Ludwig had never seen anyone so happy in his life and it amused him. When he offered Feliciano to help him with cooking and dinner, his downstairs neighbour looked like he was about to burst from happiness. He started to fidget and bounced up and down like an excited little boy. Ludwig only blinked in confusion as to how food can make someone that happy.
Could it be that Feliciano Vargas was starving? How long since he had eat? How messed up his life was? Ludwig felt a familiar throb on the temple of his head, the kind he felt when he found problem in a machine. He was never so close with someone who had so many troubles and everyone he knew in his life were pretty much like him; efficient and serious. Kiku was his lifelong friend, but the Japanese man was more than capable to take care of himself. They had same taste and view on tidiness, hard work, and healthy lifestyle. Feliciano Vargas seemed to be different on that so far.
As Ludwig walked his way, back to the corridor outside Feliciano's flat, the place where he left his grocery, the German muttered, "I don't mean to pry, Vargas… und you must tell me if I were being rude, but when was the last time you, vell... eat?"
Feliciano, who walked behind him, bouncing up and down more than someone have to when they walk, answered, "Ve? Just call me Feliciano! And I don't remember!" With an alto, singing-like voice, he continued, "Lately, I only ate tomatoes! My fratello sent them. I really, really want pasta, though… pasta… ve…"
How someone could forget the last time they ate was beyond Ludwig. Nevertheless, the taller man said nothing as he leaned down to pick up his two bags of large groceries. Feliciano looked up at him then at his groceries.
"Do you think you'd need help with carrying them upstairs, Ludwig?" he asked, smiling from ear to ear.
Ludwig looked back at Feliciano—hair messy, lightly clothed, growl of his stomach could still be heard once in a while—and answered quickly, "Nein, I think I can do it myself." Ludwig started to walk as he added, "They're very heavy, anyway. I bought a lot of potato."
"Do you like potato, Ludwig?"
"Well… ja."
"Potato can be great."
"… Why… can potato be not great?"
"It's no pasta, though."
Ludwig didn't know whether he should feel annoyed by Feliciano's words. They sounded so innocent, like a child who told him that broccoli tasted terrible. He quickly brushed the thought aside when they reached his flat's door. Putting one grocery bag down, Ludwig took out the key from his pocket and unlocked the door. Feliciano entered before him, laughing in excitement, even before Ludwig could say anything.
"Ve! Your place is sparkling clean, Ludwig!"
Feliciano liked Ludwig already. The word 'like' might underestimate his general feeling for his German neighbor, but Feliciano never thought about things deeply. He moved on as soon as things are done. In fact, he moved on all the time. Sadly, debt and lack of creativity weren't something he just moved on from easily.
Ludwig's place looked like what Feliciano dream flat would look like. Even though the structure was similar, everything looked more spacious and beautiful here. Their landlord, a rather mysterious man named Sadık Adnan, let them arrange their own furniture as long as they don't change architectural structure. In contrast to Feliciano's messy and strange-smelled flat, Ludwig's flat was spotless and neatly ordered, even though he just moved in. The air felt—smelled, seemed—clearer too. Feliciano wondered whether his flat would seem more airy as well if he lived on the upper flat, instead of the one downstairs.
When he realized it, Ludwig was still standing on the doorway. Feliciano quickly apologised for stepping inside before him, but Ludwig didn't seem to mind. The German seemed to mind the timing for dinner cooking more than his weird visitor. After looking at a very cool looking watch on his wrist, Ludwig set down his groceries bags on the counter and started pulling out ingredients like he already knew what he wanted to make.
Feliciano scooted closer, looking at Ludwig's kitchen in amazement. Beside pristine-looking counter, sink, and cabinet, Feliciano could see that they were all signs of someone who lived alone. Everything was bought for one person only and Feliciano already halfway thinking that he might eat on a bowl while Ludwig eat on a plate, because there was only one of everything. The Italian could only wish for existence of second pair of cutlery.
"So what do you want to make for dinner, Ludwig? Can I help? Do you want me to help?"
Ludwig looked at him. The German's eyebrows were still furrowed. But in different light, in a mix of dying sun's light outside and the kitchen's lamp, Feliciano could saw that his eyes were in the shade of pale blue. The colour was so different with his, his brother's Lovino, or Lovino's best friend who liked to hang around him, Antonio. They reminded Feliciano to snowy landscape, where everything was engulfed in light shade of blue. Of course, Ludwig's eyes were so much warmer than snowy landscape, though Feliciano couldn't help but to giggle to his constantly irritated expression. The auburn-haired man wondered what would happen to the crease between Ludwig's eyebrows if he touched them.
"We're having Schupfnudeln," Ludwig answered, pulling a package of something that looked very much like gnocchi.
"Gnocchi?" Feliciano raised his eyebrows.
"I suppose they would be called that in Italy. This one is made with potatoes instead of rye or wheat flour, though," Ludwig pulled out another ingredients. "It's usually served with Sauerkraut, but I guess we can go with Currywurst as well."
Feliciano felt amazed even though he knew almost nothing on German gnocchi, the Sauer-something, and other wurst thing.
"What's a Sauerkraut, Ludwig?"
"Sour cabbage."
"I like cabbage."
"That's good. I suppose can you help with frying the Currywurst?" Ludwig pulled out a delicious-looking sausage.
"Si!" Feliciano nodded eagerly.
In the span of next five minutes, Feliciano was proved to be quite unreliable in simple task such as sausage frying. The Italian believed he was too hungry, though he also knew he was just unreliable in general, hence the state of his flat. But most of them all, Feliciano knew he was happy. He was about to be fed.
When they were finally set their dinner to plate—Ludwig arranged everything like the prime minister would come for dinner himself—Feliciano felt he could die happily, though he hadn't touch the food. But when they already sit down, there was a series of knock in the door. It was no stranger, that Feliciano know, because this person knew the code for opening main door downstairs.
Feliciano's fork and knife stopped midway, hanging in the air, "Ve? Are you expecting someone, Ludwig?"
Ludwig seemed just as surprised, "No, not that I know of…"
The knocks were heard again.
Followed by muffled voice in London accent, "Ludwig! We're here to celebrate your arrival in London! I hope you fancy London's best beer! Oh, I hope you don't mind, but I brought some of my friends too!"
Another muffled sound was heard. This time it was someone loud and cheerful, "Dude, I don't think I'm your friend friend? Just acquaintance. But I am the hero!"
"What the bloody hell are you talking about, you git? Stop your yapping for once, will you?"
Ludwig stood up and opened his door.
Behind the infamous Arthur Kirkland, stood three other men; one of them wore glasses and bomber jacket, with a chuckle that made Ludwig knew he was the one who shouted 'dude'; the other was a really pretty man with blond hair touching his shoulder who held boxes with wine; and the last one was a tall, soft-looking man with scarf on his neck and pale blond hair, who muttered, "Hello, I'm Ee-vahn." in a very heavy Russian accent.
"Good evening, Arthur," said Ludwig, who didn't really know what else to say. He did remember that Arthur said he was going to throw some kind of welcoming party, but he didn't think it would be tonight.
"I truly apologise, but I did send you message on your mobile…" Arthur looked at Ludwig, apparently reading something on his German's friend expression.
"Oh, I'm really sorry, but something happened…" More like Feliciano happened.
Arthur smiled, "So is it alright for us to…?"
The loud American behind him laughed, "Dude, you're such an old-man. It's party! Everyone likes party!"
"Alfred!" Arthur furrowed his thick eyebrows, glaring at the man with glasses.
"It's okay," Ludwig stepped aside so they can get in.
Right after the tallest man walked in—he was Ivan, if Ludwig correctly remembered, since it felt like his brain was jammed with thousand input at once—Feliciano appeared on from the dining room. Ludwig didn't exactly see him, but he could hear him—and see the expression on Arthur and his friends' face.
"You already have a guest," said Arthur, matter-of-factly. He seemed a little surprised and Ludwig didn't blame him. Ludwig wasn't exactly the most sociable person.
"Ja," Ludwig responded, defeated. "Well, he lives downstairs. Feliciano, meet my friend Arthur, and…"
"Alfred F. Jones, at your service!" the man in bomber jacket shouted loud enough to wake up at least half of London.
"Francis. Francis Bonnefroy. Je suis très heureux de faire votre connaissance!" the long-haired male with wine on his hand smiled.
"I'm Ivan," repeated Ivan, who seemed threatening although he was smiling and holding something that looked like at least two kilos of potatoes on large paper bag.
Arthur grinned at Ludwig, "I told Ivan here that you, borrowing Alfred's term, have a thing for potatoes."
Feliciano shook everyone hands cheerily, "I'm Feliciano! I didn't know that Ludwig has so many friend! Please get in! We're eating German gnocchi! Ludwig, do you think we should fry more Currywurst and serve more sour cabbage?"
Ludwig opened his mouth to answer, but a sound from his phone stopped him. There was a short message from Kiku saying he's coming with Yao, as if they hadn't enough people in Ludwig's flat already.
"It's a-party!" declare Feliciano, like he owned the flat. "And it's the 14th, so I think Sadık will come for checking! And perhaps welcoming you too! Do you know that Signor Sadık has this amazing friend named Heracles? Signor Heracles likes cat and has a looot of cat! I think you will like them!"
Ludwig didn't even bother to say that he was actually more of dog person, thanks to his older brother Gilbert. But with Alfred starting to open beer Arthur brought, Francis complaining about the lack of wine glass, and Arthur who said rather reluctantly that he wanted to drink black tea, Ludwig knew that he had bigger matter to handle.
He went to the kitchen to prepare more food, thinking that at least finger food should do. But there was another knock and Feliciano ran to open the door for him.
"Ludwig! You have more friends coming? There are Signor Kiku and Signor Yao here!"
Setting down a plate of Pom fritz, Ludwig could already imagine Kiku bringing his favourite sake, Japanese alcoholic beverage, and Yao with his large, panda-cased phone, ready to take photos of his bizarre new friends, even though he hadn't seen them yet.
It was going to be a long night in London.
I just want to say thank you for everyone who favourited and followed this story. I'm truly honoured. I have to re-upload this story because the notification seem to be broken or something. I only did a minor fix to this, so if you've read this chapter already, I don't think you're missing anything. If you have any idea on what you'd like to see on this story, I'm open to any suggestion. Until next time.