Ludwig's heart hurt and his head right along with it, and when he'd ambled up to his bedroom and crawled into bed, he felt like a sixteen year old girl crying over a breakup. How ridiculous, he thought, because he and Feliciano weren't even together and it didn't look at all like that would even happen because Ludwig was an idiot. He'd ruined it.

But oh, how he missed Feliciano and he knew that the scent of those paints and newspaper and the jacket he had gotten back but hadn't had the heart to wash yet, all of it, would haunt him. He couldn't stand it, the loss of such an impeccably beautiful and sweet person, all because of his stubbornness. It took him everything he had to get out of bed and clean up the kitchen, biting his lip to hold back tears the whole time, and when he finally went to sleep, it was with a heaviness that he wouldn't wish upon anyone.

The next day, he tried everything. He did. He wanted Feliciano back and he was willing to do anything in the whole world. It was rainy again, and the swirls of gray and almost black that meandered above his head perfectly mirrored his mood, so when he was walking downtown and felt the little plunks of water on the bridge of his nose and forehead, he didn't try to cover himself. He just kept walking from his car and towards the art shop, something in his heart holding a little spark of hope that Feliciano would be there. He wasn't.

Next he sat in the car, and he prayed that maybe, just maybe, Feliciano would answer his phone with that chime of a voice, a chirpy 'Ciao!' filtering into Ludwig's ears. The phone rang all the way until voicemail, and then the second, third, fourth, and much to Ludwig's self embarrassment, the fifth time, all went to voicemail. Feliciano was definitely ignoring him, and it was so painful. It felt like someone was standing on his chest, and why, why was this one person hurting him so?

The only other things he could think to do was ask Ivan at the bar and Antonio at his café. So, through the now pouring rain, he drove to the strip joint, the whole trip a blur as he just kept thinking about Feliciano and his laugh and his smile and his tiny paint covered hands and when did he start crying, he wondered, his blue shirt darkening in little droplets. It was terrible, because he didn't cry. Because he didn't mess up like this.

When he got to his destination, he slid out of his car and into the club, thankful to see the Russian standing at the bar with a bored expression that made it obvious that he wasn't busy. He made quick work of asking, leaning on the bar top with urgency in his voice, asking simply if Ivan had seen Feliciano since Friday night. He was simply met with a shake of the head and a curious look before he nodded his thanks and left, not really comfortable under the gaze of that man unless he was drunk or at least drinking. After he got the hell out of that place, he gunned it, as fast as his personal rules with driving would allow, to Antonio's place.

What he was met with, however, was not the same man with a cheery disposition and an aura as bright as the sunshine. No, this man had a snap quick switch to his attitude the very second that he fell into his vision, and Ludwig suddenly felt like he wasn't as welcomed as he'd been on Sunday. Antonio moved quickly, finishing the cup of coffee he was refilling before moving over to where Ludwig stood with slightly widened eyes. But Ludwig was determined to speak before Antonio, not wanting to get an earful before he even asked.

"Hello Antonio, I'm sorry to bother you at work but I…I seem to have messed up-"

"You messed up alright. I don't know what you want, but if it's about Feliciano, I think you should just stop."

His accent was heavy with slight annoyance, and Ludwig could feel his green eyes darkening. Antonio didn't seem like the type you wanted to mess with when he is angry, that Ludwig was sure of, and he suddenly regretted ever coming here for help.

"Listen, I do not know what I did, but I just want to talk to him. I feel awful for making him upset."

"As you should! I have not seen Feliciano that upset in a very long time and if you think that I am going to let you near him just so you can make it worse, you are sadly mistaken."

"But I-"

"No, lo siento, but I'm not going to help you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."

That was that. The words were like venom and a knife right in Ludwig's chest, and he knew that it was no use. He just turned back to his car and sighed, sliding back in and going home. It was no use. It was no. use. Those words just kept repeating themselves and Ludwig just couldn't bring himself to do anything. He'd already missed work, already missed eating for most of the day, already messed up the one thing in his life that was starting to look like it could make him happy. Really happy. When he got home and into his room, he was bombarded by texts and phone calls from Gilbert, and after being annoyed to the point of wanting to throw his phone, he answered it.

"Hello."

"West! I am sure that I'm not going insane, because how un-awesome would that be, but you were not at work today. Are you by chance dead?"

"Bruder, I am not in the mood for you today."

"Hey, what's wrong man?"

Ah, there it was, the slide of a glass door, this time the one attached to Gilbert's office instead of his apartment, and a flick of a lighter and inhale, exhale, sigh.

"I messed up with Feliciano. I just don't know what I did. It made him mad though, and he left, and I can't find him. Antonio is rather mad at me too."

"O-oh. Well, what did you say to him?"

"I just offered to pay for him to start school. He's a wonderful painter and I didn't see why he didn't want to do anything with it."

"Oh man, West, bad plan."

"Why? I don't understand."

"It's not for me to talk to you about baby bruder."

"Stop calling me that. And why not?"

A long sigh followed, and Ludwig could hear Gilbert take another drag of his cigarette. Such a horrid habit, but it helped calm Gilbert and keep him thinking straight.

"Just don't drink away your feelings West. Oh, and you should come out with me again Friday night! It'll make you feel better."

"But won't Feliciano be-"

He was cut off by the click of Gilbert's cell phone, and he mentally cursed his brother because really, why was he always so…Gilbert? He had to shrug it off, though, because he decided to try Feliciano one more time. Maybe he'd been sleeping and just hadn't heard his phone, or maybe it had been on silent. In reality, his mind was laughing at him. If that was true, and Feliciano wanted to talk to him, he would have called back by now. But he tried anyways.

When he received one of those monotonous and rather annoying female voice recordings telling him that the phone was no longer in service, however, he felt like the ground had slipped from under his feet. How could he have messed up this badly? He had no answers. Not a single one.

So for the rest of the day, and the week, he went right back to his routine and bland set way of living. Wake up, shower, get dressed, go to work, come home, repeat. It was boring, and for the first time, he wanted it to change, and when Friday came along he just prayed that Feliciano was working and at the same time he felt his entire being shaking from dread that he was working. What would he do if he was there, if he wasn't there, if he appeared and gave Ludwig a look that said 'I hate you', or 'I miss you', or even looked at all? There was no answer, once again.

Gilbert dragged him out regardless of his mood though, ignoring the body language that screamed 'please leave me alone' and the way that Ludwig wasn't as put together as he usually was. His platinum hair hung loosely against his forehead, his cologne forgotten, and the jeans he wore were from the pile of clothes he'd already worn that week along with the plain button up he'd thrown on. He just looked . . . lazy. Not that he had a reason to care. He didn't care about these people, so appearing disheveled didn't bother him.

What did bother him, however, was the fact that after four beers and a rather nasty shot of vodka from a strangely sympathetic Ivan, he looked up and saw a familiar face strutting across the stage. He felt his heart clench, his stomach clench, everything hurt, because there he was, supple and gorgeous and his pretty little legs and eyes and lips and shoulders and oh, everything. It was horrible and wondrous at the same time. He was snapped out of it by Gilbert shaking him out of his daze because his beer was getting cold and he should really pay attention and drink it while it was good, all slurred and oblivious. Eventually though, Gilbert actually left, leaving Ludwig alone after saying that he had a 'place' to be. Normally, this would have angered Ludwig immensely, because as incompetent and self absorbed as Gilbert could be, he never ditched him. But Ludwig couldn't concentrate on that right now, and when Feliciano left his spot after his dance about fifteen minutes later, Ludwig went against his better judgment, actually glad now that Gilbert had left a while beforehand, and followed him.

He wasn't trying to be creepy or some sort of stalker, no really, he wasn't. But he just had to talk to Feliciano because he was like sunshine and air so Ludwig just needed to. He was glad to see when Feliciano left out of the back, walking in his normal attire, and he was just about to walk up to him when he noticed someone else in his presence. This man was rather . . . flamboyant, and the only reason Ludwig could tell that was because of his large hand gestures and rather bright wardrobe choices. He was slightly taller than Feliciano, wavy shoulder length hair that mimicked a dirty blond color, and deep blue eyes that were visible even in this darkness, his legs clad in red jeans, pairs with a deep blue button up and a white belt.

It wasn't like Ludwig had any business following them, and he knew he would regret it later on because really, who does stuff like that? But he was teetering on the edge of drunkenness and he honestly didn't care because he needed to talk to Feliciano. He just did.

So he followed them. He was ridiculously grateful to see that they were walking, as he definitely didn't feel like getting a DUI or dying because his judgment clouded enough to let him drive. But where they were headed made his stomach churn, because why were they going into the run down part of the downtown strip? Why were they turning into an obviously occupied but not seemingly fit to be apartment building? It made Ludwig's heart leap into his throat and stay there, pounding so loud that he could hear it in his ears. But he followed, because it had been a week and he was not leaving without answers.