Here you go, guys! Chapter 2! :) I'm so sorry huhuhu I suck at AUs idek what to do with my life anymore gahhh forgive me :( :(

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.


The second painting session is no more different than the first. Neither are the third and fourth sessions that happen on the subsequent days of Tuesday and Wednesday that same week. They last for two to three hours at most, with Ludwig remaining stoic and obedient, and Feliciano quiet and patiently at work – stopping only to wash his brushes or allow the oil to settle and dry before he could add another layer onto the canvas.

It is at these times that Ludwig joins Feliciano for his merenda, where they simply sit and stay quiet for the remainder of the afternoon, lounging around on the leather sofa with a cup of coffee in hand as they let their minds drift off peacefully to the rhythmical sound of the musical bliss that is Al Jolson. Sometimes, Feliciano would doze off and take a siesta on the couch, during which Ludwig would take it as his cue to quietly exit, scribbling a note, which he then left on the coffee table to inform the elder of his leave, as well as to thank him for his time on that day.

Other times, while they would wait for the paint to dry, they would talk, but only about minor things. Like about the daily news, how Ludwig's work had been at the office that day, what Feliciano had cooked last night for supper with his fratello, and the like. The young Italian would always be the one to start with his questions, and Ludwig would always him give short, straight to the point answers. He would give him the facts, the news, but never would he choose to ramble on about his emotions regarding them. He would never let their conversations go too deep. They were still somewhat within the range of strangers who've just met. Or at least to Ludwig, they were.

But things were bound to change for them, sooner or later.

The artist motions closer, watching as the light streams past the window, falling onto the model's features, bathing him in the radiant glow of the late afternoon. A calloused hand meets Ludwig's chin, tilting his gaze upwards; faces converging only inches apart. Champagne irises stare straight into the bright sea of blue, fingertips entangling themselves in fine strands of flaxen gold, the artisan's touch brushing past his chin and lingering for a moment far too long. Words escape parted lips – a soft whisper that left behind heated breaths, tickling his skin as the elder pulled the model just a little bit closer.

"You're beautiful, Ludwig."

It isn't a question this time, just a plain and simple observation. A mere fact that should not have been given too much thought, given their circumstances and the situation they had been in at that moment in time. However, the manner in which the Italian delivered this certain statement soon proved to be enough to incite some sort of spark within the German – as well as cause him to raise an eyebrow slowly in a questioning stance.

"Er…Excuse me?" He replies, clearly taken aback by the artist's sudden comment; pushing him away until they had established a more appropriate distance.

The Italian lets out another soft "Ve~," accompanied by the sound of gentle laughter. "Well, you don't look like Gil at all, despite being brothers; you're more muscular and you've got a bigger built, and you don't smile nearly as often…yet, somehow, you give off this aura of a gentle person. And I like that. I like how you look. You remind of me of a boy I used to know."

Ludwig cocks an eyebrow, his feelings developing to an unquenchable curiosity to discover more about this strange, intriguing artist.

"We never had a father, and Mama died when giving birth to me. I lived in Italy with Lovino and my grandfather, but then Nonno passed away too and I was taken in by a couple who lived all the way in Austria. They were nice people. Mio fratello lived with big brother Antonio in Spain. They would visit sometimes, and that always helped me feel better. I was sad at first, having to be separated from Lovi, but then there was this little boy who befriended me. He was awkward, and I never knew his name because we hardly even talked, but he was so sweet and kind – bringing me food, handing me little gifts…he had always been there for me when I needed someone. Thanks to him, not once did I ever feel lonely. And – well, you might find this strange – but I really did love that boy."

And Ludwig thinks that it is, indeed, very strange. The idea of falling in love with someone without even knowing his or her name seemed ludicrous – preposterous, even. But then again, what right did he have to say anything about that? Love was love, and love in itself was a beautiful thing to experience in a human's life, and Ludwig was not one to be the person who wished to stain the delicate canvas of a human's fragile emotions.

The blonde shakes his head, reasoning out before any of his words could be taken to offense. "Nein. Do not worry, I do not find it strange, not even in the slightest. It is fine. We cannot always take control of our emotions, as we cannot always choose whom exactly it is we will love. It is not, after all, the mind that decides for whom the heart will fall."

"I see. Grazie," the elder says, his grateful amber orbs shining brightly as he takes the German's hands and cups it in the palms of his very own. "Thank you, Ludwig."

The model closes his eyes for a moment and inhales deeply. He takes in the aroma of the studio, breathing in the scent of oils and paint and musty wood, and a mouth-watering aroma that wafts into the room from the kitchen two doors away. A number of spices he could not name, and the faint trace of tomatoes and pasta mixing in with sweet vanilla and brewed coffee. Ludwig could not find himself understanding why, but somehow, this somewhat familiar scent had calmed him. A smile finds its way onto his face. A pang of nostalgia strikes him. And he thinks, regardless of how strange and odd it may be, that it smells vaguely like home.

"Ve, I think the canvas is dry enough for me to paint on another layer. We can continue now if you'd like, si?"

Forced to depart from his train of thought, he opens his eyes once again to look at the artist. Ludwig only nods.


Translations:

[Italian]

Nonno - Grandfather

Mio fratello - my brother

Grazie - Thank you

Si - Yes

[German]

Nein - No

Thank you for reading. Please leave a review or a critique if you'd like. I don't really know if this is worth continuing, but I'll try to work on the next chapter if and when I can. Thank you, guys! I love you all!