It was like Feliciano Vargas had been in his life for the past 24 years and not once left his side. It was so natural that Ludwig actually felt strange when Feliciano took his leave that Saturday afternoon because he insisted that he'd stayed long enough and he wanted to put his paints to good use so he'd best be going, really. He actually wanted him there.

So, the rest of Saturday night Ludwig spent his time staring unseeingly at the TV and thinking about the Italian. He started to crave pancakes and the coffee that was much too strong but he drank it anyways, and he missed Feliciano singing in Italian while he sat on the counter and watched Ludwig do dishes. It was like he just fell into the blond's life and fit like a puzzle piece.

When Sunday came around, Ludwig had a nice hour long lay in, showered, and had his usual coffee and toast for breakfast. He didn't really know what to do with his day, honestly, and the more he thought about it, the more his mind looped back around to the person he knew he wanted to come back around. So he busied himself with cleaning.

He washed all the laundry, bleached the shower tiles, scrubbed the sinks and bathtub, vacuumed and mopped the floors, dusted the tables and shelves and cabinets, as well as air out the couch cushions and bed comforter. It took him all of six hours and he couldn't have been more satisfied with the way it turned out. It was now 3:00 in the afternoon and Ludwig sat triumphantly with a fresh cup of coffee and his favorite book that he'd been re-reading.

But something was still amiss. It was quiet. Now, normally quiet was great and perfect because he was reading and that was how it should be. However, it was just wrong on this particular day. Perhaps it was the way Ludwig had been trying and trying to get to Feliciano all those weeks and it'd finally happened and he was just so overwhelmingly happy about it that he was restless. Maybe it was because even though, yes, he'd just officially met Feliciano, it seemed like the boy belonged in Ludwig's life. But most of all, maybe this warm feeling in Ludwig's chest when he thought about the Italian's warm hair and eyes and tiny body dashing around in the oversized blue jacket, or how beautifully he spoke his mother tongue, or how he lit up when he saw paint or cooked was making him yearn for the other's company once again.

So Ludwig found himself standing in the kitchen with his cell phone in hand, staring down at the screen which was illuminated with Feliciano's phone number. They'd made sure to give each other their numbers in case Feliciano needed anything or if Ludwig needed to tell him when he'd be going on a business trip or anything of the sort. But now Ludwig was petrified to call him.

After three rings and a peppy 'Ciao!' Ludwig was forced from his stupor and into a stuttering mess. He didn't really know what to say, honestly, so he opted for the first thing that came to his mind.

"Feliciano?"

"Si! Is this Ludwig?"

An affirming grunt and nothing more.

"Ah fantastic! I was actually going to call you later because I was supposed to go to the hospital to see Lovino with Antonio but they said that there were no visitors allowed today so now I am bored."

"I see. Well, I am sorry about you not being able to see your brother. But I was bored as well, so why don't we go get some dinner somewhere? Or . . . You could come here? It does not matter to me."

Ludwig almost died because Feliciano let out the most adorable giggle that he'd ever heard and it really just made him feel entirely good, inside and out.

"I'd love to go out. We can go to Antonio's restaurant! He decided to work tonight, I think, to get his mind off of everything else. I'm sure he'd love to meet you!"

"Y-You told him everything?"

"Well, yes. Other than Lovino, I see him as my brother. He's very grateful to you, you know!"

Ludwig nodded thoughtfully.

"Okay. Well, I will come pick you up around 5:30? Just tell me your address . . ."

"Um, how about you just pick me up from the art store? I was planning on going to pick something up anyways. I can just go later."

It was strange, and had he not been so stunned and admittedly giddy from the fact that Feliciano was going to dinner with him, he'd have asked more questions. But his judgment was clouded with excitement.

"Ja, that sounds fine. See you then."

"Ciao!"

And with that, Ludwig hung up and walked back into the living room to flop down on the couch. That was weird. Very weird, and very suspicious, and very unnerving and worrisome. Why would Feliciano not want Ludwig to know where he lived? What was he hiding? Did he live in a bad part of town, or did he not live anywhere at all? Maybe he was a drug dealer, or part of a gang . . .

Ludwig shook his head and rolled his eyes at himself, the ideas all sounding absolutely absurd. Then again, Feliciano being a stripper would have been quite absurd to him had he not witnessed it firsthand.

So, he decided to do what any sensible . . . Or not so sensible person would do.

He'd call the only person older than him that he (somewhat) trusted and get some brotherly advice. Gilbert may not be the most serious person ever, but when presented with a worried little brother and a dire situation, he could be surprisingly wise and kind and Ludwig would never turn to anyone other than him.

So once again he picked up his phone and dialed the albino, his gruff voice chiming on after a few rings.

"Hallo, it is the awesome me speaking, how can I help you mein baby bruder?"

"How many times must I tell you to stop calling me your 'baby' brother? I have a question, and I need a real honest answer Gilbert. No messing around, it is serious."

Ludwig could always tell when Gilbert shifted into his serious mood because he could hear the man's porch door slide open, then close, then a lighter and a deep breath. His brother had a nasty habit of smoking when he went all philosophical.

"What happened? Does it have to do with the little Italian?"

"Ja. I invited him to dinner and offered to pick him up at his home, and he got very nervous and asked if I could pick him up in front of the art store instead. It is strange to me. Why would he not want me to know where he lives?"

A thoughtful hum and a deep inhale later, Gilbert replied in a way that made Ludwig want to teleport to his house and punch him in the face.

"I don't know dude! He just met you. Give him time to get used to this. It's like, he might be that type of person who feels weird about showing people their house and anything personal until they know them a hell of a lot better!"

"I'm pretty sure I've seen enough personal things about Feliciano, Gilbert. He made me pancakes in nothing but my jacket. I literally mean nothing else. I do not think it's that . . ."

"Hmm, well I really wish I could tell you more but I've got nothing this time. Just don't do anything to scare him off . . . I haven't seen you that happy in a while."

Gilbert hung up, then, and Ludwig just felt worse. But he couldn't bring himself to let it get him in too terrible of a mood, because he had a date with Feliciano. Was it a date? They were just having dinner, as friends. Acquaintances more like. He had to stop thinking like that or he really would scare Feliciano away.

Shrugging and putting the phone back in his pocket, he went back into the kitchen and rinsed his coffee mug. Leaning against the counter, he took a moment to listen. Listen to the silence of his home. It was lonely, he thought, and he figured that even if all Feliciano would ever be to him was a friend, that was okay. Because he was the opposite of Ludwig and that was, he knew, the reason that he liked him so.

Since he'd gotten dirty and sweaty from cleaning, he went in to take another shower and spent a half an hour washing his hair and body numerous times, making sure his face was free of stubble. Once he'd finished washing, he wrapped a towel around his waist and pushed his hair back to get a good look at himself. He was thankfully having a day where he felt quite presentable, so he didn't bother doing much more than putting on deodorant and a nice pair of dark jeans and a button up shirt. He noticed for the first time that he had quite a simplistic wardrobe. But it was him, so it went well.

It was 5:15 when he finally finished getting dressed and finding his wallet and keys and shutting off all of the lights. He couldn't help smiling to himself because, even though he would never say it aloud, his mind kept circling back to the title of 'date' and he really just gave up on not thinking of it that way. To him, it was a date.

So when he finally pulled up in the parking lot of the art store and spotted Feliciano sitting on a bench with a Styrofoam cup of what was probably coffee, he just got really excited.

Once he got out of the car and approached the brunette, he could immediately smell the mix of coffee and cologne and shampoo that smelled like flowers and laundry soap and Feliciano. He felt his heart skip.

"Ludwig! You're here!"

"Yes, I am. Are you ready to go? You will have to tell me the way."

"Oh it's very easy! It's only about ten minutes, if that, from here."

Ludwig nodded and turned back towards the car, Italian in tow. He couldn't help but notice how good Feliciano looked and he suddenly felt underdressed. While he was wearing simple jeans and a dress shirt, Feliciano was clad in form fitting brown pants, the bottoms cuffed to the top of his ankle boots, and a deeper brown belt. These paired with a cream colored button up and an orange scarf, his hair just as wild and silky as Ludwig remembered. He looked incredible, frankly.

It really did only take a few minutes, once they'd gotten out of the crowded parking lot, to drive to the little restaurant tucked between a book store and a corner pharmacy. It was quaint and Ludwig loved it. Feliciano was practically bounding from his seat before Ludwig had fully parked.

The front panels underneath the windows were a deep red with gold trim, along with a set of wooden double doors that were propped open by specials' signs. There were a few iron cast tables and chairs out front, customers chatting and sipping at mugs of coffee, and it had an atmosphere of familial and kind. Ludwig loved it already.

But before they could even get inside, the small boy beside him was suddenly scooped into the air by someone who'd honestly come out of nowhere and Ludwig didn't really have time to react because he had no idea who this person was.

When Ludwig looked over, Feliciano was being hugged tightly to another man's chest, his squeaks of happy protests barely audible over the other man's loud and excited Spanish rambling. This must be Antonio, Ludwig thought, and he had to say that he commended Lovino for his tastes, for the Spaniard was definitely easy on the eyes.

Once he'd let Feliciano out of his grasp, he started speaking in just as excitable English, his accent and lisp very prominent.

"You told me you were coming to dinner tonight, and I just couldn't wait to see you because it's been almost three weeks since we've seen each other in person! Talking on the phone just isn't the same!"

Feliciano giggled sweetly and tightened his hold on Antonio's hands, their bunched fists held between their chests like gossiping high school girls.

"Well I would have come to see you sooner if you didn't live in the next city! Plus every time you're here working, I'm working myself! Really, what kind of restaurant owner only works at their restaurant only a few times a week!?"

"Sweet, sweet Feli, you know I only live in the next town because I like to live with Francis! But this is not the right conversation for dinner time! Please, please, introduce me to the famous Ludwig! This must me him, no?"

Blue eyes met green and Ludwig felt immediately humbled and calm. He walked a bit closer and smiled as warmly as he could, reaching out his hand to shake Antonio's tanned and calloused one. The hands of a hard worker, Ludwig thought.

"It's nice to meet you, I am Ludwig Beilschmidt."

Antonio chuckled heartily and gave Ludwig's hand, which he'd been holding onto for a lingering moment, a soft squeeze.

"No need to be so formal, amigo! I am Antonio but you can just call me Toni! Feli here does and so do most of my customers and friends."

Ludwig nodded, letting go of the other's hand and stepped a bit closer to Feliciano. Subconsciously of course.

Antonio quickly ushered them inside and to a table near the back where the music was a bit quieter and they could talk more. Ludwig was grateful.

Their waiter was incredibly nice and energetic, bringing them their drinks in record time and treating them like old friends. It was so very fitting for a place such as this and honestly the food was some of the best Ludwig had ever had. Feliciano seemed to be having such a good time and even though he'd had three glasses of wine his demeanor didn't change and neither did his speech or movements. It was impressive, to say the least, that he didn't even seem buzzed. The beer, to Ludwig's excitement, was good, and he had to say that he was disappointed that he could only have one since he'd be driving later.

Once they'd finished eating and spent another hour or so talking with Antonio, who by Feliciano's scolding Ludwig figured out should be working, but he made for great stories so eventually Feliciano let it go, they made their leave. It had gotten dark, it being around 8:00, and Ludwig didn't really know if he wanted to go home alone.

So, when they got back into the car, Ludwig took a deep breath and turned to Feliciano, who was fiddling with the air freshener hanging from the mirror.

"Feliciano, do you want to come over tonight? I have to work tomorrow, so you would be at my house by yourself in the morning. But I don't really have anything to do tonight so . . ."

Feliciano just grinned and pulled his scarf tighter as he snuggled down into the seat.

"Sure, Ludwig. Let's go!"

"V-Very well, then."

And so they went. Feliciano ended up singing to the 90's radio station and by the time they got back to Ludwig's house he'd been pushed back into his childhood through renditions of numerous old bands he thought he'd escaped long ago. But he enjoyed it none the less, because it was with Feliciano.

They spent the rest of the night sitting on the couch, milling through two Saw movies, A Walk To Remember, Pacific Rim, and by recommendation of Feliciano, Castle in the Sky. By the end of their movie marathon it was well into the morning hours, and there were two empty cartons of ice cream, a half eaten pack of twizzlers, and pretzels that somehow made their way all over the carpet. Ludwig felt like he was 16 again, and even though he knew he'd regret it (somewhat) when he woke up, he enjoyed every second of it.

So, with Feliciano asleep on the other end of the couch, Ludwig draped a quilt over him and made his way into his bedroom to get a few hours of sleep before work. As much as he didn't want to leave Feliciano, he knew that the sooner he got to work and got the day over with, the sooner he could come home and hopefully Feliciano would still be there. He hoped. Very, very strongly.

And when the alarm buzzed him awake three hours later, he wished even stronger that the day would end. Because he was so tired, he felt like he was dying.

He was quiet through his shower and making coffee and toast, taking a few minutes to clean up the living room as he ate and admired the little ball of Italian that was cuddled up on the couch. He looked so sweet, and Ludwig just really, really didn't want to leave.

But, here he was, at 7:35am, heading out to his car to drive to the office which smelled of anything but coffee and warmth and sweet shampoo, with people who weren't small and cute and bouncy and sweet.

However, even though Ludwig dreaded the work day the very second he stepped out of his car, it did seem to go by fast. He didn't know if it was because he was happy from the night before, or if it was because he was anxious to go see if Feliciano stayed all day, or if it was because, to everyone's surprise, he left precisely on time.

At 5:30, he pulled up in his driveway and leapt out of the car with vigor, his heart and stomach jumping into his throat when he noticed that the living room light was on, and he couldn't stop the grin that spread across his face.

He was greeted with soft instrumental piano and violins, the scent of paint and newspaper and fresh coffee and bread, Feliciano's unmistakable singing voice assaulting his ears, and suddenly his house didn't feel empty and lonely. It didn't feel bland and silent. It felt like home.

When he walked through the living room and pushed the swinging door to the dining room open, the music grew just a bit louder and the first thing he noticed was the overwhelming amount of newspaper spread on the floor.

Across the room, across the sea of black and white, Feliciano sat on a tall stool, an easel with a canvas perched in front of him as his paint covered arms and fingers worked with finesse. He must have gone home to get his paints, Ludwig thought, and he had to stifle a laugh, because Feliciano looked really small in front of that huge canvas and his skin and clothing was absolutely covered in paint of every color. Even his hair had paint in it, even though it was tied back with a white bandana, and the fact that the Italian had managed to get paint in even his hair just made Ludwig smile even more. How precious can one person be, he had to ask himself.

Feliciano was obviously in his own little world, because he didn't even look up when Ludwig sat his briefcase down and walked past him into the kitchen. Once he'd poured himself a cup of coffee, which seemed to have been made not too long ago, he leaned against the counter and watched Feliciano paint.

He was taken aback immediately. It was amazing, how Feliciano's nimble little fingers blended and smeared the paint in ways a brush couldn't, making colors and lines that challenged the creative mind. The boldness of the way he painted was incredible, seemingly so unafraid to make mistakes because he just went with however his hands carried the medium. The concentration on his face when he dabbed a burst of yellow, or a smooth caress of blue in an oasis of green, was something akin to love and adoration for his art.

It wasn't until Ludwig placed his hand on Feliciano's shoulder that the brunette looked up from his work, a dazed look in his eyes like he didn't know where he was or what time it was or how he'd gotten to be right next to Ludwig.

"Let me ask you something, Feliciano."

"Hmm?"

"Why are you not studying art at University? This is beautiful, the best I've ever seen anyone paint. Not even Gilbert can paint like this, and he is and art student . . ."

A sad look overtook Feliciano's face, one of longing and intense sadness.

"I can't pay for it. I have to pay for Lovino's hospital bills, or they'll stop treating him and he'll die."

"I told you that I would help you, did I not?"

"B-But Ludwig, I could never ask you to help me with both. That's outrageous."

"It is not. What is outrageous is not showing the world this talent and not being able to apply it to all aspects of your life. Do you realize how much people would pay for art work like this?"

"I just can't, Ludwig."

Ludwig walked around to stand in front of Feliciano, careful not to touch the canvas, and put both hands on his shoulders.

"Please let me do this. I can't believe . . . You are so good at this, and it is obvious how much you love it. I am confused as to why you wouldn't jump at this chance."

Feliciano looked down, shamefully, but Ludwig could see a tinge of anger that did not fit Feliciano's face and immediately regretted having said anything at all. Suddenly, Feliciano stood; setting his paintbrush on the newspaper laid out on the dining room table, and walked over to the sink. He washed his hands and arms silently, and forlorn expression plaguing him.

And then he left. He left, Ludwig standing in the kitchen completely lost and upset and empty because he knew he'd fucked up but he had no idea how or why and he just felt so sad. Feliciano had left him, because he insisted and insisted even though he knew in his gut that it wasn't how he should handle the other. But he didn't listen, and just as Gilbert had warned him not to, he'd scared him off. Whether or not he'd see him again, he really didn't know. And that really hurt.