his breath in German that the Italian, although having learned a little of the language, can't understand. His words are formed with spit, hate, and anger, and it is evident. It hangs there, like a vile mist, casting a heavy atmosphere over both of them.
"Du Schlampe, du dreckige Schlampe, dammit!,"
Crumpling, Feliciano doesn't know what to say. He's got the gist of the words, and even though he understand - partly - he still loves the German, far more than he's ever considered loving himself. He feels the familiar tears pricking at his eyes, at it might as well be over, then. Feliciano knows that if the other man despises one thing, it's tears. He's as good as dead, but he can't stop the liquid leaking from his eyes. He feels like he's drowning, but there's no one there to save him.
Feliciano, of course, isn't mistaken. He never it when it comes to the German's feelings, for he probably knows the blonde better than he knows himself. If only he could apply his knowledge, spread it out, and learn how to fix things, it would all be alright. But Ludwig is standing there, as large as life, and his expression is all the less forgiving. There's a searing, ever growing rage in his eyes, and looking down at the Italian, he snears, biting back another remark. He never uses Feliciano's name now, that's too much love. It's always 'Slut', or 'Whore'. He doesn't deserve anything else; Ludwig thinks he's lying.
Of course another man couldn't love him. All Feliciano wanted was the sex, of course that was it. He wanted to dirty Ludwig's presence, with his ways. It wasn't love, it couldn't be love, Ludwig knew nothing of love.
Then, there's only the grip on his wrist getting stronger and stronger, the pain gutting into his vision, before everything cuts out, goes dark, unforgiving.
• F i v e _ y e a r s _ i n t o _ t h e _ f u t u r e •
Nothing was ever intended to be entirely perfect, considering their history and such. But, in Feliciano's mind, things were everything he could have ever wanted, if not more, and he was happier than he'd ever been, before. The past was behind him.
The Italian was a country, after all. Time meant nothing, things where left behind, forgotten.
The younger of the two males was sat in his bedroom, sighing and staring at their reflection in the mirror, seeing it rebound back to them in the clouded glass. The many times that he has looked in that same glass and seen his hair matted in blood, breath shaking and laborious does not bother him. To his delight, Ludwig has accepted his marriage proposal. It wasn't the most romantic of ones, that can be admitted, and was far from perfect, but none of that mattered to Feliciano. However, he was having problems finding the perfect dress; it was a very small occasion, only meant for the two of them, and he had no one to help him get ready.
Not knowing what to wear, he has rifled through the wardrobe so many times it would have been unbelievable, to anyone but him. Now, he is considering taking drastic actions, and moving to the large trunk located at the end of his bed. He shrugs off his current shirt and throws it across the room - Someone was bound to pick it up, sooner and later -, the brunette Italian moves around to the floor beside the end of his bed, and opens the delicate and intricately detailed trunk, pulling out an ivory dress. It was long, and lacy, with occasional amethyst and rose quartz crystal droplets, almost Victorian in style, one that had been a present, many years ago, from Arthur.
In all honestly, it wasn't exactly to his tastes, and he was sure that the German would be expecting him to wear a suit, but he did rather think the colours set off his skin quite pleasantly, and the low back was perfect, just ending where the long scar there - from another of he and Ludwig's 'fights', but he isn't going to think about that, not now - started. Feliciano holds it up to himself, staring, and lets a small smile grace his features, pulling at the corners of his mouth as he begins to step into it, and lets the material swirl around his feet. It makes him feel as if he is riding the waves, stood in foam and rising up and down, in the folds of the material.
"Perfect~ Bello." He says, the opposite of what he was often called.
Flashbacks come.
"Veneziano!", "Italy!", "Schlampe!", "Mistvieh!", "Huren!". All torrents of names threw at him, none his actual name. They all hurt, pierced into his soul. Of course Ludwig didn't believe him. Feliciano doesn't know why he accepted the marriage proposal, but he's going to pretend that everything is alright. He's going to enjoy it, and he's going to enjoy every bit of the honeymoon, no matter how many times he has wondered if there will be a honeymoon, considering the situation. But as always, he pushes these thought to the back of his head, heading the in, and not voicing them, afraid, as always.
He reaches around to perfect himself, doing up the buttons at the back of the material, just being able to stretch enough, to reach. It was tight fitting, the lace just clinging to his curves enough to make him look slightly feminine. Feliciano turns around to admire himself from the side, watching as the tail of the dress curves around, swishing with the faintest of rustles, following and mimicking the every move that he makes.
The Italian does not normally wear dresses; it was a secret between him and his closest friends. Everyone knew that he liked and enjoyed fashion - edged on my his soon to be sister in law, Alice, who did not know what her brother, Ludwig was doing -, but most people would not have guessed that he took it to these extremes. In all honesty, it wasn't for him that he even started cross dressing! Feliciano always thought that if he where a girl, Lovino would have loved him more, considering the higher amount of attention he paid to them. Even now, the two brothers would rarely see each other.
Maybe that was the problem?
At this thought, he sighs and slips a black jacket over his arms to protect himself from the chilled night, slipping on a small pair of shoes - it didn't matter which, you wouldn't see them, anyway - and makes his way out of the house, and into the garden. He had to admit the dress was a little over the top and hard to maneuver with, especially over the dewy grass, but as long as Ludwig liked it, then nothing mattered.
Anything for him, even if the other man wouldn't do the same.
Soon, the view seem to change into swirling colours, flashes and sparkles rather than defined shapes as it had been before. Nothing made much sense, and all he can do is stare, fixated as he leans his back against the cool marble pillar behind him, feeling the shock as cold stone met with bare skin, like hands caressing him, sensual, if that was possible. A smell of perfume fills the air, drowning the senses, and Feliciano decided he needed air, and fast.
And then he sees Ludwig, standing at the other end of the room. There are no other people, just the Italian, the German, and a priest. Everything seems to melt then, as they connect eyes. Feliciano smiles, and for the first time, Ludwig smiles back, the pleasant expression forming on his mouth also reaching his eyes. Feliciano is joyous just because of this one thing, and as he walks down the isle, it's all he can think. Maybe Ludwig really does love me, after all.
They're in each other's arms now, and Feliciano is pressed tightly to the blonde's body. Out of habit he shivers slightly, quaking, and then relaxes into the hold, releasing that nothing is going to happen, not tonight. Glancing over at the priest, he smiles at them, not suspecting a thing, but rather seeing true love. When his mouth opens, it seems to Feliciano that everything acts in slow motion, painfully slow.
"Do you, Ludwig Beilschmidt, take Feliciano Vargas, as your lawful wedded husband?"
".. I do."
"Do you, Feliciano Vargas, take Ludwig Beilschmidt, as your lawful wedded husband, also?"
"Ve, I do, I do!"
Entreat me not to leave you, or to return from following after you, for where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay. Your people will be my people, and your God will be my God. And where you die, I will die and there I will be buried. May the Lord do with me and more if anything but death parts you from me.
• A _ h o u r _ f r o m _ t h e _ w e d d i n g •
"I love you," He says, meaning the words with every inch of his soul, the smile evident in his eyes. His partner smiles back, but unlike the former, the smile doesn't reach his eyes. It's now that Feliciano is made certain that things aren't right. Was the wedding just a pretense?
And then the words do come.
"Ich liebe dich auch,"
For the first and last time.
T o _ b e _ c o n t i n u e d . . .N e x t - C h a p t e r _ T w o `