Ludwig was sure that this dance would have ended almost as soon as it had begun, if it were not for an often-ridiculed young man named Matthew. (Most people called him 'Maple Leaf', to mock his Canadian heritage. Ludwig always called him Matthew, on the few occasions he talked to him.)
It had been at the beginning of the dance. As he had promised, Ludwig had been there at ten o'clock sharp, meeting in the back with the other Jets, who for the most part sat around. Ludwig had winced, almost involuntarily, when he saw the Sharks walk in, and for this reason he chose to look away. He felt horrible, if only because he knew that despite what crimes they could have comitted, they were still victims, of a gang that he wasn't quite sure he had totally cut all ties from. It made him feel like everything unfortunate that had ever happened to a Shark was somehow his fault, and for this reason he avoided eye contact with any of them.
Unfortunately, at that moment Gilbert (damn it Gilbert, damn it to Hell because it was always Gilbert) had antagonized the leader of the Sharks. It was a pity that Ludwig couldn't remember his name, because typically he hated reducing people to what they did or didn't do in a gang; he found it insulting when others did it to him, after all. Ludwig had been too far away, and too reluctant to approach, so he hadn't heard what either of them were saying. He could hear sentences punctuated with what he assumed were Spanish insults, and several times he heard Gilbert begin a statement or phrase in German before switching to English (a typical sign that he was too emotional to think clearly; he had done it for as long as Ludwig could remember) but that was largely it. Ludwig distinctly remembered thinking, 'Five minutes in and we're already about to have a fight.'
But just when things were about to get heated, a knight in modestly-dressed armor had approached the scene to break everything up. Bless his heart. He bore a striking resemblance to Lt. Jones (a man Ludwig had rather disliked from his early day in Manhattan, when he had threatened him and his brother with prison for sleeping on a park bench), but on the other hand he didn't. His hair was longer, for one thing, with one strand that seemed curly, frazzled, and out of place. For another, this man lacked a certain life in his eyes that Lt. Jones had, that livliehood being replaced with a rather saddening despondence. Finally, his voice: as close as he may have looked to Lt. Jones, the minute he opened his mouth, he removed all doubt that he was another person entirely.
"Maple!" Maple? "Ah, all right, b-boys and girls!" The stammer in his quiet, meek voice made him downright pitiable. "Attention, please! Please?" After he had been struggling for several minutes, Officer Kirkland appeared behind him. (Perhaps that had been how he had gotten some semblance of respect-an obeservation that Ludwig found hard to believe despite witnessing it, since typically Officer Kirkland didn't exactly command respect himself.) "Thank you! Ah, sure has been a lovely turnout tonight, w-wouldn't you say?" He tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear. From what Ludwig could tell, he was reading off of notecards. "Okay, so w-we're all here to make friends, right? So we're going to have a few get-together dances. Doesn't that sound like fun?" The instructions were for boys to gather in a circle on the outside, and girls to gather on the inside. Ludwig pre-emptively winced. There was no way this could end well.
"Maple!" shouted Matthew. There was that word again. It seemed completely out of place, almost as out of place as the apparent joy in his voice. Ludwig could detect a Canadian accent, or at least he thought he could, but he hadn't been aware that the Canadians' obsession with the plant carried over into their speech. "That's it, you've got it." Now his voice took on the same fear it had before, as if the Sharks and the Jets were seconds away from joining together and deciding to turn all of their hate on him, instead. As unlikely as this was (it would probably take a severe tragedy to bring the two gangs together, if that) Ludwig found the fear in his voice less than encouraging. He had seriously started to regret listening to Gilbert. Well, that wasn't a surprise.
What happened was almost hilarious, if one had a rather dark sense of humor. The idea of the excercise had, presumably, been to get people to know each other by introducing them to other people of the opposite gender. Predictably, anyone who was a Jet ended up with a Shark, and vice versa.
And it was downright horrible.
Ludwig watched as the leader of the Sharks reached across the half-hearted circle to grasp the hand of someone else in the circle, whose face Ludwig couldn't see. Then everything else began to slowly collapse. Gilbert grabbed the hand of a scrawny girl with caramel colored hair who Ludwig vaugely recognized as Erzebet, only seconds later remembering that she went by 'Liz'. (In fact, if she had spoken the truth, he was the only Jet who knew what 'Liz' was short for. It had come up in a discussion of why 'West' was not even close to his real name.) The shocking thing was that Ludwig could have sworn that the two hated each other, and the look of hurt on Rod's face punctuated the shock. On the surface, the three had seemed trapped in a triangle of hate, but perhaps it was something else entirely. Anyway, the little game had dissolved into what Ludwig could only call a 'dance-off'.
It wasn't surprising that Gil had begun to dance with Liz. (Well, perhaps the fact that it was Liz still bore some shock, but the fact that he was dancing and making it a contest wasn't.) Neither was the fact that the leader of the Sharks had now started to dance, as well, or the fact that he had brought his angry-looking date with him. Ludwig felt sorry for his date; unlike everyone else, he seemed upset at the prospect of dancing publicly.
Ludwig didn't have to feel sorry for long, though, as what eventually happened was less like a 'dance-off' and more like a mosh pit. The dancing was violent and erratic, and while it wasn't like he would have been eager to particpate if it had been a waltz, the spastic nature of the dancing made Ludwig wary, at best. No, he would not be dancing tonight. The idea of procuring alcohol did occur to him, until he remembered that Officer Kirkland was present, and so he began to look around the room for something interesting. There was a table of punch (punch that was for sure tainted, though probably with something that he didn't want to be ingesting), there was a corner that held three sad, pathetic-looking balloons, and there was a wall of empty chairs. Fair enough. Ludwig would take the chairs.
He hadn't been sitting there for long when he noticed that he was no longer alone. Normally, Ludwig hated being sneaked up on, and at an event where fighting was not just possible but likely, out of sheer nerves Ludwig's typical reflex would have been to punch the unlucky person in the face. But it was odd; before turning around, before even knowing the face or voice or gender of the person next to him, Ludwig had detected a sense of vulnerability about the stranger, and he had been almost certain that he (or she) had not been a threat.
So Ludwig turned around. 'Well,' he thought to himself. 'I suppose I don't know what I was expecting.'
The boy (and it was quite obvious that it was, in fact, a boy; one who might have been around his age, or a little younger-it was hard to tell, and the lighting was poor) had big brown eyes, and that was the first thing Ludwig noticed. Seconds later, he found it remarkable that he had noticed his eyes first, because as it so happened, this boy was wearing a dress. Even more remarkable was that he didn't find it particuarly odd-well, okay, it was odd, sure, but even without knowing this person, it somehow seeemed that he was an exception, of sorts, as if the typical cultural rules one was expected to follow didn't apply to him.
He was also cute. Very cute, with a heart-shaped face, short-ish brown hair, and a damn-near infectous smile. Ludwig pretended not to notice. Besides, noticing something like that was practically expected, he told himself. It wasn't like he could have ignored it, really, and as long as he didn't think about it again, he would be alright.
"Hello," he said, his voice sounding stiffer than it usually did. "Are you wearing a dress?" Okay, that was a stupid question, he had to admit. In fact, why he had even started conversation was instantly beyond him. He suddenly craved the silence that had been between them seconds ago, as if there had been any real silence in the crowded gymnasium that was now pumping with music and shouts.
But the boy giggled. He honest-to-God giggled, and Ludwig found that even more odd than the fact that he was dressed like a girl. He couldn't bring himself to think that this stranger was a pervert, despite all signs that could have pointed to such a conclusion. No, his crossdressing seemed downright wholesome. "Yep! I lost a bet. But don't I look pretty?" Not only did his voice shock him (because apparently everything about this boy was shocking, from the cheer his tone conveyed to the distinctly Italian accent) but the words themselves did, as well. 'Who on Earth would ask that to a stranger?' Ludwig couldn't help but think to himself. 'Don't I look pretty?' It was an asinine question. Ludwig couldn't even believe that he expected an answer, but it was obvious that he did, with his rather intense gaze and the sense of waiting that it seemed to project.
"Yes," he said flatly. "You look very pretty." Ludwig paused, as if he had to remind himself that he had been using sarcasm. No. No, he was not going to fall for some completely random (and probably crazy) cross-dressing boy at a party he didn't even want to be at. He would just stop talking to him. Yes, that was the best decision, he decided.
But after a few seconds, the 'silence' he had so desperatley craved seemed downright choking. He felt like he had to say something, so he said the most rudimentary thing he could. "So, what's your name, anyway?" He wondered if the awkwardness he felt came out in his voice.
"My name is Feliciano," he said, and Ludwig thought that was it, but then he continued to talk. "Sometimes, people call me Felicia. But I'm not a girl," he added quickly. "It's just because they love me. Or, because they hate me," he added jokingly, though Ludwig could detect a sense of hurt in his voice.
Before he could stop himself, the words had come out of his mouth. And it wasn't just a question, nor was it just a stupid question; no, it was a stupid question that had the unfortunate way of sounding (if he could believe it himself) flirtatious. It was unbelievable, but he had indeed asked it. "Why would someone hate you?"
Feliciano responded with a light laugh. "You're very kind," he said, speaking with a very polite tone of voice that Ludwig wasn't used to. Of course, he was typically surrounded by people who spoke either in alternating German and English or, alternatively, half made-up slang. So it made sense that when he finally met someone who seemed to have a normal upbringing, he would take notice of the way the words said proper. Then there was the subtext; it was like his laugh from before had been in undercurrent in his words, like it had never really gone away. Ludwig felt his face heat up, and his stomach tense. It was like he was being laughed at, but at the same time, like he was in on the joke as well.
When Feliciano spoke again, it jolted Ludwig out of his thoughts. "So, mysterious stranger, do you have a name?" It must have taken Ludwig a while to respond, because he continued to speak. "Or are you a nobody? A nobody without a name," and despite the ridiculousness of his words, he said them in a solemn tone. "That's sad. I hope that's not true," said Feliciano. He paused, as if thinking of something, before speaking again. "You're far too handsome to be a nobody without a name," he added.
Normally, recieving any compliment of any kind, regardless of who it was from made Luwig feel awkward. He had never quite liked having to deal with the various social ettiquite associated with hearing praise about oneself. So why, then, did the word 'handsome' (a compliment Ludwig typically found more useless than most) when uttered from the lips of 'Feliciano, the cheerful guy I just met at some dance, who happens to be wearing a dress', made his heartbeat pound so loudly and so quickly that he could not only hear it in his ears, he could feel it as well? He didn't know. And, even worse, he didn't care. He tried to shake the thought from his head.
"Ludwig," he answered finally. "That's my name."
"Pretty name," said Feliciano. Ludwig half-expected him to start talking about something, as he had before, but instead he allowed a long, awkward silence to build up. Normally, Ludwig was a fan of silence, but he suddenly found it uncomfortable. 'Why can't I think of anything to say? I must look so stupid,' he thought. He would have to say something. If he didn't look stupid, he probably looked rude, and he didn't want that. Then it occured to him that Feliciano could have mistaken him for someone else. He wasn't sure who, but it seemed that after he had revealed his identity, Feliciano had stopped talking altogether. And so, Ludwig spoke, if only to break the tension.
"Do you think that I am someone else?" He waited, with more tension than was probably needed, for an answer. Particuarly irritating was that suddenly, everything seemed more intense, like they tended to after a bad hangover. Every step on the dance floor seemed thunderous, the flashing lights made him feel vaugely dizzy and, curiously, he found himself unable to stop his eyes from taking in every strand of Feliciano's hair. It wasn't even normal, this obsession, not like someone blinded with lust. To be honest, it was more like he had taken a drug. Even worse, his heart continued to slam in his chest, and he couldn't pinpoint what it was about this stranger that made him so on edge.
Feliciano had been maintaining almost peculiar eye contact, but now he looked away. He seemed to avoid answering the question at first, which made Ludwig nervous, but finally he answered, smiling softly. "I know you are not," he said, and it was remarkable; the feeling he had had for so many nights now, for almost a month, felt even stronger. Of course, he found it hard to believe that this crossdressing stranger (or, Ludwig admitted with chagrin to himself, the bizarre attraction he had to him) was the 'something good' he had been anticipating for so long now...but then again, anything was possible, he supposed.
"A-and, you didn't think that we've met previously?" He tried to keep the nervousness out of his voice, but could tell the moment he spoke that he had failed. Of course, he himself was almost positive that they had never met. No, he would have remembered it.
Feliciano was looking him in the eyes now, and it was Ludwig who felt like looking away. He didn't, though; no, he maintained eye contact. "I know we have not," said Feliciano, softly. In fact, it was a miracle that Ludwig had even heard him through all of the noise, but that was just it-it was only noise, and Ludwig blocked it out.
Should I tell him? That was the question. It wasn't just that he made his face heat up and a tingle go down his spine, though that was a part of it. It was all about the 'something', and the more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that Feliciano was the 'something'. It suddenly became funny how he ever could have thought anything else. The question was, did he actually want to say that to someone he had just met? No, he had to, he decided. Besides, he didn't feel like they were strangers at all, which was perhaps the oddest thing of all. It was like they had met before.
"You know," he began, "for about a month now, I've woken up, feeling like something amazing was going to happen, though what I was not sure. But this is so much-" Before he could continue, Feliciano interrupted him. Ludwig was glad, in a way. Trying to put his thoughts into words had been harder than he'd thought.
"My hands are cold," he heard Feliciano say, though his voice was now at more of a whisper. Before he could react, Ludwig felt Feliciano take his hands in his own. His hands were oddly small, and that was the first thing he had noticed. Even more odd was that his hands actually felt quite warm, but before he could even begin to say anything (though Ludwig was sure that he was far too flustered to say anything intelligent-sounding anyway) Feliciano gently let go of his hands and spoke.
"So are yours," he said. He was glad that Feliciano was talking. It meant that he didn't have to, and he honestly believed that even if he had tried to speak, the words wouldn't have come out. Suddenly, he felt Feliciano's hands on his face. It was peculiar; no one had ever touched his face before, or at least, not like this. The touch was gentle, and tender, and Ludwig honestly hadn't known someone could be so gentle, let alone this stranger, this stranger who he had no reason to be attracted to whose side he suddenly never wanted to leave.
Before he could stop himself, Ludwig put his hands on Feliciano's cheeks. "Your face is warm, too," he said, past the point of feeling like an idiot. If he was an idiot, so be it. For once in his life, he felt peaceful, and calm, and if it was all because of another person then nothing else mattered.
Then there was a feeling that he couldn't push away or analyze. It wasn't really a feeling so much as it was a want, and although wants could be ignored just as easily as feelings could, Ludwig found that he had almost no control over his actions, or at least it seemed that way, because now he found himself with this insatiable wanting that he couldn't repress, no matter how hard he tried. Soon, he stopped trying at all. "It's so hard to believe that this isn't just a joke," he said, finding that his own voice was now at a low whisper.. Feliciano laughed, a twinkly little laugh that somehow reminded him of champagne bubbles.
"I have not yet learned how to joke like that," he said, his voice serious. It hadn't occured to Ludwig that English might be Feliciano's second language, but now it seemed to make sense. "Now I don't think I want to." There was a brief pause before Feliciano continued to speak. "I don't think I ever will."
Yes, decided Ludwig, Feliciano was definitely his something. And it was almost overwhelming, but almost not. He wanted to tell everyone. He wanted to scream his name in the alleyways until it bounced off of the buildings. To think that going to this dance had actually been a good idea. Perhaps that was the most unbelievable thing about it.
Something peculiar was happening; it seemed that despite his firmly held beliefs that he was asexual, not attracted to either gender, every thought in his mind screamed at him, to kiss him. What was especially odd was that his voice of reason, his inner voice telling him of rejection and ridicule and other such things, was quiet. He was about to really do it, he had even closed his eyes, but then the lights came on, the music stopped, and someone screaming in Spanish brought him out of his daze.
The first thing Ludwig noticed was that tears were now streaming down Feliciano's face. It made Ludwig's heart break, and hearing him alternate between 'lo siento' and 'mi dispiace' was even worse. (Though Ludwig's knowledge of languages other than German or English was minimal at best, he assumed that these were apologies.) Ludwig looked around quickly to survey the scene. There was the leader of the Sharks, as well as the boy he had been dancing with (who Ludwig now noticed bore an uncanny resemblance to Feliciano; it was like someone had taken Feliciano and poured a bucket of cynicsm over his head, if such a thing was possible). He also saw the Jets, though Ludwig was relieved to see only confusion in their eyes, rather than judgement.
Suddenly, it occured to him that the Sharks' leader was speaking to him. "Stay away from him, American. He is like a little brother to me, do you understand that? I don't want you to lay a finger on him!" Ludwig didn't want to correct him (he wasn't American, not any more than he was) but he didn't. Ludwig vaguely noticed Gilbert standing beside him, but he was more focused on that man whose name he didn't know. He was now..well, screaming probably wasn't accurate, but he was 'talking loudly' to Feliciano. Oh, God, what if they were related? That was a thought Ludwig tried desperately to shake. He listened to them talk.
"Couldn't you see he was one of them?" His voice had an accusatory tone, but Feliciano just shook his head, his words shaky and choked through his tears.
"No, Antonio! I don't understand what you mean! All I saw was him, that's all I saw, Antonio, that's all I saw!" By the end of the sentence, Feliciano had digressed into hysterical sobbing once more, and it was almost startling just how much he cried. The 'lo siento's and 'mi dispiace's started up again, and Ludwig couldn't repress the feeling of hurt he had from being forced to watch Feliciano cry.
The man (Antonio, Ludwig now knew) spoke in a softer, but still harsh tone. "I told you, little Felicia. There is only one thing boys like that want from a little immigrant. You have to be careful. They'll-" Ludwig couldn't help but interrupt at this, the statement making him far angrier than it should have.
"That's a lie! I would never do anything to hurt him." And it was true, he knew it was true, but he could feelt Gilbert pull him back, while muttering, 'Cool it, champ' into his ear. Well, he had obviously hit rock bottom; it was a sad day when Gilbert, of all people, had to tell you to 'cool it. Meanwhile, Ludwig could see a Japanese boy glaring daggers into him. It was peculiar how Ludwig hadn't noticed him before, but now he seemed to stick out-especially his eyes. Yes, his eyes were the worst. They were cold and calculating, and although Ludwig knew the thought was crazy, he could swear they were soulless.
"Get away," he said. It was funny how his voice matched his eyes. But at that moment, he wasn't important. No, not at all. Even though normally his common sense would dictate that antagonizing these, these people was the last thing he wanted to do, something other than common sense was calling the shots, because suddenly making sure Feliciano knew that he meant him no harm was the most important thing in the world.
"Don't listen to them," Ludwig shouted, as loud as he could. He didn't know if he had gotten Feliciano's attention until he turned around, smiling as tears fell down his cheeks. It shouldn't have matched at all, but it did, and it was like sunshine showing through clouds during a storm. But now, Antonio had his attention on Ludwig, and he didn't exactly look amiable.
"He will listen to his family before-," he began, but before Ludwig could hear him finish, Gilbert had began to speak.
"If you guys want to settle this n-" Gilbert didn't get to finish his sentence either, because suddenly, they were both interrupted by Matthew.
"Please! Everything was going so well, friends! Come on, let's, let's be friends, eh? It won't hurt you to have a good time, will it?" The lights dimmed again, the music boomed, but the Jets had began to dissapate to one side of the room, and Ludwig had no choice but to follow them. He listened carefully to the Sharks, who were either close enough for Ludwig to hear, or speaking loudly enough that the eavesdropping was almost accidental.
"I warned you Felicia, I warned you that such a thing might happen," said Antonio, clearly irritated by the whole thing. Then the Japanese boy from earlier spoke.
"Don't yell at him, Toni, it's not his fault." His voice lacked the soullessness from earlier; though there wasn't anything Ludwig could call 'compassion' in his words, at the very least he seemed to care about Feliciano's interests. And really, that's what they all had been doing, hadn't it? How could Ludwig blame any of them from looking at him and Feliciano and seeing a big, scary Jet trying to seduce their beloved family member-the baby, no less, since it appeared that they were all older than Feliciano. Of course, seduction had been far from his original intent, and really he had only been attracted to him in the first place by pure accident, but how could the Sharks have known that? Ludwig sighed. Every instance he could remember of 'forbidden love', if that's what you could call this, ended in tragedy. Who was to say that this would be different?
However, Antonio's sharp-sounding voice brought Ludwig back to reality, and he continued to listen to the Sharks talk.
"Take him home, Kiku." It wasn't a favor, nor a question, but a direct order. Ludwig could hear Feliciano begging to stay.
"Please, Toni! It's my first dance!" His voice still sounded shaky from when he had been crying. It didn't seem to be working, however, and Ludwig had to strain to hear what Antonio whispered to Feliciano.
"We are all familia. Please. Go."
Ludwig could only watch as Kiku took Feliciano by the hand and led him towards the exit. He could swear he saw Feliciano turn around once, but no eye contact was made.
"So, I guess you're with us for sure, right bro?" Gilbert's words went through one ear and out the other. If it was even possible, he cared less about being a Jet than he ever had before. Frankly, Gilbert could handle the Sharks all on his own. Ludwig had, in fact, been correct; nothing good ever came from being a Jet. Not now, and not ever.
At that moment, Ludwig noticed that Gilbert had shifted, and was now standing in front of him. Ludwig could see Antonio approaching, a serious look on his face. It ocurred to him at that instant why Gilbert had moved; Antonio wanted to see him. Ludwig had to admit that he was thankful for Gilbert's knowledge of this, or at the very least, his knowledge of how little Ludwig wanted to fight him.
"I don't want you," said Antonio seriously. "Please pass." His voice, just as it had been before, was quiet and serious. Still, it sent a shiver down Ludwig's spine.
"Yeah?" Gilbert's voice was, as usual, loud and defiant. However, there was a certain edge it had that it usually lacked. "Well, that's too dang bad. Because you may not want me, but I sure want you. For a war council. Doesn't that sound nice? Jets and Sharks? I do hope you'll make it." Ludwig could only see the back of Gilbert's head, but he knew that he was probably smirking at Antonio.
"I would be honored," said Antonio. He now spoke with a certain elegance. But it was typical. Antonio didn't strike him as the type who would turn down a challenge, and knowing Gilbert, that was exactly what this was.
"Okay! Let's go outside!" Oh, no. Of course Gilbert was going to get himself killed, on tonight of all nights. It was karma. Ludwig found someone he liked, his brother was going to be shanked. Yes, it was all too typical, but thankfully Antonio turned down this particular offer.
"Now is too soon. We will meet you in thirty minutes," said Antonio. Despite the circumstances, his voice carried a professional tone. Gilbert's hands were on his hips as he spoke.
"Doc's drugstore?" It was the typical meeting place, Ludwig recalled, and so he was not surprised.
"Yes," replied Antonio simply. He walked away, and Ludwig couldn't watch him. Gilbert turned to him.
"Alright!" said Gilbert. "West, let's go spread the word!" As Ludwig walked away from Gilbert, unable to think of anything he could say at this point, he could hear his words echo in the nearly deserted gymnasium.
When Ludwig walked outside, the cool air hit his face almost instantly. But that wasn't what he felt. No, despite the horrific circumstances he now found himself in, all he could think about was the word that was now in his head, over and over again. He didn't want to shout it, though; no, now Ludwig wanted to sing it, sing it to anyone who would listen-which, he realized, would be just about everyone, for all of the wrong reasons.
Feliciano. If only it had a tune.