A/N : I kind of consider this chapter the beginning of the second arc, although two chapters from now would likely be a better first-arc-finale. What I'm really saying is : the soap opera begins shortly. (the song I had in mind towards the end is on YT, I recommend giving it a listen, as it is quite nice : Два берега, Майя Кристалинская)

Chapter 20

Night Owl

Fall.

One year now that Alfred and Ludwig had known each other.

The most pivotal year of Alfred's existence, for sure, realizing what it was like to have someone love him. To protect someone and not fail. His second chance seemed secure, as Ludwig was always well protected within his hands.

Once again, Ivan had vanished from sight for months on end, and once again, Alfred had started letting down his guard a little. Alfred had seen no more shadows, no more unwavering stares from alleys, no more phone calls, nothing at all. Ivan had vanished into thin air like the phantom he was, and Ludwig was burning ever brighter.

Alfred did still hope sometimes that he would leave the office building and Ivan would be standing there, ready to come forward and hand over a bunch of signed divorce papers.

Never happened.

Gilbert had yet to speak to Alfred since their altercation, and Toris was ever impatient. What could Alfred really do? He didn't know where Ivan was. Not his goddamn fault that the big bastard wasn't coming forward and offering himself up for a bullet.

Alfred had long since studied Ludwig's wedding ring, put it upon a paper and traced the circle so that he would know the precise size, and let his mind wander. He found himself from time to time wandering the streets as Ludwig worked, and stopping to look in through windows of jewelry shops. He mulled it over, endlessly, and yet always hesitated.

Couldn't say why, really, when Ludwig had been so compliant with everything Alfred did.

Was it still too soon? There were people out there that proposed after knowing their partner for only a month or two. Stupid, yeah, but people were stupid and so was Alfred.

Despite that, he yet hesitated, and bought no ring.

Wondered occasionally where Ivan's engagement ring was. Perhaps Ivan hadn't bought one, preferring merely the most traditional ring. Perhaps it had been lost somewhere down the hectic line, or, more likely, Ludwig might have just had it hidden away somewhere where no one would ever find it and try to take it away.

Locked up and safe from Gilbert.

On a more positive note, Ludwig talked endlessly about the mountains, seemed quite taken with them, and asked Alfred often when they would return. And, well, fall was the best time to go, to see the leaves change color, and so Alfred made plans and Ludwig put in for his other week of vacation in October, on the week of his birthday.

Gilbert was probably having mini-strokes every day, as his little brother had the audacity to use vacation days and actually vacation during them, rather than sit at home and continue working from behind the scenes as Gilbert no doubt did.

Would Gilbert have disowned Ludwig had Alfred proposed?

In the end, however much Gilbert had hated Ivan, Gilbert had just loved Ludwig too much to ever really let him go. Alfred couldn't have been that much worse, truly. Was the shame of Alfred's dirt-poor, unrefined origin worse than someone like Ivan? Gilbert would get over it in time, just like he had when he had cracked and called Ludwig after kicking him out.

So Alfred plotted away, gathered his courage, his will, and daydreamed frequently, even as he once more took Ludwig to the airport.

Ludwig's beautiful smile was excited, full of anticipation, and so who cared if Gilbert thought Alfred was dirt? Ludwig loved it out there, and Gilbert was inconsequential.

Alfred did tease that time, as Ludwig happily traveled along, "How come you're not freakin' out in here?"

Ludwig shrugged a casual shoulder, and supplied, "I don't know. I can't see the ground in detail from here, maybe. I don't know. I've never been afraid of the planes. Who knows?"

Better for him, really. Ludwig's deathly fear of heights would have been a total mood killer otherwise. Couldn't imagine him having a panic attack at 35, 000 feet. Maybe it was just being able to see the motion of the world passing normally beneath him that caused that fear.

Planes? Okay. Skyscrapers? No thanks.

Alfred logged that away into his little Ludwig manual book.

This time, on the road trip to the mountains, Alfred stopped frequently along the way, at lookouts and little shops, because it was endearing to see Ludwig hop out of the car and stalk around so eagerly. He loved the sights, the people, the atmosphere, and said to Alfred at one point, 'Everyone here sounds like you. I love it.'

Alfred's ego shot up.

That little cabin waited for them, hidden within the multicolored foliage of the fall forests.

It was very misty in the mornings, and Ludwig would sit out on the porch, hands clasped in his lap and staring off into the trees. Alfred would stare at Ludwig, and pictured this being their marital home.

Sometimes, his daydream didn't seem so far off, so absurd, especially when Ludwig looked so happy.

On the third day of their little vacation, they took a long hike, hours and hours lost up in the trees, finding creeks and waterfalls and lookouts. The mosquitoes weren't as prevalent that time, with the colder air, and moods were bright. Too bright, maybe; Alfred had scared the living daylights out of Ludwig when he had decided that he wanted to attempt to scale the rocky ledge alongside a short waterfall.

It wasn't all that high, but Ludwig still stood beneath him, hands on hips as he called, "Alfred! Stop it! You get down from there right now!"

Alfred made it to the top, looked back down at Ludwig, and retorted, "The world is lot cooler when you're not afraid of anything."

The plane was alright, yes, but clearly climbing up something was not, and Ludwig huffed and fretted down below until Alfred came back down.

When he dropped back down to the lower ground, Alfred smoothed back his hair, shot Ludwig a wink, and said, "I gotta live for the both of us."

Ludwig punched his shoulder, and chastised, "You'll die for the both us, too."

"Yeah," Alfred uttered, thoughtlessly, because he woulda gladly gone to that length to keep Ludwig safe.

But Ludwig rolled his eyes, and they wound their way back.

Alfred's courage was steadily fortifying.

Ludwig loving the mountains of home so much gave Alfred a ridiculous amount of hope that maybe, just maybe, Ludwig really would be willing to come home with him one day.

When they came back into the cabin, Alfred lit the fireplace, and dragged Ludwig down onto the fur rug. Ludwig very complacently fell into Alfred's arms, as usual, and before long Ludwig's head was rested in Alfred's lap.

Alfred contemplated Ludwig as Ludwig ran palms over his forearms, and then he abruptly asked, "What would you think about living here? Or in Kitty Hawk, maybe. We could drive here from there. Get a little cabin, just for us. Spend the winter here and summer at the beach."

Alfred's dream.

Ludwig's eyes ran over his face, analyzing him as he frequently did, judging his sincerity perhaps, and then Ludwig whispered, "That sounds like a great dream."

Didn't have to be a dream, if Ludwig would say 'yes'.

Before Alfred could really pry a little more out of Ludwig, Ludwig had very strongly grabbed his shoulders and yanked him down. Ludwig could be sneaky sometimes, for sure, because Alfred couldn't say how he had wound up on his back with Ludwig atop him.

Eh—no complaints there.

As they packed up days later to leave the mountains behind, Ludwig lingered in front of the car, and turned to look at the cabin from over his shoulder.

A long, mournful stare, and when they were driving, Ludwig suddenly murmured, "It would be nice to live here."

Elation was what Alfred felt then, he was sure of it.

He started taking it very to heart then, that dream, and spent the time before he fell asleep imagining all of the different scenarios that could bring them happiness. They didn't have that in their own worlds outside of each other, and had to come together in order to feel it.

Their place.

Winter came again.

Alfred and Ludwig spent the nights curled up on the couch, laptop on Alfred's lap as they played around a little and looked at cabins for sell in the mountains. Homes in Kitty Hawk. Alfred didn't know how serious Ludwig really was, but his heart pounded every time Ludwig pointed a long finger at the screen and said, 'I like that one.'

He didn't know if Ludwig was humoring him, if Ludwig was only desperate to get away from Gilbert and the memory of Ivan. Didn't know if Ludwig really loved him that much or if Ludwig was using him as a means of escape, but Alfred was just pitiful enough to not care in the slightest.

Perhaps Ludwig was more serious than Alfred had thought.

One pale, cold day in the beginning of December.

Started so normally, and Alfred had clenched Ludwig up and rolled them back and forth as he liked to, as Ludwig smiled and kissed Alfred's now slightly crooked nose. Normality, and that was spectacular.

After breakfast that morning, Ludwig went into the bedroom and vanished for a while, and when Alfred went in to check on him, he was absolutely astounded to see Ludwig gathering up boxes and gently folding Ivan's clothes and putting them up.

A pang of wonderful adrenaline. Awe.

Ludwig glanced over his shoulder, saw Alfred there, and smiled, a bit sadly. Incredible progress, it really was, and Alfred leaned there in the frame and watched Ludwig gingerly packing Ivan's clothes up.

The love he felt for that man was quite potent.

When Ludwig was finished a while later, he set the boxes in the closet, where the shoes and guitar lied, and said to Alfred, "If he ever decides to sign, I'll give them to him."

Alfred smiled, and nodded.

When Ludwig was cooking dinner, Alfred crept back into the room, and nosily inspected the boxes, just to see how much Ludwig had been willing to part with. Clothes, naturally, shoes. Notebooks. Sketchpads. A little box; when Alfred opened it, there was a watch inside, that Alfred hadn't seen before. But no photos, and no ring.

Ludwig would keep those, no doubt, and sure enough when Alfred opened the dresser, there that wedding photo still lied, the ring yet atop it.

Well. Supposed Ludwig shouldn't have been expected to pretend Ivan didn't exist. Should have let him have something to remember him. For good or bad, Ivan had been important to Ludwig, they had been in love, and that wasn't easily forgotten.

Let him keep them; Ivan's time was over, and Alfred's began.

The very next day, as soon as Alfred dropped Ludwig off, he went straight out to peruse the jewelry shops.

His time.

But god, there were no words ineloquent Alfred knew that could have ever described the way his throat clenched up and his chest tightened and his stomach squirmed when the first ring was brought out to him from behind the glass. Observing it up close, feeling it in his palm, twisting it in his fingers and having it catch the light.

Knowing where it would soon sit.

Ludwig would say 'yes', he had to, just had to, everything had been leading up to it and there was no possible way that there had been such a grand misunderstanding between them. Alfred was putting his entire heart into this, and Ludwig would know it and respond accordingly. Maybe, even, if Alfred proposed, then maybe Ludwig would gather the courage to call Ivan and press him personally for those divorce papers, and perhaps with Ludwig rejecting him Ivan would at last fold.

So much of Alfred's dreams rested upon the decisions of other people.

Alfred took a good long hour to look over every ring in that shop, and eventually settled on one he liked. Nothing preposterous or extravagant, no, nothing that Ludwig really deserved because Alfred just couldn't afford it. Merely a simple little band, silver to contrast with Ivan's gold one, with little sapphires studded along. Reminded him of Ludwig, silver and blue, and so he settled on it and pulled out his wallet.

Alfred wasn't entirely sure if he wanted to laugh, cry, or throw up when the jeweler told him to come pick it up in seven days. Felt too soon and far too late. Ludwig didn't notice that Alfred was jittery and nervous, because Alfred was always a little jittery and hyper, loud and always moving, so anxiety was easy to hide.

Counting down the days was nerve-wracking.

Seeing Ludwig smiling at him so happily from across the table and praying that that smile wouldn't drop the second Alfred did down to his knee.

Was he stupid?

He had a nightmare that night of Ludwig rejecting him, laughing at him, and found himself unable to meet Ludwig's eyes in the morning as Ludwig kissed his nose.

Another day of anxiety passed without Ludwig noticing, as Alfred went from elation down into absolute panic. Suddenly, it didn't matter how soon the ring was ready, because Alfred intended to stash it up in his unused room and regroup.

The clock ticked.

On that dreaded and wonderful seventh day, Ludwig finally looked at Alfred over coffee, and asked, coolly, "Are you ever going to tell me what's the matter with you?"

Alfred jumped a little, sat up straight, and smiled out of nervousness. Ah—guess Ludwig had noticed after all, but had chosen to hold his tongue.

To lie, or not to lie?

Ludwig stared him down, in that stern and piercing manner that his big brother had instilled in him, and Alfred finally said, somewhat honestly, "Nah. It's a surprise."

Alfred was many shitty things, but a good liar was not one of them.

Ludwig lifted a brow, snorted a little, and left it there with a simple and succinct, "I'm sure I'm looking forward to it."

A rush of confidence that Alfred desperately needed.

It dampened a bit when Alfred realized that it was Ludwig that morning who actually looked a little down and out, a little dreary, a little sad. Alfred was too unbalanced by his own insecurity to pry that time and ask Ludwig in turn what was bothering him.

Had to be positive, happy, because the ring would be in his hands today.

And, several hour later, it was.

Alfred stood up on his toes and reached out for the box with both hands as if he were being handed the Hope Diamond itself. The jeweler gave an airy snort, and merely said, as Alfred retreated, "Good luck."

Oh, he was gonna need it.

He skittered home, tucked the ring safely away in his room, bounced around on his heels a little in a strange mixture of excitement and utter horror, and then he went to pick Ludwig up.

It was snowing again, and despite that it was easy to see that Ludwig was still in a bit of a dreary mood. Ludwig loved snow, but still looked so sad. Couldn't have that!

When Alfred collected Ludwig that time, he held out Ludwig's coat, then bowed stupidly at the waist and offered, "Would you accompany me out to dinner?"

Ludwig narrowed his eyes suspiciously, and was quick to insinuate, "Sick of my cooking, are we?"

"Hardly! Don't you ever get tired? Take a night off. Let me treat you."

Ludwig looked no less suspicious, but did seem to perk up a little. Alfred may not have ended up proposing tonight, or tomorrow, or for the next three years, but he would keep Ludwig's head well above the water until then.

Alfred was not a classy diner, needless to say, and was quick to force Ludwig to choose their destination. But Ludwig merely quirked a brow, and refused, by scoffing, "This is your date."

Goddammit.

Alfred made Ludwig pay for that poor decision, and led that snooty bastard straight to the cheapest Chinese restaurant in town. Not where men like Gilbert and Toris would ever be caught dead, and Ludwig did seem shocked. For just a second anyway, before he rolled his eyes, stood up straight and proud, and Ludwig looked strangely dignified as he and Alfred leaned against the building wall outside and ate out of takeaway boxes, snow falling all over the city.

Ludwig wasn't pretentious like his brother.

Somewhere along the line, Ludwig snorted and laughed, smiled, and when Alfred looked over at him, Ludwig twirled his chopsticks in his food and murmured, happily, "This was a good date."

Alfred watched the snow collecting in Ludwig's hair, and smiled, too.

They spent a good hour there, chatting and freezing, and somehow Alfred had convinced Ludwig to go to a café with him for a warm-up coffee, but only because he was still too nervous to go home and face the music. Delaying something he wanted, because he was scared.

Ludwig absolutely knew by then that Alfred was up to something, but could never have known what, and so he abruptly asked, when they were tucked up comfortably in a café, "What do you want for Christmas?"

Alfred played it off by teasing, somewhat seriously, "You. Preferably without clothing."

Ludwig's face blazed red, for the first time in a long while, and he quickly scoffed and lowered his eyes as Alfred successfully distracted Ludwig yet again. Whew.

When the coffee was gone, Alfred led Ludwig aimlessly along the streets, biding more time, and Ludwig glanced over at him frequently. Alfred was pretty sure that Ludwig was smirking. Ludwig could sense Alfred's nervousness, white wolf that he was, and was enjoying it.

Alfred glanced at the time then, realized that it was nearly ten, and it was probably time to go home.

He could do this, he could, he could do it, all he had to do was get down on one knee, just that, couldn't've been that damn hard—

Ludwig's house was suddenly in sight, far too soon.

And Alfred was so nervous, so anxious, so jittery, that he didn't exactly realize that he had spent those entire hours with Ludwig without one single time glancing over his shoulder. Had been so lost in his head that he hadn't even been on guard, had forgotten momentarily that Ivan even existed.

He had distracted Ludwig, but he had also distracted himself.

But Ivan had neither been seen nor heard from in so long, his ring was gone from Ludwig's neck, his shoes were put away, the piano was forgotten, and Alfred had assumed by then that Ivan had just given up and moved on. His own wishful thinking, maybe, but could anyone have blamed him? Honestly, he hadn't even thought about Ivan at all. He had such a routine formed with Ludwig that it didn't even really feel like he was a bodyguard anymore, and although in some manner of course he knew he needed to be observant, danger didn't feel very present.

Alfred never seemed to learn his lesson, however many times he was burned.

Alfred slowed his pace when the house was in sight, and Ludwig noticed that as well, for he suddenly rammed into Alfred's shoulder, playfully, throwing Alfred off balance. Alfred was quick to shove him back, and they knocked into each other's shoulders as they trudged along, and by then Alfred was beaming.

Stupid, but effective.

Confidence was always rising, and when they stood before Ludwig's small porch, Alfred turned to face him. Ludwig's pale skin was tinted blue under the streetlight, hair damp and coming loose, and Alfred abruptly blurted out, "Hey—you think we can honeymoon in Germany for Christmas?"

Ludwig's eyes widened and his lips parted.

Sometimes, when he was nervous, Alfred spoke his mind when he knew he shouldn't have. Luckily for Alfred, he had worded it just vaguely enough for Ludwig to be unable to discern the true meaning.

Maybe Alfred wasn't the only one who heard what he wanted to hear, though, for Ludwig suddenly broke into a wide, breathless smile, and the next thing Alfred knew Ludwig had pounced on him. Quite literally; Ludwig leapt on Alfred, tangling his long legs around Alfred's waist, and Alfred nearly ate the snow, thrown back by Ludwig's heaviness.

But ego came before all else, so Alfred somehow managed to hold Ludwig aloft without falling backwards, while at the same time somehow shoving his tongue down Ludwig's throat.

...what had he been doing?

Ah, who cared? All Alfred knew was that Ludwig was very heavy and very warm, and very happy apparently, and oh—! Right. That ring was upstairs, and if Ludwig's fingers tangled in his hair was any indication, now mighta been a really good time to actually bother giving it a go.

Somehow, who knew how, Alfred had actually stumbled back and made it up that little set of stairs, despite Ludwig kissing him so furiously that he couldn't even breathe. When they made it to the front door, Alfred staggered under Ludwig's weight, and his back slammed into the door as he fumbled blindly for his key and stabbed it just as blindly behind him for the lock. For a second there he actually stopped trying, because Ludwig's hands had crept down his back and into his pants, and, hello.

Goddamn lock wouldn't twist, however many times Alfred tried stabbing the key into it. Couldn't focus.

And then, somehow, despite that extremely hot daze, despite his absolute investment in Ludwig, something caught Alfred's attention.

Music.

Very faint, very muffled, and behind him. Odd. For just a second, one second, he ignored it, because he assumed that he had left the radio on when he had gone out, wouldn't be the first time, and his hand had kept on fumbling with that lock. Then Ludwig had allowed him to breathe for just a moment, turning his mouth instead to Alfred's neck, and somehow against his heavy breathing Alfred had actually managed to pay attention and listen.

That music was strange. Not their music. Not regular music.

Different.

Couldn't put his finger on it, not yet, but it was enough to jolt him awake and get the adrenaline flowing, enough to immediately toss ice-water on that fire, and in a second Alfred had all but dropped Ludwig to the ground, put a palm against his mouth to silence him, and rested his ear against the door.

Fuckin' music was coming from inside, for sure, and he could hear then, over Ludwig's deathly silence, that it sounded strange because it was very old music. A record player, scratching and warbling. Romantic music from decades and decades ago, from probably before Ludwig's parents had even been born, and Alfred felt the surge of panic.

Something was wrong.

In a second he whirled around, grabbed up terrified Ludwig in his arms, and bolted right back down the steps to the sidewalk, dragging Ludwig so furiously that Ludwig tripped on the steps and nearly fell. He looked around, trying to gather up his thoughts, and even though it was damn foolish, Alfred commanded, sternly, "Stay here," and meant to go back up to the door.

Ludwig's eyes widened, his pulse raced, and it was easy to see how alarmed he was then, although he didn't know yet of what. In a second, Ludwig had reached out to grab Alfred's coat, and breathed, in barely a hiss, "No. Alfred, no—don't. Call someone, please, but don't go alone."

Alfred was torn between the need to know and Ludwig's begging, his ego and pride and common sense waging war then. Wanted to barge right in and see what the hell was happening, wanted to kick Ivan's ass if that's who was in there, but at the same time he couldn't stand seeing Ludwig looking like that. It also kinda stung a bit that Ludwig didn't have enough confidence in Alfred to have him go it alone against Ivan.

Dammit.

In the end, Ludwig meant more than starting a fight, so Alfred relented, with a nod, and took a step back. Ludwig exhaled in relief, and Alfred pulled out his phone. When Ludwig said 'call someone', he of course meant Lovino or Feliciano. For once, Alfred was inclined to agree. Maybe it really was best, sometimes, when volatile Gilbert just didn't know, even if Ludwig was just trying to keep Ivan safe.

Anyway, between Lovino, Feliciano, and Alfred, three big guys, surely they could take Ivan down if he was in fact inside. Ivan may have been a tank, may have been crazy, but even he had limitations.

It did briefly cross Alfred's mind that he was once more evading his imposed duty, once more seeking ways to avoid murdering Ivan, though everything and everyone wanted him to. Alfred was very certain that he wanted to shoot Ivan, absolutely did, and yet when it came down to that wire, Alfred always backtracked.

Some part of him wasn't ready to be a murderer, even if it would have been best for everyone.

As always, Lovino answered Alfred's call on the first ring, and Alfred just said, "I need both of you over here. Now."

As always, Lovino needed no further explanation, and grunted, "I'm on my way."

Reliable, those two, if nothing else.

As before, scarcely ten minutes had passed before the brothers came roaring up, the tires of their vehicle skidding on the pavement and squealing. Lovino jumped out, hair messy and clothes disheveled as last time, but this time Feliciano looked perfectly pristine. His hair was combed and he had a suit on, and Alfred could smell the cologne a mile away, and when Feliciano saw Ludwig out on the street safe and sound, he griped to Alfred, "This better be good! I was on a date."

Alfred hissed, "Quiet!", and Feliciano instantly focused, hardened, sharpened, and Lovino lifted his chin. Ready for business, then, and Alfred was quick to explain, in a whisper, "I think he's inside the house."

Ludwig looked so scared, so pale, and Alfred liked to think that it was because Ludwig was scared of Ivan, and not because Ludwig was scared of someone shooting Ivan. Again, wishful thinking.

Lovino took charge, perhaps the most bull-headed amongst three mules, and pulled out his gun as he crept up to the door. Alfred and Feliciano followed, and Alfred glanced frequently over his shoulder to make sure that Ludwig was staying put and far back.

The key that Alfred had been unable to finish twisting was still in the lock, and Lovino took it in his hand and turned it. The little click of the lock opening seemed somehow ominous, and Alfred took a breath.

One final look back at Ludwig, who was standing on his toes in an effort to keep everyone in his sights.

Lovino grabbed the doorknob, turned it as quietly as he could, and then violently pushed it open and barged in, and all Alfred saw was red.

Red.

Didn't know why, didn't know from what, just the color red emanating from the house as if the door to hell had been opened. He was too dumbfounded for a moment to even take anything in, but knew something was awful enough when Feliciano, at the back, suddenly whirled around and shoved nosy Ludwig farther yet back onto the sidewalk.

Alfred plunged in behind Lovino, and instantly he kinda wished he hadn't.

Red.

Everywhere, a glow of red, and it took Alfred's shocked mind a damn long time to figure out why, to comprehend, to take it all in and understand.

Paint had been splashed on the walls, on the carpet, on the ceiling, over everything in sight. Crimson, angry, and on the wall directly in front of the door, above the sofa, there were white streaks, where someone had lifted their hand into the wet paint and formed letters.

Above the coffee table, hanging from the ceiling fan, were two nooses.

They swayed gently in the wind coming in from the open door.

A record player, warbling away from the kitchen. An old song, perhaps from the forties or fifties, a woman, her voice distorted and ethereal as the record turned. Must have been Russian. It was a beautiful song, but also unspeakably terrifying in the circumstance, and the hairs on Alfred's body stood up on end.

That eerie, unnerving warbling, as if from behind some frightening void of space.

Feliciano was the one to go room to room and clear the house, as Lovino and Alfred stood frozen there.

Lovino stared up at the words on the wall, eyes wide beneath his low brow, swallowing and looking both horrified and livid, and Alfred finally managed to get his brain working long enough to read the scrawled letters and understand them.

'ГAPPY ANNIVEЯCAPY.'

Barely legible, the writing was so bad, as crazed as the man who had written it. Had slipped up and used Russian letters here and there, because clearly Ivan's mind was steadily losing ever more grip on reality, on sanity.

But crazy Ivan must not have been here anymore, because Feliciano came back, and shook his head.

Missed him again.

Ludwig had suddenly pushed past everyone and came in, and suddenly the four of them were standing in a row, staring up at those letters as the nooses hung there before them.

Ludwig just stared up, face blank and entirely stoic, as Alfred came over protectively to his side.

Feliciano put his gun away, and muttered, under his breath, "Some gift."

Lovino scoffed, very humorlessly.

Ludwig's eyes lowered from the nooses then to the wall, to the ceiling, to the sofa, to the carpet, as he looked at his safe place suddenly covered in red. Utter violation. A falling of Ludwig's face, a pursing of his lips, the awful reddening of his eyes as water gathered there.

The worst part was that Alfred couldn't pinpoint the precise reason that Ludwig was upset, because the most obvious answer was never the correct one with Ludwig.

Happy anniversary.

That was why Ludwig had been so gloomy all day, Alfred realized, and it was incredibly selfish of him, but Alfred was almost glad that Ivan had wrecked Alfred's plan. What a miserable damn cosmic joke it woulda been, for Alfred to unwittingly propose to Ludwig on his wedding anniversary. Would have blown up in Alfred's face so bad.

Feliciano grabbed Ludwig by the arm, perhaps for support, and Lovino finally drew his eyes from the words and swept them over the ruined living room. A low hiss, a curse, and Lovino muttered, "How the fuck are we gonna clean this up?"

A good question, but not one they would worry about tonight.

Alfred pulled out his phone, and started calling the police, because it had all suddenly gone too far. All those new locks Alfred had installed hadn't kept Ivan out, had been useless, and it was clear to see from the open backdoor that that was how Ivan had gotten in. Alfred had installed new bolts there, and it hadn't been enough, because Ivan was too determined.

He meant to dial.

A hand on his arm. He glanced up, to see Ludwig staring quite potently at him. Caught under that stern but heartbroken gaze, Alfred merely stood still as Ludwig reached down and took his phone out of his hand before he could dial.

Alfred's stomach sank, as Ludwig shook his head.

They had come so far. Alfred had given everything he had to Ludwig, everything, and had fooled himself into thinking that Ludwig had given Alfred every bit of himself in turn.

That ring Alfred had hidden in his room.

He had assumed that Ludwig had let Ivan go so that he could become Alfred's. That wasn't true—Ludwig still loved Ivan, through it all, underneath everything, and even as they stood now in that red haze, Ludwig once more refused to press charges against his husband. Husband. That was right. Alfred had stopped thinking of Ivan as Ludwig's husband because he had pretended that he had successfully filled that role. Ivan wasn't needed anymore, so wasn't really Ludwig's husband.

He was, and Ludwig loved him.

Ludwig had said once that he would rather be on the street than see Ivan in jail, and it shattered Alfred's confidence and security in this relationship to realize in that moment that that hadn't changed.

Alfred had deluded himself, as he so often had before.

That ring had been a mistake, because the papers hadn't been signed, and until they were Ludwig would never truly release his emotional grip on Ivan.

Ludwig erased the numbers Alfred had put in, turned the phone off, and slid it wordlessly into Alfred's pocket. Alfred was too disheartened and hurt to argue, and turned to stare blankly at the wall.

Alfred just wasn't ever quite good enough.

Feliciano suddenly inhaled, grimaced, and placed his hand on Ludwig's back as he uttered, quietly, "Come on. You guys can stay with us for now. Until we get this all sorted out. Alright? Let's get outta here. Let's worry about it tomorrow, alright?"

Alfred and Ludwig were stunned, dazed, easy to wrangle, and the next thing Alfred knew they were in the backseat of Lovino's car, and then suddenly they were being led into a house.

Loud voices. Too many people. A large Italian family, in a little house, but Lovino still led them upstairs and said, gruffly, "Take my bed, tonight. I'll crash on the couch. Tomorrow, we'll get some new locks or something. We'll come over this weekend and try to help ya get all that paint out."

Ludwig nodded away dumbly, and breathed, "Thank you."

Lovino shut the door, and was gone.

Alfred didn't know what to do or say, so he took his coat and boots off and crawled wearily into bed, collapsing on his back. Ludwig followed suit, and it was very awkward, staring up at the ceiling in unison as the raucous family below carried on with their lives quite normally.

Silence.

It wasn't a great feeling, sleeping in a stranger's house, and particularly under such circumstances. Having nowhere at all that was truly safe, because every single time they stopped looking over their shoulders, they paid for it in the worst way.

Happy anniversary. Couldn't get that out of his head.

Those nooses.

Until death do us part.

They lied in silence for a very long time, before Alfred suddenly said, out of nowhere, "I want to tell you something. I haven't— I've never told anyone."

Ludwig loved Ivan, still did, despite all Alfred had done, and Alfred couldn't keep it in anymore. Needed Ludwig to understand him at long last, and if that still didn't make Ludwig love him all the way, then maybe if nothing else it would give Ludwig a clearer picture of why Alfred tried so hard.

Maybe it would even give Ludwig a clearer picture of his own future, if he kept refusing to press charges.

Ludwig didn't say a word, but reached out to grab Alfred's hand in a silent assurance that he was listening.

Alfred swallowed, found his courage, inhaled, and for the first time in his life, he told someone his own story.

His own movie played then, for Ludwig.