Updates should be more frequent now, I do apologise for the short hiatus!

It's been 30 minutes since Ludwig left. Stormed off. Ran away. Freaked out.

Feliciano had been reduced to throwing the worst, dirtiest, Italian swears that he could think of at the empty canal. The murky water beneath him, which he has just named a 'whore of a motherfucker piece of ass-shit', glares at him dully in response to his verbal abuse. The 'cunt licking backwards son of a paedophile' streetlamps continue their steady, warm glow. Despite being called 'butt-fucking sluts from a dirty kitchen', the cobblestones beneath his feet do not change in any way. He's not sure what he was expecting.

After a few minutes of cursing, an angry, sleep-roused local finally throws open a window and tells him to shut the fuck up. Feliciano is not a complete ass, so he does as he's told. He feels guilty for rousing half the neighbourhood in the first place - even if he can't sympathise. He sleeps through everything.

Shoulders hunched to the brutal wind picking up, he begins the walk home which, thankfully, is not far. If he were a different sort of man he would want to punch something right now, but he's not really the sort for violence so instead he has an irrational itch to squeeze something - maybe ketchup bottles, or paint tubes, or warm clay. He just wants to clench up his hands and watch the mess - be it ketchup or paint - build up irresponsibly all over the floor. Perhaps a certain German's floor.

He wants to hurl eggs and green paint and printing ink at the German's most prized possessions until they are tattered and unusable and worthless. He wants to redecorate the German's kitchen with american foodstuffs. He wants to clothe the German's apartment in ugly, clashing shades of dark yellow and bright violet. In many ways, maybe he does want to punch something.

But he would never do any of these things. And as he's walking up the stairs and shoving his way through the stiff door and peeling off frozen layers of clothing, all those angry thoughts just...dissipate.

His mess of a home is empty, save him. But his mind is helpfully supplying the image of a large, curled up body on his sofa.

What has he done?

He normally revels in the cosy-quietness of his little cocoon, but right now not even his cup-holder-figurine project can cheer him up. (But seriously, cup holders. But with little people holding up your cup like a trophy. Or being squished by the cup like ants. How is that not fantastic?). Instead he drags himself into the kitchen and pulls out a bottle of his favourite, Southern Red. The 2001 Terre Brune is one of those beautiful finds that he can only afford because of his Uncle's glorious and regular wine discounts. The luxury.

The bottle-cork he places in that small box above the wine cupboard reserved specifically for bottle-corks is nearing it's brim. If there was ever a prize for person most guilty of hoarding seemingly useless things, he would win it. He has an empty toilet roll collection, plastic bottle collection, bottle top collection, spare button collection, and whatever else. It's for some future art project, or so he always tells himself.

And then he's back to that familiar place: his back pressed into the sofa cushions, one hand cradling a glass of wine like the precious sustenance it is and the other clutching the bottle as a Russian would clutch his vodka. He tries not to call this position his 'pensive state' but the name keeps coming back, despite his frustration.

Everyone has a spot where they sit to think. They must, surely? Feli's not sure how he could handle being the only one who does this. Surely other people must have something; a window, a balcony or back garden. Something. Doesn't everyone need time to sift through the mess that is themselves?

He's spent so long trying to comprehend what he is. What he wants to be. And right now he's fighting off that familiar wave of insecurity that follows a failure as spectacular and embarrassing as Ludwig's departure. He hasn't known the man long at all. How did he get so attached, so fast, and not realise? He wonders if he'll ever understand himself.

What astounds him is how much it hurts. He lets the pain manifest itself in the loud, pathetic sobs that he tries so hard not to expel in public - while he knows he's extroverted, there's a line to how much of a person people ever want to witness. It's ok here though, in the comfort of his own space. It's not that he was ridiculously attached because well, it hasn't been long, but it's just... that this one felt right. Easy. And he's gone and done something - he doesn't even know what this time. All he can think about is Ludwig tensing like a deer in the headlights under his touch. Those muscles geared for flight - to get as far from Feli as possible.

He's been such an idiot! Wasn't it clear by the difficulty of drawing out a smile from the man that he wasn't too big on people? That usually goes hand in hand with dislike of physical contact, damn - Feli didn't even think about that. What if Ludwig doesn't talk to him again? That's it, their brief, wonderful acquaintance is already over. How many times has his own stupidity cost him a relationship? Let's see:

Francis. Gorgeous, brilliant-fuck suit making Francis. Beyond model Francis. God, but that man was so brilliant in bed that Feli had been blind to all the pain that relationship had really been causing him. He's always been sappy - he likes the hand holding, and the post-sex cuddling, and the stupid valentines day chocolates dusted with glitter. He's always loved too hard, and too fast. The combination of those two weaknesses and Francis shattered him senseless when he was left alone. And why? According to Francis's letter: 'Mon ami, you're just too involved. I can't take this kind of commitment. I'm leaving you, thanks for the great sex :) p.s. dw, you'll find someone great eventually.' What a prick, too chicken to even break up in person, instead just leaving a note. Prick.

And after, how long had he hurt for? He hated himself for how miserable such an arsehole had made him. One night stands hurt far worse, even the occasional orgy hadn't cheered him up, simply because no one could live up to that fucking suit-makers skill.

There was Roderich. The musician. God, but it was nice, finally a gentleman. And the artist in Feli just couldn't help the deliciousness of a musician dressed that well. Rodi had been good for him, at the time anyway. But it was like they were two pieces of two different puzzles. The didn't fit together, not really. Rodi huffed a little in contempt when Feli had brought him back to the apartment for the first time, like the cosy mess wasn't good enough for his standards (How dare he insult the apartment that way!). And even though he treated him so well - which was exactly what he needed, after Francis - he was frustratingly closeted about being gay, refusing to go on a date with Feli anywhere they might be seen by one of Rodi's "distinguished" and pretentious (homophobic) friends.

How long had that hurt for - after? He lost count. Even though it hadn't even felt right, and he was tired of being treated like some inferior, less educated being, he still craved late night piano sonatas and Rodi's place, or delicate (frustratingly chaste) kisses on the cheek before bedtime. (Never in the same bed, mind you.)

And way way back there was Arthur - his first. He had thought that was love too. They were crazy together. Arthur had taught him about sex and alcohol and hair-dying. He'd shown Feli the finer intricacies of punk music and tattoos. (Feli is so glad he never gave in and actually got one.) Their relationship was based on quick, rough fucks after school and Arthur making him listen to new music.

But he definitely regrets that first one. Because Arthur was the one who led him to the world of drugs and hardcore sex, and Feli had been so desperate for contact, and filled with teenage hormones. And he knows that he's always been kinky, Arthur and his happy pills were just the gateway to a long spiral down down down.

He doesn't like it when his thoughts stray there. He's so proud that he's moved on from that - he has a job he loves, and he might actually get that exhibition he's always dreamed of soon.

He spends the rest of the evening trying not to hate himself, and trying desperately not to let his thoughts slip back to the dark oblivion that had been his adolescence.

The next day is a Monday and he's so grateful that he has a full three days before the possibility of seeing that frustrating German again. He doesn't know what he'll do, part of him wants to be swallowed whole by the polished, marble floors of the museum corridor beneath his feet.

Will Ludwig even be there on Thursday? What if he bails his shift? What if he quits his job so he never has to see Feli again? What if Feli has crossed some uncrossable line that has irreparably damaged this relationship?

He shudders at the thought. He really, really likes this one. God dammit, how does he keep getting so attached so quickly? A jolt of queasiness runs through him at the thought.

It's going to be a long day. His steps echo sadly down the empty corridor; no one ever comes on a Monday anyway. What is he even doing here.

Tuesday night he can't bear his own thoughts any longer. A whole day of no communication with the German after a brutal embarrassment - is that a bad sign?

He has too many questions, so he goes over to Antonio's to see if he can get some free booze.

Obviously, alcohol is the answer.

Lovino's Italian Restaurant glows warmly at him from the second he turns the corner. His taste buds can actually anticipate his favourite aubergine tagliatelle, whilst his stomach is dreading the scolding Antonio will probably give him for losing that damn fine German piece of ass.

Through his supernatural senses, Antonio can tell it's Feli as soon as he walks in through the door, even though he's in the kitchen and therefore cannot see who has entered. He calls out:

"Feliciano, hermano!" And emerges from the kitchen. "How wonderful to see you again so soon eh? Come back for more wine! You've got to stop abusing my stock like this, Feli, you've got to stop!" But he's smiling his usual smile as he clasps Feli in a firm hug. It is then that he notices the gloomy demeanour pervading Feli's aura.

"Eh? Feli, you don't look too hot, no? Come on let's move upstairs."

"Thank you fratello. I think I need a drink."

"Ah Feli, I know you better than that! What you need, is a good chat. Not a drink."

They move upstairs and Feli sits on the table while Antonio rolls his eyes and takes a chair.

"We have these chairs for a reason, mi amigo."

"But Antonio I'm too 'indie' for that." This gains him a long suffering eye roll, and a cringe.

"Oh no, am I too 'mainstream' for you?" That gets Antonio a small smile from the Italian. "Now tell me, what is it that has you all doom and gloom? Is it that lovely blond you brought last time, the muscled one?"

It's like the floodgates opening.

"Oh Antonio, I think I've scared him away. I'm just so frustrated because I really really liked this guy. Ok. I mean, I just shouldn't have done it, not so soon! It's just that he was so easy to be around, you know? Kind of like you and Lovino, he just clicks but I'm too scared to say it's certain because I always get too deep too fast and then I'm always surprised when they leave and angry at myself for how much it just hurts to be alone sometimes, and I just hate being alone some nights and last night was awful because I've lost another good one and Antonio, I don't know what to do here. With this. I mean, what if I never see him again and what if I've fucked up again just by being tactless. Oh god, just the look on his face, you should have seen him. He actually ran away from me and-"

"And you're being an idiot again Feli. Tell me what actually happened. I've met the guy and he's seems sane - therefore there's no way he would have run away for no reason, look just tell me what happened, ok?"

"Ok. Right. Ok. Well. Basically we were walking and we got to this canal thing and I thought it was the perfect moment to just, you know, lean in and kiss him I mean it was so romantic and perfect. But I guess I got it wrong. He just stiffened up completely against me and ran away. I don't mean just a, 'oh I need to go' but as in actually ran away from me, after I kissed him."

"Ah. I see."

"Yeah."

"Well."

"This is bad right?"

"I think it's actually not as bad as you think hermano."

"He ran away from me after I kissed him. How is that not bad?"

"He's quite a shy sort of guy right? And he's German. I heard that all of those people were emotionally constipated."

"Antonio! That's mean! ...But actually pretty accurate... I guess. What's your point."

"Well it seems to me like the guy's got some history. A look in his eyes. Daddy issues maybe?"

"Oi, not every homosexual has daddy issues, may I remind you."

"I know that! I didn't have any daddy issues."

"No need to rub it in!"

"Hey, your uncle Roma is so cool that he kind of makes up for all daddy issues."

"Antonio! Stop bringing up my uncle all the time, we're talking about Ludwig here and my guy troubles right now."

"Nothing you can say can stop your uncle being hot."

"Oh my god! Please stop with the crushing on my uncle it is weird and uncomfortable and can we please move back to the subject of Ludwig?"

"Ok, ok I'm sorry. Look I'm just saying that it really sounds like he panicked. And you didn't do anything wrong, any person would love to be kissed at a romantic time like that. I don't think he cringed because of you. I just think there's more going on here."

"Maybe you're right about all Germans being emotionally constipated."

"I am always right."

"You're often right. But not always."

"Aw, thanks for believing in me hermano!"

"Shut up. Where's the wine that I came for."

"God you're so demanding when you're grumpy, Feli."

"Wine?"

"Sounds like you need a glass. I'll go get you one. And it will be fine ok? Just give him a few days to get himself together."

Antonio gets up and traps Feli in another hug. The italian buries his head in the space between Antonio's head and shoulder for a few long moments, once again thanking God that he has Antonio as a friend. Talking to him feels like a breath of sanity.

"Thank you fratello."

"Any time hermano."

"Aubergine-"

"Tagliatelle? Of course. Give me 15 minutes, I'll go yell at Lovino, and be right back."

And Antonio leaves to trot down the stairs into the sounds of cooking and dining.

The dreaded Thursday finally rolls around, and Feli hates every step closer to the museum that he takes. He stops for his usual espresso at the 'artsy' little cafe two blocks from the apartment. He loves the place to pieces, mostly because of the mismatched furniture - he has a thing for mismatched furniture. Plus the staff are sweethearts who know exactly what he needs.

"Cappuccino this morning, Feliciano?"

"How long can you stretch out making a cappuccino?"

"Well if it's a reason to be late you're looking for, I could whip you up a weak, large chai latte that would take considerable time to enjoy...that would take longer."

"Rachel, you are an angel. Here. Take my money and help me waste my time."

Her tinkling laugh is then drowned out by the ping of the cashier machine (she had explained to him the importance of an old machine that could 'ping') and the fizz of the coffee making machine.

Despite the delay that the (absolutely delicious) chai latte adds, he still gets to work on time for the 11 o'clock tour, and it being a Thursday, there aren't that many people to show around. There's an elderly couple who he thinks are probably from the 'West Art Club' down the road, and a couple of art students from the University of the Arts across town. He knows both types and goes through the motions as per usual. He accurately predicts that the elderly couple would have a keener interest in the classics and more famous works, and that the two students would have a keener interest in the more modern halls and basically just stuff they hadn't already been taught in their own art history classes.

In short, all four people are rather good at asking questions and the tour has a satisfactory (and gloriously distracting) number of art debates. It's wonderful to have his mind taken off the building panic.

But alas, the end of the tour swings around, and he is alone again, with the empty corridor leading to the Statue Room right in front of him.

He's a complete coward. Because he goes straight out the front door without his stuff, without even saying anything to his boss or the receptionists, and walks briskly in no particular direction, trying desperately hard not to freak out.

Ludwig is right there. In that room. The statue room.

God, he's got to go and face the music. This is killing him.

What had Antonio said?

There's got to be a reason, and it's not his own fault that Ludwig ran away. He's got to know that they're alright because he can't let this one go.

And god the look on the damnable German's face when he had smiled that first time, hazy with sleep on Feli's couch.

With that image in mind, he turns 180 degrees and walks back into the museum, straight through to that same corridor, and then he's outside the door to the statue room.

Ludwig is right there. Looking pristine as ever in his guards uniform while he stands with his back pressed against the far wall. The German catches eyes with him from where he is completely frozen in the doorway. Oh god, but he's even more beautiful than Feli had remembered, and it's only been a few days! Who knew his memory was so bad.

He doesn't know what to do. He can't move at all. What was his plan again? Ludwig still isn't moving! What is he supposed to do! What is the standard protocol here? Where's Antonio's sanity when you need it?

Suddenly Ludwig's expression just sort of melts. His face shifts subtly, and for anyone else the changes would be too slight to constitute anything significant but Feli remembers the spaniard's words: 'emotionally constipated' and he knows that Ludwig must be struggling here too. His face flashes from concerned, to sympathetic, to determined in quick succession. Or at least, that's how Feli interprets it. Who knows what the (gorgeous) man is thinking.

Ludwig starts striding towards him suddenly. He's traversing the marble figures all around them and coming straight for Feli. He still can't move, is he supposed to? He's transfixed by the open look on the German's face.

The man is halfway across the room.

The man is two meters away now.

The man is one meter away.

He doesn't slow down.

He practically runs straight into Feli who is too surprised by the German's sudden proximity to do anything but gasp quickly before his mouth is roughly captured.

Ludwig's hands are tightly fisted in Feli's shirt so suddenly as he attempts to kiss the living daylights out of the shorter man. His mouth is hot and insistent and pressing open kisses to Feli's lips like he's dying and this is the only thing he's hanging on to.

After a moment of complete shock, Feli's arms wrap tightly around the blond's back to pull him in closer, pressing the length of their bodies together and groaning into his mouth, pushing up a little for better access so he can suck on the German's tongue.

Ludwig moves so that his hands are clutching the base of Feli's head as he licks into his mouth, groaning softly when Feli runs his teeth along Ludwig's bottom lip.

The two remain in a firm embrace of sorts as Feli turns his head to the side while they both breathe heavily.

"Well, fuck Ludwig. Warn a guy before you kiss him senseless why don't you."

"I'm not sorry."

They breathe heavily for a few more moments, still holding on to each other desperately.

Until they're interrupted by an echoing applause from the opposite doorway into the Statue room. With horror they spring apart from each other, each trying to hide how obviously debauched they are, and how… affected.

The two members of their only audience are none other than the elderly couple from Feli's earlier tour. As he sees and recognises them, the man gives a short wolf whistle. Glancing to his right, Feli does not think Ludwig could flush a darker shade than this. As it is, the German disappears out the doorway and out of sight, leaving Feli confused by the whole ordeal and at the mercy of their elderly audience. He envies the German's exit really, really badly.

"Mr. Tour Guide! That was quite a performance!"

"Oh, yes dear, I haven't seen a kiss like that in decades."

Feli stares at the floor beneath him, only praying for the marble swirls to become a void he can disappear in.

"Um…"

"Don't mind us! We'll be off now! Go after that dashing man!"

And with that, the elderly couple leave leaving Feliciano to wonder when the fuck did the universe decide to drop all this madness into his life?

I hope you loved reading this just as much as I enjoyed writing it! Follow, review, favourite - it all means a lot to me.