(This is basically just the continuation of the last chapter, as it kind of slides right in from the last one and it was all written at once. I just split them.)

Ludwig followed, sliding into the door after Feliciano and the blond were already clunking up the metal staircase. He was quiet, making sure to place each foot down softly and keep to the side so they didn't see him or hear him and his breath was ever so soft even though his heart hammered. He saw them veer off the staircase at the third floor and did the same, seeing them go into one of the only three apartments on the floor.

Now, Ludwig wasn't nosy, and he didn't invade peoples' privacy or really do anything he shouldn't. But when he approached the apartment door and found it still sitting open just a bit, the poor state of it causing it not to spring back closed all the way, he found that he was thinking that this was lucky. But he didn't go in, didn't even open the door more. No, he just listened, because he could hear Feliciano's voice, then a voice that he assumed belonged to the blond he was with, then Antonio's voice, another deep voice with a more prominent Italian accent, and . . . Gilbert's voice.

This was an interesting development, he though, crossing his arms and leaning against the outside wall right beside the door. Basically, all he heard was idle chatter and shifting on what he assumed were their couches and chairs, and he suddenly felt a pang in his chest because Feliciano didn't sound sad at all and Gilbert was there and not saying a word about anything and worse yet, sounded like he'd been around them all for a very long time. This hurt more than Feliciano's anger at him.

But he held himself, listening some more as the deep Italian voice started speaking, and raised an eyebrow at how he cursed every five seconds and seemed to quite dislike Antonio. The Spaniard, Ludwig could tell, was trying to get on the Italian's good side and etcetera, and overall it sounded like a rather normal get together, aside from the fact that he was still confused as to why Gilbert was there and what was really going on. But what happened next made his heart drop from where it had been thudding in his throat down into his stomach, causing the acid to burn at him.

"Get the hell off of me stupid bastard!"

It was the Italian, and the stupid bastard was quite obviously Antonio from what Ludwig could hear. But then Gilbert spoke, and Ludwig's brain went from firing at all circuits, to shorting out from confusion.

"Geez Lovino, couldn't you be a bit nicer to your boyfriend?"

Lovino. That was Feliciano's brother. Who was supposed to be in the hospital, unable to walk around or even leave the damned place. Ludwig was confused, oh so very confused and he wasn't sure what possessed him to stand from the wall and push the door to the apartment over, unaware of just how horrible what he was doing was. When he went through the foyer, he was glad to see that no one was facing him and were all occupied. Not like it mattered, as he cleared his throat to alert them of his presence and as soon as Gilbert and Feliciano, who were sat together in a single arm chair, looked up at him, he felt like he could cry.

They were friends, this whole time, they were friends and Gilbert was always with them and never once helped fix things. He didn't even tell him he knew these people! What hurt the most though, was that Feliciano had been laughing and smiling and everything like he wasn't even upset, and if he wasn't upset why wouldn't he answer his calls?

"Gilbert. What is going on?"

Just then . . . his voice trembled, everything trembled, even his heart. The look in those ruby eyes in front of him was one of a thousand apologies and a whole whirlwind of emotion and upset, and Ludwig couldn't find it in himself to be angry at his brother, not even for a moment. So when the albino stood and walked past him to leave, he didn't stop him. He didn't even move. No, he just looked at Feliciano, heart shattering and he could swear, oh did he swear it, it was audible in the tiny room, where Antonio stared at him with disdain and Francis and Lovino looked at him with confusion and slight annoyance. Feliciano was the only one who was looking at him with sadness, and . . . slight fear.

But that didn't stop him from stepping forward and grabbing the little Italian's wrist, pulling him easily from his seat and towards the door, a cursing Lovino and Antonio being held back by the blond. Ludwig could tell that the man understood, at least a little, that Ludwig wasn't here to hurt Feliciano or even take him anywhere, just to talk. He could see it in his eyes as they passed each other.

Once they were outside in the hallway, Ludwig turned towards Feliciano and stared down at him, forcing his face to completely relax so he didn't look like he was angry. He had a habit of scowling, Gilbert had told him.

"Feliciano . . . I've called you so many times, your service was cut, I looked for you everywhere and Antonio is royally pissed at me and I don't know why. What did I do? Why did you just leave me like that? I was just trying to help you, and you got angry at me."

Feliciano was staring at his hands that trembled in front of him, balling around each other and fingers carding together before sliding apart, his mannerisms screaming nervousness. Ludwig could very well understand, because he was nervous too. But he wanted answers. Then, something he didn't expect happened, and Feliciano started crying. Really crying, like he'd watched someone die.

"It hurt to be around you when you were being so nice to me and I was . . . using you."

"You were not using me, I offered those things to you."

Feliciano shook his head, wiping at his eyes and shifting his feet uncomfortably.

"N-No, no, you offered me paints. But when my brother found out that you just handed money over, he . . . he told me that I had to make it so you would offer to help pay my bills. I lied to you . . . about so many things."

"What . . . what did you lie about?"

"Lovino isn't in the hospital, as you saw. He's well now, he has been for a year. Gilbert and Antonio knew but . . . I made them lie for me. I work at the club that Francis owns to help, and we live in this crappy apartment but still can barely afford it and food and utilities and the hospital bills, so . . . he had me get you to help pay for things . . . And I got so mad on Monday because I felt like a horrible person and you were offering to pay for another thing and I just . . ."

Ludwig's blood was boiling, and had he been sober and rational, he might not have been quite as angry, and he might have been able to calm Feliciano down, and he might not have royally fucked up even more. But . . . somewhere in his mind, he wanted to do this, wanted to cut this off. Because a liar is a liar and he didn't tolerate it.

"You lied to me, Feliciano. You . . . how dare you use me."

"Ludwig I-"

"No. You could have just asked, but you used me and lied, and you made me . . . You made me . . . Never mind. I'm sorry, but please continue to stay out of my life. You may come pick your paints and other things up tomorrow, but then please leave."

With that, he was done discussing, done trying, and done listening to this hurtful garbage. He'd been fucked over and hurt and he was absolutely done and he wouldn't listen to it anymore. He turned on a heel and walked back down the hall, down the stairs, and out into the humid night where he fought the tears because those along with the sticky sweat that plastered his bangs to his forehead, he would have felt twice as disgusting as he already did.

He walked back home, because Gilbert had already left and probably taken the car and he didn't have the money for a cab or bus. Besides, the time alone was nice, even though he'd be alone when he got home, because out here he could think without feeling isolated by his house and the walls and the scent of Feliciano's presence that somehow still lingered in the kitchen.

He eventually got there, though, climbing up the stairs to get in the shower and put on some pajamas before going to bed. He cried again, for hours until he could sleep, because he had never been lied to and hurt by someone he cared about, not even Gilbert. His brother had always been ever so honest and though it was sometimes annoying, Ludwig immensely appreciated it because he knew, always knew, that he would be told the truth and would never be screwed over by his brother. It was nice to have someone like that.

Even though Gilbert had lied this once, though, Ludwig wasn't mad at him. He could understand how being the middle man like that could be confusing and how Gilbert had probably felt so stuck because he wanted to help his brother but couldn't give out information about Feliciano when he didn't want it given out. But Feliciano, yes, Ludwig was angry with him, more like shot down and bleeding from the heart at just how quick he had lied and used him for money. It hurt, because even though Ludwig had been trying not to let himself admit it and had thought how stupid it was to think this so soon, he knew for a fact that he was so deeply and painfully in love with that boy. He didn't care about clichés. He didn't care that Feliciano's life was a whirlwind of bad things. He didn't care that Feliciano had problems. He'd loved him, he still loved him, but he knew now that it wouldn't happen because he couldn't trust him.

Yet, he still missed him. He missed his little feet on his hardwood floor, the way he mixed pancake batter while sitting on the counter even though Ludwig told him not to, especially when he wasn't wearing pants. He missed Feliciano's voice and his laugh and his hair with that curl that Ludwig had tried to make sit down over and over and given up. He missed the way he'd bounced in his seat like a child and sung in Italian and cranked the car radio up to inhumane volumes and basically just screamed the words until Ludwig would sing along too. It was all absolutely immeasurably beautiful and it would never be Ludwig's again. I couldn't.

So now, he just wanted to sleep, but couldn't. He couldn't stop crying, couldn't stop thinking, and he just gave up after a while and opted to turn the TV in his bedroom on and watch awful 3am sitcoms. It eventually rolled around to be the next morning, and Ludwig still hadn't gotten up for more than the bathroom and to get a beer and a snack. He just wasn't himself anymore, and he just hoped that by Monday he could pull himself up and get back into his regular routine.

But that was a problem, because before, he had no problem with his tedious routine and day to day similarities. But now that there had been a disruption, and he'd had a taste of what his life could be, even if it had only been for a couple of days, he didn't want that life anymore. He wanted his life with Feliciano back, because it was starting to be the best life. The best time he'd had in years, in ever.

He couldn't have it though, and throughout the morning, he only accomplished a shower, some breakfast, and leaving a note for Feliciano that the door was unlocked in case he decided to come get his paints that day. He ignored Gilbert's phone calls, only sending him a text to let him know that, no, he wasn't mad at him but he didn't want to talk and to please leave him alone. But he still got another phone call, and this time a voicemail from his brother telling him that he'd be at his boyfriend's house a few streets over if he needed anything, to which he just rolled his eyes and shut his phone off.

He spent the rest of the day just laying in bed and watching movies, a few of which made him want to claw his eyes out at the cheesiness because no, things never happened like that! Life wasn't a love story, and people don't get their lover at the end. It doesn't happen like that all the time.

At one point, he heard the front door open and shut, and he immediately turned the volume on the TV up so he didn't have to hear Feliciano milling about downstairs because he knew that's who it was. But his hopes were smothered when he heard pitter pattering footsteps coming up the stairs, down the hall and then stop at his door.

"Ludwig . . . can we please talk?"

No. No they couldn't.

"Ludwig please, I'm sorry . . . I didn't want it to get so far . . ."

Then why did he let it? Why? It was all Ludwig wanted to ask, but he didn't.

"Please . . . I didn't think . . . I didn't plan on feeling so . . ."

So what? So much like a liar? Like a cheat? Like a horrible person? He should have thought of that before he used him.

Ludwig heard a sigh, a sniffle, and the shifting of Feliciano who was obviously leaning against the door.

"I'll leave then . . . I'm really sorry Ludwig . . ."

Oh, Ludwig thought, he's crying now. Somewhere in his mind, Ludwig felt smug, like Feliciano deserved to cry after what he did. But no, he knew that was wrong because such a beautiful face shouldn't cry no matter what and Ludwig was finding it harder and harder to be mad. That didn't mean he wasn't still crushed, however, so he stayed put until the front door shut, and even then, he just sunk into his covers more. He wasn't sure what else to do with himself.