((Fellow readers who brighten my day with your comments: I am so sorry for this delay. I wrote this ages ago but my beta has abandoned me to go and study :( and so, rather than leave you on the edge of your seats, I opted to go down the dangerous, terrifying path of the non-beta'd chapter. So here you are. ))

Ludwig is outside, his fingers buried deep into his coat pockets in an attempt to stop them from dropping off his hands. He can't help but think about earlier: the brief moment of Feli's discomfort.

He's amazed that Feli, who he hasn't known for very long, had the bravery to tell him about a past he clearly regrets. What's more, he feels weirdly comforted knowing that this colourful and insane man who plummeted into his life has his own past burdens. Somehow, knowing that Feli's made mistakes makes him more human in his mind, like suddenly Ludwig's gaping imperfections don't make him the lesser man in the relationship, because Feli isn't perfect either, which is a little fucked up, but he's used to that.

He spots Feli coming out to join him, warmth and Antonio's voice following him as he opens the door. He's aware that they've had a few bottles of wine and a lot of food, and should probably walk it off. Besides, he's not done with the Italian's company.

'Shall we walk a bit? I know it's cold but…' He says.

'That sounds lovely.'

They amble aimlessly through cobbled, empty streets. The shops are all shut and vacant whilst the cold darkness settles over the city. It's gloriously quiet and free of overwhelming numbers of people. Feli's bubbling voice rings beautifully in this empty stage. His laughter echoes off the buildings and Ludwig loves the sound of it. He could just sit and listen to the Italian ramble on and on. He doesn't even have to say anything, which is so nice for once.

They end up on a small pedestrian bridge that crosses a canal squashed amongst some old buildings. With the streetlights casting their glow, it's rather romantic. (He's never liked romances. He can't help but like the hazy light of the lamps though. It's comforting.)

'…and I said to the idiot, that's not a Monet. It doesn't even have his signature in the corner! And this guy actually took about five minutes to figure out that therefore it couldn't even be the real deal. On top of that, we actually brought him to the gallery with the real painting, and he was staring right at it. Even then, he wouldn't believe it!'

Ludwig smiles at that. 'Some people are truly idiots.'

'Yes they are.' The Italian won't take his eyes off his mouth. 'You know, Ludwig, I like it when you smile. I really do. It suits you, did you know that?'

Feli turns Ludwig's face towards the streetlight to inspect it further. He's standing so close.

'I… thank you.'

'I meant what I said ages ago, frowning is bad for the skin. I mean, look at these stress lines carved into your face. It makes you look very expressive, I'm sure Michelangelo would have loved you. Strong features and muscles make for great models, especially for sculptors. And you are certainly well defined….' His gaze flicks briefly down Ludwig's body in appreciation.

The german squirms under his gaze, unsure how to handle forward italians.

Feli brings one hand up to trace the stress lines that mark the german's face, he then brings both up to cup his jaw lightly.

Slowly, and with great caution, Feli aligns his lips with Ludwig's. He leaves a slither of space between them, eyes wide, and watching, as if afraid the German will startle and run away. Ludwig's breaths are fast, and this close, they breathe in each other's air. Ludwig looks into those wide eyes, pupils blown wide. He's aware of the lack of space between them, almost touching, the Italian's body so close to his.

He's completely frozen as Feli leans a millimetre closer, connecting their lips in the lightest of brushes, before pulling back. It happens so briefly he's unsure it happened at all. He can't think over the roar of his own blood thundering through his brain.

It's like an all-system failure. His mental capacities completely malfunction. The whole glorious mess of time and space melt into nothing for the briefest of sparks.

Feli can feel the painful moment of re-ignition. The cogs in Ludwig's brains restarting. System reboot. He watches the german blink down at him as his eyes refocus. The dazed look on Ludwig's face morphs into something that he hates seeing. It looks a lot like terror.

'Feli…I…' words, what are they?

His body is tense. Feli can see the visible tension in his muscles.

'Ludwig?' The italian is terrified. He's overstepped a line and he hates himself.

The german's features express his conflicting thoughts.

Finally, finally, he turns away so that his emotions are hidden, as if it revealing anything would be unacceptable.

'I'm sorry, I just…'

And he's off.

Walking with a pace that says so clearly not to follow.

And Feli is left crippled with the heavy blow of another rejection, another failure, watching Ludwig leave.