I'm sorry for the delay! A nasty thing called IB came along and whisked me away in its sharp, painful fangs, but I escaped! And have returned as promised.
Ludwig really wakes up when Feli loudly closes the door on his way out. He would be annoyed about that usually, but he knows the Italian didn't mean to wake him up. He's probably unused to other people being in his little flat.
As he gains more consciousness, the cosy flat drips itself into focus. It's a confused shamble of cramped furniture and used paint supplies. The sofa is wedged haphazardly amongst paint pots that litter the floor, so that it is less of a floor and more of a dangerous-stepping-stone-game-of- find-some-actual-carpet. Half finished projects lay strewn about - the beginnings of a clay figure is left abandoned on the dining table, several used paintbrushes have been taped together to form a lampshade for the ceiling light bulb, about thirty old jars line the top of a bookshelf - jars in which candles have been placed and Feli has delicately painted the outside of the glass.
Endless books on Art in the City and Your Guide to Sculpture and the Works of Van Gogh are wedged into the abused bookshelf. It looks about to topple over, like most of the scruffy furniture. The sofa cover has been patched up in several places with mismatching burberry squares of cloth. Upon closer inspection, it is revealed that despite the odd choice of fabric, the stitching is perfect.
He moves into the kitchen. (With great care not to knock anything over). It's very small, and he's not even sure if there is a sink under that pile of dishes. Even so, there's food everywhere. Whilst at his own home he keeps the bare minimum - some bread, milk, cereal, coffee - here he finds cumin, oregano, cinnamon and paprika in rows of elegantly labeled jars. There's about twelve different types of pasta lining one shelf and rows of differently shaped pots and strange looking devices that he assumes (hopes) are also for cooking.
He can't remember the last time he found himself in another's home. He feels awkward and too large for the dishevelled little burrow of an apartment, and experience has told him that he should hate the mess and chaos. But at the same time, he doesn't hate it. Which is something. He wonders if Feli is a good cook - he probably is.
Suddenly he's thinking about watching Feli at work in his little kitchen. He's thinking about shared meals with the Italian and discussing the pros and cons of cooking with lots of butter or oil. He's thinking about coming up behind the shorter man while he's at the frying pan and resting his head on his shoulder while whispering 'Dinner smells great today' into his ear. He's thinking about shared glasses of wine late in the evening and Feli's gorgeous laughter filling the cosy home.
Where did this guy even come from?
Ludwig can't deal with this many sentimental thoughts all of a sudden, where did those even come from? He decides he ought to get out of this, this - someone else's house. He feels out of place all of a sudden and he doesn't belong here. Besides it's Tuesday and he has work this afternoon so he really ought to go home and change and…he'd slept over at Feli's place so his clothes are still rumpled.
Oh God, he'd slept over! That was definitely overstepping boundaries right? Feli probably wanted to take this slow, had he gone too far? No, no, it was probably fine. Probably. He grabs his coat and checks his appearance in the mirror next to the door - he's blushing furiously. He curses and wills the blood to go away already. He shrugs into his coat, cursing his lack of umbrella and wondering whether or not he brought his hat - almost looking for them both, but of course, this isn't his apartment.
He turns to check over the cramped apartment before he leaves, and his eyes fall upon his makeshift bed - the sofa. He smiled this morning. When Feli woke him up.
When was the last time he smiled? Certainly before…before everything fell apart. Before Feli…he probably hadn't even spoken to anyone in he asks himself - Where did this guy even come from?
He has too many questions and thoughts he's not comfortable with. So he turns to the door, and heads out. Judging by the dark sky outside, it will probably rain. He doesn't have a fucking umbrella.
Beta'd by my favourite Issy who I love forever for not giving up on me.
Thoughts, comments? They will be much appreciated. :)