Chapter 11
Kettenbrücke-Walzer
He hadn't ever really been sure whether or not he believed in heaven.
His father had told him all about it, when he had been small. It had seemed comforting then, sitting on his father's lap and burying his face into the comforting smell of his shirt, as his father had explained heaven and hell and what you had to do to get into each one. His mother, of course, had gone to heaven, because she had been a good person, having never wronged anyone in her short life. His grandparents had gone to heaven. His father, when he died, would go to heaven too, because heroes always went to heaven.
Comforting.
At least then.
The older he got, and the more he started really thinking about, heaven seemed less of a comfort and more of an uncertainty.
One of his father's old war buddies had died from a very likely shot liver, when Alfred was fourteen, and he remembered his father sitting there in one of the black-draped chairs before the casket, looking dismal. Afterwards, his father had stood up, gone to the widow, put a hand on her shoulder and said, quietly, 'Jimmy's in heaven now, Jane, so don't cry so much.'
But as he had looked her, Alfred had realized that she wasn't really crying that much at all.
Suddenly it hit him, really hit him, because Alfred remembered that woman, remembered seeing her so often, sporting her black sunglasses that nearly covered her entire face, her scarf tied around her neck, never taking them off so that no one would notice the bruises, and, god, if Jimmy really had gone to heaven, then maybe heaven wasn't somewhere that Alfred would really have wanted to be.
His father had never hit his mother, Francis had assured him of that, but if his father thought that that man had deserved ascending into the clouds, then his declarations of a better place quickly lost their meaning.
After a while, Alfred started to think that, maybe, heaven was just another story that his father had spun, like all the other ones. Glitzy and exciting, yeah, but overblown and exaggerated. Hot air.
It was nice to think that his sweet mother had been rewarded, had been given eternity to make up for her stolen years on earth, it really was. It had made her death a little easier to accept when he was young. It had softened the blow. His father had needed to believe that, had needed to believe such things, because his father was too weak to go on without some kind of reassurance. His father couldn't handle the fact that maybe, just maybe, his wife had just died and that he wouldn't ever see her again, no matter how many years passed, that she wasn't waiting in the sky, that maybe she had just gone out like a match and that was that. You could still smell smoke after it had vanished, but that didn't mean it was still there.
His father believed in heaven because the alternative seemed too dreary and hopeless.
Bleak.
Somehow...
The more and more Alfred thought about it, the more and more he was sure that it was just a story. If heaven and hell and god were all real, then the world wouldn't be so fuckin' crazy, would it? If god were real, then mankind wouldn't be so cruel. The world would make sense. Maybe some people really needed to believe that life was just some test, some right of passage, where their actions would be rewarded and they would be exalted.
His father had said, all the time, that the Allies won the war because god was on their side.
That hadn't ever really made much sense to him, because he remembered old radio broadcasts from the war, where Hitler and Mussolini claimed, so fervently, that god was on their side.
If that god was real, then he was just fuckin' with the entire universe.
And Alfred would rather not believe in something like that.
He went on, after that, and decided that the best thing to do was to live life to the fullest and not worry about what happened after death. If he was wrong and heaven was real, then he would still have been a good person, and would surely be let in. If he was right and there was no such thing, then he would die with no regrets, knowing that he had made every moment worth it.
Alfred hadn't ever really been sure whether or not he believed in heaven, but now, suddenly, it didn't seem to matter so much.
No heaven could ever have made him feel as good as that single word had. No heaven could ever have lived up to the expectations that had been set down here. Let heaven wait, if it was there; he'd take this present, and wouldn't even bother looking back.
Nothing up there in the clouds could ever be worth more than hearing Ludwig's voice so close to his ear. To feel that hand upon his shoulder, a fleeting second of something that felt like heaven, to be sought out voluntarily.
Nothing.
This was heaven. The instant that Ludwig had taken his hand within his own, this time and place had become heaven.
He sat on the stone steps in front of his house, pulling on his still damp boots, and he was so giddy with excitement that it was taking him an extraordinary amount of time to tie the damn things.
Kept slipping up.
When he had woken up that morning, the world had suddenly seemed a little brighter.
Footsteps on the sidewalk didn't even draw his attention, nor did the shadow that fell over him, and he would never have realized that he wasn't alone if someone hadn't spoken.
"Didn't know you were off today."
He glanced up, quickly, but it was only Matthew.
Dressed neatly, as always, he was staring down at Alfred with a strange look, and tucked a hand into his pocket as he gave a halfhearted smile. Hadn't seen Matthew for a while, now. Hadn't really even thought about it. Odd, hearing his voice.
No doubt the statement had been meant to bring Alfred back down to earth a little.
Didn't work.
Alfred gave a snort, and turned his eyes back down to his stubborn boots.
"I'm not," was his airy reply, and Matthew was surely shaking his head.
"Feel like gettin' fired, huh?"
Alfred shrugged a shoulder. "Don't care much."
Truthfully, he didn't. He didn't give a damn if they fired him or not, because he had something else he'd rather be doing right now, and nothing in the world could have distracted him from it.
His name was Ludwig.
"Well," Matthew finally continued, a bit hopefully, "If you're playing hooky, why don't we go downtown for a while? It's been a long time since we've done something together."
He didn't even stop to think about it, quickly saying, "Sorry. Got somethin' to do."
He could feel Matthew's eyes upon him.
Together. Together was a notion that had been consuming his brain for a while now alright, but, unfortunately, the only 'together' that he was really interested in at the moment was the 'together' that included Ludwig.
No one else.
A long, rather stiff hesitation, and then Matthew spoke again.
"Goin' out there again, Alfred?"
Dreamy and still feeling rather dazed, Alfred finally laced up his boots and drawled, "Yup."
A short silence above him, and Matthew gave a little sigh. "Well. I thought instead... Ah, never mind. You know. Be careful, I guess. Have fun."
"Sure," he replied, still far up in the atmosphere, and he hardly noticed that Matthew lingered a little, and then finally turned and wandered off.
By the time he hauled himself up off the stone steps and looked up, Matthew was long gone.
He didn't dwell on it much.
Matthew didn't need him around every day. Ludwig did, perhaps.
All the same, the word 'fun' hadn't exactly been enthusiastic as it had dropped from Matthew's lips. More like melancholy, maybe exasperation. Kinda sad. Like he had lost something.
In a way, Alfred supposed, he had.
Matthew probably hadn't expected it to go this far, and he certainly hadn't expected Alfred to take to the German so much that he would end up being replaced.
Replaced.
...was that was he was doing?
True, ever since his interest in the German had grown, he had been seeing less and less of Matthew. Sought him out less and less. Thought about him less and less, too, it seemed. That hadn't been his intention. Never had been. This whole thing had just snuck up on him, so much faster than he had thought it would, and maybe he had gotten swept up in it so quickly that he had forgotten Matthew was still out in the surf, too.
It could have just been a passing distraction; maybe once he and Ludwig were settled more into their friendship, he could turn his eyes back and focus his attention between the both of them. But then, maybe that was just how it all worked. Maybe when a new friendship came along, sometimes you just kind of forgot about the ones you had had before. New relationships often meant the deterioration of old ones, didn't they?
He didn't want that. He wanted Ludwig, hell yeah he did, more than anything, but he didn't want to lose Matthew in the process. Well. Matthew was patient. Matthew understood how important this was to him. Matthew could just wait a little longer. It had been Matthew who had prodded him onward, so Matthew could do the responsible thing and wait.
He couldn't help but wonder, though, if Matthew was getting jealous.
The old man sure as hell was.
As he bounded off, too energetic to walk steady, he could feel eyes on his back, and knew his father was watching him from the window. It should have worried him, but he was confident enough in himself to think that he could call off the old man if it had really come down to it. In his state now, he probably couldn't even fight anymore. Alfred was likely the stronger one. So he didn't spend time fretting too much. He kept his father in the back of his mind now, because the front of it was occupied completely by the German. The German, who had come to him, who had spoken to him.
Ludwig.
Heaven.
No amount of cold or sleet or stagnant puddles could ruin his enthusiasm, and he tromped through the messy streets in this already fantastic new year, lunging into the crowds and pushing his way towards that unseen beacon that lured him. He stepped into their side of town now as easily as if it were his own. He had been welcomed here by one of them, after all, so he could come here now. As far as he was concerned.
Most of them avoided him, but that didn't bother him anymore, because when he went back onto that old street, he found there exactly what he had wanted.
Too easily.
Maybe Ludwig had been waiting for him.
Hoping, too.
Ludwig was easy to see against the dreary backdrop, so pristine and bright, despite the shadows under his eyes, and he didn't really seem to be doing anything when Alfred spotted him; looking rather lost, he seemed to be wandering from one end of the block to the other, as if he had left something behind and couldn't seem to find it.
Alfred liked to think (and maybe he was right) that Ludwig was just exploring the same few feet of sidewalk so that Alfred wouldn't have to look too hard to find him. And he was actually sure, as he drew ever closer and Ludwig just walked in circles, that that was exactly what he was doing.
He couldn't ever really understand the things he felt in that moment, when his foot landed heavily on the street and Ludwig looked up, bright eyes catching fire in the sun, and their gazes locked. As if Ludwig somehow knew, as much as he did, when they were drawing nearer each other. As if Ludwig sensed him somehow, or maybe Ludwig knew the weight of his footsteps or the particular sheen of his jacket. Maybe Ludwig recognized the way the light hit his hair, or maybe he could pick out the way he smelled from the rest of the bustling crowd.
As Alfred knew well the sight of Ludwig, in the midst of hundreds of others, Ludwig seemed to be perfectly capable of the same feat.
Could anyone have understood such a thing except for them?
The confused circling suddenly stopped, and Ludwig fell still where he stood.
Alfred was momentarily so dazed by the sight of him that he didn't realize he was still standing in the gutter, and he barely jumped out of the way as an angry cab came straight at him. Alfred yelped at the dirty water that splashed onto his back, and he whirled around to shriek obscenities at the car that had nearly taken him out.
People were so fuckin' impatient around here!
Ludwig straightened up, put his hands in his pockets, and just shook his head. Probably thinking, 'It had to be this guy, huh?'
Trying to gather up his dignity, Alfred hopped onto the sidewalk, heart racing, and just jerked a thumb back at the long-gone cab. "Man!" he said, in an effort to regain a little composure, "Jerks, I tell ya!"
Ludwig, quiet as he was, only turned to the side, and started walking.
Alfred assumed it was an invitation to settle in side by side, and did just that.
Maybe the damn car had hit him, because this sure felt like a dream. A damn good one. He was painfully aware that his backside was soaked with gutter-water, but hey—Ludwig didn't seem to care, so neither did he.
He couldn't seem to get enough of saying that name.
Ludwig.
Ludwig, Ludwig, Ludwig. Coulda said it all day long.
Alfred opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it, and promptly shut it again. Blabbering away was usually his go to, but this time...
Somehow, he was content enough just to walk at Ludwig's side, and enjoy the company.
In lieu of speaking, he decided to observe.
The first thing that struck him was that Ludwig looked better. Not good, not really, but better. Actually, he looked a hell of a lot better than he had mere weeks ago, and it would have been hard for someone who didn't know him to realize that he had nearly been dead not so long ago. He was still pale and still rather heavy-eyed, but that could have easily been mistaken for a cold or a little insomnia. No one would have guessed.
That made Alfred happy.
An odd feeling as of late.
Even Ludwig's hair seemed brighter, if at all possible, like it had perked up as much as the rest of him. The garments he wore now seemed to fit a little better. Not so loose. Ludwig's clothes were a little neater than they had been, too, as if he had upped the quality a little of the fabric that he wore, and the scent was different as well. A little spicy. Cologne? Ludwig hadn't ever worn it before. Maybe it was embedded in the clothing, from days long gone when Ludwig had actually given a damn.
A thought struck him then that made his smile fall a little.
Ludwig had started wearing good clothes, perhaps, because no one was pummeling him into the dirt anymore. Those clothes must have been in his closet for years.
That hurt.
Glancing over at his silent counterpart, Alfred finally dared himself to speak, and said, simply, "You look good."
Ludwig didn't respond or look over, but Alfred could see, in the way he lifted his chin a little, that the compliment was accepted and appreciated. It felt as good for him to say it as it must have been for Ludwig to hear it.
That was all they spoke that day.
He still went home and rested his hands behind his head as he smiled stupidly at the ceiling all night long.
A few days and one barely salvaged occupation later, he set out again.
The same routine.
Ludwig was wandering in circles in that same spot, and when he saw Alfred, something swirled in his eyes, whether he meant it to or not. Relief, maybe, or contentment. Whatever it was, Alfred hardly cared; as long as Ludwig kept waiting for him.
As before, they walked.
And the next time, too.
Each time, Alfred spoke a little more, and every so often, Ludwig would look over at him and utter a word here and there. Some days, they found themselves walking together, side by side in the street, and yet neither one of them could really seem to remember exactly how they had come across each other or why.
Each time, Ludwig spoke up a little more.
In their third week of this ritual, Ludwig finally took a deep breath, and spoke before Alfred did.
Heaven was the only word for it.
They talked, now. A little. Not as easily as friends should have, but they held small conversations, and Alfred was steadily prying more information out of Ludwig with every encounter. Nothing grand. Just a few details. What kind of things he enjoyed, shows and music and the like. How old he was. His birthday. Little things. They still meant the world, somehow.
Ludwig looked so lonely; it had to have felt good, to say a little of this aloud and feel connected to somebody and get back into the world.
Matthew didn't even cross Alfred's mind, in those moments when he spoke to Ludwig.
He grew a little bolder each time.
Once, Alfred asked, "How come you left Germany, if ya don't mind me askin'?"
From the look Ludwig had sent him then, it was obvious that he did mind, and when he said, rather snippily, "Because I felt like it," it was clear that he had no intention of answering that question.
A little disappointed, Alfred had only turned his eyes down, and pursed his lips.
It was still so difficult to determine what was and wasn't out of bounds for Ludwig, what subjects could be approached and which were forbidden, where the lines in the sand were drawn and how flexible the borders were. Trial and error was all he could do, and hell, he didn't mind. As long as Ludwig still walked with him, and as long as he knew that Ludwig was doing alright.
Sometimes, though...
He kinda wished that he had just never opened his mouth in the first place.
"So," he finally asked, one rainy day, "You got any family here? I mean, don't you have any brothers or sisters or anything this side?"
He didn't ask about a father—he knew that answer already.
Ludwig hesitated a little, keeping pace with him in the slick streets, and cast him a weary glance, but eventually, he just shook his head.
"I'm alone here."
Alfred could sense his unease, but still he pressed anyway.
How sad—no one to go to. No one attached to him. Who could live like that?
"Well, what about back in Germany? No one there, either? You didn't have any family at all?"
An odd pause, as Ludwig found the ground suddenly very interesting, and after a while, he shrugged a shoulder, and finally muttered, "A brother."
Alfred couldn't help but smile.
Brother, huh? Ludwig, stern, patient Ludwig, a brother.
Cute.
The deep timbre of Ludwig's voice was scarcely audible over the rain, and Alfred should have taken that as a hint to drop the subject and back off before he went too far. But, like always, he pressed, and tried his luck. Couldn't help it. Oh, man, the sound of Ludwig's voice was still so entrancing. He'd do anything he could to make Ludwig speak more, if only to hear the sound of his voice. No one else could ever have emulated that accent, met that same rumbling pitch, pronounced words exactly as he could.
No one.
"Younger?" he asked, stubbornly. "You ever see him? Don't you talk to him anymore?"
He should've shut his mouth earlier, but it just kept on a runnin'. A curse of his.
Ludwig's look turned a little dark.
"Older." Another hesitation, and then Ludwig scoffed. "He's dead, so it doesn't matter."
Oh—
"Oh, oh shit. I'm...sorry. I'm really sorry."
Quit while you're ahead, Alfred, that was what Matthew always told him. He never fuckin' listened. Never. Always put his foot in his mouth.
Ludwig glanced over, and then away again, muttering, "You didn't know."
Shit.
Reaching up to scratch at his wet hair, Alfred hesitated, knowing that it was wrong to ask, and yet still, still, he just couldn't really resist.
"What hap— Well, I mean, if you don't mind me asking, that is... How?"
Stupid. So stupid.
Luckily, Ludwig didn't punch him in the nose or call him an insensitive bastard, and actually, somehow, maybe he looked a little...
"He was a soldier. He went into Russia. Got caught. He never came back."
...relieved.
As if, maybe, he had been dying to talk to somebody about it, but hadn't ever been brave enough to put it out there. Relieved that somebody had asked. Relieved that somebody gave a damn. Relieved that somebody wanted to know.
"Sorry," Alfred said again, but Ludwig was hardly listening to him anymore.
In his own little world, now. Without prompting, Ludwig added, heavily, "My father used to pretend that he was still alive, you know? Since...they never found him. My mother never— She never pretended. She knew. She said she could feel it, that he was dead."
He should never have asked.
Seeing Ludwig look so sad...
He hadn't wanted that.
"She'd know," Ludwig whispered, as Alfred glanced over halfheartedly. "He was her real son, so she'd know, right? He never come back. If he weren't dead, he would've come back. I waited for him. I made sure to wait before I left, just in case."
A long, heavy silence, save for the pounding rain, and from the look on Ludwig's face, maybe he had said so much simply because it was raining. Made it harder to see. His bangs had fallen into his eyes now, anyway, so despair was a lot easier to hide.
Finally, Alfred asked, "What was his name?"
For all it mattered.
Ludwig nearly smiled, for a second there, he was sure of it, as if the name itself was something that had at one point brought so much happiness that he couldn't do anything but.
"Gilbert."
"Oh."
No more talk.
He was stupid.
Oh, he longed to ask more. To know more. To understand Ludwig's dreary nature. To ask about his home, his mother, what had happened out there, what he had seen. He didn't.
After that, they never spoke about family again, and Alfred was glad, in a way. Couldn't stand seein' Ludwig look like that.
The next time they met, though, Ludwig looked just as good as he had the last time. No relapse of depression because of Alfred's thoughtless questions. Maybe talking about such things did more good than harm. He made a note to himself to slowly build up to each and every thing he wanted to know, and maybe, one day, Ludwig would actually tell him the whole story.
The truth.
If ever Ludwig trusted him so one day, then he was certain that he could go the rest of his life without feeling that he had missed out on anything. That would have been the day he could have truly liked himself.
In the meantime, they walked.
Eventually, the aimless walks they took started to have a more tangible destination, and when Alfred looked up one afternoon, he realized they were walking past Ludwig's house.
Getting closer and closer.
Each time, he got closer. It took a while for Ludwig to actually lead him up onto his doorstep, and when they sat down together that first time on the stoop and just stared out at the streets together, Alfred was pretty sure that he knew at last was happiness truly felt like. He'd sat on a hundred stoops like this, sometimes with someone at his side, sometimes alone, but it hadn't ever felt like this.
Exhilaration.
He wondered if this was what his mother had felt, so many years ago, when she had tried on her dress for the first time. Feeling like something had just begun, that life was really starting for the first time, that, no matter what had happened before, from now on everything would be perfect. That the former world was melting away for something better.
Because that was what he felt like.
She had twirled in front of the mirror, no doubt, beaming away, and when he walked through the door, he went into the bedroom and looked into his mirror. What he saw there, for the first time, really made him smile.
He could only hope that Ludwig had the same sensation every time he walked into his room.
They found themselves on those same steps now every time they walked, and sometimes Alfred dreaded seeing those steps, because he knew it meant their journey had ended and that it wouldn't be long before the visit was over and he would have to go home.
The sense of what was home and what was not was steadily shifting. Before long, he started thinking to himself, 'I gotta go back to the house.'
The house; not home.
He kept an eye out for his father during these walks, just in case, but the old man never came after them. Maybe seeing Alfred there, really seeing him, would've broken his heart. Well. As long as he stayed away and left Ludwig alone.
Sometimes, when they sat, Alfred could see Ludwig glancing at him, and maybe Ludwig had as many things he wanted to ask as Alfred did, but just couldn't find the words for. Alfred would have answered anything he wanted, anything at all, if he would have just asked.
He never did.
Once, though, Ludwig did catch his eye, and ask, carefully, "Are your friends still mad at you?"
Alfred's answer was swift, and final.
"No friends of mine."
Ludwig seemed satisfied.
People eyed them, oddly, when they sat there, but neither one of them really noticed.
Alfred stood frequently on Ludwig's doorstep these days, but he was never invited inside, and he never asked. Hadn't gone that far yet, not yet. He wasn't brave enough, and if he asked before Ludwig offered, he might have come off as too bold and presumptuous. He was bold and presumptuous, but Ludwig might not have appreciated that just yet. Ludwig must have known that he wanted in, but if he did, then he didn't care. Alfred like to think that he was saving that invite for something special, or for when Alfred finally did something to really prove himself.
Time.
Everything got better in time. In time, Ludwig would trust him more. He grew more confident with each encounter. He wanted more. Each time, no matter what Ludwig offered, he found that he only wanted more. So much of his time was spent in the streets now that he hardly even remembered what it was like just to sit at home and watch the television.
February was well on the way.
He noticed, albeit reluctantly, that his father was losing a little weight. Looked a little ill. Maybe that was why he didn't stay home, on some level, to not have to see him getting worse. Since it was his fault. His fault, but not Ludwig's.
One morning, Alfred woke up, having had a wonderful idea the night before, and even though it was cloudy and snowing outside, he felt like he was in the middle of summer.
An idea.
What could it hurt? Things had improved enough between them now, hadn't it? Time to push forward a little.
He dressed, pulled on his boots, and stepped into the road.
He heard Matthew's voice from a distance, calling after him as he jogged down the street.
"Hey, Alfred—!"
Too late.
He was already crossing the road and going around the corner. Matthew always came around too late, it seemed, after Alfred had already gotten something into his head and was ready to act upon it. Matthew just needed to be patient with him.
It didn't take too long before Alfred found himself, yet again, in front of Francis' house.
He was so excited this time that he banged on the door in a manner that was almost urgent. Too thrilled to control himself, as he often was.
Francis opened the door in a second, eyes alarmed and wide, as if thinking the cops were coming for him or something. Knowing Francis, one day a spurned woman probably would send the fuzz after him. Right to worry, perhaps.
Upon seeing Alfred, Francis sent him a gentle glare of agitation, and lowered his shoulders.
"What's up? You scared me, you know."
"Sorry," was his carefree response, and he couldn't keep himself from bristling with adrenaline. "Just wanted to see you. You up for a walk? I thought we could go somewhere."
Francis would never say no. Not to him.
"Well—alright. Sure, why not? Let's go for a walk."
Grabbing his coat and smoothing his hair, Francis came into the doorframe, and gave Alfred a smile.
He expected to start walking immediately, impatient as he was, but Francis stood still for a second, eyes glued to Alfred all of a sudden. Francis always stared at him when they were together, always, but this time he seemed to be looking Alfred up and down more than usual, his eyes focused and brow low in concentration.
Alfred fidgeted a little, and finally asked, "What? Do I got something on my face?"
Francis smiled, in a way that was so knowing it made Alfred a little uneasy, and he shook his head.
"No. You cleaned your boots."
"Huh?"
He looked down, to his scrubbed boots, and then back up.
"So what?"
Francis just smiled. "You never clean your boots. You shined up your glasses, too, didn't'cha?"
"Well—"
He reached up, awkwardly, and shoved his glasses up his nose.
"They were gettin' dirty."
Francis reached out, and pinched a fold of fabric above his chest.
"Ironed your shirt, too, huh?"
Feeling a bit defensive, Alfred tugged himself back, and said, again, "So what? I know how to work an iron, believe it or not. I just... I don't know, I just felt like ironing it. What's the big deal?"
Francis broke into a wide smile, and waved off his snippy tone.
"No big deal. Just, you look good, is all. Haven't ever seen you worry about what you looked like."
Before he could think of something smart to say, Francis had grabbed him around the shoulder and dragged him down the steps.
"Well! Take me where you will, Alfred."
For a second there, a little uneasy, Alfred had half a mind to shove Francis back in his house and forget the whole thing.
Pfft—he'd always cared about what he looked like. Sort of. Kind of.
"Has that girl still been coming around?" Francis asked, rather slyly, and Alfred actually had to think about it before he answered, as they walked along.
Had she? Hell, he'd been so far gone lately that Audrey Hepburn coulda showed up at his doorstep and he woulda just walked on by her without thought. If Alice had come by, then he couldn't remember.
"No. Not really."
Francis' smile turned into a leer.
"You been going out a lot lately?"
"I guess."
"Seein' somebody?"
Well. Yeah.
"I guess."
...but, oh, wait, not like that. Not like Francis thought. He understood suddenly, that Francis was observing his neater than usual appearance, and assumed he had found a girl to chase after. But that wasn't—he'd been goin' after Ludwig, yeah, but—
Face red and feeling incredibly mortified for some reason, he blurted out, "Hey, not— I haven't been seein' anybody, if that's what you mean!"
His mortification increased tenfold when he realized that Francis in absolutely no way believed him.
That fuckin' grin.
"Sure, Alfred," was all he said.
Alfred hung his head, knowing that his face was red as hell, and he couldn't say why he was so embarrassed. All he had had to say was, 'I've been hanging out with a friend.' That was all.
He had choked, under Francis' assumptions.
Although he hadn't choked when Francis asked if Alice was still coming around with the same tone.
...ah, hell.
So he had tidied himself up a little. So what? Could you only do that on a date, or what? Couldn't he clean his boots and shine his glasses and iron his shirts a little just because Ludwig was so spotless and neat that it felt a little odd to walk at his side, so messy? Ludwig glanced at his boots, sometimes, and Alfred had suddenly realized how dirty they were.
Maybe that was why Ludwig hadn't invited him inside yet.
Maybe.
He hadn't gone to extremes, anyway, not in the least. He hadn't gotten a haircut or bought expensive clothes. He hadn't traded in his old jacket for a newer one. He hadn't started dousing himself in aftershave and cologne any more than he always had before. He had started putting a bit on wrists instead of just spraying it on his clothes, but that was hardly noticeable.
In fact, he was fairly certain that Francis was the only one who would ever notice these small things, the only one who would actually realize that Alfred had smoothed a few rough edges.
Good damn thing he hadn't actually bothered to fix his hair. Francis woulda tried to beat it out of him.
They walked, and with every step, Alfred wondered more and more if maybe this was a good idea after all. Francis' teasing had dampened not only his mood, but his confidence a little.
Francis assumed...
When it became more obvious where they were going, Francis lifted up his head a little, and became considerably less playful and considerably more alert.
"So," Francis asked, suddenly, "Where are we goin'?"
Alfred, jittery with excitement that wasn't quite so pleasant anymore, said, simply, "I just wanted to check out some stores."
He knew that Francis was eyeballing him, and, sure enough, he asked, "Since when do you go shopping all the way out here?"
An honest answer would have been, 'Since Ludwig.'
Instead, he replied, "There's this shop around here that had some great Christmas stuff. You like gingerbread, right? I love gingerbread."
He didn't, actually, but he sure had loved watchin' Ludwig try to make a house out of it.
There was a pause, and then Francis gave a laugh.
It might have been a little stiff.
"Well! I guess it's great to try new things," Francis said, and Alfred just stayed silent, and kept his lookout.
Second thoughts. Doubt. Things he hated.
Had Ludwig even noticed, that last time, that Alfred's boots no longer had the rainbow sheen of motor oil? Who could tell, with Ludwig?
It didn't take long for Alfred to spot Ludwig, and it took little less for Ludwig to spot him, but this time, when Ludwig's eyes locked onto his own, the agitation was obvious. Before they crossed the street, Ludwig had straightened up stiff as a board, and Alfred could see that he was turning his head this way and that, already plotting an escape.
Ludwig had never expected Alfred to bring anyone along. Maybe this was a betrayal, somehow, of the frail faith that Ludwig had put in him.
Francis wasn't a bad guy—Ludwig would see it, surely. If this hurdle could be passed, if Ludwig could see that so many people weren't bad...
Seeing that Ludwig was starting to back away, Alfred quickened his pace, and reached the sidewalk before Ludwig could bolt. Stuck, now. Ludwig was caught towards the far end of the sidewalk, where he had slowly edged, and when Alfred smiled at him, Ludwig's shoulders fell in defeat, and he knew he had no choice.
He stood there, shiftily, and Alfred came closer.
When they were standing in front of Ludwig, Alfred came forward, hands in his pockets, and tried to reassure the fidgeting Ludwig by saying, as easily as he could, "Hey, hope you don't mind. I just wanted you to meet my uncle." Ludwig's eyes could have very likely set him on fire, then, but he was too polite for his own good, and when Alfred said, loudly, "This is Francis," Ludwig took an automatic step forward, and held out his hand.
Francis had been quiet the whole time, sure, but when Alfred turned around, expecting to see him clasping Ludwig's hand and offering words of greeting, he was surprised.
Silence.
Francis stood still, as if frozen in place, and was staring at Ludwig from where he had settled. His face was very nearly indescribable. Alfred had never seen him look like that. He could only imagine that it was the look of a man who was hearing that his parents had died all over again, which was not fair, in any sense. But Alfred couldn't even be angry, just seeing that odd expression on his uncle's face. Mouth half-open, brow low and eyes a bit wide, the crease of uncertainty visible on his forehead.
Francis looked so stuck.
Alfred was painfully aware of Ludwig's hand, held out there in a moment of what had to have been vulnerability. Putting his hand out for someone he didn't know and didn't trust, just because Alfred had put him in that position, and for some unholy reason, Ludwig had trusted Alfred enough to put himself out there.
Francis had never let Alfred down before.
But, oh god, did he ever now. He didn't take Ludwig's hand.
Alfred had never been so embarrassed.
Slowly, carefully, Ludwig withdrew his hand, tucked it in his pocket, and took a step back. His face was completely blank, and that was enough to let Alfred know that he was, on some level, hurt. As always, he gave away nothing, and removed his eyes from the immobile Francis.
Alfred just watched them, not really knowing what to do.
What could he do? Nothing.
Finally, Ludwig cast him a quick glance, acknowledged him with a nod, and said, "I'm late."
For what?
Before Alfred could protest, Ludwig turned on his heel, stepped into the crowd, and was gone.
And it was one of the biggest disappointments of his life.
Crushed.
Immediately, Francis turned to him, his look now one of mortification, and he said, beseechingly, "Alfred, I'm so sorry. That was so rude of me. I didn't mean—"
"Don't worry about it," he grumbled back, as he watched the crowd with a heavy heart, and then he sighed.
Well, so much for that. What a bust.
"I'm..."
Francis looked so sad.
Alfred didn't have it in him to be angry. Francis had choked, too.
"I'm sorry. That won't happen again."
Disheartened, and more than a little upset, Alfred shook his head.
"You're right. It won't."
Ludwig would not let it.
A step backwards.
He didn't see Ludwig for a long time after that.
It hurt, to think that the progress he had made had been set back by one simple, unintentional gesture. Francis felt horrible about, he knew he did, but it didn't change the fact that he had disenchanted Alfred with his immobility. He had thought better of his uncle. Maybe it wasn't Francis' fault, maybe it had been instilled in Francis the same way it had been instilled in him, but it didn't make Alfred any less disappointed.
Days and days and days. They felt like months. Miserable months.
He searched, every day, and found nothing.
Ludwig didn't wait for him.
He couldn't even remember the last time he had felt so bad. Not since that window.
He searched.
Before he ran into Ludwig, however, he ran into that girl that had been on his arm once.
Close enough.
He would have snatched anyone then that he had ever seen with Ludwig, even the crazy one that lived with him. Anyone, anything, to make things the way they had been before he had let Ludwig down.
He didn't know her name, so when he saw her walking down the street, bouncing on her heels and looking so goddamn cheerful that it was almost shameful, Alfred had burst into a sprint after her, crying, ridiculously, "Hey! Hey, you! Girl! Hey, wait a sec!"
There was no way for her to know who he was talking to, not with so many people around, and the only reason she looked back was just to see who the weirdo was that was screaming in the streets.
Their eyes met, for a second, and she seemed to recognize him as he had her.
Relief.
She fell still, and waited for him.
"Hey," he called, as he drew nearer and slowed his pace, "Hey, you remember me? I'm—I don't think you ever got my name, but I'm Alfred. I'm a friend of Ludwig's. You remember me?"
Seemingly mesmerized by him, the girl just nodded her head, clenching her bag to her chest, and stared at him quietly.
For a moment, Alfred felt stupid, because he didn't really know what to say.
What was he going to say?
Searching for words and finding nothing particularly brilliant, he just said, clumsily, "Say, uh, how's he doin'? I haven't seen him out for a while, and I just... I wanted to make sure he was okay. Have you seen him?"
There was a short silence, as her eyes looked him up and down, as though judging his sincerity, and he prayed that she wasn't going to obey Ludwig's previous order not to talk to him.
Maybe he looked a little worried, after all, because she finally dropped her shoulders a little, and gave a bright smile.
"Well, I haven't seen him for a few days, but I'll go check on him, if you want me to. Would you like that?"
"Yes!" he cried, immediately, and could feel the smile on his own face. "Yes, please do! Go over, and check on him, and tell him—tell him that I... I really would like to see him. Again. You know. Soon. ...maybe."
He must have sounded like a fuckin' idiot, but she smiled all the wider anyway, and she waited patiently for him to try and finish what he wanted to say.
What did he want to say?
An honest statement probably would have been more like, 'Please tell him that I want to see him again, because oh, damn, I miss him when he's not around for some reason and he's the only thing that makes me wanna get up outta bed in the morning and I've even been dreamin' about the bastard.'
But that might have been a little creepy, and more than a little desperate, so he finally summed up with a lame, "Tell him that I just, I worry about him, you know? If he doesn't want to, that's fine, but I'd like to meet up sometime."
Oh, god.
He couldn't have been any more awkward if he had actually tried.
She probably thought he was some crazy stalker. If she did, then she didn't say anything in the affirmative, and just gave that same smile.
"I'll tell him. Promise. Maybe I'll try to bring him out some more."
Alfred smiled, then, too.
"Thanks."
She turned and walked off, glancing at him over her shoulder as she went, and before she was gone, he could see her gleaming smile. He could only pray that she would do as he said, and at least say kind words about him to Ludwig.
He went home, after, and this time it wasn't Matthew that was lurking around the corner, waiting to get a hold of him. Francis was leaning against the steps of his house, and Alfred suspected he'd been waiting there for a while.
Guilty, no doubt.
Alfred stopped in front of him, and stood still long enough to let him say whatever he wanted to.
He looked kinda sick. Nervous.
Francis finally gave a rather weak smile, which quickly fell, and then he ran a hand through his hair, asking, "So... How's it been going?"
Not his fault.
Still, Alfred's voice came out a little sharper than he wanted it to, as he responded, "Could be better."
Francis shifted a little.
"How's your dad?"
Alfred shrugged a shoulder. Didn't care.
There was a silence that wasn't quite awkward, but maybe a little uncomfortable.
The wind was blowing like crazy.
"So," Francis finally began, hopefully, "I was... I was thinking that, you know. You asked if—if I'd mind havin' him over for dinner. Well. I wanted to tell you that, if you ever want to bring him over, I'm alright with that, Alfred, I am. I feel... Oh, man, I feel terrible, I really do."
Just like that, Francis slumped, and Alfred could see that he really was sorry. Probably not because he had had some great revelation about Germans and brotherhood and all that whatnot, but because he knew that Alfred's feelings had been hurt by his thoughtlessness. Still...
"I'll keep that in mind," he said, in a gentler voice, and Francis tried to smile.
"If you see him, tell him that I'd like to have him over."
"Sure."
He wouldn't, because Ludwig would not accept.
He appreciated the effort all the same. It was proof that, no matter what their differences, Francis would always love him, even if they sometimes disagreed. They didn't have to see eye to eye with everything, but that didn't mean that they still couldn't love each other.
Francis smiled, and clapped him on the shoulder. Then he wandered off, and Alfred went inside.
His old man had been at the window, probably for a while now, no doubt trying to figure out what Francis had been doing out there. It struck Alfred, as he passed, that his father looked a little disappointed. Almost as if he had been hoping Alfred would bring Francis inside. Since when? His father had never wanted Francis around before. Must be gettin' lonely. Probably missed his wife, now that Alfred was gone so much. That was unpleasant to think about much, so he tried not to. He went into his room, ignoring his father's whisper of, "You coulda brought him in for dinner."
Sad.
It was so much easier just to think about Ludwig.
Kinda hard, though, when he wouldn't show Alfred his face.
A week.
It was in those days, maybe, that he realized how lost he felt when Ludwig wasn't around. He had put so much of himself into this whole thing that it felt like the world was being sucked into a great black hole when he was alone. When Ludwig wasn't there.
Ludwig was the only person on earth who might have really needed him.
Nothing could have ever filled that void.
He waited, as patiently as was possible for him, but when yet another week passed after his encounter with the girl and Ludwig still didn't show, he started to get anxious. Irritable. Matthew actually came up to his door and knocked one day, and when Alfred had opened it quickly, thinking for some ridiculous reason that it was Ludwig, he had been so disappointed to see Matthew standing there that he had promptly said, 'I'm busy, Matt. Come back later.'
Matthew's face had fallen as he had shut the door.
Not fair to take it out on poor Matthew, but he felt so foul all the time. His moods had been tied to Ludwig as much as anything else lately, it seemed. When Ludwig was gone, so was that happiness.
Agitation. Emptiness.
Ludwig still didn't come out, so Alfred finally decided to go to him. Couldn't take it anymore. He had to make sure Ludwig knew that Alfred wasn't going to let one little setback bring down this castle he was building.
Not that easily.
He didn't remember exactly going out that day, and he couldn't really remember leading his feet towards that house, and yet somehow he wound up there all the same, standing on Ludwig's doorstep and feeling more like he was standing before some door to a terrifying world that had never been seen.
He hardly remembered raising his fist.
He knocked. He waited.
And he could feel his heart beating so loudly that it rivaled the sound of his fist on the door.
Silence.
He could hear shuffling within, and the lifting of a curtain. Low voices.
He might have cried, if Ludwig hadn't opened the door.
But Ludwig did. Mostly. He didn't pull it open all the way, just enough to make himself visible behind the threshold, and when he saw Alfred standing there, he just lifted a brow, and stood still.
Seeing him...
No words.
Even from behind a door, there was nothing quite like Ludwig.
Alfred felt a little stupid, but hid it well.
After a short silence, he said, weakly, "Hi."
Ludwig just stared at him.
"How you been? Alright?"
Ludwig didn't answer, but Alfred could see by his appearance and by the odd look on his face that he was doing just fine, indeed. Just fine. The clothes fit better still. He looked a little better every time that Alfred saw him. That was something he could be grateful for.
That look, though. That was nothing he could place. As if Ludwig was trying very hard to keep a straight face, although for what reason Alfred didn't even dare to hazard a guess.
Still mad, maybe, and resisting the urge to slap him again.
"Listen," he tried again, "I don't know if—well, I told that girl to tell you that I was lookin' for you, but I don't know if she has yet. I just wanted to make sure that you were okay. I haven't seen you in a while."
He wanted to say, 'I miss you,' but pride and embarrassment kept his tongue.
Something twitched on Ludwig's face.
Honestly, he didn't know now where he stood with Ludwig. He couldn't tell if the ice was sturdy beneath his feet or if it had already cracked. He just wanted to get it over with, and say it. He had been thinking it for so long, so long, and by god, maybe it was just time. Get it over with.
Ah, hell. Why not? He had done so much, risked so much, so why freeze now? Why stop?
Francis' mistake did not stop the world.
Not Francis'—his mistake. He had put both Francis and Ludwig into a position neither of them had wanted to be in.
With a deep breath, he shook his head, and gave a short laugh. Ludwig looked at him with a lifted brow, calm and patient as always, and waited for him to speak.
He did.
"Well! I was afraid to ask before, but fuck it! I'll just say it—I miss you. You wanna hang out and get drunk sometime? Can I—well, I mean, could I invite you over...sometime? Maybe?"
Ludwig's high brow fell, and for a moment, he almost crinkled his nose.
Alfred's heart hammered, and the confidence turned into anxiety, and a little hurt.
Ludwig thought he was stupid. He knew it. He knew that look. He'd seen it many times. And Ludwig said as much then, by tilting his head and uttering, slowly, "You're dumb, you know? You're really dumb."
His breath caught in his throat, and for a horrible, freezing moment, Alfred felt like he coulda burst into tears.
Oh—not that. Anything but that. He couldn't handle rejection.
A long silence, as he swallowed to gather himself, feeling horrified and mortified and hurt, and then Ludwig lifted up his chin, and started to close the door. As his fingers gripped the handle, Ludwig cast him one last, cool look, and then he spoke up again.
"You're dumber than I thought. If we're 'hanging out' anywhere, then it's going to be here. What were you thinking? Dumb!"
Ludwig's eyes met his own, right as the door closed, and the coolness had warmed a little.
Then the door shut.
Spring came alive right in the middle of winter, and the sun had suddenly shone itself.
Alfred did cry then, just a little, as he started on his way back to the house.
Happiness.
Couldn't even remember what it felt like, being so goddamn happy that he could cry.
What had that girl said to Ludwig? What had her words been, to make Ludwig finally speak to him as a friend might? To tease, even, as a normal man would have? She had cast him a good light, that was for sure. Oh, god, whatever she had said, she was a godsend. If he saw her again, he'd pick her up and squeeze her as hard as he could.
Heaven was here on earth.
He found it quite easily on Ludwig's doorstep.
Dumb. Yeah, he was dumb alright. Thinking about it, it occurred to him that maybe he was dumb for Ludwig. Ludwig seemed to make him trip all over the place without even trying. When had that happened, anyway? The urge to claim Ludwig as a friend had turned into an obsession. Being able to truly call Ludwig 'friend' was something he suddenly desired more than anything he had ever wanted before.
In all honestly, he couldn't exactly explain why.
Ludwig had become an obsession.
There wasn't a single thing about him that Alfred found unpleasant, not a thing, and there was no one else on the face of this miserable planet that he could say that about. Even Francis and Matthew had things about them that irritated Alfred sometimes.
Not Ludwig.
On his way back, he stopped at a book shop, slinking in and feeling rather out of place in the midst of better dressed patrons, and bought a German dictionary. Just because.
It felt strange, to have a book in his hands after so many years.
He tucked it under his coat, and kept it safe from his father's eyes.
So that if Ludwig ever looked sad again, he could try to say something stupid in German, and maybe that would make Ludwig smile.
And maybe Ludwig would come to think about him just as much.