"I'm not going to kill you."

"V-ve… I don't believe that!"

"Why won't you believe that?"

Ludwig Beilschmidt felt annoyed by his new neighbor already. Even before this so-called tomato fairy revealed himself, Ludwig was already worried whether the lack of order and cleanliness on this flat would eventually disturb his. Now he said he was a fairy and thought of the German as some kind of assassin. Why would anyone after this timid man anyway? Ludwig could already imagine himself snapping the man into two easily like breaking chopstick if he wanted to. Beside, what made the engineering professor looked like assassin? Ludwig dressed neatly and it was an always. He wasn't sure any assassin would dress like him, only to realize he didn't exactly knew what an assassin would dress like. His whole world was engineering world. Ludwig solemnly believed that as long as he focus on what he would do best, his existence would have meaning. Surely, everyone else feel the same way about their life.

He stared at the trembling Italian man. How old was he? Wasn't he just a kid? When Ludwig stood to take a better look at him, the auburn-haired man yelped and begged even louder not to be murdered.

"… I'm not going to do anything to harm you," Ludwig sighed tiredly. He believed something on his tone had succeeded in changing his neighbor's mind. The smaller man was now looking at him, lips twitching as if he wanted to say something or smile, but didn't quite know how. Ludwig knelt next to the tomato crate. "My name is Ludwig Beilschmidt. I'm your new neighbor."

His sight fell to the man in front of him. Dressed in very light clothing—white shirt and knee-length short—the owner of a pair of amber eyes looked a little out of place. London wasn't exactly warm now that spring was over. But that didn't bother Ludwig.

"You're hurt," he said, voice deep with a little shock.

"Ve?" the supposedly-painter only smiled happily, like nothing was wrong.

"There's a bruise on your forehead. Did someone hurt you?" Ludwig asked, even though he already knew the answer. It was the angry men he met outside just a couple of minutes ago.

"No," he answered cheerily, dragging the 'o'. "It's a-my fault. I will be okay."

But Ludwig already stood and offering his hand to his new neighbor. "Do you have anything to clean your bruise?"

The smaller man looked up at him, like he was some kind of an angel. It might only be Ludwig's imagination, but he could almost see his curl twitching on the side of his head. "Signor Beilschmidt, you're an angel!" he choked on a strange laughter as he took Ludwig's hand. "My name is Feliciano Vargas. You can just call me Feliciano."

Feliciano Vargas never gave his life a lot of thought. He just followed wherever life carried him. Right now, life brought him to London and, after sometime living there, to a certain Ludwig Beilschmidt. As an artist, though a lot of people may disagree, Feliciano had to admit that Ludwig was a really beautiful person. He reminded the Italian to marble sculpture he admired as a child back on Northern Italy. Only that Ludwig Beilschmidt was very much alive. The first time Feliciano saw him and believed that the German would be the last person he saw, Feliciano foolishly thought that it was okay to die to such a magnificent-looking albeit dangerous creature.

Of course, once he realized that dead means end of everything, he quickly begged for his life.

His new neighbor who just started to live upstairs was not an assassin. Feliciano did not know what his job was. Maybe some kind of bodybuilder, though he never met bodybuilder so serious. He seemed very smart for some reasons, though Feliciano literally just met him for less than five minutes.

Feliciano couldn't believe that on the same evening he was threatened to be homeless and being cared by man roughly twice his size and height. Ludwig seemed to have permanent half-angry half-serious expression with his eyebrows furrowed all the time. The sight made Feliciano happy somehow. Feliciano liked serious people. He could only wish to be one of them.

"You know," Ludwig gave Feliciano's bruise a couple of several last stroke with alcohol, "You can tell the police if people are being mean to you—"

Feliciano quickly shook his head, "It's my fault. I won't blame them." He looked at Ludwig's confused expression and admitted loudly, "I owe them tons of money! I should pay them soon, but, ve… I'm always so cared I have no energy to finish my painting."

Ludwig quickly made an 'oh-I-understood' face. Feliciano quickly realized that he didn't usually admit to just about anyone on his pathetic financial status. But Ludwig wasn't just anyone. He was his neighbor. Surely, sooner or later, the German would know about the people who demanded money from him everyday. Feliciano knew he was foolish. Living in London wasn't cheap. But he fell in love with this town. He wanted to paint here. He wanted to be part of it. It was just that London had resisted to cooperate with him for so long.

"There, that should do it," Ludwig had already started to clean up the medical kit before standing up and made his way to the trashcan while cleaning whatever he could get his large hands on. Feliciano watched him in awe. He might as well be fall in love with Ludwig Beilschmidt by now.

Ludwig seemed to remember something, because he then looked down at Feliciano, who had followed him behind, with an apologetic expression.

"Sorry, but I have to get back upstairs if I want to have enough time to cook dinner."

Instead of responding with words, Feliciano's stomach somehow decided to growl very loudly in response.

Ludwig looked like he had to throw away a litter of puppy. Feliciano could almost hear what the German thought. He had nothing edible in his flat and it was terrible because despite his small stature, Feliciano was an absolute glutton. Even his stocks of cheap pasta already gone.

"Alright, then… Feliciano, would you like to have dinner in my place?"