the gray division

"Buonasera, buttheads. I am here to foil another of your stupid escape plans," Lovino said as he stepped into the hostage room.

Antonio had just been waking up from a rad dream in which he had remembered to tell someone to take care of his turtles while he was gone. He yawned and then stood to attention as, as often, Lovino approached him first.

"I have a present for you," the mafioso stated, holding up none other than a roll of duct tape, sounding bored.

Francis gave a low whistle, but Lovino didn't miss a beat. "If you make another noise I will kick you so damn good and hard it will make your man parts malfunction," he informed.

The agent whimpered. "I would appreciate it verily if you did not do that."

Across the room, still propped up against the wall like a dejected garden ornament, Gilbert gave a soft wail. (He had actually been using the position to spy and listen through the walls over the past several days, which helped only when the languages being spoken by the hacker group were one of the two he could understand.) "Ah! What if he counts the plea as another noise? You need your man parts, Francis!"

"I do! I do so much!" Francis sobbed.

Antonio shook his head sadly. The confinement was starting to affect them. "Rip."

Lovino stared at him. "Do you ever just hate your job, like, to the extreme?"

"Sometimes," Antonio admitted. "Like I just remembered I forgot to tell someone to look after my turtles. But it is okay! Everyone has bad days. Maybe tomorrow will be a good one, you know?"

Lovino rolled his eyes and tore off three pieces of duct tape from the roll. "Nope. Tomorrow is going to be even worse."

There was something about tomorrow that was significant, Antonio thought, but he couldn't quite recall what it was. Gilbert had heard the plans through the wall or something. "How do you know?"

Lovino leaned in and calmly placed a swath of tape over Antonio's mouth. "Well, first of all, I have to pick up my baby brother…"

Agent Ludwig Beilschmidt's life had changed.

He saw it as he closed down his computer at work and stared at his reflection in the black mirror. Who am I now? he wondered. All he could think about, waking and sleeping, were his brother and Feliciano. They were in every aspect of his job, yet it had stopped feeling like it; Ludwig didn't care if the FBI found the reason for Gilbert's MIA-ness anymore—he just cared about finding Gilbert. And, he had to admit it: Ludwig didn't care about knowing if Feliciano was part of something illicit anymore. He just cared about Feliciano.

"This is crazy," he said to himself, quietly. It wasn't like there was anyone on the negative two-hundredth floor to hear him, anyway. After obsessing over Ivan Braginsky and the phones all day, Arthur and Alfred had announced that there was a branch-wide meeting with the hackers tomorrow morning at Constitutional Gardens, and then left. Toris departed soon after. Chief Elizabeta Héderváry had stayed, but only so she could finally begin packing away the three unused cubicles. "I guess we will have to replace them for the time being," she had told Ludwig carefully. "Maybe what we need is a pair of fresh eyes on the case."

Ludwig felt immense sadness when she handed him a box of his brother's things, like Gilbert was some fallen soldier. Up until then, Ludwig hadn't even considered the fact that Gilbert could actually be dead.

"I miss the stupid bastard too," Elizabeta had admitted in a whisper, and then given Ludwig an awkward pat on the back. Now, she was back upstairs on check-in duty for the rest of the agency, and he had things to do, too, he had things to do…

Right. Feliciano.

Dinner with Feliciano.

It...still wasn't a date.

He stopped ogling his sad self in the computer, stood, and donned his jacket. (Feliciano had told him before that he looked good in his jacket, but Feliciano had also complimented his spy recording glasses, and look what had happened to them?)

Ever since that fateful Wednesday night, things hadn't been the same between them. Ludwig was partly distracted by the stuff going down in the rest of the FBI, and Feliciano seemed a little distant as well: he ramble-talked less, fake-smiled more, and most disturbing of all, he had completely stopped touching Ludwig. Like he was afraid to, or was holding himself back, or his manners had suddenly matured overnight. Ludwig wasn't...complaining, but it was technically abnormal behavior, which made Ludwig suspicious, which made Feliciano anxious and on-edge, which wasn't good for the both of them.

And by now, Ludwig knew in his poor, aching soul that Feliciano's stunt with destroying the glasses—and all the evidence contained within them—had been no accidental mistake. Just as he knew that Feliciano dropping his phone in a pot of boiling water had been intentional, but he could never actually prove anything, and that was what was most frustrating. All Ludwig had discerned was that Feliciano was guilty either way—but maybe just because he felt sorry about how things had been going between them? Do you still like me?

Ludwig's biggest problem, however, was how, right now, he would just stop, and look at Feliciano for a second, standing there on the street corner where they had planned to meet outside of the restaurant, and Feliciano would wave, and real smile, and shout his name, and all doubts in Ludwig's mind would vanish and he would stop and just think to himself He's so innocent.

So he sighed and crossed over and said his greeting and they went inside.

Feliciano at least seemed happy today. He was wearing a dapper little outfit with shiny shoes that were probably too expensive for him. "Woo, it's cold in here compared to outside!" he exclaimed, rubbing his shoulders. "I wonder why they always keep restaurants so cold. It really sucks, no? Are you cold?"

Ludwig was feeling pretty hot at the moment, so he just grimaced in response and found their booth. This restaurant was similar to the one they had eaten at before—high-end and low-light and all that jazz. "How are you?" he asked when they were seated with tall, skinny menus that were perfect for hiding red faces.

"Apart from having cold?" Feliciano shrugged. "Okay, I guess. I almost got pooped on by a flock of pigeons, which was exciting. And then a crazy person tried to sell me new drugs, I think! I said no, because my medicine is already enough. But how are you? How is the FBI? Did you catch any bad guys? Have you been sleeping better?"

Ludwig sank back into the cushioned seat. "Things are...difficult. Moreso difficult, and complicated, and confusing, but I am managing. We haven't caught anyone yet. I am sleeping"—a weak cough—"fine." He hoped Feliciano still thought he was strong and couldn't read the fatigue.

"Good, good, benissimo!" The waitress then arrived, and while Feliciano struck up some friendly flirting, Ludwig tried to remember what it was like to have an appetite. At least he felt milder now with the talking. That was one of the reasons he liked dogs better than people: their elated energy opened him up. Feliciano had a similar hyperactivity.

"Are you sure you can afford this?" Ludwig asked after they had ordered. "My apologies, but I know you don't make much. I do not mind to help pay…"

Feliciano spread his hands out on the table and grinned. "It is okay, I promise! I am taken care of! And if one of us paid for two, it would be a date, right, and you wouldn't want that, no?"

Ludwig looked at their hands, resting on the polished wood grain. He realized that bringing them together might have been a thing Feliciano would have once done in this situation. And if they were already here, having a fancy dinner together in a fancy restaurant in fancy clothes, with no one that mattered around to see, and nothing else on the agenda save for spending time together...it would be so easy to just move his hand a few inches. He had touched both Feliciano's hands before—the left hand that had drawn that perfect self-portrait at the police station, the right hand that had nudged Ludwig's leg under that table. It would be so easy. Feliciano would probably let him. It might help him get warm because he was cold. It might feel good.

Alfred Jones and Ivan Braginsky.

Ludwig tore his eyes away. "Um, you're right. I'm sorry."

Feliciano was quick with reassurance. "You do not have to be sorry! You have done nothing wrong and that is silly."

The waitress came back with their drinks and one of those romantic little electric candles to set on the table. Ludwig wondered if he should just put himself out of his misery, and when he died if he would see his brother.

When food came, they ate in near silence, and Ludwig had to stop periodically to let the heartburn settle. Even though he felt complacent with talking, the moody undercurrents began to frustrate him more and more, until the point where, in the bathroom, he got stuck. After six minutes of scratching soap into his skin, Feliciano came in and carefully turned off the water. "Hey," he said, and the remaining stress dissolved down the drain the moment their eyes connected in the mirror. "Would you like to go? I think it's time to go."

Ludwig tried to shake it off, nodding. "Let's go. It really is too cold in here."

They took to the streets. Dusk was creeping over Washington, the stately concrete buildings lit up in streetlight yellows. Feliciano finally began to talk about wonderful meaningless things while Ludwig watched him glow golden. Other couples passed them by, of all classes and races and genders and dog breeds of their own. It was a pleasing scene, so of course it had to come to an end.

"Goodbye," said Feliciano as they stopped near the metro station. "When will I see you again?"

"I'm not quite sure," admitted Ludwig. "I have to be at Constitution Gardens tomorrow in the morning, so maybe after that."

"You are going to Constitution—oh. Well. Okay then!" He gave a cheery wave. "See you soon!"

"See you soon."

Ludwig watched him walk away for several moments, contemplating contentedly to himself. Something was clicking and ticking deep inside him that he had never felt ever before. It took those several moments to snap into place, and then Ludwig knew what he had to do. He waited until Feliciano was two inches tall down the street, and then he began to follow.

He had never been trained for this, but it couldn't be that difficult to not be seen if Gilbert had done it, and Gilbert was loud with bright white hair and reddish eyes. So Ludwig clung to the sides of buildings and just tried to keep his head down, casually ducking into doorways a few times when Feliciano crossed the street.

Crossed the street—

That wasn't the direction of the metro.

Ludwig's heart began to speed up as Feliciano moved farther and farther away from the lights. Why hadn't he thought to do this before? They had kept everything organized so that Feliciano had ways of detecting when he was being watched. But now—

Ludwig's target spun in a circle, checked up and down the street, and then fell into an alleyway up ahead.

Without thinking he ran. This was it. He wished he had a body camera with him now, but there was only the measly canister of mace tucked into his belt. The plan before had been to call for backup. But there was no time—

Feliciano was alone in the alleyway. In his hand, a thick white envelope. Pulling away down the street, a SAVE THE WHALES van.

Feliciano turned and noticed him. Panic immediately struck his eyes. He folded his hands behind his back, and the envelope disappeared. "Ludwig!" His sweet voice wobbled; he was feigning ease.

Ludwig took a silent step forward. His world had imploded inside of him the second he had stepped into this alley, and it took everything to keep his composure intact. "Feliciano."

"What are you doing?" Feliciano took a half-step back when Ludwig continued his advance. "I mean, are you lost? Are you okay? What are you—Ludwig!"

Ludwig seized the man, wrapping him in a tight embrace. He had no other choice; he had seen how fast Feliciano could run if he escaped. Ludwig needed to call backup fast, or at least let someone know where he was before they were caught. He wasn't dumb. Feliciano was probably being watched right now. Feliciano, it turned out, definitely wasn't dumb, either.

He squirmed a little in Ludwig's hold, blurting out a high, quick exclamation of surprise. "Why are you hugging me?"

Ludwig grimaced and decided to go with it. He readjusted his grasp. "Um…I just...wanted to hug you before you left."

Feliciano stared into him. Finally, he grinned. "Really?"

Agent Beilschmidt was in a state of perplexion. "Yes," he relayed on instinct. He could feel Feliciano's heart beating very fast and knew his own was doing the same. It was like the last hour was nonexistent. When was the last time he had been this close to someone?

"Aw, Ludwig," Feliciano crooned. Seemingly pleased, he began to hug the stunned Ludwig as well. Ludwig knew he was supposed to be terrified by this move—Feliciano's hands smoothing down Ludwig's back made Ludwig grateful he had tucked the mace against his hip instead. Now if Ludwig could only move his own hands into his jacket pocket, where he kept his phone...

But Feliciano rested his cheek on the crook of Ludwig's shoulder. They swayed slightly. His hair danced against Ludwig's neck, and he smelled like murder and cologne. It was a very nice smell, Ludwig thought. We're in a shady back alley, Ludwig also thought. "Want to know a secret? I like you very much," Feliciano thought aloud.

Ludwig resisted the urge to let out a delirious bark of laughter. He was done for. They would never find his body. He couldn't think—he couldn't think—he couldn't move. He needed to reach for help.

Instead, he dipped his head down and kissed Feliciano.

Everything was given to wild abandon. Ludwig had never kissed anyone before, but Feliciano obviously had, the way he responded instantly with such surefire vigor. Ludwig felt a wonderful release of everything he had been holding in; he had wanted this since he had watched and listened to Feliciano over the phone; he had wanted this since Héderváry had scolded them at the police station; he had wanted this since he had worked together distributing vegetables with Feliciano under the hot sun. Feliciano burned like a sun himself, warm and bright and passionate in his arms, and everything Ludwig had imagined him to be.

Not quite knowing what he was doing, he combed his fingers through Feliciano's beautiful auburn hair and was delighted to feel Feliciano's lips form a smile against his. Ludwig kissed him on the cheek, and kissed him on the forehead over his beautiful brown eyes. Feliciano was giggling, rubbing Ludwig's sides, his hands moving up over Ludwig's chest, over his collarbone, his neck, at his throat…poking him in the throat…prodding him sharply…uncomfortable—

It was a knife.

Scheiße.

Like a sloth waking from a dream, Ludwig pulled away. "I never trusted you," he stated, simply, as if that had been the plan all along.

"I'm so, so sorry, Ludwig." Feliciano was still holding him, but had somehow conjured up a blade and was holding that to him as well. His beautiful face was perfectly, purely sympathetic. "I have no choice."

"I know." Ludwig didn't doubt that he could wrestle his way out of this, but the thought of overpowering Feliciano was so distant in his mind when he had already clearly been defeated. He found himself unable to feel anything, he was in such shock. "Just go."

"I need you to turn around first," Feliciano whispered. He gently began to direct Ludwig in a spinning motion.

Ludwig obeyed. He stared at the sticky, graffiti-covered alley wall, felt the tip of the knife inches from his spinal cord, and wondered at what point in his life things had gone wrong.

He felt Feliciano's hands on his hips, and then a weight disappeared from his belt. Great; now his mace was gone. Had the sneaky Italian planned this? Feliciano lifted Ludwig's jacket, searching for more weapons. He plucked out the cell phone instead. With a final pat on the back—was it supposed to be reassuring?—Feliciano began to speak.

"This might feel funny. I'm so sorry, Ludwig." His voice cracked. "I'm so sorr—"

Ludwig whirled around. "Wait a second. Your right hand."

Feliciano's face was red. "What?"

Ludwig stepped forward, and the intimidation tactic worked again; Feliciano stepped back. "You are left-handed, correct? You drew with your left hand! But now you're holding the knife with your right! The criminal used his right hand! So you are the—"

Feliciano's eyes weren't on him, however. They followed something moving further down the alley. It took less than a second for them to dart back. "I'm sorry, Ludwig," he repeated quieter. Ludwig turned and looked, but it was too late. The world had come to a screeching halt.

When he woke his head was pounding and everything was a very cliché sort of black.

It took a little while for his hearing to pop back into place, and his darkened vision was a swimmy, polka-dotted haze that reminded him of when he would try to use his reading glasses to see regularly. That was the first thought that traversed his stunted brain—wondering where his glasses were. Hadn't he gotten new ones? Special ones? Broken ones. The metro. Dinner. The alley. Feliciano.

Ludwig struggled to move and was rewarded with another wave of nauseating headache. He appeared to be tied to a chair, his hands secured behind his back. He couldn't see anything (had he gone blind—did blind people see a swimmy dotty black haze?), but muffled, humanlike noises were coming from somewhere close by, a few meters behind him. Ludwig couldn't turn around to see what or who it was. Suddenly a door opened in front of him and his attention was diverted.

The light that spilled into the room blinded Ludwig for a second, and he only caught a glimpse of the trim of the hallway beyond before a figure stepped in. Ludwig blinked and then blinked again, trying to chase away the spots. It was Feliciano.

He came to a stop in front of Ludwig and crossed his arms, sticking out a hip and letting out a huff. His voice was harsh and earsplitting; Ludwig jumped. "Are you awake yet, you stupid FBI bastard? Rise and fucking shine; it is about time. I heard some annoying noises." More muffled grunts and wails from the back. "Shut it, assfaces!"

If Ludwig hadn't already been hopelessly bamboozled beyond his years, he was now. He tried to speak. "Where am I?"

Feliciano laughed and it was off-key and terrifying. "Somewhere you won't be for long, so party up while you still can, potatohead. There is four of you now. Almost the full shitting set!"

Well, this was a trip. Ludwig had never once heard Feliciano curse, even when he was alone. "Why?" Ludwig pushed out. "Why am I here? We were on the street! You had an envelope! You kissed me!"

Feliciano froze, and Ludwig swore the temperature in the room dropped along with him. "I did what with you?"

"You ki—"

"Oh my God, no, do not repeat that damnation!" Feliciano took a deep breath, crossed himself, and then turned stiffly around and screamed something loud and angry and Italian out the door.

A second Feliciano timidly popped his head in. "I can explain."

Ludwig inhaled; what did they have him on?

The two Felicianos began a rapid and frustrated doorway dialogue in their native language, and slowly he realized that the first Feliciano wasn't Feliciano at all, but someone else that happened to bear his likeness. Someone else that maybe could be mistaken for Feliciano in a certain atmosphere. Ludwig took the time of their argument to clunkily connect the dots.

"You have a brother," he blurted out. "In Italy."

Feliciano—the real one—gulped, and then, even in the dim lighting, all of it became obvious to Ludwig. He wanted to rack himself upside the head. Why hadn't they considered Feliciano's brother before?

"My name is Lovino," spat Lovino. "And we're not in Italy."

"No, we are not," Ludwig stated.

"But how the hell would you know? You're tied to a chair!" Lovino narrowed his eyes. "I don't like you." Jerked his head to Feliciano. "You have five minutes to deal with this, and then we have to start getting ready."

Feliciano trembled. "Okay."

Lovino left, slamming the door in his wake. Feliciano just stood there, not bothering with turning on a light, if there even was one. Ludwig's eyes had adjusted to the dark, anyway. He could do nothing but warily watch Feliciano as he slowly, slowly moved toward him. A few heartbeats passed in which Ludwig refused to speak. And then, as if the night hadn't been dramatic enough, Feliciano fell to his knees and burst into sobs.

"I'm so sorry!" he wailed, scooting forward to cry on Ludwig's lap. "I swear to you, I never meant for this to happen! But I had to, you see, and—oh!" More sobbing. His whole body shook.

Ludwig was more than perturbed. If anyone should be crying, it should be himself! Here he was, dumbfounded, outsmarted, locked in a room, tied to a chair. His own brother was dead. His workplace was in chaos. His emotions had been toyed with until he didn't know what was real and what was supposed to have been kept buried. And worst of all, Feliciano was crying on his lap, and that made him uncomfortable, and he didn't want to see Feliciano crying. Feliciano looked better when he was happy and smiling. "Stop," he mumbled. "Do not do this."

Feliciano looked up at him. He hiccupped. "W-What?"

"I just want you to explain why." Ludwig locked him in his gaze, willing him not to flinch away. "All of this, why? You lied about so much. Is your whole family here, then? Your grandfather, too?"

"No, Ludwig." A sniffle. "Grandpa has been dead for five years."

The small room got quiet. Even the noises in the back stopped. "Oh," said Ludwig.

"It was cancer." Heartbreak flickered in his expression. "Lovino and I had nowhere to go. We would have lost everything if not for…"

"The Mafia," Ludwig finished, because what else could be the answer.

Feliciano wiped at his face. "Grandpa had unpaid debts," he explained, "and we were trapped. It was mostly trading weapons, selling and buying from a friend in the black market. And then Felicks heard from hackers he knows about things happening in America, in the FBI. People were watching us. Doing bad things to our phones and computers. This mission was supposed to be the one that fixed us for the Mafia forever. Lovino was to k-kidnap the agents, and I—"

"You were the decoy." Ludwig was catching up. "In case something happened."

Feliciano nodded, his chin trembling. "You happened. I could do nothing. You watching me everywhere always all the time...I could not move."

Ludwig started to feel dizzy again. "The Mafia is an organization of criminals, Feliciano, and you are admitting that you are one of them. But I am still confused. If your brother really did all the work and the kidnappings, then how did you…"

"I am ambidextrous," he whispered, and he put up his hands like he was surrendering. "I can use both." Ludwig fought to move his own hands against the chair, struck with wanting to hold Feliciano again and wipe away all the tears. "And I still don't want to hurt anyone."

The words fell out before Ludwig could bite them back. "You hurt me." Was it true? And if it was, hadn't he done the same?

Feliciano's eyes went wide. His voice was soft, almost pleading. "But—you kissed me."

Ludwig didn't have the energy to even be embarrassed. "Because you made me love you."

A single tear cut over Feliciano's cheek and plopped onto Ludwig's knee. "L-Love is supposed to be a really good thing, is it not?"

"I don't know anymore," Ludwig sighed. He called it love. He wasn't sure that was what it really was, but it ticked inside of him now, alive and new, and before Feliciano he was certain there had been nothing. "I was—I was afraid it would turn out like it did for Jones and Braginsky." He paused, then realizing Alfred had never said outright that he and Ivan had been in love. But they had to have been, otherwise Alfred wouldn't have seemed so shaken, or cared so much, or acted so differently the past weeks. Ludwig knew love changed people, and their consequences had been grave. "Do you know who they are?"

Feliciano slowly shook his head, his shoulders quivering. It was impossible to tell if he was fibbing. "Maybe."

"I guess you will discover soon enough."

"I know what is going to happen, I think. They are going to try to exchange you as a hostage."

Ludwig gritted his teeth. He wished he could force himself to relax; he was still thinking in fragments and tangents. "And what are you going to do?"

"I'm not s-sure yet," Feliciano whispered. "I'm not sure they will let me do anything."

"Why not?"

Feliciano searched his face for a second, and then quickly pushed upwards, kissing Ludwig once on the lips. "Because you made me love you, too."

There was something far away in Feliciano's eyes that wasn't tears or sorrow—something nostalgic, yet unregretful, even as Lovino's yell came from through the walls, reminding them both to come back to earth. But Ludwig was...wondering.

As Feliciano sank his head onto Ludwig's collarbone and sniffed some more, Ludwig silently leaned into him. He breathed out, "Would you be an artist if you could? Or a farmer like your job now? Or an actor, perhaps?"

"Those all sound good," Feliciano mumbled back. "I do not know. I quit college. I'm not smart enough. I would like to just...live." He looked up. "What would you be if you were not FBI?"

"I do not know." He really didn't. A good portion of his life had been built around trying to get to his current position, and look where it had landed him—tied to a chair in a dark room with a bruised heart. "Some other government, I suppose. Some other office, though I do like the outdoors."

"Everyone says you should do what makes you happy," Feliciano said, trying for a smile.

"But you can only do that if you're truly free," Ludwig retorted. "And at the moment, neither of us are."

"Feliciano, hai finito? Ho detto andiamo!"

Feliciano took a few seconds to wobble to his feet, shaking off any remaining tears, and Ludwig found he did not want him to leave. He still had no idea where he was, and no idea how much time had passed since his passing out. It could be morning already. If so, thought Ludwig in some distant corner of his mind, it was probably the longest sleep he had gotten in ages.

"Don't leave me alone like this," Ludwig warned, but Feliciano shushed him. (Actually shushed him! The audacity...)

"I'm so sorry, Ludwig. I cannot tell you that enough. But you will not be alone, I promise." He shifted Ludwig's chair a bit, and then crossed behind him. Ludwig had completely disregarded the room's extraneous noises until he heard three sounds like bandages being pulled off, heavy breathing, grunts, and more shushing.

"What's going on?" Ludwig asked. Feliciano moved quickly back to the front of the room and opened the door.

"You said it—we will find out soon. And hopefully this will not be the last time we see each other." He opened the door and leaned against the frame, giving a last wistful look.

"Wait! I am not done with you!" Ludwig called out, struggling against his bonds. He imagined Feliciano had felt this exact helplessness.

Feliciano was smiling. Real or fake or unsure was undetermined, but there it was, faintly on his lips, the lips Ludwig had tasted twice now and still yearned for. "I am not done with you, either."

Oh, that was real cute. Damn him and his handsome, aggravating self. Ludwig wanted to scream but was once again interrupted.

The second the door closed, a familiar raspy voice spoke up from the back. "Mein Gott, what a show!"

Ludwig's neck whipped around faster than a falling bowling ball. "Gilbert!"

"Ludwig!"

"You've been in this room the whole time?!"

"I know, right! Duct tape! Fucking, on my mouth! You have a boyfriend?!"

"It is not what it looks like!"

"Oh, is it now? Are you old enough? Did I say you were ready to have boyfriends, Ludwig?"

"What the hell? I am an adult and an FBI agent; I should think I'm well ready!"

"He's the Mafia! But I guess that does not mean a thing to you people, does it. Toni's got the bits for the shorty shouty one. And that kid Alfred? Totally would have guessed. Blegh. Hey, wake up, you dummkopf! Tell my young, innocent baby brother all about your verbal abuse kink!"

Antonio sputtered. "Hey, come on! Don't shame me! We are all tied to chairs as equals here!"

Ludwig gaped. "And you're all here! You are really alive! We thought you were going to be MIA forever!"

Francis fake-swooned. (He had been practicing his fake-swoon a lot these days.) "Oh, oui. Thank the sweet boy for letting us speak. That was a marvelous display. You must be so damaged! If my hands were free I would be clapping!"

Ludwig looked like he wished Feliciano had left the duct-tape on. Gilbert readjusted his neck against the wall. Behind it, he could still hear Lovino and Feliciano having a muffled discussion in Italian. God was he glad to see an old new face. "So...tell me. How goes it. What have you been up to? Is there anything else you have neglected to tell me?"

"Gilbert. You have been missing for weeks. Tied to a chair this whole time, probably, and you're asking wie geht's to me? Have you gone insane?"

"Probably."

"The food is super good, though," Antonio perked up.

Francis blew air out of his cheeks. "Ah, très bien. And they finally let me take a shower a few days ago. I still smell faintly of lavender and honey."

Ludwig's eyes were bloodshot. "We're all going to die."

"Nah," assured Gilbert. "We've got a plan. A real one this time." The two others nodded furiously along. "We can't move now, because they are here and they will notice and there is nowhere to go, but we have been listening. Tomorrow when they take us out, during the exchange, we break free."

"And...how are you going to do that? When did you make this plan?"

Gilbert pointed with his eyebrows. "Well, about five minutes ago was when it truly all fell into place. Look over there on the floor. I don't know if it was on purpose or not, but during all the crying and hugging and depressing stuff, your boyfriend dropped his knife."

scheiße - lady gaga

It's 5,349-word-long chapters like these (longest of the book so far I think!) that remind me why I keep writing.

Days have been hella rough. Life has been hella tough. School has hella sucked. You can probably see where my stress bled into the story at certain points, but I wrote both the more lighthearted BTT parts today, because today, my folks, has been a hella. awesome. day.

This is one of the chapters I've been waiting to write since the dawn of this idea where I didn't even know where it was going or how it got there, so I spent some extra time on it, and I'm still figuring stuff out, both in here and out there in the real world. Sometimes I wish I could know all you amazing readers and responders irl, because the majority of close ones I have irl don't read my stuff and it gets me really down sometimes. But like Antonio so kindly put it, everyone has bad days. You just gotta get through them and live to the fullest I guess because you never know what can happen.

SO. ;) Six chapters left. I'll be busy.