We are not ourselves, when nature, being oppress'd, commands the mind to suffer with the body. – King Lear
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Chapter 1 - Unreal City
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Dessau, 1932
The electric iron let out a hiss of steam, scenting the air with the sweet smell of lemon starch as Ludwig pressed his shirt. The sound made him wince in the relative quiet of early morning. Not even the birds seemed to be awake yet. But he was. He always rose early. Even when he used to spend late nights at the cabaret, he always woke with the sun's first light. He knew how to move about, going through morning routines in silence, so as not to wake anyone. Get dressed, make coffee, eat breakfast, repeat. This morning was no different. He'd washed his face, started the coffee, and had a bit of toast. He wasn't terribly hungry and his rumpled shirt took precedence. His flat in Dessau was less than half the size of the one in Berlin, amounting to only a bedroom with a kitchen attached. As neat as he was, Ludwig did not fancy picking up a stray crumb or coffee stain on his newly washed shirt, leaving him with little choice but to do the ironing in his room.
The iron hissed again, accompanied by a rumbling breath from the bed. Ludwig arched an eyebrow, casting a glance over to the man sleeping there, wondering if he had heard it. But the gentle rise and fall of the blankets told Ludwig the man was still asleep. He let go of a breath and continued with his chore, supposing he should have known better. Ivan, much like Gilbert and Roderich, did not like mornings.
Ludwig unplugged the iron when he was done and pulled on the freshly pressed shirt with a sigh at the still-warm fabric.
"What are you doing up?" a sleepy, lilting voice said. "Come back to bed."
Ludwig glanced over his shoulder, his look of surprise changing to a smirk as he buttoned the cuffs. "I can't. I have an early class."
Ivan groaned and rolled over onto his side. He propped himself up on one elbow, watching Ludwig dress.
Ludwig stood in front of a chest of drawers. A small mirror sat perched on top. He dragged a comb through his hair, pausing to check the angles of his reflection, making sure he got every last strand.
"You're so fussy," Ivan teased, snaking an arm around Ludwig's waist and pulling him onto the bed.
"Hey! Stop, stop!" Ludwig balked, hitting Ivan's hand with his comb. "I just ironed this. You'll wrinkle it!" He wriggled out of the Russian's grip and snatched the mirror off the set of drawers, taking it to the opposite side of the room and checking his reflection again.
"So meticulous," Ivan said, flopping onto his back.
Ludwig glanced over at him again, trying his best to keep his face stern. "I was trying not to wake you. Go back to sleep," he said with a hint of a smile.
"Can't," Ivan grumbled.
"Why not?"
"The bed is cold."
"Well maybe you should try visiting me when I'm not in school. We could spend a weekend together."
Ivan pushed himself up, folding his arms over his bare chest. "You know I can't."
"You could spare one." Ludwig put the mirror back where it belonged and sat on the bed.
Ivan took his hand. He kissed the palm and pressed it to his cheek. "...Why don't you come with me?"
"To Berlin?" Ludwig said, his icy blue gaze turning even colder as he looked at Ivan.
Ivan let his eyes drop. He kissed Ludwig's hand again.
Ludwig let out an annoyed sigh, pulling his hand away. "We've been over this. I don't want to go back there."
"But it's your-"
"Don't say it-"
"-home."
"It is not my home," Ludwig hissed, getting to his feet. "My home is wherever I choose it to be."
"Would you choose it to be with me?" Ivan said with a grin. He reached for Ludwig's hand, entwining their fingers.
Ludwig let himself be pulled onto Ivan's lap. He combed his fingers through the Russian's ashy blonde locks, resting his hand on the back of Ivan's neck. He drew their lips together in a soft kiss, suppressing the growing cold sensation that had settled in the pit of his stomach at the mention of Berlin.
Ludwig drew back and swallowed, cool blue eyes locked on Ivan. Whether Ivan was satisfied with his answer, he could not tell. Rarely did the Russian let him see through his impassive mask anymore. It made Ludwig afraid he was catching on. Or maybe he already knew...
Make it real for them.
Ludwig stood and retrieved his shoes. Ivan pushed himself out of bed and pulled his undershirt over his head. He went to the wash basin and splashed cold water on his face.
"Roderich's been asking about you," he said, toweling off. He plopped back down on the mattress, the bed springs groaning under his weight.
Ludwig watched from the corner of his eye as he bent to tie his laces. "...Really?"
Ivan nodded. "Yep. Well, it's been, what, two years? since he last saw you."
"...Something like that. A little less I think. What - what about - Gil?"
"Ah, your brother never had words for me...at least ones not worth repeating. And he still doesn't."
Ludwig puffed out a breath. "Right. Yeah."
The rustling sound of fabric caught Ludwig's attention. He turned to see Ivan pulling on his pants.
"Going somewhere?" Ludwig said with a dubious look. He straightened and stood.
"Not yet. My train leaves this afternoon. Since you're up, I may as well be, too."
Ludwig drifted over, his bottom lip curling in a pout. "...Will you be here when I get back?"
Ivan shrugged a shoulder with a sly grin that soon became serious when he realized Ludwig's frown was not affected. He held out his arms. Ludwig went to him, pressing his cheek against Ivan's warm, broad chest.
"You can travel to the farthest corner of the world, Ludwig, but you cannot run from yourself." Ivan kissed his head. "You should think about going home."
Ludwig left shortly after. Shouldering his bag and shoving his hands in his pockets, his feet traced the familiar route to school. He kept his head down, bowed against an early autumn breeze, his thoughts occasionally alighting on something Ivan had said.
He never thought it was himself he was running from. He had made his choices and seen them out, much to his brother's displeasure. He had chosen to be Lola, and he had been determined to see it through to the end. He and Roderich had agreed. His livelihood, as well as Roderich's, and the girls', depended on him. They weren't blind. Everyone knew it was he who brought the crowds Friday and Saturday nights. Sometimes he was Lola, sometimes he was her parody. It did not matter. The men only wanted to see him, to dance with him. And they paid good money for it. None ever dared spend the night with him, though, for they all knew he was Ivan's. Ever since his debut, his first dance with the Russian, it became an unspoken and universal rule of The Supper Club.
The nights he worked the club were spent with Ivan, when the Russian wasn't out seeing to his other "businesses." He saw Alfred during the week and the nights Ivan wasn't there. Ivan knew, of course. And oddly didn't seem to mind - though maybe it was because he knew the American's time was coming to an end in Berlin. Ludwig often wondered if Ivan didn't have some sort of a sixth sense. So many of his predictions were often true.
Alfred left in December - two weeks before Ludwig turned eighteen - and five months before he had planned. Ivan knew, had figured it out somehow, and took care to warn Ludwig, though the news still came as a bit of a shock. Ludwig understood why - Alfred was still under the will of his father and his father had demanded he come home. Alfred promised to write, but only one letter ever came.
Ludwig pushed the thought away, burying the bitter sting. It often caught him at moments like this, when his mind was most vulnerable. He didn't want to think about Alfred's words, Alfred's promises, the letters that never came. He had been sure, so sure Alfred had been real. Tangible. Something he could hold onto...
He shifted his satchel as he neared his building, noticing the definite lack of students. He knew it was early but...there were usually more people on campus even at this time. As he approached the door, he saw notices pasted in the windows. He paid them no mind. There were always fliers all over the place, advertising exhibitions or student rallies. He turned the handle but was surprised when the door wouldn't budge. He tried the other one. It remained firmly closed. Locked. The building was locked...
Ludwig furrowed his brow as something on one of the notices caught his eye. An eagle. And beneath it, a symbol. One he had seen before.
The memory of an improvised parade on a windy sidewalk in June floated back to him. Boys in brown shirts, singing propaganda songs...The pamphlets his brother read, their pages curling in the fireplace as Roderich threw them in, turning that symbol to ash, as he and Gilbert shouted at each other...
A numbness gripped him as he read.
They had closed the school.
They couldn't have...
There was no way...
But they did.
Ludwig swallowed, glancing around nervously, almost afraid he would be assaulted just for being there. He shifted his satchel again and turned and ran.
He ran back to his flat, taking the stairs two at a time. He flung open his door, out of breath and clutching a stitch in his side.
Ivan was seated at the small table in the kitchen, a cup of coffee halfway to his lips. He appeared wholly nonplussed to see Ludwig standing there nearly bent double catching his breath. His only hint of concern was the slight wrinkle in his brow.
"Back so soon?" Ivan smirked and the wrinkle vanished. His eyes sharpened - acute, alert - fixing on Ludwig as he stumbled numbly over and sank into the chair opposite. "Something has upset you. What is it?"
Ludwig fumbled for a moment, trying to get his brain into gear. He felt dizzy. Like he had been holding his breath as he ran back...
"Ludwig," Ivan said, covering the blonde's hand with his own.
His mind engaged at Ivan's touch. His head seemed to stop spinning...
"They - they closed it," Ludwig said. "They closed my school."
"Who did?"
Ludwig's eyes found Ivan's. The Russian's expression darkened as he read the answer on Ludwig's face.
"What does it mean?" Ludwig whispered.
Ivan drew back, taking a sip of coffee, and giving himself time to think.
"It means something, doesn't it? Doesn't it?" Ludwig pressed. "You wouldn't have that look otherwise."
Ivan glanced up, a smile softening his face. "Solnyshko," he sighed, taking Ludwig's hand and pressing it to his lips. "It's time to go home."
. . .
Berlin
Roderich sat at the kitchen table, sorting through the previous day's mail. It was almost noon. Any minute, he expected Gilbert to blow in, complaining he was starving and wanting food.
Any minute...
The flat was quiet.
Had been all morning. And the night before.
Roderich didn't sleep much anymore. He would lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to night sounds. A lot like when he was in Italy. More than a few times, he felt those memories returning. And more than a few times, he thought about asking Antonio for some sleeping pills. But he never did.
Roderich brushed the hair out of his face and sat back with a huff, staring at the pile of post before him. He couldn't concentrate. The names and addresses didn't make sense. The letters and numbers may as well have been written in Cyrillic. It was too quiet.
He pulled himself to his feet, went into the other room and switched on the radio. He turned the volume up so he could hear it in the kitchen.
Jesus, Specs. Are ya deaf? Gilbert would say, using his hands as ear muffs.
He shuffled back to his seat, smirking to himself as he lit a cigarette. He could just picture it...
And then he would say: I don't know what you're talking about, Gilbert. I'm listening at a reasonable volume.
And then Gilbert would say: Tell that to our neighbors. They know more about our business than we do.
And then Ludwig would...
Ludwig - would -
The grin slid away from Roderich's face. His eyes drifted back down to the envelopes on the table. He remembered what he had been looking for. What he always looked for, every time he checked the mail.
His heart began to race as his throat grew tight.
He was a fool.
Such a fool.
The flat was too quiet.
.
.
.
The train sped north and east. The countryside flew by in the dull greens of late summer aging into early autumn, shot with the occasional brown and grey of a small town or village.
Despite Ivan's constant insistence he return to Berlin, Ludwig remained in Dessau another week, waiting for his school to re-open. He still could not believe it was closed. How could the administration let this happen? It felt like a betrayal - and one he took personally. He had always maintained his faith in the system. It was one of the few things that never failed him. The rules were simple, easy to follow: Be a good boy, don't cause a fuss, get good grades, and you'll do fine. And he had followed the rules, had done everything right - or as close to right as he could - and now...everything he had worked for was being taken away. The structure - the thing on which he had come to rely, had built his foundation - was crumbling.
When Ivan visited the following week, Ludwig decided to return with him to Berlin.
A nagging feeling prickled the back of his head as the distance between the city and himself shrank. Gilbert and Roderich didn't even know he was coming. He should have phoned - or at least written. Arriving unannounced, as he was, reflected bad manners. What would they do, when he knocked on the door, asking for a place to stay? He hadn't exactly tried very hard to keep in contact. Would they turn him away?
A part of him - the part that had kept his hand from picking up a phone or a pen - hoped they would. Then he could return to Dessau, to his own flat, and...and what? What was left in Dessau for him now? Ludwig leaned his head against the window.
Across from him sat Ivan, reading a newspaper he had bought at the station. He folded it up, laying it on his lap when he was finished, and leaned his head back against the seat, eyes slipping half shut as he let himself be rocked by the train. His hands rested on his thighs. Tense. Ludwig could tell by the way he held them. He wanted to reach over, to take Ivan's hand in his, but...after last week, he decided it was best to use caution.
He scanned the passengers in their car, each absorbed in their own world. Their shirts were white and blue and beige, lavender and yellow. Ludwig wondered, if the time ever came, would they trade their colors for brown?
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The train arrived in Berlin two hours later. As he disembarked, Ludwig realized with a twisting in his gut that it was on this very platform he said goodbye to Alfred.
He had kissed him.
In front of the whole world to see.
He had kissed Alfred, without a care for what anyone thought. Like Roderich and Gilbert used to.
Ludwig frowned, shifting his suitcase to the other hand, worrying once again at the looks he might get should he and Ivan stand too close. Just like with Feliciano.
He didn't want to be here. He wanted to get back on the train, go back to Dessau, and be alone with Ivan in his own flat, shut away from everyone...
But Ivan was already cutting a hole through the crowd thronging the platform, and Ludwig couldn't help but follow.
A car stood waiting for them outside the station, its driver buffing out a spot on the glossy black paint with the cuff of his maroon coat.
He rushed over when he saw Ivan, taking both his and Ludwig's suitcases with a nervous smile. Ludwig nodded his thanks. He was the same driver Ivan had had for years, but it struck Ludwig as he got in the car, with so much changing around him, that this kid never seemed to age.
Ivan gave the kid an address, and within minutes, they were driving through the maze of city blocks. Ivan settled back into seat, looking over at Ludwig and placing a hand on his thigh. The unease Ludwig had felt about returning began to dissipate. He shifted closer until their legs touched. Ivan angled his head, brushing his lips along Ludwig's jaw, just under his ear. Ludwig let go of a long-held breath. He took Ivan's hand, giving it a squeeze.
It seemed hardly a heartbeat had passed before they were pulling up outside of Ludwig's old flat in Kreuzberg. Ludwig looked up at the building, a knot twisting in his stomach.
Ivan caught his gaze, drawing him back. "I will see you tonight, yes?"
Ludwig swallowed hard and nodded.
Ivan kissed him one last time.
Ludwig got out of the car, got his luggage, and made his way up to his old flat.
He drew level with their door, hesitating a moment before giving two swift knocks. It opened immediately, as if he had been expected...
Framed in the doorway, still in his dressing robe and pajamas, stood Roderich. He stared at Ludwig a moment, as if he were not quite sure what he was seeing. Ludwig nervously cleared his throat, starting to feel his presence might not be welcome (and finding it odd Roderich was still not dressed for the day).
Roderich's mouth fell open as comprehension dawned across his face. He reached out, pulling Ludwig into a tight embrace.
Ludwig's suitcase fell to the floor with an echoing thud as he worked to process what was happening. Roderich. Was hugging him. Roderich...
He was still in a state of shock as he hugged the Austrian too.
Roderich drew back, hands going to Ludwig's arms. He tilted his head to look at the young man fully.
"Ludwig," Roderich breathed. "It's so good to see you. Please, please come in. Come in!" He stepped back, flapping his hands and waving Ludwig into the flat.
Ludwig picked up his suitcase, following Roderich in.
"Well. This is a surprise!" the Austrian said, pushing his glasses up his nose.
"I'm sorry, Roderich," Ludwig said, the automatic response ready on his tongue. "It's just - I - I mean, I should have - " He stopped abruptly, looking helpless for a moment. Why did he always trip over his words around Roderich? What was it about the Austrian that he could make Ludwig feel so insecure, even when wearing a bathrobe?
"Is everything...all right?"
Ludwig swallowed and shook his head. "They closed the school," he said in a small voice. "And I...I just need a place to stay for a bit. You know, to figure things out and...a-and I don't mean to impose, but - "
"Of course," Roderich said, somewhat taken aback. "It's no imposition at all. This is your home, too."
Ludwig looked up with a self-conscious smile. "Thank you."
He took his luggage down the hall to his old room.
"Oh! B-but, um...I should - " Roderich stammered, limping after him.
Ludwig pushed open his bedroom door, expecting to see his room just the way he'd left it.
" - warn you."
Ludwig's mouth fell open when he saw it. It was his room, but...not. The furniture was the same but had been rearranged. The blankets on the bed were a different shade of blue. And scattered here and there were things that...did not belong to him. He turned to Roderich, brow furrowing.
Roderich sniffed, clutching the collar of his bathrobe closer to him. "Your brother has been staying here," he said jerkily. His eyes swept to the floor. "I can make him sleep on the couch, if - "
"No," Ludwig said. "No, that's...okay. I'll - I can take the couch. I mean, like I said, I-I won't be here long, and - "
Roderich nodded at the floor.
"I'm honestly surprised he's still here," Ludwig said under his breath.
Roderich's lips tightened into a thin line. "Your brother is not a complete idiot, Ludwig."
"Maybe not, but you shouldn't let him leech off of you like this."
Roderich shrugged. "You never knew him the way I did," he said in a quiet voice. "And...m-maybe I need him, too. In a way."
Ludwig gave a noncommittal grunt. "Where is he, anyway?"
"At the club. I hope," Roderich sighed.
The clock in the living room struck the hour.
"I suppose I ought to get dressed and head down there myself," Roderich continued, sounding almost as if he were being forced against his will. "We'll walk down together," he said, brightening a bit. "Antonio and Feliks miss you. They're always pestering Ivan for updates."
Roderich limped into his bedroom and shut the door. Ludwig shuffled back down the hall to the living room, his suitcase a dead weight in his hand. He set it beside the sofa and flopped into a seat, wishing he had never come back.
.
Roderich held open the lobby door, ushering him inside. Ludwig had to concede he was looking forward to seeing Antonio and Feliks again. All the girls, really. They made their way down through the dining hall, towards the stage. Roderich leaned heavily on his cane, his feet seeming to drag the closer they got. And Ludwig saw why.
Gilbert's eyes were trained on them like a hawk as he dried a beer glass. He set it on the counter, flung the rag over his shoulder, and sauntered out from behind the bar.
"Well, look who remembered he has a family. Are you gonna give your brother a hug or what?" Gilbert said, steering Ludwig by the shoulder. Away from Roderich.
Ludwig reluctantly leaned in as Gilbert threw an arm over his shoulder, clapping him on the back.
"What, you just decide to turn up out of the blue?" Gilbert sneered. "Or did he trick you into being a part of his little act again?"
"No," Ludwig said coolly, shrugging off his brother's arm. "I suppose you have your party to thank for me being here. They closed my school."
Gilbert, for once, seemed to be at a loss for what to say - until he turned his attention to Roderich.
"Better late than never, boss. This place used to be your bread and butter. Guess it's a good thing you have me to pick up your slack."
Roderich ignored this and lit a cigarette, hobbling past to the kitchen.
"Gil, that's enough," Ludwig ground out.
But Gilbert wasn't listening. "Seems lately you can't be bothered to give two shits about it," he called snidely. "Ever since your star left and all."
Ludwig saw Roderich's shoulders tense. He waited for the Austrian to spin around, tongue armed with a stinging barb, ready to put Gilbert in his place. Instead Roderich limped off, disappearing behind the double doors.
"Goddammit, Gil!" Ludwig hissed, rounding on his brother. "What the hell is wrong with you?" His hand curled around Gilbert's shirt front before he even realized what he was doing. He shoved Gilbert into the bar.
Gilbert let out a yelp of pain that became a gasp for air as the wooden edge dug into the small of his back. One hand went to Ludwig's wrist, to try and pull him off, while the other pushed against the bar. He had forgotten his little brother was a lot bigger and a lot stronger than he was. Ludwig held on fast. Gilbert grit his teeth as the wood ground against his spine.
"You want to know why I never come home?" Ludwig fumed, cold fire blazing in his icy blue eyes. "It's because of this! Because of you! Because you don't know when to stop! You will never get it through your head that it was my choice! And I'm sorry for every day of my life that I did it. I was an idiot, okay? But I did it. I chose it. Me. Not him. So if you're going to be angry with anyone, be angry with me."
Ludwig finally let go.
Gilbert spluttered and coughed as he regained breath. "But he didn't stop you," he panted, his voice ragged. "I can never forgive him for that. He didn't stop you."
"That's because I wouldn't let him. It was my choice. I had to finish it." Ludwig straightened up, heading the direction Roderich had taken.
"Fine. Go after him. Like you always do. Take his side. He isn't even family!" Gilbert shouted.
The kitchen doors swung shut. Ludwig sank against a wall and blew out his cheeks. He never wanted to come back here. Why, why did he listen to Ivan?
"Drink," a familiar voice said. "You need it."
Ludwig looked up to see Lovino standing in front of him, holding out a flask of vodka, uncapped. Without even thinking, Ludwig snatched it and knocked it back.
He noticed Roderich sitting at the island in the middle of the kitchen, a faraway look on his face as he sipped an espresso. Ludwig handed the flask back to Lovino and made his way over, the alcohol already starting to buzz in his veins. He opened his mouth to speak, but Roderich shook his head.
"There's no need to apologize, Ludwig," Roderich said in a hollow voice. "It's nothing I haven't heard before."
Ludwig sank onto a stool opposite the Austrian, hands hanging awkwardly between his knees.
"I shouldn't have come back - "
"Don't say that. I'm happy you're here - "
"But I feel like - I don't know - like I always manage to...p-provoke things. Between you two."
"It's not you, Ludwig. It's not you or anything you've done. Now," Roderich said, finishing his espresso, "if you'll excuse me, I must go backstage. I have a few last minutes notes to go over with the girls before tonight's curtain. Though you're more than welcome to join me if you wish." His tone had changed. No longer despondent, his voice echoed with the business-like authority Ludwig once knew.
Ludwig stood and followed Roderich, hoping his reunion with Antonio and Feliks would at least turn out better.
It did.
Antonio let out a gasp of surprise the moment he saw Ludwig. The girls' chatter died away as every head turned to see who had entered. The older ones were on him in an instant, each clamoring for a hug, a kiss, until his clothes smelled of their heady perfume and his cheeks were smeared with lipstick.
Ludwig noticed, through the flurry of wigs and hands, a lot of the old line up had been replaced. Half of the faces he didn't recognize, though a few seemed to recognize him, or at least knew who he was. Eduard was gone. But Feliks and Antonio were still there - would probably still be there until they were too old to walk. Ludwig smiled his appreciation at all of them - until his eyes caught on his old vanity. It looked just as he had left it - wig on the stand, pots of make up arranged just so, the small layer of powder collected around the jars telling of their recent use.
"He's not as good as you were," Roderich said, following Ludwig's gaze. The girls had gone back to their dressing, the din of gossip filling the room once again.
Ludwig felt Roderich watching him, but he kept his gaze fixed on the wig. He did not know what he was expecting. He half thought the Austrian would propose he take up his old role as Lola, but Roderich sniffed and lit a cigarette.
"The crowds are decent, at least. Nowhere near like before, but decent."
Ludwig felt himself nod. Roderich was still watching him, but he refused to catch the Austrian's eye.
After a few moments, Roderich cleared his throat, getting everyone's attention. He began making his announcements and Ludwig felt now was as good a time as any to leave. He was not a part of that world anymore.
Ludwig drifted back through the stage wing, down the side stairs, and past the bar. Customers were beginning to trickle in. He looked at his watch, surprised to see it was dinner time. Knowing that Ivan had most likely wanted to meet him here, he found a table near the door. A waiter bustled over to take his order. Ludwig wasn't anywhere close to being hungry, but he also didn't know how long Ivan intended for him to wait, so he ordered a soup and a beer.
It was eight o'clock by the time Ivan arrived. Ludwig watched with a dull look, bordering on morose, as Roderich played the introduction to the first act. He brought his beer to his lips, about to take a sip, when he realized there was nothing left but the foamy dregs clinging to the sides. It was his third one. He set the glass down with a grunt as Ivan made his way over.
"A bit different being in the audience instead of on stage, no?" Ivan said with a genial smile.
Ludwig shrugged. "It's all the same to me."
Ivan set his mouth into an even line as he took a seat. "Are you hungry?"
Ludwig shook his head. "I just want to drink."
Ivan watched him a moment, his expression edging concern as Ludwig signaled the waiter for another round.
"This is your last one," said the waiter. "Bartender says you're cutoff."
Ludwig picked his head up, glaring down at his brother. Gilbert folded his arms and smirked in return.
"Fine," Ludwig ground out. He picked up the glass and started nursing it.
On stage, the final act drew to a close. Ludwig noted Roderich had finally given into Antonio's suggestion about "Pirate Jenny." It was a big ensemble number. Every girl was on stage. Though Ludwig noticed Antonio was not the expected titular role. That had been given to one of the new faces. Ludwig sipped his beer and joined in the applause as the girls took their bow. The music switched to a slower tempo and Ludwig felt a hand on his knee.
"Let's dance," Ivan said.
"But I haven't even finished my drink," Ludwig pouted.
"It will be here when you get back. Now come on." Ivan pulled the younger blonde to his feet. Ludwig stumbled, tripping over his chair and falling into Ivan.
"Your brother's right," the Russian said, standing him up. "You have had enough."
"Mmm. I think hell just froze over, if you're agreeing with Gilbert," Ludwig said, giving Ivan a playful nudge.
He took Ivan's hand, leading him down to the dance floor. Ludwig threw his arms around Ivan's shoulders, looking around at the other couples as they danced. For a weeknight, it was fairly busy. Ludwig recalled what Roderich had said in the dressing room - about the crowds being "decent" on the weekends. He wondered if tonight was just a fluke and if what Roderich had told him was true - that the crowds were not what they used to be when he'd been Lola. Why would he say that, though? Was he just making conversation or was it something else? Was he...trying to spark some curiosity? He had seen Ludwig staring at the wig and had made that remark - about the new Lola, not being as good...
Was Roderich trying to get him to come back?
Ivan mentioned Roderich had been asking about him...
And what about Ivan? Hadn't he been telling Ludwig he should go back to Berlin? He had just as much a vested interest in The Supper Club as Roderich. Were they both trying to get him to return? To be Lola? To bring in the crowds, the money...?
He's a greedy son of a bitch, Ludwig.
No. No, no, no! Ludwig refused to believe it. He was reading too much into things. Letting recent events rile him up. And he may have had a bit too much to drink. He wasn't thinking straight. Yes. That was it...
His dismay must have shown on his face, for next thing he knew, Ivan was suggesting they sit back down. Ludwig shook his head, insisting he felt fine.
A new song started. Some couples left the dance floor, going back to their tables. Ludwig spotted Antonio near the stage, looking somewhat lost, unsure if he should dance or mingle. Ludwig excused himself and went over.
"May I?" he said with a comical bow.
"You cheeky little thing!" Antonio scolded, playfully smacking his hand. "Well. Go on, then." He held out his hand. Ludwig took it and kissed it and led him out onto the dance floor.
"You were wonderful tonight," Ludwig said.
"Oh, honey," Antonio said, cupping a hand on Ludwig's cheek. "Thank you for that. And for...this. For a moment, it felt like my first night here. I didn't know what to do!" His lips spread into a smile, but his penciled brows knit in a sad expression. "...Ah, well," he sighed. "It was bound to happen."
"What?"
Antonio cocked a dubious brow. "I'm old, honey. I know it. They know it," he nodded his head at the audience. "...I just wish...it had taken more time, you know? But everything changes so fast. I was in the spotlight one minute, and then the next...background."
"I'm sure it's just a bad season - "
Antonio shook his head. "That's sweet of you to say. But I can't kid myself. It's not like I was going to be doing this forever. It's time for something different, Ludwig. For me. And for Lovi. He deserves something better."
"What are you going to do?"
Antonio let his gaze fall. "...Feliciano has offered to let Lovi take over one of the family vineyards. And Lovi accepted. His parents aren't too happy, but Feliciano - "
"Feliciano is the favorite," Ludwig said with a grin.
Antonio looked up and laughed. "He is!"
Ludwig leaned in, kissing Antonio on the cheek. "I'm happy for you."
"Thank you, mijo."
Antonio drew him into a hug.
They held each other until the song ended.
.
Later that night, as he slept on the couch, he was startled awake by a shuffling in the hall. Thinking for a moment someone had broken in, Ludwig cracked open an eye and listened. Moonlight streamed in through the living room window, throwing its pale light over the couch and onto the rug. Slowly, he picked his head up, listening hard. The steps sounded uneven, as if the person had a limping gait. Ludwig exhaled a relieved breath, realizing it was only Roderich. He buried his head into the pillow, trying to get back to sleep, when he heard Roderich shuffle into the living room.
Ludwig opened one eye again. Roderich stood staring down at him, one hand clutched in the collar of his robe, the other wrapped around his middle.
Roderich seemed unaware Ludwig was awake. He limped to the far side of the couch, his back to Ludwig.
Ludwig picked his head up, watching him fully now.
Roderich bent down, picking up a corner of the blanket that had fallen, and tucking around Ludwig's feet. He turned, giving a start when he saw Ludwig looking at him.
"Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to wake you."
"It's all right," Ludwig said.
Roderich sat on the piano bench watching Ludwig, his hand still clutching his robe. He looked muted in the moon's cold glow, his colors blending together in muddy blacks and grays. The clock on the mantle ticked away the minutes.
"...Roderich. I'm all right. Go back to bed," Ludwig said. The silent staring had become more than irksome.
Roderich pulled himself to his feet. "I can't sleep," he said before disappearing into the darkened hall.
Ludwig let his head fall back onto the pillow with a huff. The last thing he heard before drifting off to sleep was sound of a glass being filled in the dining room and the snap of a lighter.
.
.
.
A/N: So, for anyone new here and who hasn't read 'Lost Generation' here's a bit of background: Roderich owns a gay/drag cabaret called The Supper Club. Ludwig used to perform there and it caused some...tension...in Roderich's relationship with Gilbert (not to mention the fact Gil is a supporter of the NSDAP...but his involvement won't get too serious. He just kind of jumped on the band wagon and went for a ride). And Ivan is a gangster with a heart of gold ;)
Solnyshko- what Ivan calls Ludwig. A Russian term of endearment meaning "little sun."
The Bauhaus School was founded in 1919 by Walter Gropius. It strove to unite industrial production, art, and design. It drew on the Arts and Crafts movement, as well as Expressionism and Constructivist ideas developed in Russia, thereby rejecting European "classical" art academia by championing a rational and scientific approach to art. All of this, of course, the Nazis viewed as repugnant, believing the modernist ideas the Bauhaus represented were part of the "Jewish-Marxist conception of 'art,'" decrying it as "degenerate," the design it produced "un-Germanic." In 1932, the NSDAP gained control of the Dessau Council - one of the Bauhaus' major sources of funding - and closed the school in September.
From a historical perspective, it seems any time a major political body views centers of academic learning as a threat, some shit's about to go down. Of course, Ivan knows this. I have a head canon about him being a huge - I mean spectacularly HUGE - nerd for history...he's read every history book he could get his hands on - has a room in his flat that is nothing but floor to ceiling stacked with books - and his family fled the first revolution in 1905, so he's pretty skilled at recognizing patterns (the sixth sense Ludwig mentioned).
"Pirate Jenny" is a song from Kurt Weill's "Threepenny Opera"
Chapter title is from "The Waste Land" by T.S. Eliot
Thanks for reading!