After that day, the time seemed to creep by at a choking pace, the days almost smothering Ludwig with their blandness. It was honestly surprising because it used to be that Ludwig loved working and staying at the office but that boy showed up and he was all that lingered in the German's brain. He'd only met him once, officially, and it seemed so creepy to have these feelings for someone who he didn't even know, let alone the fact that he'd probably never see him again.

But really, he might be quiet and composed and studious, but over any of those things he was incredibly stubborn and determined so, while playing it cool, he'd continue his search of the elusive brunette. He simply had to. It was like someone had set a fire ten times that of hell itself in the pits of his stomach that burned like a craving and the only thing that could put it out was the presence of a tiny artist.

So, that entire work week, he strained immensely to keep his emotions and expressions in check to make it seem like he wasn't extremely anxious for Friday night. Like he wasn't waiting, hoping to catch even a glimpse of Feliciano. Like he wasn't aching inside. It was unlike any sensation he'd ever felt. It affected his work just slightly, his concentration wavering just enough to make him sigh in defeat and leave for home two hours before he normally would.

Then, in all of its glory and anticipation, Friday came, and Ludwig was sporting dark jeans with a white button up and a blue jacket. The color had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that blue was probably Feliciano's favorite color, and it definitely didn't get chosen because of its ability to make Ludwig's icy eyes just that much more piercing. No, not at all.

Gilbert picked him up at the usual time, 7:30, and they arrived ten minutes later to find Ivan at the bar again, giving a strangely warm welcome to Gilbert. The two, Ludwig noticed, seemed to speak a lot. It was only the week before that Ludwig had found out they were bragging to each other about their respective boyfriends and Ludwig effectively cuffed his brother on the back of the neck for not telling him about his relationship. But, after a few beers, neither one cared much for fighting and opted to just talk to Ivan and watch the other dancers.

Tonight was no different, except Ivan wasn't bartending. A new worker, most likely, was scampering around behind the bar, his sleeve covered hands mixing drinks with actual finesse that Ivan lacked. He was small and appeared Chinese, and the only way Ludwig and Gilbert knew that he was in fact a he was when he spoke. Otherwise, the feminine physique and long black ponytail would have hid the fact. They later learned that he was in fact Ivan's boyfriend who'd needed a job and landed one bartending on nights that Ivan had . . . other engagements. No one delved into that any further.

When it reached around 9:30, Ludwig was growing hopeless once again, but since he wasn't at work and he happened to be just a tad drunk off his rocker, his disappointment was written well on his face.

"Hey, bro, what's got ya down?"

"Huh? Oh . . . It is nothing."

"You're lyin' to the awesome me? Unacceptable! You've been waitin' for your little Italian eye candy to come back, haven't you?"

"How do you know he is Italian?"

"Mattie said so. Now! I'm sure he'll turn up eventually. Just be patient my bro, watched water never boils."

With a resigned sigh, Ludwig slid his empty mug down to Yao, who filled it quickly and slid it back. It didn't take more than ten minutes for Ludwig to repeat the action.

They talked more, and Ludwig began to regret his decisions involving alcohol just as Yao cut him off. At least he was more sensible than Ivan who would just giggle and see how drunk he could get his customers. But all in all, Ludwig was happy because if Feliciano did show up, he wanted to remember it.

But he ended up regretting that sentiment because frankly he wasn't expecting the Italian to actually show up, let alone show up in white jean shorts that should not be legal for someone with those legs and sheer red stockings that reached the middle of his milky thighs, his feet bare as always. Ludwig had to grab the counter to stay on the barstool. He was even more beautiful than Ludwig remembered.

Then when he started dancing it was really like he'd left this place and gone to his own little world, putting on a façade so the people pooling around his station would believe he was actually into what he was doing. But Ludwig could see, and he knew. Because not only was Feliciano being uncharacteristically lewd, his eyes that lit up like the sun while surrounded by paints and brushes of varieties he'd probably never seen, were utterly spacey and shut off. It was very clear that he did not like what he was doing, moreover did it because he had no choice. And that hurt to the core.

But Ludwig didn't even know the kinds of things going on in Feliciano's life. It was not his business. Really. But how, he tried to ask himself, could he ignore someone like that? Someone so sweet and kind and lovely and talented who was pushed down to something he didn't want to do just for money.

Well, as though the world were testing him, Ludwig was not given much time to think about these things because unfolding In front of his eyes was a scene that enraged him so much, that his hand found purchase on Gilbert's forearm, his vice grip causing the albino to wince. But once he looked up as well, he understood.

One must realize that it is extremely rude, and in most places against the rules, to touch the dancers. Especially the way two obviously drunk men were attempting to touch Feliciano, and Ludwig was seeing red because how dare they put their disgusting fingers on such a pure individual, and how dare they slur those infuriating words at him.

"Gilbert. Get them off of him, and I'll take him outside. Go, hurry."

"Got it."

So they went, and as Ludwig paid little attention to the two men who were now unfocused on Feliciano and more so on Gilbert, he reached up to grip Feliciano's tiny trembling fingers in his own. Brown eyes met blue and there was a spark of recognition before the Italian was gripping back and sliding off the high tabletop to glue his body against Ludwig's.

Quickly, before anyone stopped them, Ludwig took Feliciano out the front door and shrugged his jacket off to pull onto the still shaky boy standing in front of him, zipping it up around the small frame. He placed his hands lightly on Feliciano's shoulders and patiently waited for the other to stop staring holes into the pavement and instead look up at him so he could speak. And once he did Ludwig just smiled warmly.

"Are you alright? You are still shaking."

In all honesty, Feliciano wasn't only shaking but looked as though he were about to burst into tears and crumple like a rag doll right there on the blacktop. Ludwig moved one hand to rest on the top of Feliciano's head, his fingers carding through soft locks. When Feliciano spoke, it was with a small voice. One of regret.

"I'm fine . . . I wish that you had not been there to see that. It actually happens a lot but . . . Usually it's just the words, not the touches, so . . ."

"I will not expect you to answer anything that you are not comfortable with, so don't feel pressured. But, why do you do this?"

Feliciano's eyes went wide, but returned to their sad state soon after, and with a sigh, he placed his own hand over Ludwig's that was resting on his shoulder.

"Both my brother and I, we used to dance together in the academy that was in our old town. Every genre you could think of, we could usually accomplish within a week or two of practicing. But my favorite, honestly, had always been pole dancing, because it truly takes a lot of strength and if it is done in a strictly dancing respect, it is quite graceful. People just sexualize it a lot. It made me feel strong."

He let out a sad chuckle and Ludwig immediately decided that sad laughs were not okay.

"Lovino, he was always good at Latin dances. His partner, Antonio, who he'd actually started dating not too long after, moved there from Spain a few months before so . . . But for me it was always that. So, when Lovino got sick and couldn't dance anymore, it was already a blow to my confidence. I'd always danced with Lovino, even if it wasn't in the same genre. We still did it together. So I lost a bit of my happiness and in turn my confidence."

The hold on Ludwig's hand tightened, and the tears came, and the world stopped.

"Then I decided . . . I was so unhappy there on my own, with no one. I'd spent so much time with Lovino that I'd realized I had no other friends. So in order to be closer to him I quit my job and moved here but then the bills kept coming and the rent and groceries and . . . I needed a job. But part time wasn't going to cut it. It just wouldn't. And I was really only good at one thing. So . . . I took what I could get because I needed the money. It's not too bad . . . really . . ."

Feliciano sniffled and used his other hand to wipe the tears from his cheeks, the sleeve of Ludwig's jacket swallowing his hand much like Yao's clothes did on him. It was then that Ludwig noticed just how little Feliciano was and how his jacket draped over him like a gown and he realized that the world had royally fucked him and it just made him seem all the more smaller. Like a speck of dust that would never be able to tip the scales in his favor.

But Ludwig still felt warmth in his body simply from the boy standing near him. He wanted to help, he wanted Feliciano in his life. He wanted to make him happy. He wanted to give him a chance.

"Feliciano, how old are you?"

"Twenty."

Oh. Oh. This was surprising, and Ludwig didn't really know what to say, but he could tell that his eyes had probably gone wide because Feliciano looked extremely ashamed and gripped the front of the jacket to pull it over the lower half of his face. It was final. There wasn't a deity in the universe that could make him turn back now.

"I want you to quite this job. It hurts you, and it makes you sad. You should not be doing these things."

"I need the money. I really don't have a choice! If I did I definitely wouldn't be doing this Ludwig, I promise. But I don't have a choice."

"Yes, you do."

"W-What? What do you mean?"

"Quit this job. I will help you as much as you need, but I will not sit by and allow you to live so unhappily like this. You should be at home right now, painting or sleeping. Not doing this."

Feliciano looked stunned, for lack of a better term, and Ludwig could practically see the inner conflict through the amber eyes. Ludwig was probably confusing the hell out of him. What person offers to help someone financially after meeting them once? Who does these things for some twenty year old kid who'd been kicked down by life?

Ludwig would never have his answer, because he didn't see himself as some hero or good Samaritan. He was just doing what was right and doing what he felt inclined to do, because Feliciano was sweet and kind and didn't fit this scene.

And when Feliciano started crying again Ludwig felt his heart skip because he was smiling and giggling through the tiny hiccups.

"You are a very kind person Ludwig . . . I hope you know what you're getting yourself into here . . . I have so many bills and expenses. I have to pay for Lovino's hospital bills, my rent, food, utilities . . . It's not that simple."

"It is. I make more than I know what to do with. Let me help you."

"Why?"

It was asked with zero hesitation and such bluntness that Ludwig couldn't help but stumble over his words. But he found the right ones and spoke with all the sincerity that he could muster, staring straight into the Italian's eyes.

"Because you deserve it. I promise."

It was then that Feliciano stopped his crying, smiled softly, and walked the two steps between himself and Ludwig to bury his face in the other's chest. Ludwig slowly wrapped his arms around the smaller, reaching up to soothingly brush his fingers through Feliciano's hair.

They stayed like that until Gilbert finally showed up, sporting a new black eyes and a split lip, and suggested they leave before those 'un-awesome pricks' woke back up from their little nap-slash-coma. Ludwig felt Feliciano giggle against his chest, and couldn't help but smile the most sincere smile he'd worn in quite a while. Even Gilbert seemed surprised.

"So, am I calling separate cabs or what West?"

Ludwig motioned 'one second' with his finger and looked down at Feliciano, who seemed half asleep and very content against his newly claimed perch.

"Would you like to stay with me tonight? I can understand how you'd like not to be alone after all that."

The Italian nodded sleepily and Ludwig told Gilbert to call for two cabs, which earned him a strangely comforting smile from his usually perverted brother.

Ludwig let Feliciano stay leaned up against him until the cab got there, for the entire ride home, and up the driveway to the front door. He tried to tell himself that it was purely from exhaustion but he had a tiny spark of hope in the back of his head that told him it was for many other things. He ignored it, however, and concentrated on getting the other onto the couch.

"Feliciano, do you want coffee?"

"Mm . . . Yes please . . ."

Ludwig shook his head and walked into the kitchen, not entirely convinced that Feliciano would even be able to stay awake to drink any coffee. But, he made it anyways and gathered blankets from the linen closet in the laundry room so he could make the couch more comfortable for himself, since he dared not make Feliciano sleep there.

After a few minutes of complete silence, he peeked his head out the door frame and listened again.

"Feliciano, are you still awake?"

Not a peep. Of course.

Sighing in defeat, Ludwig shut off the coffee pot and turned off the kitchen light, picking up the pile of blankets and padding his way back out into the living room to find Feliciano asleep. Not only was he asleep, but he was curled up into the corner of the couch, his knees pulled to his chest and the oversized jacket absolutely engulfing him. It was so cute that Ludwig just about died right then and there.

But it was not the time for creepy peeping and dawdling. It was time to get the little bundle of cuteness to bed. So with that, Ludwig went into his bedroom to turn down the bed before going back out to retrieve Feliciano. Normally, Ludwig would have many qualms about picking someone up and carrying them around, but he just knew that the other would not mind.

Once he got Feliciano tucked into bed, his murmurs of approval enough to satisfy Ludwig's nerves, he made sure to place a glass of water on the nightstand and leave the door cracked in case the other needed to get up and had to see. It felt nice, taking care of someone, so when Ludwig went to sleep on the too-short and lumpy couch, he really couldn't find anything to complain about.

The next morning, Ludwig awoke around nine o'clock and immediately noticed that it was raining outside and his house smelled like coffee and pancakes. Well, that was unusual in itself. But the way the kitchen light was on and Ludwig could hear soft singing and the fact that he wasn't in his bed really confused him.

But then all the memories of the former night came sluggishly marching back into his brain and he made sense of the situation, remembering that he'd let Feliciano stay in his room the night before and he was probably cooking amazing food and why was Ludwig just sitting there?

He stood up and stretched his back, grumbling as he pushed his hair back and wandered out into the kitchen. He was immediately greeted with a mug of coffee and a banana shoved into his hands, along with two aspirins and a bouncing Italian. It was obvious that Feliciano was a morning person because he was still singing and traipsing around the kitchen in . . . nothing but Ludwig's jacket.

Ludwig didn't even feel the scalding liquid in his throat nor could he taste the food he was eating because wow Feliciano looked really cute and he was in Ludwig's kitchen, wearing Ludwig's jacket, cooking Ludwig pancakes. A very large stack too, by the looks of it.

"Don't forget the aspirin. It'll help with your headache, which I know you have because you look like you got hit by a bus."

Ludwig grimaced and took the pills, washing them down with more coffee.

"Actually the headache is not too bad. It's more the back pain."

"You sound like my grandpa Roma. But you're too young to be like him so, it's different. Now sit, I made food, and it's squisito!"

"You speak Italian."

"Yes, I do. I am from Italy, after all."

"You do not have much of an accent."

"I was young when we moved here, and learned English early. I guess the accent just didn't stick in my English too much."

Ludwig smiled and nodded, taking the plate offered to him and sitting at the dining room table. The pancakes were indeed very good and Ludwig couldn't remember the last time he'd had cooking this good for any meal. Which was sad because pancakes are not hard and it really said a lot about his cooking skills.

"You didn't have to do this Feliciano."

"Of course I did. You let me sleep in your house and you're being so helpful. I appreciate it a lot."

"Well . . . You do not ever have to hesitate to come ask for anything that you need. Never."

Feliciano nodded happily and continued eating; his eyes back to their pretty glittering happiness that Ludwig had seen at the art store when they'd first officially met. It made him happy, and he would now be seeing a lot more of the Italian, and on top of that, be able to help him, to make him smile and laugh and be truly content. It was a good feeling. Euphoric. Like life itself nestling its way into Ludwig's once bland and clean cut every day experience.

Things would be better now. Things would be better for the both of them. Even if it was only the beginning of the ride.