I shake his hand, and I say a soft word. "Feliciano." A name. My name. This idiot's name. I hear his name replied to me, but it's just static and blurred words to me. I stare at him, hopelessly lost in those blue eyes. I merely shake my head, pulling my hand. Perhaps I am an idiot. Someone taking advantage of an alcoholic like me? Not a new concept. But alcoholic, depressed, whatever I am, I can't be that much of an idiot. I order another drink with a wave of my hand, and it's handed to me without a care in the world. More gruff words are spoken from the man next to me, but I drink anyway.
"Ludwig". He writes it on a napkin, handing it to me. I look at him with a raised eyebrow, expecting another group of mumbled words, but there's only a small nod and a smile. I look away, nodding. So he's called Ludwig. Sounds tough, I suppose, not that bad of a name. I wave for another drink. Ludwig gives me that cold, disapproving stare, but again I ignore it. Whoever he is, he's annoyingly persistent. I pass the drink to a lady down the bar a ways, giving her a small wink, before looking back at Ludwig and speaking my first full sentence of the night.
"Gay or just friendly?" The words are slurred, even in my own head. He looks so shocked- I'm not surprised. I'm a blunt drunk, it's just who I am. I raise a finger when he opens his mouth. "I can't hear you. You have to write." I don't know if it's the truth, or just an excuse to get him to keep passing notes like a schoolgirl, making the bartender snicker. No one talks to me, how would I know what breaks this buzzing in my head. But he writes his words down on a napkin, sliding it to me.
"Just a concerned citizen". I roll my eyes at him. Such a fool. I want to say something about there being no such thing, but I hold my tongue and order another drink. The bartender glances at Ludwig skeptically, and I wave him off. He's not bothering me, why say anything? Ludwig watches me down another, and I can feel the cold stare on my skin. It's terrifying, exhilarating, and slightly annoying all at the same time. I turn myself in my seat to face him.
"Concerned for me?" I laugh, and he frowns. He picks up his pen to write again, but then he looks at me out of the corner of his eye. I see him, but I'm to distracted by my own chuckles and self thought to care, and too tired to say anything. So he speaks. And this time, the words aren't as muffled.
"Concerned for you, yes." He puts a hand on my shoulder, and I push it off. The bartender frowns at us, giving us the stink eye. I know what that means. No fighting or no drinks. I shrink back into my seat, looking at him curiously. I know him from somewhere, but it didn't occur to me until I heard his voice. Ludwig. I knew the name, definitely. Somewhere in the back of my mind. But I don't want to frighten him away, so I cough and look back at him.
"There's nothing to be concerned about here, sir." I keep my voice steady, though just like I know I would if I stood up, it wobbles. I shut my eyes and lie my head down on the cool wood counter of the bar, and I feel the hand again, this time on my back. It makes me shiver, but then it starts moving in circles, and I'm confused. This stranger, who I just met, is rubbing my back. That's a bit odd. And yet, part of me- well- most of me- doesn't want him to stop. When was the last time someone rubbed my back? Must of been forever ago. Too long ago for this dead brain to remember. I move to order another drink, but he gently moves my hand away. I frown. Prince or not, he doesn't control me. I call for another drink, and I down it. Right in front of him.
"You shouldn't keep doing that." His voice is now stoic, as is his expression. Either a) he stopped caring, or b) he's hiding how much he cares. I guess the second one. I shrug it off and stand up, looking down at him. I need a driver, like always, and as I gaze around the bar, I see the usual driver is flirting. Like always. I take a step towards him, then stop. I could get a ride back with Ludwig. The idea makes me want to vomit and smile all at the same time. Or perhaps it's just the alcohol making me want to puke. Who knows. I smile at him, but he frowns disapprovingly. So he can tell the difference between real and fake smiles. Good on him. My face goes back to a steely expression, and without a word, he stands up, hooking his arm in mine, and walks me out to his car. Perhaps this is my Prince. Or perhaps I've gotten myself into more trouble than I'm worth. We'll see.