Chapter 12
The One On the Right Is On the Left
Things had shifted.
Roles reversed.
It was natural, perhaps, that a soldier as young as Ludwig was perfectly capable of bouncing back after a life-threatening situation, as much as a cat could always land on its feet, but maybe it wasn't so natural that Berwald still found himself the one that was hampered by it. Couldn't shake it.
Ludwig, lost out in the trees.
The horrendous, helpless feeling of wandering through the forest, looking this way and that and hoping that he would see a flash of something familiar. Lying down in the snow and trying to sleep, only to be kept awake by fear and guilt and anxiety. Glimpsing movement and lifting his rifle in excitement only to see a rabbit bounding through the snow. Feeling dizzy when he came across a motionless figure, having to creep up to it and grip the mask in his hand, taking deep breaths and gathering the courage to finally pull it down.
The surge of relief, when it was never anyone he knew.
Not even caring that someone might have been stalking him, as he popped onto his toes and gazed out into the trees, searching for something that just wouldn't seem to come.
The worst feeling.
He couldn't ever remember feeling so helpless. Not since he had been a child.
If it had been any of the others that had gotten lost, he would have looked for them, too, and he would have felt terrible, for sure, but not like that. Not so guilty. The others had come because they had wanted to. They had volunteered themselves for this sort of thing. But not Ludwig. Ludwig had come along because Berwald had forced his hand.
Nothing had ever felt so terrible, thinking that he had brought a kid out here in the middle of nowhere against his will and had gotten him killed for it.
Not anything.
The thought of walking into a room and never again having Ludwig look up at him and send him a smile. Of sitting at the table and glancing up only to realize that Ludwig wasn't there anymore.
He couldn't have lived the rest of his life with that hanging over his head, he couldn't have.
Oh, god, finding him, actually finding him there, wandering around in the snow, was nothing that Berwald could ever have explained. The pang of his heart suddenly lurching in his chest, the way he had felt himself drawing in a breath so sharp it had hurt his lungs, the way his feet had moved suddenly on their own accord, dragging him over to Ludwig without even stopping to think that maybe he should have said something first, just seeing him...
Exhilaration, and somehow horror.
Nearly getting shot hadn't been part of the plan, but it hadn't been a factor in his jittery mood. That hadn't been the reason he had felt ill the rest of the night.
Somehow, it was hard to be excited.
He couldn't explain why he felt sicker after finding Ludwig than he had when he had been looking for him. Maybe everything he had been trying to keep stifled had finally been given the chance to come out, once Ludwig was safe, or maybe it had just been the way Ludwig had looked at him.
The way Ludwig had still been able to have a care for him and pull that mask back up, even though Berwald had put him into a situation that had nearly meant the end of him. The way that Ludwig still looked at him and still trusted him and for some unholy reason still followed him, knowing that he didn't do most things right or competently, knowing that Berwald had not shown much worth as a leader.
Ludwig still followed him.
He had never felt so awful.
When he lied there at the table and tried to sleep even through the shock, he had quickly realized that putting this behind him was going to be a long time coming. He couldn't seem to stop thinking about it.
Days passed, and still, Berwald found himself sitting there, and feeling nauseous all of a sudden.
He should have been able to get over it. Ludwig wasn't lying there, half-covered in some gnarly undergrowth in the middle of a nameless forest in Estonia. Ludwig wasn't in a little flask, tucked safely in his back pocket.
Ludwig was here, alive and well and obviously bearing no scars from his brush with danger. Healthy and vibrant, as he should be. His hair and eyes were still bright, face still flushed with youthful vigor, and his teeth still gleamed as white as they always had on the occasion he actually chose to show them.
Actin' kinda different now, maybe. No one else seemed to notice that, though. Maybe he was just seeing things.
More than likely.
In the end, Berwald was the one hung up, and he felt bad about that, too. He should have been the one to stand up strong and say, 'Get over it.'
Instead, Ludwig just flitted around like a bird, active as always, and didn't even seem to remember being lost. It was Ludwig who looked at Berwald, shoulders firm, and asked, 'You alright?'
That wasn't right. Upside-down.
Well, there was nothing he could do about it, and, eventually, the guilt would go away, and so would the fear.
Losing any of them had been one of his greatest fears (hell, he'd never admit it, but he'd'a cried a little if Magnus were to fall one day), and yet the thought of losing Ludwig, who had by many circumstances been put under his care, was horrifying. Ludwig, who trusted him more than the others did. Ludwig, who had never once looked at him and told him that something he suggested was wrong.
Ludwig, who never questioned him.
Unfathomable.
So many things had run through his mind in those woods, but not all of them were within his grasp.
It might have been the fever that had been thinking some of those things for him. Disjointed notions. Things he would say when he finally found Ludwig. The dismal, blurry image of himself falling onto his knees if he had found Ludwig halfway under the snow. The way even thinking about it made him feel as if he had lost something irreplaceable.
If he had come across a motionless Ludwig, he could not have said with any certainty what he would have done.
Maybe he had pulled down that hood and mask because some part of him had already assumed Ludwig was dead, and the recklessness had been meant to invite unfriendly eyes upon him.
If Ludwig were gone...
Darkness.
Ludwig, whatever had been going through his mind during that time, didn't seem to hold any ill feelings towards him and his lack of leadership. If anything, actually, Ludwig's actions towards him had become considerably gentler, if that was an appropriate word.
He noticed it a few days later.
The first move had been simple; he had come into the kitchen, finding himself alone with Ludwig, and when they had locked eyes, Ludwig had reached up to place a palm upon his forehead. Maybe he had still looked sick.
The fever was gone, though, and it wasn't illness that was making him pale.
Fuckin' nightmares.
Ludwig had smiled all the same, his hand lingering for a while, and Berwald had made no move to brush it off.
Ludwig was alive. The hand was still warm.
So, he just stood there, complacent and weary, and Ludwig had finally removed his hand, pushed Berwald carefully into a chair, and made sure he didn't lift a finger for anything the entire day.
Weird.
After that day, everything Ludwig did seemed different.
Even when it came to waking him up.
Now that there was no door to bang upon, instead, at the first light of dawn, Ludwig would put a hand on the top of his head, and leave it there until Berwald came to. The first time had been a little odd, a little surreal, but not the worst feeling in the world, that was for sure. It only took two days of that for him to start looking forward to it, and he realized that he didn't mind waking up early anymore, because it meant having something comforting ahead of him, and sitting there alone at the kitchen table over coffee with Ludwig was pretty goddamn pleasant.
He felt at ease, for the first time in so long.
Being around someone who seemed to enjoy his company rather than suffer it. Someone who didn't fidget under his gaze like Timo did. Someone who didn't challenge him belligerently every step of the way like Magnus did. Someone who didn't unnerve him like Lukas did.
Just someone who could sit with him and talk to him and actually smile at him. Like he was perfectly normal. He'd spent most of his life thinking the opposite.
The way Ludwig was acting now was pleasant, yes, but it was also more than a little peculiar. Sometimes, it felt like Ludwig was testing him, although he couldn't say why, or whether or not he was passing whatever invisible trials Ludwig seemed to be setting before him.
Ludwig's actions confused him, certainly, but that didn't mean he was going to complain about them.
And, well...
Teenagers were supposed to be like this, weren't they? Always up to something, always bored, always used to getting their way. Always messing with others for fun. Petulant and disobedient and bold. Ludwig hadn't ever been like that before, at least not while they had known him, but...
Maybe he had just been jolted by the mishap, and was trying to enjoy life a little.
Or something like that.
He couldn't figure out some things Ludwig did, nor grasp the reasons for them.
Most of them, actually.
He couldn't figure out why Ludwig suddenly reached out in the mornings and smoothed down hair that was sticking upright. He couldn't figure out why Ludwig had started teasing him by suddenly coming up to him when he was doing something and plucking his glasses right off his nose. He couldn't figure out that damn smile, when Ludwig tucked the spectacles behind his back and studied him with a tilted head. He couldn't figure out why Ludwig forced him to actually come over if he wanted them back, and he couldn't figure out why Ludwig insisted on putting them back on himself. He couldn't figure out why, when he squinted his eyes shut defensively, Ludwig just said, in a voice that was more of a croon, 'What's the matter? I'm not gonna poke your eyes out!'
He couldn't figure out why he felt so fidgety afterward.
All the same, whatever it was that Ludwig was up to, he couldn't deny that it was steadily lifting his mood.
Come to think, that might have been what Ludwig had intended all along, seeing that he had been struggling with the mishap. That thought was somehow endearing. That somebody cared enough about him not to let him sit around and mope all day. Even at the worst times, Ludwig still managed to take off the edge.
And some days, god knew, he needed that.
A particularly rough day in the forest had put him in a foul mood.
He'd scampered through the brush for cover at the sight of a Red, and had gotten himself twisted up in a patch of hidden barbed wire. Ripped his arm to hell trying to get free, and everything had gone downhill from there. Afterwards, even after getting back on track, he could already feel the irritation mounting.
His moods were fickle out here, to say the least.
Reaching the house again hadn't really helped matters much, and he just sat there, chin in his palm and staring off into space as he brooded. Timo and Magnus avoided him like the plague all night, sensing the storm hanging over his head. Lukas, not alarmed but on the other hand not wanting to be struck by lightning, stayed in his bedroom.
Sometimes, they were scared of him.
The cushion next to him sinking down made him look over, and he quickly found himself nose to nose with a disheveled Ludwig. Quite literally. The tips of their noses brushed. It was only his fingers, caught over his mouth as he had turned his head, that kept their lips from bumping together.
Alright, not all of them were scared of him.
Had Ludwig meant to get that close? Ah, hell—he was too damn tired to even pull back, and just sat there, staring at Ludwig wearily and wanting to go to sleep. Let him do whatever he wanted.
From Ludwig's ruffled appearance, he was just as tired, and just as ready to go to sleep. Nonetheless, Ludwig sat there for a while, seemingly content with that closeness, and finally, he lowered his eyes, and pulled back.
"You're bleeding," Ludwig suddenly threw out, and when Berwald looked down at his arm, he could see the blood seeping through the sleeve of his shirt.
"It's nothin'."
Whether it was nothing or not hardly seemed important to Ludwig; he had already reached down, yanking the sleeve up Berwald's arm to get a good look at the wound.
Ludwig's warm fingers prodding his arm was a very unusual sensation. Physical contact with other human beings was a rather foreign concept.
But hardly unpleasant.
He sat there, quietly, and let Ludwig do as he would, because it was kind of nice to have someone fussing over him for once.
Quickly, Ludwig had become less interested in his fresh wound and more interested in old ones, and he took Berwald's hand up into his own, eyes tracing every old scar he found upon them.
Ludwig's hands were smooth. Unblemished. There was more than a little distance between their backgrounds. More like an ocean.
He tugged his hand back in a moment of self-consciousness, and Ludwig looked up at him, asking, without missing a beat, "Tough work?"
Work? No.
Instead, Berwald muttered, lowly, "When I was your age, I got into fights a lot."
Nobody had ever asked him.
If Ludwig was surprised at the explanation, he didn't show it.
He had mellowed down the older he had gotten, but at Ludwig's age he had been little more than a hyper-aggressive Magnus. Without the charm and wit. Not a pretty combination. Glad those days were over. Had he still been the same gruff, brash youth, he and Ludwig would have butted heads and probably tried to beat the hell out of each other every day, and Magnus woulda been dead by now.
Now, calm(er) and mature, he appreciated Ludwig's presence.
Ludwig just lifted his eyes back up, and said, "Well, better put some alcohol on it. Don't wanna get tetanus or anything out here, do ya?"
Berwald had to grit his teeth and clamp his jaw to keep from wincing when Ludwig acted upon his statement and doused his wound with alcohol. Nobody here was a medic, not by any means, but they knew how to bandage up a wound, at least a little.
Ludwig gave him a clap on the shoulder when he was done, and said, "I'll take the couch. Get some rest."
Afterwards, even though he still felt like shit and his arm hurt, he lied in bed with a snoring Lukas, and realized that his mood was a bit better.
He was becoming dependent upon Ludwig's ability to ease his nerves.
Like a drug.
Being around Ludwig lately had become similar to several shots of vodka.
Days passed.
Ludwig got bolder with each and every one of them.
It was perfectly possible that he was going crazy, and yet it seemed like Ludwig was starting to mess with his mind a little bit.
A new experience, certainly.
When Ludwig woke him up one chilly morning, with that warm hand in his hair, Berwald had groped around on the floor only to realize that Ludwig (had to be Ludwig) had hidden his glasses.
He had spent more time than he would like to admit scrounging around for them, down on his knees and groping under every surface, bumping into end tables and feeling his way along the walls, and the whole while, Ludwig just followed him around, no doubt smiling, and waited for stubborn Berwald to ask for help.
When he finally turned around and heaved a sigh of defeat, asking, 'Can I have 'em now?' Ludwig just gave a short 'Hm!'
Then he said, in a prim, Lukas-inspired voice, 'I don't know what you mean.'
What, did Ludwig want him to beg or something? He didn't understand what the hell Ludwig wanted.
Later on, however, when Ludwig grabbed his arm and led him through the house, guiding him through daily rituals, it steadily dawned on him that Ludwig just wanted to see how he acted, how he looked, in a moment of vulnerability. To see what it would be like if Berwald ever had to rely on him for something. Ludwig wanted to be in charge for a day, if only in a small manner.
...actually, it hadn't bothered him too much. Not being blind—he didn't like that. It just didn't bother him much to spend time with Ludwig. To hear Ludwig's voice in his ear. Kind of relaxing, in a way, to let go of the wheel and let someone else steer. No pressure.
He spent the great majority of the day like that, being led around by Ludwig like a little kid, until, finally, he turned to Ludwig, and conceded complete, friendly defeat.
Whatever Ludwig wanted, he'd do it. And surely Ludwig wanted something, because otherwise he couldn't think of a good reason for blinding him.
Ludwig had won this game.
'Alright. I give. Whaddya want?'
Ludwig just responded, 'Not a thing.'
The glasses were set upon his nose shortly afterward. His vision came back, colors bled into focus, a blurry Ludwig turned into a crystal-clear one, and it had actually been a little bit breathtaking, to see Ludwig's smile, to see the individual strands of his hair sweeping back, to see his eyes in sharp contrast after only being able to make out fuzzy shapes for hours on end.
Kind of like walking outside on a cloudy night and having the moon shine out through a break in the front.
Ludwig had just stared at him for minute, and then walked away.
And that had been that.
He never truly had figured that one out. Whatever Ludwig had been up to was beyond him.
One afternoon, hanging sheets and clothes out to dry, Ludwig suddenly looked over at him, flashed a beam, and said, 'You need to smile more, you know?'
Berwald opened his mouth, and was quite ready to retort, 'You're one to talk!' but fell short.
Ludwig hadn't ever really smiled much; that was, at least, until very recently. Nowadays...seemed like Ludwig was smiling a lot, at least when he was around.
Kinda strange.
He just gave Ludwig a quick look, and said, noncommittally, 'Hm.'
A flash of movement.
A sudden scent of linen, as Ludwig took a sheet he was hanging and turned quickly around to toss it over Berwald's head.
Darkness.
He was taken completely off guard, that much was certain, because nothing about Ludwig had ever really seemed to be all that spontaneous, and yet still here he was, stuck under a cool bed sheet and struggling to surface above it as Ludwig ruffled his hair a bit roughly.
Something Lukas might have done to Ludwig.
...Lukas was a bad influence.
It wasn't really that hard to break free of Ludwig's playful grip (whether he really wanted to or not was hardly of concern), and when he pulled the sheet off of his head, hair sticking up to high heaven with static and glasses crooked, he realized that he had actually cracked a little bit of a smile. A breathless, confused one, but a smile all the same.
Felt strange.
Not long after, Timo wandered outside, hands in his pockets, and looked at them curiously.
'What's all the ruckus?'
They must have looked a bit strange, Berwald suddenly disheveled and Ludwig gathering sheets from the ground, and Timo was no doubt wondering what the hell they were up to.
Ludwig, face so damn serious all of sudden, had turned around, brow high, and responded, 'What ruckus?'
Timo, looking as confused as Berwald felt, just lifted a shoulder, furrowed his brow, and gave a quick, 'Huh.'
With that, he turned around, walked back inside, and the second the door closed, Ludwig's face lit back up like daybreak, and he started laughing.
Berwald was pretty sure then that he had been drinking too much lately.
He was always so confused these days.
Often times, he found himself looking around helplessly, and he wanted to say to the others, 'Are you seeing this, or am I just goin' crazy?'
No one was ever around to ask.
Ludwig was clever enough to make sure they were alone whenever he threw out something odd. When the others were around, Ludwig was calm, cool, and completely normal.
Ludwig was playing a game, a different one every day, and Berwald seemed to be stuck in the middle, for whatever reason. Couldn't complain much. Being the center of somebody's attention was quite enthralling.
All the same, in an effort to confirm whether or not it was time for him to pack up his things and go off to the asylum, Berwald kept Lukas close to his side all day long soon after, so that when Ludwig did something strange, Berwald could grab Lukas' arm, twist him around and say, 'See that? Do you see that?'
And that whole damn day, Ludwig was quiet, straight-faced, and perfectly collected. Berwald stared at him the whole time, eyes narrowed and focused behind his glasses, waiting for any twitch or any glance, but Ludwig was smarter than he was, apparently, because he got nothin'.
Not once, not a single time, had Ludwig sent him a great smile, or lifted his hand to conjure up anything bizarre.
Ludwig let Berwald get his own coffee. Ludwig didn't reach out to straighten his glasses or smooth his hair. Ludwig didn't crack a smile unless it was Lukas who prompted one. Ludwig's voice didn't change pitch once. And fuckin' Ludwig didn't even quirk a brow, not even when Berwald had started staring at him so intently that he could very likely have set Ludwig ablaze.
Nothing.
Berwald let Lukas go that night, feeling strangely disappointed, and the very second that Lukas had wandered out of the room, Ludwig's perfect posture slouched a bit, he placed his hands on the counter, lowered his chin, and started beaming.
Berwald was pretty certain, then :
He was fuckin' insane.
So he had just stared at Ludwig with a scrunched brow, shook his head, and when Ludwig started laughing, Berwald tossed himself down in a chair and thunked his head on the table.
Crazy, alright.
Well.
Being crazy didn't really feel all that bad. Ludwig's laugh was pretty easy on the ears.
If this was crazy...
Cuckoo.
One day, when spring was getting much warmer and turning into summer, the morning started off on the wrong foot.
He dreamt of Ludwig, lost in the woods, and by the time the dawn came, he was already in a bad mood.
Lack of sleep.
Ludwig's hand hadn't been upon his head at the rise of the sun.
The day was already going downhill.
When he finally got up and tromped around, his agitation intensified when he realized that Ludwig was gone, and so was Lukas. Berwald had barely been able to keep his coffee down as he had stood there on the steps outside, foot tapping away and arms crossed and scanning the street every few seconds.
Nausea. Anger.
Where had they gone off to? The thought of Ludwig going anywhere with Lukas, of all people, was a rather frightening prospect. If Lukas had led him off on an impromptu mission, if Lukas had recruited Ludwig to carry around bundles of dynamite, right in the middle of this red snake pit. If Ludwig got hurt. Lukas may have had infinite luck, but Ludwig did not. Lukas' wandering feet could very well have been the end of Ludwig's clumsy ones.
He felt sick the whole day, not quite comprehending why, until finally, when the afternoon sun was high, they came ambling back into sight. They walked side by side, like old friends, and Berwald was so angry at Lukas all of a sudden that he hardly noticed the bags slung over their backs.
When they glimpsed him standing there on the creaking wooden steps, arms still crossed and lips pursed, they just raised up their brows and smiled at him, like they had never done anything wrong.
They had barely even come within ear shot when he snapped, "Where have ya been?"
They didn't even flinch.
At that tone of voice, Magnus and Timo probably would've ducked their heads down and started off in the opposite direction. But Lukas had never really bowed down to Berwald's anger, not ever, and Ludwig didn't even twitch or shift his gaze.
Had to be these two.
It was Lukas who answered him, saying, smoothly, "Just went out to procure some new things, is all. Ludwig and I like to stay prepared."
"And you're just carryin' it all back like that, huh? Not even tryin' to hide it?"
His irritable mood was obvious, but still they seemed so damn carefree.
They shared a look, and Lukas was quick to add, with a flip of his hair, "Sure! Why not? Who would ever suspect two handsome men like us?"
Their smiles were starting to grate him, and he shook his head, trying very much to look like a disappointed parent, which was actually pretty much exactly what he felt like.
Walkin' through the streets, bags full of bullets and guns and god only knew what else slung over their shoulders, not even trying to be stealthy.
He could understand Lukas being reckless. Lukas believed very much in hiding in plain sight, as it was, and surely he felt no harm would come to them as long as he carried all of his things in his lucky backpack. One day, Berwald was going to take that goddamn bag and burn it while Lukas was asleep. See how fuckin' lucky he was then.
Ludwig, on the other hand, surprised him. A soldier should know better.
Lukas really was a bad influence.
Ludwig's smile was easy and calm, and when he caught Berwald's eye, he said, without a trace of guilt, "You shoulda come along. I got some pretty good stuff."
Ludwig was jerking him around—how had he ever been expected to come along, when they had snuck out intentionally?
All the same, when Ludwig walked up the steps and passed him, sending him an exceedingly long and pointed glance that very nearly made him flinch, Berwald tried to make his displeasure known, if only by glaring. Well. Not really glaring. He didn't have quite the heart to glare at Ludwig or Lukas, not like he could Magnus, but he gave it a damn good effort.
Not good enough, apparently, for when Ludwig crossed the threshold into the house, Berwald could hear him starting to laugh.
Meh.
As soon as Ludwig was out of sight, Berwald reached out, grabbed Lukas' collar, and pulled him aside.
"What are you thinkin', huh?" were the first words that had come out of his mouth, and Lukas had just stared up at him, quite contentedly, glossy hair whipping in the wind, that leering smile never leaving his face.
Berwald couldn't exactly say why he was so annoyed with Lukas all of a sudden.
So reckless.
"If yer gonna go out and try an' get yourself killed, that's all well and good, but don't drag him into it. What're ya thinkin', huh? I told you before, not to go off without tellin' anybody! Didn't you learn your lesson last time? It's bad enough goin' off on your own, but why do ya want to put him in the middle of it? Leave him here next time or don't go out at all."
God almighty, that had been the most he had spoken in years, it seemed.
Lukas, far from subdued or shamed by his words, just lit up with a great smile, fawn eyelashes nearly hiding his indigo eyes as he crinkled them up to fit his leer. It had been a long time since he had seen Lukas grin like that, too.
Fuckin' Cheshire cat.
"I didn't take him anywhere," Lukas finally sniffed, quite primly. "Why, he woke me up and I just went along with him."
The hand in Lukas' collar lost its grip, and eventually fell.
Hadn't expected that.
Berwald knew he musta looked dumb, standing there with a crinkled brow and a crooked grimace, and Lukas just reached out, put a hand on his shoulder, and said, easily, "I think he's tryin' to impress you, since he got lost. You shoulda seen him out there, barterin' like a master."
Huh. Was that it? Was that why Ludwig had been acting so strange lately? Because he was trying to prove himself? Something about that didn't quite sit well—didn't feel like the right explanation. Ludwig didn't even seem to recall being put in danger, let alone that hung up about it.
All the same, his face fell a bit, and he sighed.
Lukas used his silence as an opportunity to throw out, slyly, "Looks like you've been worrying about him. Miss him when I take him?"
If Lukas had been friendlier, like Magnus, he might have winked as he had said that, and Berwald was glad he hadn't, because otherwise he mighta punched Lukas right in his pretty nose.
Christ, he hadn't been this aggressive since Magnus had challenged his authority that first time.
Ludwig was trouble, alright. One way or another.
Sure did miss him, though. When he wasn't around.
Lukas was a creep all the same.
When he finally left Lukas to his own devices, trudging back inside and feeling dumb for some reason, he found Magnus and Timo sitting at the kitchen table, heads pressed together as they whispered to each other, and, for the first time, Berwald realized that their fingers were intertwined beneath the table. How long had that been going on, that he hadn't noticed? A lapse in observation on his part.
A pang.
It didn't seem fair, somehow, but not like it had been before. It hadn't seemed fair before that Magnus was able to charm Timo off his feet, sure, but now...
Somehow...
It didn't seem fair that they had each other, and he still found his own hands very much empty.
Ludwig's hand only ever seemed to be in his hair, and only briefly.
...not that it was the same thing, anyway. Ludwig had never actually tried to grab his hand. His gestures had been friendly. Nothing more. Ludwig frequently attempted to tame Magnus' messy hair, so it didn't really mean anything.
Not the same.
Irritable yet again, he sought out Ludwig, if only because he figured he may as well see what the hell the sneaky bastard had brought back so that he wouldn't have to think much about his own lonesomeness.
His head hurt a bit.
Ludwig had been acting strangely, but he hadn't ever lowered his fingers from his hair down to his cheek. Ludwig had called him handsome that day, yeah, but he probably hadn't meant it. Just tryin' to make him feel better.
Timo hadn't been interested in him, he had known it all along, because Magnus was handsome. Why would Ludwig, as handsome as Magnus (or almost), be interested in him?
Not that he cared, mind.
Nope.
It occurred to him then that he was actually arguing with himself in his head. Not good.
Ludwig was trouble.
He was glad all the same to find Ludwig in the room he shared with Lukas, so that his mind would stop trying to sabotage him.
Kind of strange, stepping inside a room that was not really his. He'd slept in here a couple of times, but with Lukas. When Ludwig was in here, it was like setting foot in some kind of forbidden land, and he could already feel his stomach tightening in nervousness as he pushed the door open with a careful finger. This merciless, churning anxiety was probably what Romeo had felt when he had climbed up Juliet's terrace—
Oh, god.
Embarrassment.
Magnus. Too much fuckin' Magnus. Startin' to rub off on him, and that was a horrifying, horrifying notion. Listening to Magnus spout Shakespeare whenever he could had damaged his brain, for sure. He was starting to lose his grip on the real world. And no doubt that Ludwig would have kicked him right in the ribs again if he had ever known that he had been compared, even so innocently, to a woman.
Still...
Ludwig sat quite idly on the bed, alone, feet crossed and hands behind his head, and when Berwald stood there in the frame, he glanced up, and lifted his chin in silent greeting.
The bright sun streaming in through the window lit Ludwig's pale eyes up gold.
If one day he and Magnus ever became, god forbid, friends, then he would ask the son of a bitch to say that one line aloud, the only one that Berwald had ever been somewhat familiar with. The one with the window.
Just to see how it sounded.
The springs in the bed squeaked as Ludwig shifted his weight and waited for Berwald to speak.
The bed was small—Ludwig and Lukas must've been pressed up against each other somethin' close, and that seemed a bit unpleasant. No doubt that at some point during the night, in the midst of dreaming and turning, they wound up with an arm or leg tossed over each others', because that was what had happened the few nights that Berwald had tried to stuff himself into this tiny bed.
He could imagine them, criss-crossed during the night, and meanwhile, he found himself huddled on the couch, cold and alone.
He could smell Ludwig's shaving cream, mingled with Lukas' cologne. Two scents that he realized he didn't find all that pleasant together. Made him uncomfortable. Hard to say why. Lukas and Ludwig had been sleepin' in the same bed for a long while, now, hadn't they?
Why would it bother him now?
After he had been standing there for an awkward amount of time, Ludwig finally addressed him.
"Can I help you with something, Berwald?"
He opened his mouth to answer, fell still suddenly at the tone of Ludwig's voice, and shifted his weight.
Hadn't heard that voice, before. Low and mellow, more of a velvety rumble, something that Berwald could only imagine that someone like Magnus would try to pull off when he was attempting to be particularly appealing in Timo's eyes. Sultry, although a misplaced and awkward and somehow terrifying word, seemed to describe it pretty well.
He wondered all of a sudden if this was the voice that Ludwig used when he crooned with Magnus in that Jutland speech they used. He couldn't say why that thought made him squirm.
Good god, something was wrong with him. He'd been so antsy lately. Ludwig getting lost had done in his nerves, it seemed.
That was the only excuse he could come up with.
Because he certainly wasn't jealous. That wouldn't make any sense.
Yup—cuckoo.
Finally, he found his voice again, and asked, simply, "Where'd ya put all that stuff? I wanna take a look."
Ludwig stared at him, rather intensely, and Berwald hardly had time to shuffle his feet before Ludwig answered, "In the chest."
Implying the oak chest that lied at the foot of the bed, Berwald came fully inside the room, and Ludwig just watched him the whole while.
He fell to a knee before the trunk, lifted up the heavy wooden top, and hesitated. Lukas' damn cables and wires, tangled all over the place like morbid streamers. Shit made him nervous as hell, he wouldn't lie.
Reluctant to dig his hands in the dangerous depths, he peered up at Ludwig, who was leering down at him from the bed, and prodded, "Which side you put it on?"
He didn't really want to go on a fishing expedition in the middle of Lukas' hobby. Who would?
"Left," Ludwig said, simply.
"My left?"
"My right."
"So...my left?"
"No, your right."
...what?
Berwald fell still for a moment, furrowing his brow and narrowing his eyes, and when he glanced up, catching the exceedingly serious look upon Ludwig's face, he knew he was being had.
My right, your right?
His fingers gripped the edge of the chest, and, with a great sigh, Berwald finally just stuck his hands in and rooted around. He was pretty sure that there was a cold sweat upon his brow as he did so. Eventually, heart hammering away, he found the satchel of goods, and couldn't wrench his hands up out of those wires fast enough.
When he pulled himself to his feet, Ludwig's seriousness had turned into a strange smirk, and he just drawled, "That wasn't so hard, was it?"
His crossed feet uncrossed and crossed again, hands still behind his head in easy confidence, and the smirk was steadily reverting back into a leer.
Berwald could only tilt his head, and wonder, 'Who the hell is this guy?'
Not the same Ludwig that had refused his helping hand long ago, that was certain. This Ludwig seemed more like the kinda guy that woulda grabbed his hand and yanked him down to the floor instead.
...for whatever reason.
Gripping the bag in his hands, he backed up, meaning to escape from Ludwig's hawkish gaze, but before he could even gain a yard Ludwig had ordered, firmly, "Sit."
He was supposed to be the leader here, and yet somehow Berwald found himself sitting immediately, obeying Ludwig's command like a damn dog.
His head was a little fuzzy.
Taking a careful spot as close to the edge as he could, he glanced over at Ludwig anxiously, and had nearly forgotten about the bag in his hand until Ludwig asked, in a softer voice, "Aren't you gonna look?"
His first thought was a dumb, 'Huh?'
Somehow, sometimes, Ludwig had a way of mesmerizing him without even trying. Not really a good thing. He was gonna find himself bleeding to death in the forest one day if he couldn't keep his mind focused.
He finally managed to tear his eyes away from Ludwig, look down, and open up the bag. Bullets, of different lengths. A canister of something that smelled curiously like gunpowder. New compasses. And something else.
A German scope, the exact same as the one that had been on his rifle. His rifle, once, but Ludwig's now.
A familiar, comforting sight.
Pulling it out and turning the scope over in his hands, he looked up at Ludwig, and asked, curiously, "Did yours break? You shoulda said somethin', I woulda got Eduard to find ya a new one."
Ludwig, one foot swaying away easily, said, "Mine's fine. That's for you."
Oh.
The expression on Ludwig's face was hard for him to put a name to, but that hardly seemed like a concern anymore. Not with the feeling that was writhing its way into his chest. Ludwig had thought of him when he had gone out, and had likely parted with something important to obtain this gift.
A very simple thing. People did nice things for other people all the time.
It meant more than he could put into words.
Finally, he gathered his voice, and said, lamely, "Thanks."
"Sure."
He had been trying to do everything in his power not to encourage Ludwig, but, hell, he couldn't really help it; he reached out, clapped Ludwig's knee in a burst of friendly affection, and felt himself smiling.
"Thanks," he said again, and Ludwig was smiling, too.
Because it was the nicest thing anyone had done for him in a while.
Actually...
It was really the only time he could remember that someone had done something nice for him at all.
Every time he looked up, it seemed, Ludwig meant a little more.
Summer was high.
The tally of men on both sides had gotten high, too, far too high. The Forest Brothers were steadily dwindling. A rather hurtful fact.
Somehow, the forests were harder to navigate in the heat than they were in the snow.
Berwald dreaded seeing them now.
Dressed darkly to match the earth, the heat built up steadily over the day, stifling, the glare of the sun, even through the foliage, was unbearable, and the fuckin' mosquitoes were pushing him towards the edge of his patience. The constant chatter of the birds made it hard to hear approaching soldiers. The sound of the leaves and branches swaying in the wind, rather than being comforting, constantly broke his concentration.
He was starting to hate it here. Sure as hell had been easier in winter.
His mind had been scattered lately, and when they set out one morning, he realized he didn't even fuckin' feel like it. He just didn't feel like it.
Rather go back in and toss himself on the couch.
All the same, he lifted his foot, took a deep breath, and started forward. He had signed himself up for this, the very first time he had ever picked up a gun.
The trees approached.
A voice cut him short.
"Berwald."
Freezing still, he looked back, and Ludwig was standing there, gun slung over his shoulder. He knew it was Ludwig, although why he was here in front, rather than in the back, was a mystery.
Gloved hands reached out, suddenly, and fell into his hair.
A jolt.
It didn't take him long to realize that Ludwig was tucking the loose strands of blond under the darkness of his hood. He hadn't even thought about it, really, and that was bad.
Ludwig had followed him, to make sure he was at least prepared.
He'd been getting lax lately. The irritation was clouding his mind.
A glint of his hair amongst the woods would have been dangerous.
Ludwig methodically pinned every strand back, straightened everything else as he saw fit, and when Berwald met his standards, Ludwig smacked him on the back and sent him off, like he was Berwald's goddamn mother, afterwards trotting to the back where he belonged.
Berwald set off into the forest, and he was quick to notice that he suddenly felt a bit eager. Couldn't explain why—probably just the adrenaline, waking him up a bit. Anyway, the faster he got through this route, the faster he could get back to the house.
And Ludwig.
The next time they went out, he found himself failing to pin his hair under the hood.
He wasn't really sure why he didn't. Because he wouldn't admit to himself that he just liked the feel of Ludwig's fingers, and he couldn't think of another explanation. He was too proud to sit down and just say to himself that Ludwig was growing on him. Thick-headed. His stubbornness, however, seemed to be hardly daunting to Ludwig, and one night, Ludwig seemed particularly determined to break it down.
Almost two months had gone by since Ludwig had been lost in the forest, two months of this intimidating new Ludwig, and that night had been the first time in a while that they had had the time or energy to sit down and drink together.
Berwald found that he had missed their time together, sitting in a circle and enjoying each others' company.
Even Magnus'.
The days now were growing hotter, but the nights were still chilly enough to warrant the fireplace, and when Magnus and Timo came home with alcohol, Berwald had had no qualms about joining them. Some part of him hoped that if Ludwig were drunk, he might crack and make a mistake and do something in front of the others, and Berwald would know once and for all if it was just in his head.
And Ludwig got drunk, alright, but somehow he still kept a grip on himself until the time was right. Even so intoxicated that he bumped his head on the table trying to grab a glass, Ludwig still had enough restraint to plot his moves. Goddamn boot-camp had instilled that within him, no doubt.
Lukas retired early on, a staggering Magnus was led to bed by an equally staggering Timo a few hours later, and Berwald was already far beyond being tipsy.
In the end, it was only Ludwig and himself that remained, and that was just fine with him.
Although...
Now that they were alone, that Ludwig was quick to come out.
And this Ludwig had no problem with making Berwald feel absolutely helpless, more so than the sober one could. Not necessarily in a bad way. Nothing malicious, certainly. Nothing about Ludwig was mean-spirited, and yet he still had the uncanny ability to make Berwald flinch.
They passed the remnants of the bottle back and forth, and every so often, when Ludwig took it, he made sure to brush his fingers over Berwald's.
No harm there.
Berwald found himself reaching out and giving Ludwig a friendly shake to the shoulder, when he felt like it, because honestly Ludwig was the only one he felt comfortable enough around to do so. Placing his hand on anyone else would have earned him a strange look. Even Lukas would have done a double-take at that.
Not Ludwig.
Their eyes met, once in a while, and it occurred to Berwald at times that he felt something close to happy when Ludwig was around.
Clumsy words floated around his head, but he couldn't pin any of them down, and even though he wanted to express these sentiments to Ludwig, he just couldn't find his voice.
Well. They'd come to him eventually.
In the meanwhile, Ludwig seemed to have plenty to say.
Bleary-eyed and slurring words so badly that he was barely even comprehensible, Ludwig looked over at Berwald, loose bangs falling into his eyes, and broke into one of those great smiles he had been seeing recently.
The ones that made him feel a little bit dazed.
"It's late," Ludwig said, cheeks flushed red and teeth gleaming in the firelight. "Aren't you tired? Why don't you come to bed?"
Erhm—
There was that helplessness that Ludwig was so good at bringing out.
Shifting suddenly and feeling extremely jittery even through the intoxication, Berwald could only say, slowly, "Er... What?"
Come to bed?
Ludwig just smiled all the more, turned his unfocused eyes back to the fire, and he then said, "You should go to bed. It's gettin' late."
Ah. Now it was go to bed, was it?
Ludwig was messing with his head, alright.
"Yer still sittin' on my bed," he said, perhaps unwisely, and the look Ludwig sent him for some reason made him want to keel over dead from embarrassment.
An exceedingly intense expression, as Ludwig's piercing eyes had him stuck, and for a godawful moment, Berwald was certain that Ludwig was just going to scoot over and say, 'So lie down! There's room for both of us here!'
He wasn't sure he coulda handled that, not as awkward as he was. This bold Ludwig was going to be the death of him one day.
"Am I?"
A short silence, and then Ludwig stood up, wobbling back and forth, and when Berwald leapt up and placed a hand on his back to steady him, he was pretty sure that Ludwig was leaning backwards then on purpose.
And he was pretty sure that he wasn't really complaining.
All the same, he kept one hand on Ludwig's back and grabbed his arm with the other, and led Ludwig towards his room.
"You know," Ludwig began, as Berwald tried to keep him balanced enough to make it to his bed, "I say next time we make Lukas take the couch."
Ludwig turned his head to stare at him, so close that their lips would have brushed together if Ludwig had been a little taller, and Berwald could only swallow, and keep on walking.
He could feel how unholy red his face was, and knew that, even dead drunk, Ludwig could see it too. Ludwig was beaming again, apparently quite proud of himself for the reaction he had produced. Kinda sloppy, the smile, but the effect was still rather dazzling.
Berwald found himself swallowing again, dryly, when Ludwig reached up a too-warm hand and ran it down the stubble on his cheek.
Couldn't breathe.
Staggering suddenly, whether by accident or intentionally, Ludwig took a fistful of his shirt, and Berwald was somehow relieved and disappointed when the bedroom was reached.
Damn door hadn't seemed so close a minute ago.
Some little part of his mind actually had considered, just a little, that maybe kicking Lukas onto the couch hadn't been such a bad idea. Not just so that he could share the bed with Ludwig, no, just so that he wouldn't be stuck onto that tiny couch every single night. Right. That was why.
Reaching out, he pushed the door open, gently, and tried to pull Ludwig through.
They weren't exactly stealthy, not as drunk as Ludwig was, but somehow he managed to successfully toss Ludwig down upon the bed all the same. Lukas shifted, but if he had woken then he did not show it. He could be glad for that; Lukas would have had no problem embarrassing him all the more.
He tugged Ludwig's boots off, out of courtesy, and as he meant to leave, Ludwig grabbed another handful of his shirt. Soft, muttered words he couldn't understand, and he could feel the fist in his shirt tugging him back.
Oh, damn. Now what?
His pulse was racing all of a sudden. Way too warm in here. Time to put the fire out.
He stood there, and finally gathered enough sense to reach gently down, taking Ludwig's hand in his own and prying the fingers carefully apart. He got off easy that night; Ludwig's fist fell down onto the bed, and he was out like a light.
Berwald made a swift escape.
In the morning, Ludwig came crawling out of bed after Berwald had already awoken. He looked pretty terrible, no doubt feeling terrible, too, but Berwald still made sure to keep a rather intent gaze upon him, just to see what he would be up to now.
Every day, Ludwig seemed to have a new trick up his sleeve.
Berwald was always on his toes.
This morning, though, the hangover was enough to keep Ludwig down. At least for a few hours. Afterwards, Ludwig sat there at the kitchen table, slouched and disheveled and neck craned downward, and yet when Berwald came into the room, he still managed to look up through the bangs that were plastered to his forehead, rough as he was, and give a crooked smile.
A vision of youthful confidence.
Even through the stubble and the shadows beneath his eyes, through the pallid shade of his skin and the obvious headache and the squinting of his sore eyes in the sunlight, the way that Ludwig was smiling still lit him up.
Oh, damn—no one had ever smiled at him like that.
Berwald was fairly certain, seeing that smile, that even though by all rights he should have been drawing blanks, Ludwig remembered pretty well what had gone on last night, at least the important parts. How awkward. Knowing that Ludwig surely remembered saying, 'Come to bed,' and was probably thinking of something he could say right now to outdo himself.
He sat himself down at the tiny table, putting himself in perhaps a dangerously close proximity with Ludwig, and tried to pretend that nothing was out of the ordinary.
He waited.
Like with much else, it didn't take long for clever Ludwig to come up with something.
A sudden, low whisper startled him. So did the tone of voice.
"You look good this morning."
A guttural, husky intonation that he had never heard Ludwig use, even stranger than the tone he had taken on that day in the bedroom.
It took a second for the words to sink in.
Oh—!
Berwald started upright, tossing his palms on the table, heart pounding and eyes wide, and just said, dumbly, "Um! Huh?"
Ludwig just kept on leering at him, gaze heavy and lidded, and after a second, he shifted tone again.
"I said, it looks good this morning. The coffee, I mean."
"...oh."
Ludwig's leer was starting to show his teeth, canines pokin' out like a damn wolf as he focused his attention down on his mug, and Berwald was starting to really consider that Ludwig was attempting to kill him via heart-attack.
Confusion.
Was he hearing things now, or was this just like last night?
It seemed that, with Ludwig around, he didn't really know anymore whether he was coming or going. He didn't know who was in charge here. Ludwig said one thing, but meant the complete opposite. Ludwig evaded one thing here and was painfully persistent over there. He found himself constantly on the defensive, as he had long ago when Lukas had first come home with a bristling Magnus in tow.
Ludwig's aggression was not malicious, not like Magnus' had been. He found himself fighting for control, alright, but when Ludwig was seeking to overthrow him, Berwald couldn't exactly say that he minded all that much. He wasn't sure what Ludwig really wanted, but he wasn't so dumb that he didn't know it would be something on the pleasant side.
Ludwig was a damn bit of trouble, like Magnus had always said.
When Berwald looked in the mirror sometimes, he realized that he was starting to get a crease in the middle of his brow. Already gettin' frown wrinkles and hardly thirty.
Ludwig made him scrunch his eyes so much in confusion.
Well...not the worst thing he could have, he supposed.
That night, after the others had gone to bed, he found himself sitting cross-legged on the couch, turned towards the inside as Ludwig sat on the other end, and they faced each other as they started drinking again. Berwald had instigated this night, and he already had plans for the next night, too. He was probably going to end up turning Ludwig into an alcoholic, just trying to get him to keep looking at him like that.
The way that Ludwig smiled at him was worth nearly anything. The way that Ludwig looked at him made him feel far more important than anything he had done so far in this war had.
The sight of him—god.
He remembered the first time he had laid eyes upon Timo, breathless and red-faced and so damn beautiful, and what he had felt then. That burn in his chest, the hitch of his breath, the way he hadn't been able to take his eyes away, the way his veins had flooded with adrenaline, the way that the world had seemed a little brighter.
He took that, he gripped that memory, and brought it forth to compare it to what he felt now when he looked at Ludwig.
Now, Ludwig was breathless and red-faced and damn beautiful, so it was easy to sit those feelings side by side.
Comparison? Hardly. Not even close.
The burn had turned into acid. His lungs had completely seized. His eyes were glued. The flood of adrenaline had turned into an ocean. The world was on fire.
He hadn't looked at Ludwig the first time and instantly realized that he was attractive, not like he had Timo. Actually, the first time he had looked at Ludwig he had wanted nothing more than to get rid of him and never see his face again. It had taken him a while, a long while, to figure out that Ludwig appealed to him, but hell.
Well worth the wait.
Anyway, who really believed in that 'love-at-first-sight' bullshit? Hadn't ever worked for him, that much was certain. Look where it had gotten him with Timo.
Nowhere.
Every time Ludwig swayed forward tipsily, teeth gleaming in the light and bleary eyes squinted with a smile, every deep breath he took and with every lean against the cushion in a moment of dizziness, every shift of emotion upon his face, the thin sheen of perspiration on his forehead, every time he moved, Berwald was fairly certain that everything was right in the world.
Just seeing Ludwig.
The way his hair came loose when he was intoxicated or tired. The way the square of his jaw contrasted with the sharpness of his nose. The way the open neck of his shirt exposed his collarbone. The way his Adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed. The way the German 'r's came from within his throat rather than his tongue, in a rumbling purr that Berwald could never hope to imitate. The way the thin fabric of his shirt clung to every line of muscle. The way the pale hairs on his arms stood up straight when a cold wind blew.
The way he crinkled his nose when he laughed.
His hands.
His voice.
Whatever was going on outside was hardly a concern. War—what war? When Ludwig was around, he was everything. Everything. And by god, if this was what Magnus felt when he looked at Timo, then Berwald could hold him absolutely no ill will, because there was nothing else like it. Nothing on earth could ever come close.
Ludwig was a drug, alright. One he was steadily realizing that he couldn't go on without.
If Ludwig were ever lost again, he would tear the world apart to find him.
The prospect of withdrawal was terrifying.
When Ludwig leaned into the cushion a while later, eyes shutting and giving one last sigh, when he fell asleep there and his hands fell loose in his lap, Berwald just stared at him, and watched him breathe.
In the morning, life went on, as it always did, and Berwald looked forward to each day, if only to see what new game it would bring.
Every day, the looks Ludwig sent him became more fascinating.
It occurred to him one night, as he lied on the couch and stared out of the window, that the word he had been searching for, for so long, was 'star-struck'. That might have been it.
When Ludwig was around, he felt star-struck.
Dazed.
And he wished, more than anything, that he could find the courage to say it aloud.
Wherever it was that Ludwig was leading him, however confusing the directions, however many times he got mixed up, he was pretty sure of one thing :
He'd keep walkin' the road, and wouldn't even look over his shoulder, because whatever lied at the end of it was surely going to be damn well worth it. He could feel it.
...maybe it was time for Lukas to take the couch. Just for a night. Or two.
The more and more he thought about it, the more appealing it seemed, and the more he regretted not doing it—instead of hauling Ludwig off to bed that warm night, that he had acted upon that look Ludwig had sent him and had gathered up the courage to just lie down, and share the couch.
Ludwig had always been patient with him, and needed to keep it up for a little longer.
Because, one day, he would find the words to say it.
Star-struck.