My apologies for timing being off.

0o0o0o

For once, Ludwig prayed that Feliciano wouldn't see him as they walked by. Gilbert kept taking furtive glances at their house with the barely glowing windows and tried to quiet the engine even more, but Vati didn't look outside.

Antonio opened the door. His face slid past shock, horror, and fear before it landed on accusation.

'You're home alone?' Gilbert asked. Antonio nodded once, sharply, and Gilbert held up a hand to stop the rest. 'Can we discuss this inside?'

Antonio slammed the door behind them. Ludwig flinched. He had never seen Antonio so angry before, and the pure fury that crossed his face when Ludwig pulled off his gloves made Ludwig drop his gaze.

Gilbert drew the curtains and turned to explain, but Antonio cut him off.

'Gilbert, you son of a-you brought Ludwig into your fight?' He stalked forward with the first aid kit, trembling with anger, and pointed Ludwig into a seat to begin cleaning his hands.

'No, Antonio, let me explain-'

'Why are his hands bloody, then?' Antonio's touch as he wrapped the bandages was experienced and barely shaking, but his eyes blazed.

'He was watching, and scraped his hands on the bricks-I wouldn't have brought him into it, you know I wouldn't have.'

Antonio briefly met eyes with him, silently asking if it was true. Ludwig nodded as imperceptibly as he could, and Antonio's shoulders sagged in relief for a second before his rage came back.

'No, I don't know, not anymore. You aren't supposed to be fighting anymore. You told me you'd gotten better, and-' His face contorted. 'I hear you left! Gilbert, you left him.'

'I can't so much as breathe in that place, you know I can't,' Gilbert said, but Antonio's words had hit him hard. Ludwig could see the broken set of his shoulders.

'That's not an excuse!'

'I know it isn't.'

'But you did it anyways,' Antonio said disgustedly. He nudged Ludwig off the chair and motioned for Gilbert to sit down. He didn't. The time had let his injuries swell, giving his ghostly skin horribly visible bruises. His knuckles were bleeding, and as he clenched his hands, they dripped crimson over the kitchen tile.

'I wasn't thinking,' Gilbert said softly, pleadingly. 'I couldn't think. Antonio, if you'd been there, you'd understand-about the fight, I had to, they were calling this kid a-a queer.' His voice trembled on the last word.

Antonio's mouth twitched into a snarl. 'Even if they did, you shouldn't have done that.'

'So I'm just supposed to let them do that?' Gilbert demanded furiously, slamming his hand on the counter. It left a red imprint of his palm. 'Just let them talk, when they don't know-'

'Yes!' Antonio stood, rounding on him. 'Yes! That's what we have to do. You realize you just outed yourself to-'

'Not in front of Ludwig,' Gilbert growled. He sent Ludwig a look. 'Go home and tell Vati I'll be a while.'

'No,' Ludwig protested.

'Listen to me, Ludwig,' Gilbert began, but Ludwig turned to Antonio, and the terrified words were out before he could regret them, in a desperate bid to stay and understand.

'Gilbert almost pulled his knife on them.'

Gilbert went paler, then flushed. Antonio was stock-still. Ludwig wanted to take back his words.

Gilbert turned jerkily. 'Antonio, I didn't really-'

'Did you?'

'It was two of them against me, I had to have some kind of protection, what if they went after Ludwig?'

'Gilbert, did you use your knife?'

Gilbert stopped. He looked smaller. 'I had it in my palm.'

'Gilbert, you-' Antonio seemed lost for words. 'You promised me you threw that away.'

'Antonio, I couldn't. I did, but I had to get it back. I have to protect Ludwig.'

'You call this protecting?' Antonio's voice was a harsh growl. 'You call dragging your little brother into a fight protecting him?'

'He wasn't in the fight!'

'You aren't protecting him, Gilbert.'

His brother's face tightened. 'Ludwig, go home.'

'No!'

'I said, go home.' This time, Antonio didn't protest, and Ludwig stormed out.

He stayed behind the door and listened. Through the crack, he saw flashes of pale and dark, pacing around the kitchen and arguing. His brother was a sharp white blur, full of more crimson than normal, working himself into a rage around Antonio's furious dark.

'You can't keep doing this, Gilbert,' Antonio said. Gilbert laughed, loud and sharp-edged.

'I can't let them talk like that.'

'You have to. You can't run away from this, you can't fight anymore. You promised me, promised us both you'd protect him, and I don't care if you break every other promise to us so long as you keep that. Don't do that to him. Don't you dare run away.'

'That was a mistake, I was stupid and I won't do it again. Please. I'm sorry. Antonio, I really am trying.'

'I know.' Antonio sounded exhausted. 'I'm trying, too, but sometimes you just have to keep your head down and pretend you didn't hear anything.'

'I can't do that.'

'Yes, you can,' Antonio said humourlessly. 'For Ludwig.'

'He'll understand when I fight.'

'That's the point! He knows! He shouldn't have to know. You aren't taking care of him, and so he knows you fight people for words and-you haven't even told him about Roderich yet, have you?'

'He's too young,' Gilbert said frustratedly.

'He is not,' Antonio insisted. 'He understands that more than you realize. He understands a lot more than you give him credit for, because you haven't been doing what you should.'

'I've been-'

'Arguing with your grandfather,' Antonio finished. 'And he's messed up from it. Can't you see that, Gilbert? You haven't been taking care of him. Go home and look him in the eyes and tell him you're doing your best. Tell him you're busy arguing with your grandfather. Tell him you've been taking care.'

The whirling flashes went still, and the pale dropped onto the table, laying his hands out to be wrapped.

'I can't,' Gilbert said, softly, a broken note to his voice. Antonio gently cleaned him off. Gilbert didn't so much as hiss at the sting.

'I know you can't. But you can fix that.'

'I haven't got long, I'm almost eighteen. And that-what about when I leave?' Antonio wrapped an arm around Gilbert's shoulders, crumpled at the table. 'He's a good kid, he'll have a good life. I'm not worried about that, I'm worried that he won't know what to do with himself after I'm gone.' Softer, then. 'What if he wants to come with me? What if he doesn't?'

'He won't leave,' Antonio said, so confidently that both Gilbert and Ludwig leaned in to know why.

'He misses Europe, I know he does. Why wouldn't he come with me?'

Antonio laughed wearily.

'Can't you see the way he looks at Feliciano?'

With those words, Ludwig stumbled back and fell, his heart pounding in a strange rhythm. He pushed himself up and started running, the words beating at his head. They should make him terrified, furious at their implication, but Ludwig could only feel the eddies of confused, incredible happiness that came every time Feliciano smiled.

Can't you see the way he looks at Feliciano?

He'd seen the ways boys were treated if they looked at other boys that way. If he was like that, he'd have to hide it, he'd have to stop-

He couldn't be like that. Feliciano said it himself that they were best friends, nothing more. Loving boys was wrong-but this was right, because they were friends. It was fine. Nothing that felt this right could be condemned by the preacher.

The purr of the car echoed behind him and Ludwig found himself struggling with the rusty latch and-he couldn't climb, he would fall, but he needed to talk to Feliciano. Feliciano could explain all this, the hot-cold feeling, the way his heart did acrobatics, he'd explain it in his perfect way that made sense because Feliciano understood him. They understood each other.

Ludwig grabbed the edges of the roof and told himself he would not fall, tried to imagine Feliciano's voice coaxing him through it, but that just made him breathless. He dug his fingers in and did not look down.

Finally, he was standing on the roof. Dizzy, he knocked on the window. Feliciano opened it, and his face was a kaleidoscope of shock and confusion and admiration. He took Ludwig's hand, obviously working for the right thing to say. Ludwig let himself smile, because it was nice to surprise Feliciano.

'You climbed up?' he asked finally, an amazed smile spreading over his face.

'I did.' Ludwig faintly realized his palms were bleeding again, but for a moment, he didn't care. 'Can I come in?'

They sat on Feliciano's bed and for a second, the entire concept of what Ludwig had just done hit him, the terror and the arguing and what he had heard.

'Ludwig, I…' Feliciano grinned at him again, his exuberance filling the cold fear until Ludwig was able to think again. 'That was amazing! I mean, I'm just working on painting-' He stopped suddenly and threw a newspaper over a painting that Ludwig thought might have been of him. '-and I hear a knock, and I think it might be Gilbird, that canary, but it's you, and sei bello, and-Ludwig, you're bleeding.'

'I'm fine.' Ludwig stuck the edges back onto his bandages. 'Gilbert is back.'

'I heard,' Feliciano said, and by his wince, Ludwig guessed he meant the argument.

'He got into a fistfight.'

'What? Why?'

'Someone called Kiku a…' The word felt ugly in his mouth. 'A queer.'

Feliciano flinched. Ludwig reached out gently, and brushed his hair from his eyes. 'Sorry.'

'Don't be.' Ludwig tucked his hair back behind his ears, aching all over again to draw and to protect him from wherever, whoever said that. 'Where did you hear it?'

'School,' Feliciano said almost inaudibly. 'It means the same thing as-as fag, right?'

Ludwig nodded. Feliciano was shivering, even though the temperature was barely dipping. Ludwig got up and shut the window, and wrapped a blanket around them both.

'Do you want to stay the night?' Feliciano asked. 'I mean, if Nonno and Vati agree, because I don't want you to get in trouble, not when Gilbert is…'

'I'd like that,' Ludwig said simply. His worries about feelings were hovering at the edges of his fingers, waiting to be asked, but warm and away from a world where ugly words were used, it didn't seem as important, because everything was right.

0o0o0o

Vati hadn't been home yet, and so Ludwig had put a note on the door telling him where he'd be.

Feliciano's house was so quiet after dark. Ludwig couldn't figure out why he couldn't sleep until he realized that there was no muffled accusations in the background.

He sat up, and the bed next to his sleeping bag rustled slightly. Ludwig smiled.

'You're still awake?'

An embarrassed silence, and then Feliciano pulled his blankets off, revealing a sketchbook and flashlight. 'You changed positions,' he said.

'Should I go back?'

'No, I outlined it, and I know you well enough to do the rest.' Feliciano showed him the drawing, and Ludwig was struck by the detail. Feliciano put it away, and through the faint moonlight, Ludwig could make out the faint red on his cheeks.

'I don't know why you're embarrassed. You're an incredible artist.'

'I know, but drawing you is...missing something. I can't draw your eyes black and white,' he said. 'Do you want to come sit with me?'

It was too cold to sit, and so they pulled the blankets over themselves. For the first time, curled up in bed, Ludwig realized how much taller he was than Feliciano. It seemed he noticed, too, because when they were this close, chests pressed together, Ludwig had to crane his neck to look at him.

'When did you get so tall?' Feliciano asked, but his flashing smile was a bit breathless.

'I'm not sure.' Ludwig hesitated and wrapped an arm around him, ready for Feliciano to stiffen and pull away, but he didn't. He shifted closer and laid his head on Ludwig's chest, gazing up at him through thick lashes. Ludwig was afraid Feliciano could hear every confused, ecstatic misstep of his heart, and his body was alight, floating, aware of every second.

'Feliciano,' he began, voice cracking. Feliciano didn't so much as smile about it, just nodded for him to continue. 'Do you think I look at you strangely? Differently than everyone else?'

'Yes,' Feliciano said immediately. 'But I look at you the same way. Differently than everyone else, because you are different, you're...wunderschönen.'

His pronunciation was technically wrong, too Romantic, but Ludwig thought it was perfect.

'Sei bello,' he said, knowing he had the wrong accent for it. Feliciano smiled and wrapped his arms around him.

'It's not a bad thing to look at people like that, right?' he asked.

'It can't be.'

'That's what I thought,' Feliciano said. 'It feels right, like painting is right, maybe even more, because I paint to try to express the rightness and I can't come close.' He fell silent, thinking of his paintings for a moment. 'You understand it, though. The way it feels, like flying, and that is enough, that is more than enough, even if I have to spend the rest of my life perfecting art to let other people feel for a second how right it is. I would do it.'

'I don't have talents like you,' Ludwig said. 'But I understand it. I understand you.'

Feliciano looked up at him, the moonlight silvering his hair and skin and eyes.

'How do you say 'goodnight' in German?' he asked.

'Guten nacht,' he said.

'In Italian, it's 'buona notte'.' Feliciano leaned against him, his breathing coming slower. 'Ti amo, Ludwig.'

Ludwig had a sudden, gloriously right impulse to do something before it slipped from him and he was left confused, and even though he was satisfied with the answers to his previous questions, ones he didn't know how to express were itching to be spoken.

But for now, Ludwig listened to the quiet and fell asleep with Feliciano in his arms.

0o0o0o

I hope I do not miscount again.

:: The hum of warmth at night