"When I met you, you turned my world upside-down. Everything I thought was true became lies, and lies became truth. But that's not necessarily a bad thing."

The sky roared with the sound of gunfire. Screams mixed with frightened sobbing as the wounded were left to die on the bloodstained battlefield. People were falling, shot down by their own, by people who were just like them in all ways but their ideals. It was sick. A lone man chased after the enemy soldiers, passing corpse after corpse. He'd recognized some of them. They were decent men. His friends. They didn't deserve the deaths they were handed. But that was what was expected of a soldier. They were to give their lives to a higher power, no matter if they deserved it or not.

It was all sick.

The man roared as he fired his weapon, shooting one of the enemies straight between his shoulders. The man barely had time to acknowledge his kill before a sharp pain tore through his thigh. He fell into one of his enemies, unable to stay upright. They both dropped their weapons as they fought each other like animals, ripping and tearing at one another, driven only by the savage instinct to survive.

And when the survivor limped off, leaving the body of a man just like him in every way except his ideals, he felt sick.

…

It was the sunlight warming up his face that awoke him. The man opened his blue eyes drowsily. His eyelids felt heavy. When he tried to move his arm, he noticed it felt heavy, too. Why did was his body so sluggish? Suddenly growing concerned, he forced himself to sit upright, instinctively closing his eyes at the glaring light. The bed underneath him creaked as he moved around. That's when it occurred to him.

Bed.

Sunlight.

Warmth.

With a frantic motion born from fear, the man flew out of the bed and looked around. Where was he? Where was he?! He had never set foot in this room. He had never laid eyes on any of its possessions. Had he been captured? It was unlikely, considering the place he was in. Any enemy of his would've either shot him dead or taken him in for interrogation. Which wouldn't be as nice as waking up in a cozy room on his own, he knew that much. So…where did that leave him?

There was only one way to find out.

The man reached for his pistol, but found he no longer had it. He looked around before grabbing a pocket knife that was lying on top of a bookshelf in the corner. The sight of the knife made his head swim, but he pushed the annoyance away and limped to the door. A shock of pain flew through his wrist when he tried to turn the doorknob, and with a grunt of surprise, he remembered it was probably sprained. But there was no time for that now. He tore the door open and surveyed his surroundings, before slinking down the hallway to where he figured the front door would be. He held the pocket knife ready, crouched low, eyes alert. He traveled around the house for just a few minutes before the front door was within his sights. He could make it. He would run to the door and get out of here and figure out where "here" was. He would go home.

But where is that?

The man shook his thoughts away and ran. He was almost there, he was going to make it, he was-

WHAM!

Dizzy. Hurt. Confused. He was face down on the ground, but it wasn't the ground, because it was soft. What had he run into? The pocket knife was thrown to the side just out of his reach, but he was too disoriented to care. Why did he hurt so much?

"V-Ve…good morning."

The man froze. He opened his eyes and lifted his head up, and was met with the most beautiful pair of bright brown eyes he had ever seen. His heart tripped over itself – he couldn't move, he was frozen, and it took reminding himself where he was lying to force himself into action. He threw himself off the brown-eyed man in a frenzy, retreating a few feet with panicked breaths. He clutched at his chest with his uninjured hand as he desperately tried to regain control of himself. The brown eyed man, however, stood up and smiled as he looked down on the blonde.

"Ve, I see your wounds are doing a little better! That's really good!"

The man looked down at himself and was shocked for the umpteenth time that morning. Bandages were wrapped around his abdomen and arm, along with any other nicks or scratches he had sustained in that battle. He couldn't see it, but he could also feel a bandage pressed around the bullet wound in his thigh. Looking up at the man above him, he asked, "How long was I out?"

The man made that curious little "ve" sound as he thought to himself. "I dunno…three days? –ish?"

Three days. "Verdammt!" he yelled, hitting the ground beside him. He instantly regretted it, as he suddenly remembered that his damn wrist was sprained, and he swore under his breath and curled his arm under his chest as he bent over, closing his eyes in pain.

The light brush of fingertips on his arm made him stop and look upwards. The man's concerned gaze bore into him, but he inched backward regardless.

"Your wrist is hurt, isn't it? I would've helped but I wasn't sure…" The man's auburn hair fell into his eyes as he lowered his gaze. "You were so beaten up, I wasn't sure if you would be okay. Sono così felice che tu stia bene. Non so cosa avrei fatto se tu morissi…"

While he couldn't understand Italian, he did register that the brunette was starting to cry, and felt an odd sense of guilt rush over him. Gently, so as not to scare the smaller man, he reached out with his good arm and pat his shoulder awkwardly. "Um…well, I'm okay, so. Thanks."

The smaller Italian sniffled and looked into the blonde's face, then held out a shaky hand. "My name is Feliciano. Feliciano Vargas."

Still wary, the blonde refused Feliciano's hand and instead used the wall to stand up. His first thought was that he shouldn't give this man his name, that it was dangerous. But, Feliciano had been nothing but kind and emotional so far, so…"Ludwig Beillschmidt."

Feliciano didn't seem offended in the slightest by Ludwig's manners, instead continuing to wear that goofy smile as he watched the other man. "Ludwig, huh? It's nice to meet you, Ludwig!"

Ludwig watched this strange man before him with a mixture of curiosity and confusion. He seemed so nice, so innocent. If this was a ploy, it was one of the best he'd seen yet. But, where was the logic in that? Although, Ludwig had never talked with someone like him before. Not someone who so genuinely seemed to care. Everyone he met would kill for something. It was just a matter of time until Ludwig found out what that was for Feliciano.

Feliciano fidgeted uncomfortably before his eyes settled on the pocket knife lying some feet away. His eyes widened in surprise and he turned to look back at Ludwig again. "You took my knife, Ludwig? That wasn't nice. You know my brother gave that to me?"

"My big brother Lovino gave this to me. He said I should have something to defend myself with if I was ever attacked or something. I don't like it though. I don't want to hurt people. So I'm glad I can use this to help you instead."

Ludwig gasped as the memory came back to him. That's right, he had been injured, and trapped, but this man saved him from the net with the knife and – "You're the man from the woods."

Feliciano nodded, the odd curl on the side of his head bouncing slightly. "You tried to run away from me as soon as I freed you though. I was really worried when you passed out like that." He nibbled on his lower lip, as if to hold in tears. "Please, don't run away while you're hurt. That's how people…"

Ludwig nodded to show he understood. He knew he had to leave, but for now, he supposed he had to say whatever would keep the Italian in front of him from breaking down. "Alright, don't – don't cry. I'll be careful, okay?"

"Okay."

An awkward silence fell over the two as they tried to come up with something else to say, but for the moment, found nothing. Suddenly, the smell of something burning wafted into the room, and Feliciano jumped. "VE! I forgot about the pasta!" with a start, he ran into the room he came from earlier (when Ludwig had run into him like a charging bull) forgetting completely about the wounded man leaning against his wall in his hallway.

Ludwig stared after Feliciano for a moment before sighing and walked closer to the kitchen entrance. A glare of metal caught the edge of his vision, and Ludwig turned to find the pocket knife still lying uselessly on the floor. He bent down and picked it up, examining it for the very first time. It was a simple thing, nothing flashy or special about it. It was just a simple pocket knife. Slightly disappointed, Ludwig stuffed it in his pocket and entered the kitchen, where Feliciano was frantically trying to save what was left of his pasta. The Italian jumped from place to place, turning the cooking fires off, stirring the bowl, anything that needed to be done. He barely noticed the taller man had come in the room until he almost ran into him, which then led to muttering multiple apologies and trying not to agitate him much. Then Feliciano paused, as if a thought had occurred to him.

"Ve, Ludwig, you must be really hungry! Why don't you eat lunch with me?"

"No, I'm fine," Ludwig said, stepping back a little. He was about to say something else when his stomach growled loudly. Ludwig felt his face flush with embarrassment as Feliciano simply stared, dumbstruck, at his abdomen area.

"Heehee, well, it seems your tummy has something else to say, Ludwig! So come on, sit down!" Feliciano ushered Ludwig to the dining room table and pulled out a chair for him. "The pasta's a little overcooked so I hope it'll be okay." At Ludwig's lack of response, Feliciano left quickly to get everything set up. He returned with two plates full of creamy, steaming pasta, and the scent that drifted up to Ludwig's nose made his mouth water. Feliciano flashed another pleased smile and said, "Eat up!"

Ludwig watched Feliciano hesitantly before picking up his fork. Normally, he wouldn't dare eat anything he hadn't made himself. In his line of work, poisoned food and drink were by no means uncommon, so one had to be very particular about where they ate and with whom. But dammit, Ludwig hadn't eaten in days and if he didn't eat this now he'd go mad. Still watching Feliciano's face for any change in expression, he raised the food to his mouth and took a bite.

He gasped.

Verdammt (German): Dammit

Sono così felice che tu stia bene. Non so cosa avrei fatto se tu morissi (Italian): I'm so glad you are okay. I don't know what I would do if you died.

So, here's the second chapter...I know it kind of sucks, but I had to cut it off before the next part due to viewpoint and word count.

So we finally learn Ludwig's name, but not much else! Why is he so secretive? What is "his line of work"? Who knows? I'll bet his belly does~

Anyway, please, don't let this bad chapter discourage you from reading! I'm going to start writing the next chapter immediately, so stay tuned!