TRIGGER WARNINGS: none
It is Monday, 9:21 AM, three days, eight hours, and thirty-four minutes after It happened.
Feliciano has decided that they should go for a walk, and Ludwig can't find it in himself to argue. Gilbert and Lovino are at work, Ludwig— has decided that working from home is a better idea right now, and it's not tourist season yet so Feliciano can go missing for another day or two before Mrs. Karpusi wants him back. They have agreed, the four of them, that in the afternoon they will all go down to the police station to work out the prosecution and answer questions and make sure Ludwig doesn't freeze up the way he does when someone asks him too much about It because then It starts creeping back into his mind and he can't make It go away and he starts seeing—
Walk. Right. He can do that, it's just outside and he used to run every morning, this is usual. Simple. Nothing to be afraid of.
Ludwig's hands still shake as they tie his shoes, though. Weak, he thinks, and then tries to squash that thought and bury it deep.
"Ready to go?" Feliciano looks at him from where he's bouncing on the balls of his feet, and Ludwig nods. He knows Feliciano hasn't really gone outside— outside for a walk, not just to get somewhere— for a while, and he gets antsy if he's indoors for too long and whose fault is tha— no. Shut up.
Feliciano links their arms and they walk out the apartment door and then, a minute or two later, down the street. It's not full, but there are people milling around, and cars, and it looks... normal.
Ludwig takes deep breaths.
"I was thinking we could go to that little park off of Byron?" Feliciano looks up at him, breaking into a gentle trot. "Or do you just want to go around the block?"
"Park sounds nice."
There are people looking at him, he knows.
Feliciano keeps a steady pace, if slow, and occasionally points out a stray dogwalker or an interesting cloud, and Ludwig tries to focus on that instead of the stares.
The logical side of his mind says nobody's looking at you, you're overreacting.
The rest of his mind says yes, they're looking, and they know what happened somehow and you know what they're thinking. They're thinking stupid, stupid, didn't leave the bar with his friends, stupid, stayed and talked with people he didn't know too well, stupid, weak, didn't fight back, let them, must have wanted—
No!
But, the rest of his mind says, if you're thinking it, why shouldn't they? Why shouldn't they think you're weak and stupid, why shouldn't they think you wan—
Ludwig desperately tries to block out those voices, ignore the stares burning into his skin. Feliciano must have noticed the changes— the tension in his shoulders, the roughness of his breath, the way he's turned his head down to avoid seeing anyone— and looks up at him.
"Are you all right?"
Ludwig knows that the "I'm fine" he gives in reply is too fast, too obviously untrue, but he can't do anything about it and saying "No" will mean—
"Do you want to go back?"
—that Feliciano will be disappointed in him for not even being able to go outside, and Ludwig will be disappointed in himself, and the gentle squeeze Feliciano gives Ludwig's hand clears some of the voices away and gives his voice enough strength to say "No."
If he concentrates, concentrates on Feliciano's hand in his and the way the sidewalk feels under his shoes, and doesn't make eye contact, it's a little easier.
Feliciano guides them onward, and once they enter the park it's like all the stares are lifted from Ludwig— there's nobody here, and there's a stillness despite the honking cars, and then Feliciano flops down on the grass beneath a tree and Ludwig follows him.
"I think I'll go back to work tomorrow," Feliciano murmurs eventually. "Will you be okay?"
"Yes." Ludwig stares at the leaves wafting gently in the April air.
"Remember when we came here about a month after we got together and just laid around and talked?"
"Yes."
"And then when we said goodnight you kissed me, and it was the first time you ever had." Feliciano smiles distantly. "It was nice, even if you weren't good at it."
"Thanks?" Ludwig does remember, nerves in his stomach and how Feliciano's smile had broadened afterwards.
It's very calm here, maybe something in the green, but it seems to drain away the relentless voices, and Feliciano wiggles closer until they're side by side and mumbles "'M very glad you did," leaning his head on Ludwig's shoulder.
He says "So am I," and looks up at the green leaves.
It is Thursday, 1:06 PM, six days, thirteen hours, and eleven minutes after It happened.
It's hard. It's so hard.
Ludwig's started having flashbacks.
They're not incredibly common, and half the time they're nightmares so Feliciano's there at least, and he knows Ludwig and Gilbert started going over breathing-and-calming-down exercises, but they're there and Feliciano wishes he could just do magic and make them go away or go back in time and stop It from happening or make it be him and not Ludwig but he can't, he can't do anything but try and bring Ludwig back when they happen.
He has a tour group to lead through the museum, though, a high-school class, and he has to concentrate because yesterday he didn't and then he got upset and snapped at a bunch of second-graders. So stop thinking about Ludwig, get into the art-space, keep their attention you're good at that you're a people person, do your job.
He can't stop thinking about Ludwig, though, because last night was bad and Lovino had to move back out on Tuesday and Gilbert's job has odd hours and he doesn't know what to do, he knows what the books say but he still can't make it better and he really wants to yell—
—shut up shut up tell them about Romanticism and shut up—
—Instead, he starts crying in front of a Turner and a class of eleventh-graders, and apologizes quickly, turning away and trying to stuff the tears back down and save them for when he's on break but it's not working and then someone taps him on the shoulder.
It's one of the students. Asian, sweatshirt sleeves covering his hands, ripped jeans, nametag proclaiming him Hello! My Name Is Yong Soo, last seen being loud at the back of the group, and he hugs Feliciano before Feliciano can think twice. Hello! My Name Is Yong Soo is gangly and nearly Feliciano's height and oddly comforting for someone Feliciano's never met in his life, and Feliciano manages to say "Sorry, it's not been a good week" to the room at large before attempting a watery smile which doesn't work at all and he spends a good thirty more seconds crying on the shoulder of Yong Soo before pulling himself together and wiping his face.
"Not a good week," he repeats shakily. "Thanks."
"No problem," Yong Soo replies.
The rest of the class is shuffling awkwardly, and Feliciano sniffles, clears his throat, and then manages a bright "Okay!" before continuing the tour.
When he gets home, the first thing he does is find the biggest, thickest pillow he can.
Then he tapes it to the wall of the home office and starts punching.
Feliciano realizes at some point that he's yelling— vi odio vi odio come si permette vorrei che voi foste morti— and Ludwig is standing at the door looking very confused and he hits the pillow a few more times before slumping to the floor.
He feels like he's going to cry, but he doesn't. Actually, he feels quite relaxed. And about to cry. But he can manage.
There are footsteps, and then Ludwig kneels carefully next to him.
"Are you all right?"
Feliciano nods.
"Can I have a turn?"
Grinning a little, Feliciano says "Go right ahead" and spends the next eighteen minutes sitting in the living room listening to the sound of punching and things in German that he can't understand but he's pretty sure they're not allowed in newspapers, and halfway through dinner Gilbert comes back and takes a turn too.
Feliciano ends up having to replace the tape on that pillow a lot.
The Italian Feliciano says hopefully translates to "I hate you I hate you how dare you I wish you were dead", but if anybody knows better, tell me.
Turner is J. M. W. Turner, who was an American Romantic painter who painted lots, mostly trains and boats.