Ludwig dipped his brush into the can of blue paint one last time. He had almost finished making the sign, and he had to admit, he was proud of it. He had never considered his handwriting to be spectacular, but the sign didn't look nearly as awful as he was afraid it would. With a sweeping motion, he finished the 's' on the sign before leaning it against the wall to dry.
He nearly dropped his paintbrush in sheer shock when he heard (in the middle of what he thought was an empty street, and at night no less) his brother call him by a name to which he no longer answered. Ludwig sighed and shook his head to himself. He had been perfectly preoccupied, and now he had to answer to Gilbert, a task that was usually neither easy or, for that matter, worthwhile.
"Hey! West! What's up?" Ludwig had been about to answer (something along the lines of, "Please don't call me that,") when he saw a fresh looking wound across Gilbert's cheek. He frowned to himself. It wasn't quite surprising to see it there, not really..Ludwig didn't know. No, it certainly wasn't surprising, but it never did get easier to see his older brother with a new injury everytime he saw him.
Ludwig sighed again. "If I didn't already know, I could ask you the same thing. I really wish you wouldn't fight so much, Gilbert..." He trailed off. Ludwig knew that asking a gang member not to fight was like asking a fish not to swim, but he always winced when he saw his brother's latest wounds.
"Oh, this?" Gilbert looked genuinely surprised. He gently ran his fingers over the wound, grimacing slightly as he did so. "Yeah, you can thank your lovely neighborhood Spainiard for this little number." Ludwig frowned again, but didn't say anything.
Now Gilbert sighed, and he opened his mouth several times, as if he had been trying to speak but been unable to find the words, which was unusal within itself. Ludwig braced himself. "Er, speaking of, can I ask you a favor?"
Oh, God. Gilbert asking 'favors' could not lead to anything good. Every single time he had asked Ludwig to do something, he had always ended up regretting it. It was exactly for reasons like this that he had abandoned 'the gang life'. Ludwig had grown tired of the wounds, the stress, the fear.
But Gilbert was his brother. It had been enough of a betrayl when he had quit the Jets. He didn't want to disappoint his brother anymore, even though he wasn't exactly craving the approval of a man who spent his days beating others up for asinine reasons. No, Ludwig didn't respect Gilbert, but nonetheless, Gilbert was his brother, and Ludwig sighed once more and looked him in the eyes.
"Okay, you have my attention. What, pray tell, do you want me to do?" It was a question he would regret asking, he was sure of it.
Gilbert's face lit up. He began to talk, speaking quickly and all in one breath. "I need you to come join the Jets for one last night. Just one more time. It's very important. It's for-" Ludwig interrupted him.
"No. Now go play nice with the Jets," he said, focusing his attention on his sign. No. No, no, no. There was no way in hell he was going to do anything gang-related ever again. It was one thing to ask for a favor; maybe Gilbert needed money, or a place to stay for a while. (In fact, Ludwig knew that he needed those things, though he did know for a fact that he would never have the humility to ask for him, and his sheer pride would take any unsolicited offerings as a slap to the face.) Being in a gang had been awful. He gritted his teeth. 'I would rather be shot, I would rather be killed than have to go through that again,' he thought to himself.
Even more peculiar was this feeling he had, deep inside of him. It was incredibly odd; Ludwig was not a man who believed in fate or premonition, but he couldn't shake the distinct feeling that something good was about to happen. It was horrible, in a way. He had been raised to never set his expectations high, but despite all logic, Ludwig saw the glass half full and could swear on his life that a miracle was about to happen to him. It was both glorious and devastating, a blessing and a curse.
But no matter what happened, Ludwig knew that there was nothing good that could happen from being a Jet. If something good was going to happen, it wasn't going to happen by being a Jet for a night. After all, it had certainly never caused anything pleasant in the past.
Gilbert's smile melted into a look of shock. "T-the Jets are awesome!" cried Gilbert indignantly. Ludwig knew he had struck a nerve (since insulting the Jets was like insulting Gilbert himself) but he didn't care.
"Were," he said simply. Of course, even that was a lie; in his opinion, the Jets were never 'awesome', as Gilbert was so fond of saying, not even when he had been a member. However, a part of him said it just to get a reaction from Gilbert. For once, he felt like being the annoying one; though only slightly, since Ludwig had standards and self-control, both of which Gilbert lacked.
Gilbert placed his hands firmly on his hips. "Were?" he exclaimed. "I think not!" He began to pace, something he had always done when he was stressed or nervous. He continued to speak. "Why, have you found something better? Are you holding out on me, West?" The pacing got faster, and Ludwig shook his head before walking over to Gilbert and grabbing him by the shoulders, looking him directly in the eyes.
"I have a name, you know," he said, calmly. It wasn't that being called 'West' offended him, because in actuality it didn't. (The origins of the nickname probably should have offended him; it had stemmed from a joke that the way they spoke German was so drastically different that Ludwig spoke like someone from the western part of Germany, when in actuality they both suspected that they were from the east-though, neither or them could remember for sure.) No, the nickname just reminded him of when he was in a gang, and that within itself made Ludwig feel highly uncomfortable. Gilbert laughed somewhat nervously. Ludwig could recall, he never had liked being touched, even if it was just on the shoulders. It was a trait they shared, though usually Gilbert hid it better.
"I take it you're not feeling the brotherly nostalgia that I am?" Gilbert managed to squirm out of the light grasp, visibly relaxing once he had done so. He gave Ludwig a broad smile. "West is your gang name!" He frowned for a milisecond before starting to pace just like he had before. "West, Ludwig, whatever you want me to call you, what is it? You have to tell me," he pressed. Ludwig was mildly annoyed; did it not occur to Gilbert that he had simply decided there was an alternative to a life of violence and fear? No, of course it didn't.
"What, did you meet a girl?" Ludwig could only roll his eyes now. "You did, didn't you?" Gilbert finally stopped pacing and smirked at Ludwig. "You met a girl and you didn't tell me? Your awesome big brother? You don't know how much that hurts me." Ludwig was about to correct him (he had scarcely met any women at all, let alone one who could be referred to as 'a girl' in the sense that Gilbert meant) but Gilbert continued to talk. "You know, I didn't actually peg you as the type. Something about you just makes me think you're at least bi, but then again, who am I to judge? Do what makes you happy, that's what I always sa-" Ludwig had placed his hand over Gilbert's mouth.
"Enough," he said flatly. "Do you want to continue debating my sexuality, or was there another reason you came here?" Gilbert would never understand, anyway. For one thing, Ludwig highly suspected that he was closer to asexual than anything else. He hadn't met any women he had an attraction to, that was true, but he hadn't met any men he was attracted to either. Of course, with Gilbert, that was never a good enough answer. He could hear Gilbert snicker, and he removed his hand.
"Wow, West," he began through his laughter, "I am so sorry if I hit a nerve, there." He snickered a bit to himself before continuing. "No, but seriously," he added, and his voice did contain a serious tone that it rarely had, "you can tell me anything. I know something's up with you," he said. Ludwig sighed. He did need someone to talk to, after all.
Ludwig took a deep breath and began. "Every single night for the past month or so, I've woken up, and...I feel as if I am reaching out, though to what I don't know. I feel like something good is coming, but I don't know what." He exhaled deeply. "It's like that feeling, that exhiliration I used to get from being a Jet."
Gilbert didn't say anything. "Oh," he said. "You mean like, from being buddies. I see." His voice took on an unusual somber tone, and paired with the lightheartedness with which he usually used the word 'buddies', it was completely unusual. Ludwig looked at him with surprise.
"Gilbert, please don't look so upset. I assure you, we're still..." He hesitated a little at the casual term, but decided to use it anyway. "...'buddies'," he finished.
Gilbert frowned. "Liar," said Gilbert. "Liars always hesitate. And, anyway, it's the people who give you the kick. That's why there is a kick, from being in a gang. It's the people." He kicked at the concrete before continuing. "I don't know what else to tell you," he said simply. When Ludwig didn't say anything, Gilbert continued. "Come on, man! I never asked the time of day from a cuckoo-clock! I never asked anybody anything. But I'm asking you. Please, be there at the dance tonight. Just, be there. With any luck at all you won't even have to throw a punch." He looked sincere before laughing bitterly. "That's the plan, anyway." Now Gilbert's bright red eyes met his own. "You know, I already told the guys you'd be there."
What choice did he have? It was his brother, after all. Besides, the whole reason being a Jet had been bad was because of the fighting, and supposedly he wouldn't have to fight. Of course, the whole thing was idiotic, and trusting Gilbert was even more idiotic, but Ludwig couldn't help but wonder...maybe this good thing, this good thing that had been keeping him up for over a month now...maybe, just maybe, it would be waiting for him at that asinine dance. Taking a deep breath, Ludwig spoke. "Fine. I'll be there. What time?"
Gilbert did a fust pump. "Yes!" He laughed, perhaps out of gratitude, that peculiar laugh of his. "Ten o'clock is what Roddy decided. That's when we're meeting, West!" He gave Ludwig a quick hug before continuing to do what he probably thought was a victory dance.
Ludwig arched an eyebrow. "Since when do you let Roderich make the decisions?" Unless there had been a major overhaul of the gang hierarchy, Roderich never decided anything. Gilbert blushed at the question.
"Long story," he said. "Not important." There was a bit of an awkward silence before he spoke again. "So, you'll be there? Womb to tomb?" He held out his hand. Realizing just how much he had shot himself in the foot, Ludwig shook his hand in return.
"Birth to earth," he replied. He frowned at Gilbert. "And I'll no doubt live to regret this."
Gilbert punched him in the arm. Thankfully, he had almost no upper body strength, so it didn't hurt too much. "Don't be such a Debbie Downer! Live life a little, would you, West?" He laughed a bit to himself before turning to walk in the direction of the gym. "You know something, West? Maybe whatever it is that's been keeping you up will be there at the dance! You never know," he said, before running off into the distance in an undignified manner.
'Who knows?' Maybe, just maybe, his brother was right. Maybe something good would come out of going. That was the idea, anyway.
Ludwig shook his head out of disgust with himself. He had given in to his brother yet again. Why was it that, out of all the people he knew, the one person he couldn't quite get himself to turn down had to be an idiot?
He doubted very much that any good would come out of going. Still, Ludwig couldn't stop the feeling of hope that he harbored.