Chapter 29

Please Love Me

The next morning, Ludwig was awake at dawn, bustling away in the kitchen as Alfred tiredly stared yet again at the ceiling. Had memorized every single little groove and grain of paint on that ceiling by now, much as he had gazed at it every damn night.

Hard to find the motivation to get out of bed now, when there was really nothing to do.

No job. No threat. No danger.

Ludwig didn't need him anymore, and Alfred was beginning to wonder how far Ludwig's disconnect with Alfred was going to go.

Ludwig was hyper-focused on Ivan, and Alfred felt once more like a roommate.

More so when he finally dragged himself out of bed, wandered into the kitchen, and saw Ludwig making breakfast. Alfred stood in the frame and watched him morosely, because Ludwig was making breakfast for three; he had already begun packing up a little bag, no doubt meant for Ivan.

Alfred was trying desperately hard not to be jealous, not to be selfish, but that was impossible for him, at least completely, so he just felt the pricks of jealousy as he sat down and glowered into his coffee.

Ludwig seemed bristled up in anxiety, excited but also nervous, and it was clear in the way Ludwig couldn't sit still, running here and there rather frantically. He stopped at many points and leaned over to kiss Alfred's cheek, even as Alfred pouted, and the cause for his anxiety was made apparent when he suddenly asked aloud, "Do you think he'll remember more today?"

Alfred stared blankly into his coffee, and grumbled, testily, "I dunno. Do ya really want him to?"

He didn't mean to be a jerk, really. It wasn't intentional.

He was just hurt.

Ludwig was too nervous to notice Alfred's tone or mood, and kept on bustling fretfully about, as Alfred picked mindlessly at his plate.

Didn't feel like eating.

He had half a mind to go right back to sleep and let Ludwig go visit Ivan alone.

But he couldn't do that, and there were two large reasons :

Firstly, the tumor wasn't entirely gone. Ivan was still not in his right mind, and although he had woken up gentler than Alfred had ever seen him, he was nowhere near normal. That was obvious enough, in those shadows that had been on Ivan's face at the last second, and also in his very impulsive flirtations. Still loopy, not all there. Ivan's head was still a mess, and it was entirely possible that he could still have any moment started raging. If he did, then Ludwig being there alone with him would be far too dangerous, however weak and sick Ivan may now have been.

Secondly, and more importantly, Ivan was apparently intent on courting Ludwig above all else, and Alfred would be goddamned if he stayed here at home and left Ludwig alone to succumb to that ugly bastard's undeniable charms.

Alfred had never once in his life claimed he was a good person.

But Ivan wasn't, either, and Alfred still hadn't met him yet. Hadn't met the real Ivan, because if the angry, violent one wasn't the real one, than this smiling, charming one wasn't Ivan either. Once upon a time, it might have been, but things had changed a lot since then, people changed, and until Ivan's memory was completely back, Alfred couldn't say that he had ever actually met Ludwig's husband.

So much had been said and done, and Ivan was still a stranger.

Jittery Ludwig kissed Alfred's cheek one more time, out of nervousness, sat down and ate so quickly that Alfred was shocked he hadn't choked, and then leapt back up to finish lovingly packing Ivan's little care kit.

Alfred tried hard to set the table on fire with his glare, and failed.

Instead, he found himself once more trudging stupidly behind Ludwig, who was walking so quickly down the hospital hall that Alfred could barely keep up with his long legs.

Man. Hadn't even been able to enjoy ogling Ludwig's legs, and that said so much about how deep in this rut Alfred was.

They didn't make it straight to Ivan's room.

Kiku intercepted them in the hall, waving Ludwig over. Ludwig, predictably, panicked a little, darting over to the doctor and skidding in, asking immediately, before anyone could breathe, "What's wrong?"

Kiku murmured, "Calm down, everything's fine," as he once more reached out to put his hands on Ludwig's shoulders to quiet him.

When Ludwig was as calm as he was going to get, Kiku gave his arm a clap.

"He still doesn't remember. I talked to him earlier."

Ludwig's face fell, and his eyes lowered to the floor, shoulders slumping. Alfred was kinda glad, to be honest, because even though this was extremely annoying, in some way he would have felt worse if Ivan had finally remembered who Ludwig was.

Maybe it was best for everyone for Ivan to be clueless, at least until his operations were finished.

Kiku glanced down, saw the bag Ludwig was holding, and seemed very pleased, quick to tease, "That's very good! I always say the biggest obstacle to recovery is eating hospital food. He'll enjoy that."

Ludwig perked up, as Kiku had wanted, and put on a brave face.

But it was time to get into business, apparently, because Kiku's expression became very serious, and his voice was deeper, sterner, when he said, "We need to go over some things. Today, we're going to explain to him everything that's happening. I'll go over the diagnosis with him. I'm sure everything will be fine, but there is something I need to warn you about, just in case : Ivan is lucid now. That means that all medical decisions are now his own, not yours. So we'll need his permission to perform the second surgery, and then the radiation. As I said, I'm sure it won't be a problem, but you should know that he has full control now. We can't force him to do anything he doesn't want to do, nor can you decide anything in his stead. Understand?"

Ludwig nodded, even though he swallowed.

"I think it's best if we just let him carry on until the second surgery without telling him anything. The less stress, the better. Don't tell him who you really are, or what's happened. Until after the next surgery."

Alfred pushed his lips out thoughtfully, and he knew that Ludwig was now very much dreading Ivan actually remembering something before the second operation. If Ivan suddenly remembered everything, would that change things? Alfred wondered if Ivan would agree to treatment, if he suddenly remembered the entire truth. Maybe Ivan would seek a nobler way out and choose to go quietly and without causing anymore trouble.

Alfred glanced over at Ludwig, and tried so hard not to wish the worst thing.

Shouldn't want Ivan to refuse treatment, shouldn't have ever let it cross his mind that that would be best for everyone.

Kiku reached out, gave Ludwig a jostle for courage, and said, "Go on. I'll let you two enjoy a little breakfast together. I'll come back in two hours or so. The next operation will be in ten days, if all goes well. He'll need you until then. Alright?"

Another nod from Ludwig, and a weak smile.

Kiku turned on his heel, and was gone. He left behind him much turmoil and fear. Anxiety.

Despair.

Ten days seemed like eternity, trying to tiptoe around a man with no vital memory.

Ludwig took a deep breath for courage, closed his eyes, steeled his will, and then opened the door. He walked in there knowing that Ivan's fate was no longer in his hands, and Alfred knew that losing control of something was instinctively terrifying to Ludwig and those who shared his blood.

The first thing that Alfred noticed when he came into the room were the red flowers all around, still holding strong and barely wilting. The next thing he noticed was the blanket Ludwig had brought from home, pulled up to Ivan's chin. The next thing Alfred noticed was Ivan himself.

Or, rather, how awful he looked.

Paler than the day before, the circles under his eyes so much darker. That yellow tint clung to him yet. His cheeks were more prominent than Alfred remembered.

Ivan may not have been expecting anyone so soon after the doctor had left him, because he had been rolled a little onto his side, practically cocooned up in that blanket, and he seemed quite startled when they came inside.

Ivan looked over, inhaled, and sat up straight as an arrow, and even though he looked like absolute hell, he was smiling, if not as brightly as before. His gaze was locked on Ludwig, as expected. Ivan looked spent, utterly exhausted, and merely murmured, "Hey."

Ludwig asked, "How are you feeling?"

Ivan's eyes flitted oddly between Ludwig and Alfred, and Alfred tried to look unfriendly and unbothered. Ivan hadn't spoken to him yet, not directly in a sense if only to make conversation, and Alfred desperately wanted to keep it that way.

Finally, Ivan turned to Ludwig, and said, "Okay. I just didn't sleep too well last night. Couldn't stop having nightmares."

Nightmares or flashbacks?

Maybe Ivan's memory returned to him on the verge of sleep, and he kept mistaking them for dreams.

Alfred realized that Ivan's hands were no longer tied to the bed, presumably because there wasn't such a risk now for a dazed Ivan to claw at his bandages. The crinkle of pain in his brow seemed a little less visible, though, so Alfred imagined that Kiku had made good on his promise to give Ivan something stronger for the pain. Alfred didn't like Ivan, kinda wanted him to just roll over already, but at the same time Alfred was oddly relieved that the bastard wasn't in such awful pain.

Ludwig came forward, smiled, and began unpacking Ivan's little breakfast there on the bedside table. Ivan watched, hypnotized by Ludwig, and managed to ask, breathlessly, "This for me?"

"Of course," Ludwig murmured, deep voice very warm, "You have to recover, don't you? Don't tell me you actually want to eat hospital food."

"No thanks," Ivan scoffed back, and Alfred noticed with a twinge of anger that Ivan's eyes were running up and down Ludwig's legs.

Goddammit—

Ludwig set a tray atop Ivan, arranged everything as he saw fit, and may as well have been Ivan's nurse, from the way he very carefully made sure that Ivan could eat comfortably. Ivan did everything Ludwig wanted without a second of hesitation, and just kept staring at Ludwig as if he were an extraterrestrial that Ivan's satellite had accidentally discovered.

The first thing Ivan said, when Ludwig sat down, was, "I'm glad you came back. I was hoping to speak to you more."

"Oh?"

Ludwig crossed his legs, and Alfred hated the way Ivan's eyes followed the motions, trailing over Ludwig's long legs with intent. Ugh. After a moment, Ivan finally ripped his eyes from Ludwig's legs, resumed eye contact, and smiled.

"Yeah. I, uh... Well. I don't really remember too much what we talked about yesterday. It's a little... I don't know. I just can't seem to remember anything. But I was hoping that maybe, when I get back on my feet, that maybe I could take you out somewhere. To thank you. We're friends, after all. Aren't we? I'm sorry—I spent all night trying to remember you, I really did, but... It didn't work. So. Maybe we could...go out. So I can get to know you all over again."

Ludwig rested his chin on his hand, smiling away at Ivan, and merely crooned, "I think we can work something out. But, you have to recover first. Let's do one thing at a time, alright? First, eat. You need to regain your strength."

Ivan jumped a little, and very quickly did as Ludwig ordered, picking up his fork and eating. He just stopped every minute or so to glance over and make awkward conversation with Ludwig, who smiled away and watched Ivan so fondly.

Alfred was very offended that Ludwig hadn't looked over at Alfred for permission to humor Ivan's shameless wooing.

As if Ludwig had forgotten that Alfred was there.

Ludwig reached out at one point, ran his fingers through the pale hair sticking out from Ivan's bandage, and said, "We'll have to give you a haircut soon. Clean you up."

Ivan fell instantly still under Ludwig's fingers, and seemed to stop breathing.

There was a long silence, and then Ivan gave a weak, nervous laugh, and grunted, "Yeah. I probably look a mess. I'm sorry. I promise I don't always look like this."

Ludwig just smiled a bit more wanly, and whispered, "I know."

Ivan lowered his eyes, and said, as weakly, "Oh. ...right."

How disconcerting it must have to been, to not remember someone who apparently knew everything about you. Vulnerable and exposed.

Ivan finished eating shortly after, looked a little better for it, a little brighter, and when Ludwig took the tray away, Ivan grabbed the blanket in his hands and said, "The doctor said you brought this in. Thanks. It's nice."

Ludwig opened his mouth, but he fell quickly silent.

Alfred imagined he had nearly said, 'Of course; it was ours.'

Ivan wasn't the only vulnerable one there.

And then, what Alfred most dreaded finally happened.

Ivan turned his pale eyes to Alfred, gave him a look over, and asked, "What was your name again?"

Ludwig tensed up visibly, snapping his eyes over to Alfred with a look nothing short of pleading.

"Alfred."

Ivan gave a 'hm', and Alfred hoped he would leave it there, but naturally Ivan then asked, "And—sorry—how do we know each other?"

Alfred glanced at Ludwig, whose brow was crinkled pitifully, jaw clenched and lips pursed, and Alfred could see him swallow nervously.

Alfred tried to stay calm, tried to remember the doctor's words, tried to find that tiny little bit of him that actually was a good person, because he didn't want to break Ludwig's heart.

Couldn't tell Ivan the truth, because Ludwig would hate him.

So Alfred thought quick, put on the spot as he was, wracked his brain, tried to figure out something good, and finally uttered, a bit gruffly, "We don't. I'm just here to observe. For legal purposes."

Ah, damn, was that too far?

As long as Alfred kept his mouth shut and wasn't forced to talk and sound like a lawyer or whatever, Ivan wouldn't know the difference.

Ivan, still all mixed up and easy to placate, lifted his chin, and surmised, very calmly, "For the company's insurance, huh?"

Er, yes, that, right, exactly.

Alfred gave a very stiff nod, and Ludwig closed his eyes momentarily. When he opened them again, he gazed at Alfred with palpable adoration, and that was just enough to give Alfred the boost of confidence he desperately needed to get through this ordeal.

Ten days. It was only ten days. He could do this, he could. He could make it ten more days with Ivan flirting endlessly with Ludwig. Ten days, and then the jerk would go under the knife again, and hopefully wake up with no tumor left and a clear memory.

Then, they could all see where they stood. How Ivan wanted to spend what little time he had left.

Alfred sat down, and zoned out as Ivan and Ludwig made small talk. Two hours later, as promised, Kiku came back, with a gentle rap on the door.

Ludwig jumped upright, and looked as if someone had tossed ice water down his back.

Kiku poked his head in, smiled very happily when he saw Ivan looking brighter, huddled up under Ludwig's blanket, and then he came inside and shut the door behind him.

It was time, and everyone was dreading it.

Kiku turned his dark eyes to Ivan, and said, "You look a little better than you did when we spoke earlier. I suppose I may have to request that Ludwig bring you breakfast every day." Kiku sent Ludwig a very quick wink, and Alfred kinda wanted to punch Kiku in the face. "How are you feeling now?"

"Better," Ivan said, though it was likely a lie. Mentally better, maybe, emotionally better, with Ludwig there, but he obviously wasn't feeling better physically. Still looked half-dead.

Alfred kept glancing anxiously at the door, waiting for Toris and Gilbert to come barging in, but they never did.

Kiku pulled up a chair next to the bed, settled down, clasped his hands between his knees, and stared at Ivan with a smile. Alfred found Kiku just as unusual as the rest of the lot, a man whose entire profession revolved around death and misery and grief, and yet he still perked up so eagerly when there was a chance to play matchmaker with one of his most problematic patients.

Alfred supposed that, to Kiku, this was one of the brighter moments in a hospital. People in love lit up not only each other, but the world around them, and Kiku was as drawn to that as Alfred.

Kiku was actively and boldly attempting to undermine everything Alfred had worked to build up for himself, and Alfred couldn't even really be mad about it. Couldn't raise hell, couldn't cause a scene. This time, Alfred couldn't pitch a fit because there wasn't really anyone to blame.

Nobody's fault, and that was the worst.

Kiku glanced at Ludwig, who braced up, gave a short nod, and steeled himself back up for this very unpleasant task at hand. Alfred didn't see why he bothered, because there was no amount of bracing that could ever really prepare a man for something like this.

"Ivan," Kiku began, "We have some very important things we need to talk about now, you and I."

Ivan sat up a little straighter, glancing very frequently at Ludwig as his expression shifted over into anxiety and unease.

Kiku kept on smiling, trying to be casual and upbeat.

"Ivan, the reason you're here in the hospital now doesn't have anything to do with an accident. I'm afraid that we had discovered a tumor, in the frontal lobe of your brain."

Oh. Kiku was gonna just leap right in. Great. Alfred was already squirming.

Ivan already looked like hell, so Alfred was surprised a little when Ivan seemed to pale a bit. Went completely still, like a statue, and seemed momentarily unable to breathe. As if he had been hit over the head with a rock, and in a way Alfred supposed he had been. Only the rock was a tumor.

Ludwig reached out and grabbed Ivan's hand.

This time, that wasn't quite enough to settle Ivan's nerves.

After a long moment, Ivan repeated, as if to confirm more to himself, "I had a brain tumor?"

Kiku nodded.

"The good news is that we've operated, which is why you're having some memory loss, and we successfully removed the majority of the tumor. That's the good news. The bad news is that, because it was so large, we had to leave some behind. So, we need to operate again, to remove the rest of it. And then we'll need to talk about our next steps."

That awful look on Ivan's face. His eyes were wide under his low brow, his jaw was clenched, pulse pounding, and he looked so scared. Ivan had been the thing that had terrorized Alfred more than anything else, and so he really wanted to enjoy Ivan being on the other end, feeling that same horror and terror, but Alfred couldn't say he felt any sort of satisfaction then.

He just felt numb. A little sad, even, as hard as he tried not to be.

Ivan had wreaked havoc on Alfred's life, but it wasn't really his fault, and so Alfred couldn't truly feel any sort of justification for being content with Ivan looking so scared then.

That was the first time that Alfred looked around and realized that maybe there wasn't exactly a bad guy at all in this situation.

Just a big mess that no one was really to blame for.

Ivan's pale eyes suddenly lowered down to the blanket, he swallowed, and there was an awful crinkle of his brow and a part of his lips. Ivan looked so confused, so lost, and there was that awful sympathy again. Alfred didn't want it, but it kept creeping up. It was bad enough to wake up in a hospital out of nowhere, it was worse to realize that you had lost your memory, and then to top it all off to find out that you had brain cancer. That was great, just great, and Alfred leaned his head against the wall and turned his eyes to the snow falling outside.

The world looked pretty, but was ruthless.

Kiku finally continued.

"So, let's start planning it out, alright? In ten days, I want to operate again and remove what's left of the tumor. I'm hoping that we'll get every last bit of it, and it's likely that your memory will start to come back. Can I schedule you for the second operation, now that you're getting back up to speed?"

Silence.

Ivan looked utterly overwhelmed, as could be expected. Stared down at his lap, Ludwig still clenching his hand, and then he finally inhaled, and looked up, asking, "How long have I had it?"

"Two years, at least. Perhaps three."

Ivan cursed, shook his head, and muttered, "Damn. I didn't have a clue. Well. So, if I— I mean... Will it be— Am I going to—"

Ivan trailed off, and stared not at Kiku, but at Ludwig.

Ivan couldn't finish asking, 'Am I going to die?'

Ludwig suddenly sat down on the side of Ivan's bed, still clenching Ivan's hand within his own, and he lifted his other hand to place it on Ivan's back. Ludwig was fully ready to be the strength and will that Ivan needed to make it through, and Kiku was still smiling.

"Ivan. Listen to me. I'm not going to lie to you and tell you that we can get rid of this cancer. We can't. But, with another operation and radiation therapy, we can give you some more good years. If we don't operate again, you're not going to leave this hospital. Whether this treatment gives you five months more or five years has yet to be seen, but it's better than weeks, right? So much of your recovery depends on you, and how hard you fight."

That was the strangest way Alfred could have ever imagined telling someone that they were dying, because Kiku hadn't really said it directly in so many words. For the best, yeah, but it felt somewhat deceitful.

But Ivan wasn't himself, was still not completely sound, and so perhaps Kiku was right not to bomb him with too much misery. Ivan was easily led astray in this state, and Kiku used that.

Ivan pursed his lips and seemed deep in thought, cold sweat on his forehead and pulse still hammering away in his neck. Alfred couldn't help but feel for him. Five years wasn't an easy thing to swallow for a thirty-six-year-old man who should have been in the prime of his life. And more so when five years was the highest end of the spectrum, with five months being the lowest.

For an extra boost of encouragement, Kiku suddenly offered (whether it was true or not), "I once diagnosed a young girl with one year to live. I was so certain. Everything pointed to it. But you know what? She's still alive. This was fifteen years ago."

Ivan lifted his head, and seemed a bit bolstered, but still so lost. Ludwig turned his gaze to Kiku, locking eyes with him from above Ivan's shoulder. Whatever Kiku and Ludwig were communicating with each other was lost on Alfred. Maybe Ludwig was praying that Kiku wasn't lying, that that really had happened, because that gave Ludwig something to cling to, something to aim for. If the doctor told Ivan five years, then Ludwig would stubbornly say, 'No, let's do forty instead.'

Alfred snorted lightly to himself at that.

Ludwig wasn't afraid of anything. The most stubborn man Alfred had ever met, by miles. With Ludwig, maybe Ivan really would make it.

Kiku prodded, "Well? What do you say, Ivan? Are you ready?"

Ivan glanced over at Ludwig, back at the doctor, to Alfred, back to Kiku, and then asked, out of nowhere, "I don't... I'm sorry, I'm just a little...confused. Can I— Can I call my mother?"

Kiku looked up at Ludwig, who very quickly shook his head, face scrunched and devastated, out of oblivious Ivan's sights.

A pang of hurt in Alfred's chest. A turn of his stomach.

Shit—hadn't thought about that, hadn't considered that Ivan wouldn't remember that his mother was dead.

A long, awful pause, and Kiku redirected, gently but firmly saying, "I'm sure. But...we should decide this first. Right now. You're very young. Let's move forward now, don't you think? Do you really want to just lie down and die here in this hospital in a few weeks?"

Ivan inhaled, looked over at Ludwig, still gripping his hand tightly, and after a while of staring at Ludwig's face, Ivan asked, softly, "Will you stay with me? It's just— I'm alone here. Having someone to talk to is nice."

Ludwig stared right back at Ivan, face very determined, and then he whispered, "I'll be at your side, the whole time. I give you my word."

Hey, wait, Alfred hadn't agreed to that...

Ivan smiled just a little, eyes flitting over Ludwig's face, and then he turned back to Kiku, braced himself, and said, "Alright! Let's do it. I'm ready. I'm not dying in here. I'm not. Hell no."

Kiku broke into a wide beam, and clapped Ivan on the shoulder with a noise of eagerness. He stood up, and Alfred fell into that void as everything was decided. Papers were signed. Dates were set.

Ludwig never once let go of Ivan's hand, throughout the hectic whirlwind.

When it was all said and done, when Kiku left, Ivan slumped back down onto the bed, head on his pillow, and he ran his palm down his face.

Ludwig leaned down, and whispered, "You handled that very well. Are you a professional death-defier?"

Ivan's eyes peered up at Ludwig from over his hand, and then Ivan started laughing, just a little, as Ludwig teased him. Ivan's hand fell to his side, he sighed, and Alfred hated the way Ivan looked up at Ludwig then.

Couldn't put his finger on it, but Alfred swore it was adoration.

"Oh, yeah," Ivan finally uttered back, eyes ever glued to Ludwig's face. "I always escape death. He can't ever get me. If a man can drive the way I do and still be alive, then I'm pretty sure I can't actually die. All the crazy things I've done. When I was twelve, a group of soldiers got drunk and left their tank open, and me and my friends snuck in and took it for a ride. We left it in the trees when we crashed, and ran away. I didn't get shot!"

Ludwig's eyes shot wide open, and he snapped his head down to Ivan, and sputtered, "You— You never told me that!"

Alfred shook his head to himself, when Ivan lifted his chin very arrogantly and actually smirked.

What a bastard!

Russian motherfucker, alright. Though that time Alfred wasn't sure if that sentiment was for Ivan or a group of drunk soldiers. Both, perhaps. Russia must have been a very...odd place.

Ludwig glared gently at Ivan, then sighed, and grumbled, "But I have seen your driving, and it is terrifying, thank you."

Ivan sat up again, once more very focused on Ludwig, and it was like Ivan had never been told that he was dying at all when he puffed out and tried to show off to Ludwig, saying, "We've been in a car together, huh? Guess I should say 'sorry'."

"Yes, you should," Ludwig very prissily uttered, and he sat once more in the chair beside the bed, and Alfred had no choice but to watch their annoying and affectionate banter.

For the next eight hours.

Ludwig was trying to kill him, Alfred was sure of it, by keeping him here so damn long.

Ivan didn't really question Alfred's presence nor his intentions, because to be quite honest Alfred was pretty sure that Ivan had very actually forgotten that Alfred was there at all.

The only good thing that came from that horrible day was that Ivan had lost his will about wanting to call his mother come nightfall, if only for today. At one point, Alfred heard him murmur to Ludwig, "I shouldn't tell her until I'm better. I don't want her to worry. I call her every morning, so she must be wondering where I'm at. She'll be mad at me if I don't call her tomorrow. She gets lonely."

Oh, that awful look on Ludwig's face, as he tried to appear stoic and unfazed and yet was clearly heartbroken.

Alfred contemplated how on Earth they were going to keep mama's boy here from attempting to call his mother for ten damn days. A daunting task, for sure, and Ludwig was no doubt already plotting.

When it was getting late, exhausted Ludwig suddenly broke into a great yawn, and Alfred was remarkably grateful when Ivan suddenly said, "It's late. You should go home. Get some rest. I didn't mean to keep you here all day."

Ludwig stared at Ivan quietly, longingly, seeing something he desperately wanted but couldn't have, and Alfred felt an awful twist of his stomach when Ludwig very suddenly cracked and reached out, resting his palm on Ivan's cheek.

Ivan froze up, as hypnotized as ever, and Ludwig's sad smile made Alfred shift his weight anxiously.

Alfred truly and honestly felt that if he had stayed home that day, Ludwig would have pressed forward in that moment and kissed Ivan.

Alfred stood up, to remind Ludwig that he was there, and Ludwig finally gave a short sigh, a fake smile, and withdrew his hand. He looked Ivan up and down, and said, "I'll be back tomorrow. Get some sleep. Don't give up."

Ivan stared breathlessly up at Ludwig long after Ludwig had removed his hand, and finally uttered, weakly, "Alright. I— Thank you. I'm glad that I met you."

After a second of silence, Ludwig smiled, in that beautiful way he sometimes did, and replied, simply, "Likewise."

Ivan looked astounded at that. A break of his composure, of his confidence. Ivan's arrogant mask slipped, and Alfred saw momentarily what coulda been himself beneath. A scared, lonely man, desperate for affection, who always tried so hard and was astonished that someone, after so long, was seeing him.

All Alfred had every really wanted was for someone to want him, and for that he so easily recognized that expression on Ivan's face. He'd worn around Ludwig more than a few times.

Someone loving you...

Nothing like it.

Didn't want to understand Ivan like this.

So Alfred quickly fled, like the coward that he was, and took Ludwig home.

Home?

Yeah, this was someone's home, alright, but Alfred looked around when they walked in, and wondered whose, precisely.

Ludwig was out in space, up in the cosmos, lost in the atmosphere, and Alfred watched with horror and hurt as Ludwig wandered mindlessly into the bedroom and began unpacking the boxes he had put in the closet. Ivan's clothes were put back. Notepads and sketchbooks returned to the drawers.

Oh, that hurt he felt.

He wasn't even sure if Ludwig was really aware of how much those simple actions terrified Alfred.

Was Ludwig so ready to take Ivan back and forget Alfred?

Alfred had been putting off doing as Gilbert said, had been delaying the inevitable, and now he was beginning to pay the price for his hesitation. Alfred hadn't put Ludwig in place, and now Ludwig was remembering how much he loved Ivan.

Alfred was really just a nobody.

Alfred would have fallen to his knees, grabbed Ludwig's hands, and begged him to stay, to keep on loving Alfred, not to turn around and go back down that old road, to stick with it. Wanted to remind him that Ludwig loved Ivan, sure, but he had said he loved Alfred, too. Ludwig couldn't just take that back because a circumstance had changed. It didn't work like that.

...did it?

Alfred didn't know what to do.

He watched Ludwig shine those shoes that had ever been by the door, dust off the piano, rearrange things in the closet, and it hurt like hell to realize that Ludwig, perhaps subconsciously, was preparing for Ivan to come home.

Home.

Right—Ivan's marital home. The home Ivan had bought for Ludwig. This was Ivan's house, not Alfred's, and Ludwig was intent. Ludwig never noticed Alfred staring at him from behind as his heart broke. Just wanted to grab Ludwig and beseech, pitifully, 'Please love me.'

Choose me.

But Ivan wanted that, too. Just like Alfred, Ivan wanted Ludwig to love him.

Alfred watched Ludwig bustling around well into the night, and knew then and there that if he didn't put his foot down and become Gilbert, he didn't stand a chance.

Ludwig turned his head, stared at the shoes by the door, and smiled.

When Ivan's memory returned, Alfred would have no choice but to be domineering and unbending, or else it would be Ivan walking through that door instead of himself.

Ten days to find his courage.