Chapter 32
Too Far Gone
The first thing anyone said to Ludwig, when they left Ivan alone in the room, was Toris' rather snippy, "So? How long are you going to play this game with him?"
Alfred crept over and placed himself ever so slightly in between Ludwig and Toris, just in case. Ludwig was on the ropes, and likely to lash out. Woulda been excellent to see Toris get punched, yes, but it would have been considerably less excellent to see Ludwig berate himself afterwards for punching his parent. Less fun yet was the very likely possibility of Toris striking back, and all hell breaking loose.
Alfred would rather have just gone back to bed.
Ludwig braced his legs, summoned up his courage once more, and looked right at Toris to retort, "As long as I have to. Until he's well. Until then, I expect no one, no one, to tell him the truth, and ruin his chances. No one. I forbid it."
Toris and Ludwig's eyes never once flitted from each other's, and Ludwig stood up to Toris as best he could then, because he was protecting the most important thing to him.
Toris, so subtle and calculating, offered a slithering, "Don't you have someone else here to think about, too?"
Hell yeah he did. Alfred, who Ludwig had entirely forgotten lately.
Alfred was torn between a sense of victory and an awful guilt, more so when Ludwig suddenly broke Toris' unblinking gaze and lowered his eyes to the floor.
Afterwards, Ludwig glanced quickly at Alfred, as he said, far more softly and pleadingly, "I have to do this for him. It's my fault, so I need to do everything I can. No one is to say anything to him. I'll handle this myself, when he's better. I'll tell him everything myself."
Toris asked, "And if he doesn't get better?"
A flash of anger on Ludwig's face, and he once more straightened up, and nearly barked, "Then! I'll let him die thinking neither of us did anything wrong. And that's all. To die happy—if that's all I can give him, then so be it."
With that, Ludwig brushed by Toris and stalked off.
Alfred lingered, as Toris' eyes turned to him and held him still.
Toris lifted his chin, exhaled through his nose, and finally griped, "You have a lot of work to do. Best be quick about it. We don't have all year. Hurry up, or I'll step in."
It was Toris' turn to stalk off, and Alfred was left there alone in front of Ivan's door.
He found himself standing there for a while, because in that moment, strangely enough, Alfred felt more in tune with Ivan than he did any other man around him. Ludwig was beloved and yet always just out of reach in some way, Toris was far beyond him, and Gilbert lurked behind a veil. Ivan seemed the most human to Alfred, the most relatable, and goddammit Alfred fuckin' hated Ivan, and hated more that he had to actively try to keep hating him. He felt the will sliding away, however hard he grasped it, and all Alfred could really do then was sigh and trudge on after Ludwig.
He looked over his shoulder at Ivan's door, without really meaning to.
He was about to make sure this door never opened again, and god help him he felt a little sick to his stomach about it.
Toris was pushing him, and there was little choice.
Ludwig was sitting patiently behind the wheel of the car when Alfred came stumbling down into the garage, staring off into the void and jaw set. Nothing was said as Alfred slid into the passenger's seat. Just the silence, and then the engine. The city flying by.
Alfred wracked his brain relentlessly, as pressure built. He glanced over at Ludwig from time to time, anxiously, as if worried in some way that Ludwig could hear what he was thinking. But Ludwig didn't look at him, and didn't speak. Not all there, as usual.
How was he supposed to word it?
'Listen here. You're not going to the hospital anymore. You can call him if you want, but you're not allowed to go.'
'I've been thinking about it, and you and me are together now, so I don't want you seeing him anymore.'
'You said you loved me, so why are you acting like I don't exist?'
Everything sounded so harsh up in his head, and Alfred mulled over every single possible thing that he could have said to Ludwig.
Should he have just gotten down on one knee, and given Ludwig no real choice about it without actually saying a word? Ludwig had to accept a proposal, he had to, but wouldn't wear the ring into the hospital, so nothing would really be accomplished on that end.
Should Alfred tell Ivan instead? Go to the hospital alone in the middle of the night and wake Ivan up to tell him the awful truth? Ludwig would have knocked his block off. Alfred woulda been the one waking up three days later on a respirator.
He didn't know what to do, and when they walked into the house, their house, their home, Alfred looked over at Ludwig and really observed him.
Ludwig's eyes were on the floor, and beneath them hung those awful shadows. His hair was messy, coming loose, his shoulders were slumped, his lips pursed, a crease in his brow. Everything about Ludwig seemed a breath away from collapse, and still Alfred opened his mouth.
"Hey."
Ludwig was still for a moment, and then lifted his heavy head to turn it in Alfred's direction. Alfred swallowed, heart hammering, and took a breath. Ludwig stared at him, stared and stared, and Alfred's nerve washed away beneath the wave of misery that positively emanated from Ludwig.
Alfred inhaled, and then shook his head.
He choked.
Ludwig immediately trudged away and threw himself face first into the couch, leaving Alfred to stand above him in defeat.
Yet again, nerve was lost.
And somehow, someway, Toris predicted that, because he was waiting for Alfred in the hospital hall the following day. Ludwig walked straight past Toris without a word, but when Alfred passed, Toris snatched out and grabbed Alfred's sleeve.
"Come walk with me," Toris commanded more than asked, and Alfred glanced at Ludwig.
To no avail, because Ludwig had already gone into Ivan's room, and didn't once look out to see where Alfred was. It was that hurt, perhaps, that led Alfred to nod his head and give in. He followed Toris down the halls, into the elevator, and saw that Toris had no briefcase today. Seemed to have swung by just for Alfred, and it was when they stepped into the garage that Alfred discovered why.
A click of Toris' dress shoes on the concrete, and then a jingle.
Toris very suddenly whirled around and threw something at his face, and Alfred flinched but managed to get his hands working fast enough to catch whatever Toris was trying to murder him with.
He looked down, and was quite alarmed to see a set of car keys.
"What's this?" he asked, dumbly, heart pounding and smiling a bit breathlessly.
Toris rolled his eyes, sneered a bit, and said, "Follow me."
Jittery and hoping to god that this wasn't a prank, Alfred trotted behind Toris, the sting of Ludwig's dismissal momentarily forgotten beneath rare excitement.
Alfred was only a man, after all, and had always acknowledged that.
Toris abruptly fell to a halt, and swept a lofty palm forward. Alfred's eyes followed, and he felt the rush of elation.
A car.
Toris drawled, "It's yours. Already in your name. Paid off. Don't bother asking too many questions. The papers are all in the glove compartment. It's yours, so maybe try to pretend that you're sophisticated enough for it."
The light jab didn't matter in the presence of that gorgeous car. A damn nice one, similar to Ludwig's. Black and new, positively pristine, sleek and anything Alfred could ever have dreamt of. Something a man like him could never have owned by his own merits, something someone like him wasn't quite good enough for. But there all the same.
He clenched the keys, and felt himself smiling, for the first time in so long.
It was beautiful, and Alfred was instantly smitten with her, yeah, but...
His smile steadily dropped, and so did his stomach.
It wasn't right, because he had a suspicion as to why Toris had suddenly decided he liked Alfred enough to do this for him.
Because Toris and Gilbert were worried that Ludwig would crack and run back into his husband's arms, even with Alfred there. They doubted Alfred's ability to keep control of the situation, to make Ludwig heel, to place the necessary boundaries. So, to spur Alfred into fighting harder for Ludwig, they were attempting to buy Alfred's affections.
Toris must have seen it there on his face, as his brow lowered and he looked that car over with a sense of moroseness.
Unfair.
"Why are you doing this?" Alfred asked, as he lifted his eyes above the roof of the car to Toris.
Toris stared at him blankly, and finally said, softly, "You know why."
Alfred scoffed, bitterly. Yeah. Yeah he did, and had all along.
Bribery.
Alfred opened up his palm and stared down at the keys gleaming there. A million damn things running through his mind, a hundred things he wanted to say, so many sentiments and emotions and notions, and Alfred knew, above all else, that it was wrong.
He glanced up, and met Toris' expectant gaze.
When Alfred was still and silent, Toris gently whispered, "Merely think of it as a bonus. Ludwig should be the real prize. If you care as much as you claim."
The surge than came up could have been that of possessiveness or insecurity, jealousy, but it was just enough.
Alfred clenched his fist around the keys, and nodded his head.
Toris smirked, triumphantly, and began walking away. As he left, he called to Alfred, "Best leave that somewhere private, for now. Don't let Ludwig know until it's all said and done."
Then Toris was gone, and Alfred stared away at the car, swallowing from time to time as his heart raced.
Felt so sick, and he couldn't understand that because even though the means were wrong, his intentions were pure, and justified. He was doing the right thing the wrong way, and so he shouldn't have felt so guilty.
He hid the keys, went back up to the room, and saw Ludwig leaning in and crooning away to Ivan, who clenched Ludwig's hand and smiled away. Ivan, who was dying, but also who had done terrible things even if he didn't remember it.
He was doing the right thing.
Alfred was entirely silent when Ludwig drove them home. Ludwig was so lost in space that he didn't even bat an eye when Alfred stood up and left the house without a single word. Alfred left the ill-gotten car at a garage a few blocks away from Ludwig's, and kept the keys up in the spare bedroom, along with his ring. Seeing that ring, as he hid the keys, was hardly a motivator. Just made him feel sicker.
When he came back downstairs, Ludwig was sitting at the kitchen table over a stack of papers, and Alfred took a deep breath for courage.
Toris was giving Alfred little recourse.
So Alfred stepped up carefully behind dazed Ludwig, and opened his mouth. As he meant to speak, Alfred's eyes happened to flit downwards. Sketches and diagrams, the usual stuff for Ludwig's work, which was odd because Ludwig wasn't working right now and was so bewildered that he hadn't even picked up a pen.
It was the signature at the bottom of the blue paper that caught Alfred's eye and made him pause.
Ivan's signature.
Alfred knew that because he could actually read the writing, for these sketches were old, from long before Ivan's tumor began impeding his speech and motor skills.
Ludwig flipped through the papers intently, and that made Alfred pause. It seemed as if every single time Alfred found a good moment to lay down the law, Ludwig would distract Alfred with either exhaustion or memory. Or nothing at all.
And maybe that was just because Alfred felt so guilty that every little thing forced him still.
Alfred retreated that night, and the night after, and the night after that as well.
Somewhere, Alfred was pretty sure that Toris was tapping his foot, and Gilbert was probably punching walls.
In the hospital, Ivan's spirits were rising up quite high, as he apparently decided that it was better to live with Ludwig than to die with his mother. Ivan seemed determined to get better in order to have his ring returned to him, and Ludwig evaded and changed subjects with the skill of a blackbelt. Ludwig could so easily blind Ivan to the truth, because Ivan trusted Ludwig completely and without question.
This Ivan was sterner, less charming, than the one that had first awoken, less pleasant at a glance, but not so off-putting. Ivan wasn't a man Alfred would have sought out by any means, but didn't immediately give off the impression that he was dangerous enough to keep one's hand on the handle of a gun. Alfred didn't even carry the damn thing anymore, for there was no point.
Ivan was too sick for lethal force to be necessary.
Since Ivan had come around, the only time Ivan had even bothered to acknowledge Alfred's existence was on the second day, when Toris was gone. Ivan had looked over at Alfred quite derisively, raked him up and down, sneered, and then snipped, 'Why are you here? What sort of bodyguard shows up on his own?'
Ludwig and Alfred had shared a glance of alarm, as terror flitted across Ludwig's face, and for just a second there Alfred thought that they had been found out.
But not quite; Ivan was remarkably astute, very intelligent, but had missed the mark.
Ivan sneered away, and added, 'Why do you look so shocked? Everything about you is obvious. But I admit, I never thought Toris would hire someone like you. Pfft—he likes his bodyguards to look as obnoxious as he does. On second thought... Perhaps you fit the bill.'
Alfred sneered right back at that pretentious son of a bitch, arms crossed over his chest as he tried so hard to appear unfazed.
Shoulda been used to being looked down upon by now, but it still stung.
What stung worse was that after Ivan had dismissed Alfred, Ludwig didn't even try to send Alfred some sort of reassurance. Not a look, a signal, a word, anything. Ludwig just shakily exhaled, and kept his eyes on Ivan.
Alfred bided his time, because soon Ivan wouldn't be so haughty when it was Alfred who took his place.
Days passed.
Ludwig was ever silent, and so was Alfred, because he hadn't yet been brave enough.
Toris, predictably, was growing impatient, and one day, as Ludwig and Ivan murmured away to each other, Alfred received a call. At the tone, Ivan had glared over at Alfred in annoyance, and Alfred felt that way too because it was Toris' name there on his phone.
Damn.
Alfred stepped out of the room (and heard Ivan mutter, 'About time!'), and crankily answered.
"What's up?"
"Meet me outside. I'm on the street."
No other explanation was offered, and Toris cut the call before Alfred could utter a word. Didn't have a choice, really, and to be quite frank he would almost rather be with insufferable Toris than seeing Ivan fuckin' nuzzling the hand of Alfred's boyfriend.
All these people were jerks.
Toris was easy to find on the street, with that damn car. Not black like Ludwig's, but red. Crimson, some brand of luxury car that Alfred had never seen and couldn't easily identify, and when Alfred opened the door and hopped in, he grimaced a little. Hated the scent of Toris, mingled there with a little Gilbert.
Felt like a noose around his neck.
Toris pulled out, and glanced over at Alfred to say, in an unnervingly gentle voice, "How have you been feeling lately? You look a bit dull. You should take better care of yourself. Until Ludwig does."
When Toris spoke like that, his condescending tone vanished, his voice was lower, breathier, gentler. More attractive. Soothing. Calming. Perhaps that was the voice Ludwig had heard as a child, why Ludwig was so comfortable with Toris and loved him so, but that tone made the hairs on Alfred's arms stand up because it was insidious when used on Alfred.
Toris hated him, and had no reason to speak to him like that unless he wanted something, and Alfred already knew what Toris wanted, so why bother?
Alfred just stared at Toris blankly, and stayed silent.
Toris snorted, and breathed, "You're still a child. You'll find your way."
A child? Maybe to Toris, but Alfred was a clueless thirty-one-year-old man with absolutely no idea whether he was coming or going. He wasn't a child, but acted like one. Toris' statement wasn't unfounded, and Alfred cut the one-sided conversation short by turning his eyes to the window.
And not exactly without reason, because unlike Ludwig Toris was not a safe and practical driver. Man was a speed-demon, and Alfred actually reached down of his own accord and put on his seatbelt, because otherwise he woulda gone back to the hospital as a patient and not a visitor.
Toris snorted, but stayed silent, weaving in and out of lanes without a turn signal and barely a glance. Alfred clenched his hands, stiff as a board, as Toris aggressively pushed Manhattan traffic out of his way with no remorse. When they were on more open road, Alfred saw his life flash before his eyes several times, what with Toris' foot apparently being made of lead.
An hour or so later, when the car mercifully came to a halt, Alfred had an entirely new appreciation for Ludwig's grandma driving.
Alfred eagerly leapt out of that terrifying car, and was so high on adrenaline from Toris' escapades that he didn't really pay attention to where he was or anything around him. He was just damn grateful to be alive, in all honesty, and it was with a jittery exhale that Alfred glanced up at the cloudy sky.
Snow would fall soon.
Toris suddenly came up to Alfred, and reached out to rest a hand on Alfred's shoulder.
Alfred shuddered.
"So, how is Ludwig?" Toris asked, yet in that gentle voice.
Alfred was quiet for a moment, gathering his thoughts, and then he reached up and very pointedly removed Toris' hand, while murmuring, "How do you think?"
Toris didn't seem offended, and shook his head a bit before he turned aside and stared off at something behind Alfred. Alfred turned around, and realized that they were in the drive of a very, very nice house.
He could see the beach just behind, private and cold, the waves lapping quietly upon the sand. It reminded Alfred very much of Gilbert's home, come to think, only not black and glass. This was just a normal house, however nice it was. White wood, with columns above the front porch and shutters painted green. A typical high-end American house.
Was this Toris' personal home? Their second home? Maybe this was where Toris came when he needed some space away from his nightmare of a partner. A house for each of them, because they had too much money.
Toris glanced quickly at Alfred, and said, "It's nice, isn't it? Pretty place."
Alfred squirmed, because Toris was still using that soothing voice.
Confused and nervous, Alfred shrugged a shoulder and griped, "So what? What do you want, man?"
Toris' green eyes were squinted in the wind, thick lashes catching snow as it finally began to fall.
The grey sea churned away beyond the house.
The silence was uncomfortable, heavy, awkward, before Toris finally returned his gaze to the house and so casually said, "It just went on the market a few weeks ago. I have a hold on it. Until minds are made up. Ludwig always loved the sea behind the house. Shame Ivan didn't give him the home he deserved. You have a chance now to give him back something he misses."
Adrenaline and unease coursed heavily, and Alfred stared at Toris with wide eyes.
"What're ya sayin'?"
Toris quirked a brow, swept a gloved hand forward, and supplied, "It's yours. Or, rather, it will be. The car was a bonus. Consider this a payment for services rendered."
The adrenaline was mingled with an awful twist of his stomach, as Alfred's deeply buried conscience once more attempted to rear its head.
As Alfred gawked away in dumb shock, Toris placed his hand on Alfred's back and pushed him along.
"Come on. Take a look around. Get acquainted."
Too numb and dazed to argue, Alfred just stumbled along wherever Toris pushed him. Toris shoved Alfred up onto the porch, and then stepped over to a potted plant upon a box stand. A reach beneath, and Toris quickly pulled out a key, left there with instructions no doubt by the realtor, and then Toris twisted the lock and punched in a code.
Money and power were nice. If a guy like Alfred had asked for a private visit to a million dollar house on the market, the realtor woulda laughed and then called the cops.
Toris pushed open the door, and Alfred held his breath, anxious as he was to step inside a house that could damn well have actually become his.
A house; he had never owned a house, never, that had been another wild dream of his.
Felt sick with dizziness, as too many emotions clashed.
And, oh! Man! Was it every bit as beautiful inside as Alfred could have dreamed. He fell still in a moment of breathlessness in the foyer, turning his head upwards to take in the chandelier above. Black stone floor. Dark wooden doors. Burgundy wallpaper, with high wooden baseboards.
Toris smirked a little, and led Alfred into the kitchen.
Ludwig would have loved it, for sure, with the professional stove, the island, and in particular the enormous wine rack against the wall in the corner. One large window in the dining room, that looked out over the sea.
Alfred stared at the carved dining table, and tried so hard to envision himself and Ludwig sitting there over supper. Ludwig staring at him adoringly over candlelight, as the sound of the sea calmed them. Alfred finally getting down on one knee, and not because he needed to force Ludwig's hand.
He tried so hard, so hard, but every time he had it, he saw himself shimmer away, only to be replaced by Ivan.
Because it was Ivan that Ludwig wanted.
This house wouldn't change that. Alfred could be bought, could be bribed, could be coerced, but Ludwig couldn't be, and wouldn't fall for such things. Toris must have seen the falling of his face, for he abruptly continued his impromptu tour of the beautiful house. A bedroom, another, the bathroom, the grand staircase, the spare room that overlooked the beach below, the back patio, the sandy path down to the waves, everything.
Everything to Alfred. Nothing to Ludwig.
Once upon a time, Ludwig had loved the sea. Now, Ludwig loved Ivan, and where Ludwig lived didn't matter at all if Ivan wasn't there. Still, Alfred's latent ego and selfishness tried damn hard to convince him otherwise, to mislead him, to insinuate that, with enough prodding, Ludwig would be sold.
If he believed that enough...
He had to pretend, as he had his entire life, and stay on course. Couldn't turn back now, and couldn't let Ludwig slip through his fingers.
Toris led him on and on, showed him everything, and then they were once more standing beneath the glimmering chandelier in the foyer.
What a place!
Alfred looked around, blew air through his teeth, and his eyes settled eventually onto Toris'.
Toris lifted his chin, and uttered, "It's tempting, isn't it?"
Yeah. To say the least.
Alfred opened his mouth, had a lot of things he wanted to say, and for some reason in his nervousness he instead asked, "Why do you hate him so much?"
It was Toris that time who nearly seemed caught off guard, as much as a stone like Toris could be.
Toris curled his lip disdainfully, and said, "Isn't it obvious?"
"No," Alfred replied, as he looked once more around the house. "It's not. This isn't just because of what he did when he was sick. You hated him before that. Why? What did he do to make you two hate him so much that you nearly disowned Ludwig? And don't tell me it's just because he's Russian."
Toris was silent, staring at Alfred as Alfred observed this house that could have easily come from his dreams.
Alfred never would understand why Gilbert and Toris hated Ivan so much. And maybe, when it was all said and done, they didn't either. Perhaps it had been so long now that they really couldn't remember why they hated Ivan so much, because Toris was very silent.
Alfred understood why they had hated who Ivan was when he had been sick, that was obvious, and understandable, but Alfred couldn't comprehend what Ivan had done before that. So far, from everything Alfred had seen of Ivan interacting with Ludwig, there wasn't anything there that should have brought out that level of hatred.
Knew that sometimes you hated someone for really no good reason, but Alfred was having a hard time understanding.
Toris finally made a noise in his chest, lifted his head up high, and said, curtly, "I suppose by now it's a matter of pride."
That gentle, soothing voice was gone, and the sharp, cold voice Alfred was more familiar with had returned.
A bit testily, Toris glided to the front door, held it open pointedly, and when Alfred was outside, Toris led him to the car. They sat for a moment in silence, as Toris stared blankly straight ahead, and then there was a whisper.
"Five days. I'll give you five more days. That's all. Keep the car, for all I care, either way. It's nothing to me. Keep the house, if you can keep Ludwig. Otherwise, pack up in the middle of the night and go back to your trailer park. I assure you I can handle this myself."
Alfred's instinct was to retort, 'So do it!'
He didn't say a damn word; doing so would mean losing Ludwig forever, and even though it sometimes seemed like that was inevitable, Alfred sought to cling yet.
But...
Alfred kept glimpsing himself in the side mirror as Toris drove him back to the hospital, and Alfred found it hard to maintain eye contact. Seeing himself. Unpleasant, because there had never been anything worthwhile there.
What did Ludwig see in Alfred's reflection?
Alfred hated what he saw in the mirror, and for the first time it occurred to him that maybe Ludwig felt that way, too. That perhaps Ludwig had never cared for Alfred, not really, because there was nothing there worth caring for.
Ludwig had been vulnerable, and Alfred had taken advantage of that.
Ludwig must have known.
Now Alfred was folding to Gilbert and Toris, doing everything they said, because suddenly what was best for Ludwig wasn't exactly what everyone wanted. Everyone only worked for their own desires, after all, and Alfred's desire was the selfish need to keep Ludwig to himself and away from Ivan, even as Ivan walked through the mist on the very brink and could have fallen into a crevasse any day.
Ivan was dying, and Alfred was keeping a barrier between Ludwig and Ivan because he was scared of losing.
Scared of Ludwig being forced to choose, and not choosing Alfred.
Why was it such a hard fight? It should have been the most obvious choice in the world, it really shoulda, and it seemed so often that Ludwig was being ridiculously unreasonable. Foolish. Delusional. Ludwig's intuition may have been confirmed, but Ludwig was still a victim protecting an abuser.
It should have so easy for Ludwig to choose Alfred.
Maybe Ivan was smarter, stronger, braver, more talented, more tenacious, more responsible, more mature, but Alfred had some good qualities, too, even if you had to dig to find them.
Alfred was resourceful. Determined. Arrogant. Protective. Resilient. If nothing else, then Alfred could certainly say he was the champion in the looks department. Alfred was more handsome than Ivan by miles, was certainly a million times more of a looker, was almost as big, almost. Everything about Alfred was far more conventionally attractive.
Alfred was more handsome, but, well...
Was that all that mattered?
Hell—
Ivan wasn't handsome, nah, not really, but it didn't really matter in the end because Ludwig clearly adored him. Alfred had fooled himself, had been vain and egotistical, had assumed that by being far more handsome than Ivan that naturally he would have some kind of advantage. Every day, though, Alfred could see more and more that that wasn't exactly the case.
Whatever Ludwig saw when he looked at Ivan, it was clearly beautiful to him.
Alfred was more handsome than Ivan, and it didn't matter one single damn bit because Ludwig wasn't that shallow, because Ludwig had already seen something there in Ivan once before, and would do so again. An entire city full of gorgeous people, and Ludwig had chosen Ivan. They had been pushed together by circumstances, yes, and in that Ivan had had an advantage, but that didn't change the fact that handsome Ludwig had been exposed to millions of beautiful people and had instead chosen a different kind of beautiful.
Beyond looks, what did Alfred really have to offer Ludwig? Ivan and Ludwig had so much more in common; they were both brilliant, ambitious, quiet, private, boring one could say, and they seemed the perfect match.
Soulmates.
The hospital came too soon, and Toris skidded to a halt in front, eyes burning Alfred alive as he shoved the door open and leapt out. No other word was offered, nor was it needed—not with the intense way Toris' eyes locked onto Alfred's.
The final warning.
Alfred gave a stiff nod, and slammed the door shut. Toris peeled quickly out and was gone, as Alfred turned around and craned his head back to stare up at the hospital.
Yet again, he hesitated, as snow fell more heavily. Perhaps he hesitated because he knew in his heart that Ludwig was happier when Alfred wasn't there, that Ludwig wasn't even looking for him, wasn't missing him, wasn't worried about him, wasn't aware of his absence at all.
All the same, Alfred hopefully removed his phone from his coat pocket. It was painfully silent. No calls. No texts. Nothing. But Alfred had already known that, and wiped the slate blank to calmly walk inside and get in the elevator.
Ludwig didn't give Alfred more than a glance when he walked in, and Kiku didn't bother looking up at all, too busy going over paperwork with Ivan, who slapped his signature on page after page.
A signature that was now legible.
No matter what hopes Ludwig clung to, the only good thing that would come from Ivan being able to write once more was that Ivan would use that pen to next elegantly scratch his signature onto those divorce papers.
That was the way it had to be.
Alfred was finally ready, and felt oddly calm then as he watched the scene before him. No jealousy, no irritation, no anxiety. He was numb. Under intense pressure, Alfred always seemed to perform his absolute best, and this was no exception. His hands were steady, his chin high, his face relaxed. No tremor at all, no doubt, no fear.
He waited.
Night came, and Ludwig stood up, running a hand down Ivan's cheek in a silent farewell. Ivan grasped it and kissed the palm, as Ludwig smiled wanly. Alfred was somewhat envious of how oblivious they were—this would be the last time, and they were clueless.
Ivan's pale eyes locked onto Ludwig's, saying a hundred things without a word.
The crinkle of Ludwig's eyes in return.
Alfred fell dutifully into place behind Ludwig when he stepped out into the hall, and the walk to the car was predictably silent. Ludwig glanced up from time to time at the falling snow, but was unable to conjure up enough sentiment to be pleased by it.
It was Alfred who spoke at last, during the dismal drive home, to ask, softly, "What were the papers about?"
Ludwig hesitated, and then just as softly replied, "For the treatment. The doctor wants to start the chemotherapy in two weeks."
"Oh."
They were nearly whispering, as if somehow afraid to raise their voices. As if, absurdly, speaking softly would make it less real, less harsh.
Alfred waited and waited, but Ludwig never asked, 'Where were you?'
Alfred was too numb to feel hurt, and after a while Ludwig spoke up again to add, in a thick voice that trembled, "He won't say it, but he's scared."
A man like Ivan, so strong and brave, could still feel fear in the face of something so unknown.
So Alfred just uttered, "You would know."
They fell silent. Alfred glanced over, and saw in the darkness Ludwig's eyes gleaming far too much. Too much for one heart. Alfred turned his eyes back ahead to the snowy street, and convinced himself that Ludwig would be better when Alfred forced him to let Ivan go. If Ludwig had no choice, then maybe...
Maybe.
Clueless Ludwig parked the car, trudged home with his head hanging, and Alfred didn't receive so much as a glance when Ludwig went straight for the couch to throw himself down atop it, as he often did these days.
Alfred stood above him, and felt himself look sideways and up at the bedroom above.
Where the ring lied.
It would have been more than enough, but Alfred was still in that numb high of focus, still calm, and was confident enough in that moment to believe that he didn't need the ring to corral Ludwig. He didn't want to ruin that, not that, didn't want that memory tarnished. It could wait, until Ivan was dead and Ludwig was once more on track.
Alfred cast the ring out of his mind, and took one step to the couch, and then another. He reached down, grabbed Ludwig's arm, and forced him to sit up straight. Ludwig's bleary, red eyes reluctantly locked onto his own.
The time had come. No other way around it.
It had all been leading up to this, and Alfred grabbed Ludwig's arms in both of his hands, giving him no room to escape. No fleeing now, no running away, no more evading, and no more lying.
It had to be done.
Ludwig must have known it, somehow, because his already pale skin had gone whiter than a sheet, pulse hammering and pupils dilating. Looked ready to vomit, and if Alfred hadn't been so numb, he would never have been able to go through with this as Ludwig looked at him like that.
Finally, Alfred said, sternly but calmly, "Enough. It's time to stop. All of this. It ends now."
Ludwig didn't need elaboration—his eyes were already filling with water as his face contorted with distress.
Ludwig had had the courage once to deny Gilbert, but there would be no denying Alfred.
Alfred gave Ludwig a gentle shake, and added, "You're not helping him by lying. You're not gonna make him live any longer by pretending I don't exist."
Ludwig's eyes lowered in what was likely shame.
"You said you loved me. Were you lying? Huh? Did ya just tell me what I wanted to hear? Did ya only say it because he was gone?"
Alfred shook Ludwig again when there was no response, and Alfred quickly carried on before Ludwig could form an answer, because even beneath the stupor Alfred was terrified of an honest response.
Of Ludwig's truth.
"All those things you told me—ya can't just take them back because he was sick. Maybe it's not his fault, but it's not mine, either. You said all those things. Tell me now if you didn't mean them. Tell me. And if you did mean them, then what are you doing? Huh? What the hell are you doin'? You can't just throw me away."
Ludwig could, in fact, just throw Alfred away, because that was anyone's right in a relationship, for better or worse. Ludwig could tell Alfred to hit the road right then and there, and there was nothing Alfred could do about it.
Ludwig refused to look up, but was yet silent.
Alfred took advantage of that, and said, perhaps too harshly, "He's dying. No matter what you do, he's gonna die. You can't save him. You can't. Are you really gonna leave me behind, just for a few months of him? He'll die soon, and I'm sorry about it, but you can't change it. There's no point in going back to him and losing everything. You have to let him go."
The awful crinkle of hurt in Ludwig's brow, as he squinted his eyes shut.
It was time to decide, once and for all.
Toris and Gilbert were always waiting.
Alfred pressed, with finality, "So. What is it? Me, or him? Decide. Now. Who is it?"
The silence was awful, as Alfred gripped Ludwig's arms to prevent him from marching out without a definitive answer. Ludwig's head was ever bowed, face scrunched up and jaw clenched.
Felt like the seconds had turned into hours, as Alfred waited.
It had to be the right way. Had to be. Ivan was dying, and Ludwig would have to accept that.
Alfred gave Ludwig a gentle shake, to force his hand.
"Who is it?"
He was doing the right thing—
Ludwig looked up at last, eyes connecting with Alfred's through his tears, and Alfred should have been happy when Ludwig slumped in defeat and whispered, "I'll stay with you."
He should have been happy.
So Alfred didn't know why he lowered his own eyes to the floor, and felt so miserable. The confidence of numbness faded away, replaced with a surge of regret. Guilt. Uncertainty. Remorse. Alfred had won, had gotten everything he wanted. Ludwig was his, and always would be, and it had to be that way because the entire world was demanding it. Had to be the right path, must have been the correct way. So many people couldn't be wrong. Alfred was exactly where he was meant to be, he was so sure of it. It wasn't a coincidence that he and Ludwig had met. It couldn't be.
They belonged together.
They would have a new future, very secure, a new home, and Ludwig would forever be guaranteed a stable position in Gilbert's empire. Their lives, as Alfred had always wanted. Everything he had ever dreamt of. Everything he had ever looked for. Everything he needed to make up for his past failures.
The only way.
All the signs pointed him in this direction, but Alfred still felt bewildered and lost.
Alfred let Ludwig go, and Ludwig immediately went into the bedroom upstairs, locked the door, and didn't come down for the rest of the night. Alfred turned off the light, sat on the couch, and stared at Ivan's piano in the dim blue glow of the streetlamp. Eerie silence, and frigid air. Pale. An odd sense of desolation. Isolation. Strange; Alfred had won, and yet it still seemed as if he had lost.
He was supposed to be the hero, so why did he feel like the villain?
The pale blue light danced across the piano through the curtains, and Alfred couldn't sleep.
Alfred had always felt that he had come out from the dark side of the mirror.