AN: Okay, so I promised fishstick1999 that the next GerPru I wrote would be from Ludwig's POV.

This is from Gilbert's POV.

I tried to write this from Ludwig's point of view, but it did not work oh gawd it was awful so I had to write it from Gilbert's.

Gilbert's POV is a lot easier for me to write than Ludwig's. But I will get Ludwig's POV eventually.

Hopefully this chapter is enjoyable enough nobody who really wanted to see Ludwig's point of view next is too disappointed.

Du hast mich: German for "You have me."

Pairing: Germany/Prussia

Prompt: "There's only one plug in this entire coffee shop and you're sitting right in front of it and you're not even using it, and my laptop is about to die in the middle of this online exam I'm taking, so whatever I don't care how intimidatingly attractive you are I'm sitting down at your table to plug my shit in." AU

Du Hast Mich

He needed to bleach the roots of his hair again soon, Gilbert thought distractedly as he glanced in the mirror, running a pale hand back through the messy locks just enough to get the white strands out of his eyes. The dark brown at his scalp had grown out a little over a centimeter.

Later today, though; he couldn't worry about it now what with the online exam that was due in a few hours that he really had to get on right away.

He'd been planning to get up early to study some more and then make sure he had enough time to take the exam without getting too stressed out, but he'd slept through his alarm and woken up two and half hours after he'd wanted to, and fuck he no longer had any time to study he'd just have to wing the exam and hope for the best. Hopefully enough of what he'd stayed up late studying had stuck that he'd still pass.

He was so rushed that he almost skipped putting the blood-red contact lenses in over his pale blue eyes, but decided that he could spare the few seconds to make sure he looked as awesome and unnerving as usual. He had a reputation to keep up, after all!

In a hurry, he picked up random articles of clothing off the floor of his apartment, tugging them on as he made his way to the door. A black Rammstein t-shirt, maroon skinny jeans, a maroon plaid scarf, black fingerless gloves that had somehow miraculously stayed together. He wasn't as lucky with the socks, though, ending up with a mismatched pair: one black and the other blue with yellow chicks.

He wanted to wear his awesome black combat boots, but they'd take too long to put on, so he slipped on his red sneakers instead, and he probably looked like a fashion nightmare but he really couldn't care less, he needed to pass this fucking exam and he couldn't do it in his apartment because his roommate Francis snored, his desk was covered in mess—because Francis, goddamn him, believed that a messy desk was a sign of genius—and also he really, really needed coffee. As strong and black and bitter a coffee as coffee came, ideally.

He grabbed his bag with his laptop on the way out, slinging it over his shoulder and hurrying out into the hall, using the stairs because they were faster than the elevator and he needed to move move move!

It wasn't until he bolted out of the building and the cold, misty air hit him that he realized he'd forgotten to grab a jacket.

Fuck it, he thought, doubling the scarf up around his neck as he ran through the somber, drizzly morning toward the closest coffee shop. Hopefully it didn't actually start raining on him for real, because he'd be drenched in seconds and he wasn't sure if his laptop bag was waterproof or not oh fuck what if it started raining and his laptop fried fuck!

He started all-out sprinting for the coffee shop, and it was a good thing he did, too, because it started raining just as he turned around the block corner, and so Gilbert skidded to stop outside the cafe panting hard but only a little bit soaked.

Oh Gott, he hoped his laptop was okay! Hopefully his bag was at least water-resistant, because fuck, if his laptop was fried then he was so screwed oh fuck his life would be over and goddamn him why had he procrastinated on studying for and taking this exam he'd been such an arrogant asshole so totally convinced of his awesomeness FUCK he was going to fail this.

He quickly got into the line that was way too long, move it people, move! because he needed coffee and he needed it now oh Gott.

Though while he was standing in the agonizingly slow line that he was certain was trying to kill him, he did at least have time to check his bag see that the water hadn't seeped through and his laptop was perfectly safe. He gave a sigh of relief.

And then he froze. Because he remembered that he'd been studying last night, and Francis—everything was Francis's fault, seriously—had been hogging the one power outlet in their tiny apartment not connected to their very necessary lamps and lights, so Gilbert's laptop had been running on batteries for a few hours, and he probably only had about an hour left of battery life at the most, and that was if he was very lucky, and the online exam would probably take him longer than that, especially since he hadn't studied, so he needed to find a power outlet in the coffee shop, which could prove difficult because the cafe was fucking packed.

At least it was nice and warm inside, though. And it smelled like coffee, which was always a good thing.

He was practically vibrating with nerves as he glanced around the shop, but he was interrupted when the grandma standing in line behind him narrowed her eyes at him and said, "Young man! Are you purchasing a caffeinated beverage?"

"Ja," Gilbert told her distractedly, barely sparing her a glance as he craned his neck and tried to lean just enough out of line to see along the walls of the coffee shop without losing his place in line.

"I don't think that's a very good idea, young man!" the grandma told him, wagging a finger in his face. "You already have plenty of nervous energy! Drinking coffee will only make your nerves worse!"

"My body is nervous but my brain is still sleep-muddled," Gilbert told her, straightening up in line and trying to give her a sheepish but charming and reassuring grin.

She just narrowed her eyes at him further and started lecturing him, which he didn't really pay attention to, beyond wondering why his infamous Charming Smile of Awesomeness hadn't worked.

Maybe it was the blood red contact lenses.

Part of her lecture bled through, her reedy voice saying, "—and with your eyes so red, it's clear you need more sleep, young man! It's very important tha—"

Gott, this woman was like Elizabeta, except older, not as loud and screechy, and lacking in lethal frying pans to swing at his head.

The old lady's prattling was still bound to give him a headache, though.

"Look, I appreciate your concern," Gilbert said, "but it's totally unnecessary, because I am awesome and am going to pass my exam with flying colors, just as soon as I have some coffee in me to prevent me from getting a headache from caffeine withdrawal."

The grandma started lecturing him on how he shouldn't do drugs.

"I don't do drugs, okay!" Gilbert nearly yelled. "The exam is going to go awesome and there's nothing to worry about but I'm actually kind of stressed right now, if you haven't noticed! But everything will be a-okay I promise!" He gave her a thumbs-up and his most reassured grin.

The grandma apparently saw through the act, and started telling him he should try meditation.

"I don't have time to meditate right now!"

Honestly, normally he'd handle nosy grandmas with far more gallantry, but he was really stressed at the moment and not at all at his usual state of utter awesomeness.

He needed to get this exam over with so he could go back to being utterly awesome again.

He needed coffee.

And to find a power outlet.

Finally he was at the counter, ordering and paying for his drink, and then he was able to slip away from the concerned grandma and move over to the other counter where the drink would be set, and he could stand there and scour the walls for that plug.

He was starting to panic at the distinct lack of sockets until he spotted what must have been the one and only power outlet in the entire goddamn coffe shop.

And it was right underneath a two-seater table, and only one of the chairs was filled, so maybe the person sitting there would let him—

Gilbert froze as his lyes landed on the man sitting in the chair. If it could even be called sitting, because the man sat in the chair like a king sat on his thrown, and Gilbert was pretty sure that action had its own word that was much more regal than just sitting, because there was no way kings could do something so mundane as sit, and neither did this man, apparently.

And it wasn't perching on the chair nor was it lounging in it, it was just kind of occupying the chair with confidence and self-assurance and poise that made the man appear somehow above all the other people sitting at their tables around him.

And the man looked liked he could be royalty, too, with his piercing, bright blue eyes, blond hair that was slicked back far too severely for anyone normal, strong, defined facial features, eyebrows drawn together in concentration, a condescending frown. He was wearing a long black raincoat, his shoulders obviously broad beneath it, and held with a lofty kind of rigidness even as he stared down his textbook.

Okay, so maybe royalty wouldn't be reading a textbook—more like a scroll or something from a carrier pigeon that was fed only the best birdseed in the kingdom—but the man was looking at the textbook like it was a map and he was planning battle tactics or something.

Gott this guy was intense and serious-looking as hell. He probably had a stick so far up his ass that it was stabbing his brain or something, fuck.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Why, oh why did the man sitting in front of the power outlet have to be the most attractive man he had ever laid eyes on?!

Gilbert suddenly felt very inadequate in his band t-shirt and maroon jeans and random scarf and mismatched socks and clashing sneakers.

Fuck, there was no way he'd be able to sit there, not dressed like this, not stressing out over an exam like this, not with his the roots of his hair desperately needing to be bleached.

This was the kind of guy he wanted to be able to turn all his charm on, and he was just about as lacking in charm as—as—well, as something really not-charming. Like a… what was appropriately lame?

A wet noodle, or something.

Well, maybe not that bad, but still pretty bad. He'd come up with a good metaphor later.

His name was called, and he quickly grabbed his coffee and strode to one of the few open tables, which happened to be on the other side of the coffee shop, far away from the frighteningly attractive man and the only existing power outlet in the entire damn place.

Gilbert had the strong urge to bang his head against the table. But he refrained, because he had awesome amounts of self-control and discipline.

He took a large gulp of his coffee, and almost choked and spat it out it was so hot. But again, his self-control was fucking iron, like the necklace he wore that he could use to carve his name or swear words into just about any surface ever.

Yeah, that's how fucking awesome his self-control was.

So with another large swallow of near-scalding coffee, Gilbert pulled his laptop out of the bag, slid it onto the table, flipped it open, and then waited the frustratingly slow minute for it to boot up while he drank more of his coffee that was probably burning off all his tastebuds. His tongue would probably be all weird and numb and shit for a few days after this.

Assuming he completed this exam in time and didn't die, which was pretty safe to assume, because he was awesome and never lost. Ever.

Except when it came to fighting with his childhood BFF Elizabeta, but that didn't count, because she wasn't human. She was, like, a demon or something equally inhuman and terrifying.

So Gilbert was totally going to win this exam. Absolutely. Because exams were definitely won.

He logged into his computer, opened the web browser, went to the site to open the link to the online exam, cracked his fingers, took another large swig of hot, bitter black coffee that he practically couldn't taste anymore, and went to work winning.

But apparently the world was conspiring against him, like usual, because half an hour into what he was certain was a winning streak, his laptop started giving him desperate LOW BATTERY messages.

"Fuck!" Gilbert hissed, the sound luckily smothered in the hubbub of the cafe. He didn't want the grandma, if she was still around, to hear and start lecturing him on how he shouldn't curse, too.

Unless she was one of those cool grandmas that cursed a lot. Maybe she was. She kinda seemed like it. In fact, hadn't he heard her curse at him a few times in her lectures?

LOW BATTERY, his computer reminded him.

"Fuck!" Gilbert said again, because he was feeling extremely creative with his curses this fine morning. "Fuck fuck fuck!" Truly, his awesome eloquence amazed even him, sometimes.

LOW BATTERY, his computer reminded him.

"Fuck!" Gilbert had no choice.

He needed that power outlet.

Slugging down the rest of his coffee, and trying to trick his brain into believing it was beer and would give him the same kind of courage from relaxed inhibitions, Gilbert stood up, chucked the cup at the garbage can—it missed, of course, because that was just the kind of crappy morning that Gilbert was having, and he swore he heard the old lady yell, "You need to perfect your aim, young man!" at him—grabbed his laptop, and strode over to where the guy who looked like royalty was sitting.

The man looked up at him, and Gilbert felt the air leave his lungs for a long moment, like he'd been punched in the gut.

Because oh, Gott, those eyes were pinned right on him and seemed to be burning holes through his face, and this guy was even more ridiculously attractive up close, holy shit.

Drawing air into his lungs that felt like they'd collapsed in on themselves, Gilbert said, all in one breath: "There's only one plug in this entire coffee shop and you're sitting right in front of it and you're not even using it, and my laptop is about to die in the middle of this online exam I'm taking, so whatever I don't care how intimidatingly attractive you are I'm sitting down at your table to plug my shit in."

And then Gilbert sat down across from the man and plugged his shit in.

The man raised an eyebrow, which was somehow darker than his hair even though it looked like the man didn't dye or bleach or anything, and then went back to reading his textbook like he was planning the best way to completely obliterate it. Or obliterate someone. Or someones.

But it definitely seemed to be a life-or-death matter, the reading of that textbook.

Gilbert's computer was no longer complaining at him, in fact, now it was humming quite happily, the little light on the power cord glowing a reassuring orange, but Gilbert still couldn't focus on the test, his eyes slipping repeatedly back to the man sitting across from him.

Was that a black trenchcoat the man was wearing? What did his body look like underneath it? And what did those lips, that looked so perfect frowning, look like when smiling?

The man looked at him from beneath those oddly distinguished eyebrows. "Do you need something?" he asked smoothly, and Gilbert nearly melted, because that voice, fuck, that voice was so deep and sexy and just fuck this was not good. This was not good at all.

"Uh, yeah, actually," Gilbert snapped, glaring, trying to convince himself the breathlessness he felt was from anger and not some other emotion. "I need for you to stop distracting me."

The man raised one of those fucking perfect eyebrows. "I haven't said a word, and I don't believe I've otherwise done anything to cause a disturbance."

"You're disturbingly attractive, is what," Gilbert bit back at him.

Oh. Crap. There went whatever slim chance he might have had with this guy ever. His inability to keep his thoughts inside his head was truly awesome, sometimes. And not awesome in the 'really fucking cool' sense or the 'inspiring admiration sense.' Awesome in the 'inspiring apprehension or fear' sense.

But all the man said was, "And your eyes are disturbingly red," quite calmly. Not at all fazed. "What else have either of us not been told before?"

Gilbert laughed, because holy shit, this guy was gold. "Ooh, sassy," he said, cracking a sharp grin. The kind of grin that Francis told him to never, ever use when trying to flirt with anyone, because it was absolutely predatory and terrifying. "I like it."

The man did not seem the least bit terrified. "Aren't you supposed to be taking an online exam?" he said mildly.

"I'm supposed to be," Gilbert agreed, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms, because this cool persona of arrogance and superiority? Yeah, he could do that. He was the fucking champion of that. "But you're making it rather difficult. And it's your fault, so you need to fix it." He tilted up his chin, staring the other man down defiantly.

The man's eyebrow edged upwards again.

Then the man stood up, walked over to a vacated table near them, grabbed the newspaper that had been left there by someone, and then walked back to his seat, setting the newspaper up in front of him to block his view of Gilbert, and subsequently Gilbert's view of him.

Gilbert fought the urge to cry because of how perfect this man was. If this man wasn't gay, then Gilbert didn't know what he was going to do, because he was so head over heels at this point he was having trouble telling which way was up or down or right or wrong or anything.

He'd didn't think he'd ever fallen so quickly or so hard before.

"Thanks," he managed, before taking a deep breath and diving into his winning-the-online-exam game with renewed fervor, the depressing headlines of the newspaper across from him silently cheering him on.

When he finally, finally came to the last question, answered it, and hit the Submit button, Gilbert threw his arms into the air and declared, "I win!" while grinning like a crazy person.

When the newspaper tilted down to lie flat on the table, Gilbert immediately wanted to slap himself in the face for forgetting that there was the severely handsome man behind it.

"I thought you were taking an online exam, not playing a video game," the man said, one of those eyebrows arching up again, a frown pulling at his lips.

Lips that Gilbert had to tear his eyes away from lest he lunge across the table and kiss them, twine his fingers in that severely slicked-back blond hair and mess it up like the world was always messing up his life.

Gott, what was wrong with him? He'd only barely just met this man, and he didn't even know his name, much less anything about him.

"I finished the exam and submitted it over thirty minutes before the deadline," Gilbert said, smooth as fuck, because he was just so awesome that he could act totally suave even when he was freaking out over this insanely attractive person in front of him. "Therefore, I won."

The man snorted. "I do not see what's so impressive about that. You must have had a few days to study for and complete this exam. You could have done it earlier."

"Now what would be the fun of that?" Gilbert asked, smiling sharply. "What's life without some risks, after all?"

The man looked at him, face neutral. "Stable," he suggested. "Safe."

"Boring," Gilbert corrected, pointing a finger at the other man, smirking. "No pain, no gain, and all that." He paused to gather his monumental amount of courage.

"So," Gilbert said, smiling again, the man watching him curiously. "Speaking of taking risks, can I get your name?"

The man's lips twitched at the corner, not a smile. Something more enigmatic. "Ludwig."

Gilbert looked at the man, and thought that, Yes, Ludwig was a perfect name for him.

He waited a beat, but when no more was forthcoming, he prompted, "Just Ludwig? No surname?"

"Just Ludwig, for now," Ludwig said. He tilted his head slightly, and it was oddly… cute. "And you?"

"Gilbert," Gilbert grinned. "Gilbert Beilschmidt." He held out his hand, which Ludwig shook, the touch sending a shiver down his spine.

Holy fuck, he just shivered because of a simple handshake. He was so screwed.

And if he didn't ask this Ludwig to date him, right now, he was going to regret it for the rest of his awesomely miserable life.

"Ludwig," Gilbert blurted, before he could stop himself, "would you go on a date with the awesome me?" His eyes widened at his own brashness, hands clenching in his lap as he held his breath, watching the other man anxiously but trying to keep that anxiety off his face, having absolutely no idea if he was succeeding.

He must have done something right, though, because Ludwig's lips did that enigmatic twitch thing again. Which was probably a good thing.

"'The awesome me,'" Ludwig quoted him.

"Yes," Gilbert nodded, schooling his face into the utmost seriousness. "I'm awesome. You may feel inspired with admiration and fear."

"Is that why you wear the red contacts?" Ludwig asked.

"I wear the red contacts because it makes people nervous," Gilbert said, smirking. "Smiling makes people nervous, too. You should try it more often."

Ludwig raised one of those perfect fucking eyebrows, perfect as the rest of his face except for the way those kissable lips remained turned down. "Is that so?"

"Don't worry, I'll teach you how to smile, if you don't know," Gilbert said, grinning as brightly and charmingly as he knew how. Which he knew, after all those hours spent practicing in front of the mirror, was pretty damn bright and charming. "All you have to do is go on a date with me."

Ludwig said yes.

Of course he said yes. Gilbert was awesome! And he totally won at flirting with intimidatingly attractive guys, so take that world that was always trying to screw him over.

END.