Chapter Ten:
Ludwig, seated in the spare English room on the west side of the Arts block, was mentally punching himself. Mentally punching himself and throwing in an eye gouge, for good measure. Why? Because he was here – in detention.
Really, he should have been either at home doing chores or studying at his desk. Even making dinner for Gilbert and the dogs. Not doing the same ridiculous English question sheet from earlier on, surrounded by a bunch of delinquents and one half of the Vargas twins.
This sucked.
People were throwing paper planes, swearing and talking about how trashed they were going to get later on in the night. The German paled; he didn't want to be lumped in with this sort of crowd. He was a good guy! Great grades, perfect physique, liked animals, cooked and ironed, still pure when it came to … ah, sexual… situations. Ludwig placed his head on the desk – he was now tarred with the same brush as this unruly mob.
Woe.
"Eh, it's not so bad, really" whispered Feliciano Vargas, leaning over from the desk on Ludwig's right. A soft smile on his bright face. There was a pink tinge on the boy's cheeks, it made him look lively, fresh, even rather cute.
Ludwig looked away. You weren't supposed to socialize in detentions, after all.
This seemed to encourage the small Italian on further, "Mah, don't be upset. Everyone comes here at least once – I'm always here!"
The blonde wanted to crawl into the floor and disappear.
"…I guess it has something to do with my attention span" the brunette giggled, " I'm always forgetting things and, ah, just spacing out! Ve~, how strange! Oh, and I run away when I'm scared of things, but that makes sense, no?" Feliciano grinned over at the German boy.
It was a rather infectious grin.
"I didn't intend to be here" frowned Ludwig.
"Nobody ever does!" laughed the other.
Smiling, Feliciano stood up, dragging his table closer to Ludwig's – or at least attempting to. His thin arms strained as he pulled hard on the relatively light desk, an exhausted red blush rising to his face as his cheeks puffed up.
"Hrrrn!!" he gasped, the desk squeaking in unison with him.
In the end, Ludwig leant over and pulled it for him. "Here" he muttered, lining up their desks. A smile, if only a faint one, crossed Ludwig's lips as Feliciano beamed across at him.
"Ahh, thank you so much! Grazie! Grazie!" the tiny boy exclaimed, plonking down beside him. "You are very strong too, aren't you? Haha! Molto alto!"
"Pardon?"
"You are very tall".
"Ah, yes. It's hereditary" the German said, looking down at his work. His face felt hot. "Y…" he began, pausing to look over at the spaced out Italian, "Y-you're very short".
"Si, it is – as you say- hereditary! Haha!" he was so joyous. It was crazy.
Did this boy ever stop smiling?
A bell rang, dismissing the class. Ludwig, desperate to escape the room and all that was associated with it, flung his books into his bag, dashing out before his companion had even put down his pen.
With big strong strides the German boy worked his way through the halls, nearly ripping open his locker when he found it. Several books and half a dozen spare pens being unceremoniously flung in, before, with a calmer, more Ludwig-ish change of heart, he restacked them all nicely.
Tidiness was essential if you wanted to work at peak performance.
And there was something about straightening up a line of pens by colour, shape and size that made the blue-eyed teenager unwind. His heartbeat slowed, his breath mellowed out and he felt a lot cooler. He also felt rather silly for having worked himself up like that in the first place.
But that was done, now he had to go catch up on all the things he'd missed while being in –ugh- detention.
Throwing his satchel over his shoulder, Ludwig turned around. He was ready to leave this place. Instead, he was left looking at a small, familiar little Italian boy panicking in the intersection of the halls.
"Eh, eh…" Feliciano was nearly crying, turning back and forth with his hands on his head.
Where was he!?
"Are you okay?" Ludwig boomed down the corridor. Feliciano didn't seem to hear.
The German moved closer.
"Are you okay!?" he asked again, making the other boy look up. Feliciano seemed frozen for a little, unsure what to say, then, without warning, he burst into a torrent of tears.
"I can't find my locker. I can't find it! I'm lost!" he cried, staggering forward.
Ludwig stepped back, shocked. He watched the crying boy come up to him, taking one of his big pale hands in his little slender one. Feliciano held it tight.
"I can't find my locker… it has my keys in it and my map home" – Ludwig felt a tight pang somewhere in his chest. This poor kid, he really needed some help.
"Do you remember your locker number?"
"No – but my brother writes it on my socks" was the reply, with Feliciano doubling over to read the scribbled black ink that adorned the inside of his sock.
64-8A.
That wasn't too far from the drama rooms, if Ludwig knew rightly.
He squeezed the Italian boy's hand. "Come on, I'll help you".
*******
Feliciano talked the whole way there – gibbering and jabbering about nonsense that Ludwig wasn't particularly interested in, but, for the sake of politeness, listened to anyway.
He didn't mind it, really.
Nobody at school had ever talked to him like this before.
"So, my name is Feliciano! Mi chiamo Feliciano!" the brunette suddenly said, tugging at Ludwig's hand. The blonde was silent, gears whizzing around in his head. Was that Italian?
"My name is Ludwig… Meh key-yamo Ludwig."
The dark eyed Feliciano smiled softly, much differently from the great big toothy smile that normally covered half his face.
"Piacere – it's nice to meet you"
Without warning he picked up the pace, skipping forward and letting go of Ludwig's hand. Ludwig ran after him. Leather shoes slapping down on the linoleum flooring as Ludwig pushed his legs harder and faster. For all his training and exercise, the blonde couldn't keep up with the smaller boy. Nearly careening into him when Feliciano stopped outside a drama room door.
Slamming his heels down, Ludwig swung his arms wide, stopping just short of Feliciano. The force of his stride flinging him up onto his tiptoes, chest and stomach sucked in to stop himself hitting the person in front. Scooped over, his chin brushed the top of the Italian kid's head.
He smelt good. Like apples and warmth and something that Ludwig couldn't seem to put his finger on.
Cinnamon?
"Ve! It's Lovi! Ludwig, it's my brother!" excitedly gasped the Italian, hands pressed to his chest.
Ludwig sank back down, his hands grazing Feliciano's shoulders before he brought them back to his sides. The German let out all his breath, gasping for more air after.
"Let's go in!"
AN: I am so sorry - the last couple days have been a bit crazy for me! I'm about to start uni again and I'm trying to do as much work as I can because, frankly, I'm kind of broke. Why broke? Because I'm saving to go to Europe! So I guess that's a plus.
Still, I'm sorry. I'll update sooner!!
And, also, I'm in the process of write a oneshot for Syous99 who guessed that I'm a RoChu shipper. Hopefully it's done soon. This is the first time I've sat down to write in ages!
Be good, and eat your greens. =D