Days passed until it was the night before parting back to Venezia. They decided to stay on San Donà di Piave because it was easier that way – Ludwig was thankful for that, he didn't want to expose himself more than needed -.

As promised, Feliciano started to sleep naked with the condition of covering himself with the sheets. The idea of the naked man on the other bed, made Ludwig feel… weird, uncomfortable maybe? So he couldn't sleep all that well that week. How to describe it? He felt his own body tickly? Like having this urge to scratch himself all over; and also a pressure on his chest, but that one wasn't that new of a sensation. Also something else, like… nervous? His hands slightly shaking, but why would he feel like that? He just couldn't understand what was going on. He never felt like this before.

Ludwig was on the bathtub, resting from walking all day around the city with the Italian. His head leaning over the tub's border and his eyes closed. Tomorrow they would go back to Venezia. He wasn't sure what to think or feel about it. He was having such a good time in this trip, he almost didn't want it to end but alas they had to. They had to go back to their usual, normal lives once again, and continue until is all done.

The blond man opened his eyes and stared at the roof. It's been a while since last time he heard from his grandfather or older brother, he should send them a letter to check on them, Gilbert – his older brother – sometimes can be pretty annoying. A soft knock in the door distracted him from his thoughts.

"Ludwig?" the Italian's voice could be heard from the other side of the door "did you fall asleep? You've been in there for a while and—" he suddenly stopped, leaving the German expectant. When he was about to answer, Feliciano forced open the door with a loud slam "Ludwig?! Did you drown?! Please don't die!"

"F-Feliciano?!" a bright red color appeared in his face "Get out!"

But the young man ran to him and shook him by the shoulders.

"No, Ludwig, you can't die! I don't want you to die!" dramatic tears started to fall down from his closed eyes.

"I'm not dead! Stopp! Feliciano, stop!" he couldn't push the over-reacting man because he had his hands occupied, covering his vital parts.

Back in the bedroom, the German was drying his hair with a towel. He was sitting on his bed while Feliciano was on the other. Ludwig kept muttering something about Feliciano having no shame.

"Ve… I'm sorry, Ludwig, it's just that you had been in there for a long time, I thought you had drowned"

"I… I know, Feliciano, just promise to not do it again" the red on his face persisted and it seemed it wouldn't go away any time soon.

"… You're very muscley"

"Feliciano!"

"Sorry, Ludwig, but I couldn't help but notice. I knew you had to do exercise, there's no way you're like that naturally" a soft grin was on his face.

"… Let's not talk about this ever again" the Italian nodded and turned his head away from Ludwig, looking at the floor.

"Do you mind if I draw you like that?"

"EH?!" the German froze at the question.

"Not on live! But from memory. It's just that your body is really artistic, aesthecally attractive, Ludwig, so can I? Can I draw you? I promise I won't show to anyone, unless you want me to, that is. Do you want to see it when I finish?"

To be honest, Ludwig wasn't listening Feliciano all that well, he was too immersed on his brain that was screaming something about running away. The Italian stood up and walked towards them, shaking his shoulder to wake him up from his thoughts.

"Maybe you should go to sleep, Ludwig, you have a weird face"

The German didn't say anything; he just left the towel neatly folded on the desk, partly removed the bed's sheet and he lay down, covering himself up with the sheets again.

"Good night, Ludwig" a giggle made its way on his voice.

Even after hours of trying to sleep, the college student just couldn't do it. Even worst, he couldn't even move because then he would be looking at Feliciano's side of the bedroom and that would be bad because… well, because the Italian liked to sleep naked.

All the weird feelings inside of him intensified after the young man suddenly entered the bathroom, leaving him exposed to his sight. And what about that "can I draw you?" thing? It was too embarrassing! How come Feliciano can say that kind of things so easily?! Well, maybe it was because he's an artist; he surely is used to see other people's bodies and doesn't think of them as anything more than art material.

Ludwig couldn't help imagine himself posing for the Italian, and that same Italian watching him intently while making traces on his sketchbook. Watching every muscle on his body, every corner on it. How would the artist draw him? In the bathtub? Maybe standing up?. He could almost see the Italian making each stroke with a delicate movement, carefully, so they take the form of his body. How much detail would he make? How much time would he spend?. If Feliciano needed detail, Ludwig would have to pose, right? Of course, that's impossible for him – he would actually die from embarrassment – but the sole idea of letting the other man watch him was… alluring?

"It's just that your body is really artistic, aesthecally attractive, Ludwig"

Feliciano's voice was clear and soft on his head, almost like a whisper on his ear that made him shudder, feeling a shiver going down on his back. Obviously it's not the first time someone called him attractive, he knows he's socially attractive. He's tall, with fair skin, deep eyes and, of course, had muscle on his body.

But no one ever had called him artistic.

The people who called him attractive always seemed so superficial, even when flattering his intelligence. It felt like those persons could only see Ludwig on his skin.

But being called artistic.

It felt different.

Oh, so different.

He felt almost divine, he felt beyond any physical trait. He was compared with art. And for him, Ludwig, art was such a beautiful and amazing thing. Something created from nothing, something that could be reproduced but never the same. Each artist has their own style, their own form and method of doing art. And that was it makes it so special.

And, apparently, Ludwig was just as special and divine as art.

The thought once again sent shivers on his body. He suddenly realized it was hard to breath, he was not choking but felt like drowning. It was such a powerful feeling, so overwhelming, it filled his whole body with this pressing sensation that, for the first time, didn't feel as oppressive and mind-wrecking as before.

It actually felt nice.

Really nice, in fact.

It felt so nice he didn't mind the uneasiness of it. It felt so nice he didn't care he don't understanding it. It felt so nice he didn't need to know from exactly where it came.

It felt so nice nothing else mattered in that instant.

"So can I? Can I draw you? I promise I won't show to anyone"

Feliciano's voice again. Inside of his head. Whispering in his ear. Ludwig could imagine his eyes fixed on him. Those sparkling brown eyes watching him. Would he make the same face as always when he's painting? That determined and concentrated face of his when he's doing art. Ludwig imagined the Italian looking at him with that face of his and a soft sigh escaped from his mouth, almost unnoticed, it was so soft and gentle.

What was all of this? He had never felt something like this before. Never in his life. But why? How could he miss out something so amazing and incredible until now?

Suddenly, he noted something.

Something inside his pants, pressing against the cloth.

Something that made him wake up from his bliss.

His brain started to scream again about running away. The red on his face deepened so hard it was almost painful. He immediately went to the bathroom – without looking at the sleeping Feliciano, not even once -, filled the tub with cold water and submerged on it, covering his head under the water.

This was so embarrassing.