Work Text:
0500
Wake up. Walk and feed the dogs.
0600
Shower. Shave. Gel. It's a weekday. Get dressed.
0700
Breakfast and coffee. The morning news and weather.
0800
Pack lunch. Lock the doors. Commute to work.
0900
“Good morning, Ludwig! Punctual as always.”
An austere man Ludwig was. Military punctuality had been bred into him, and his life existed in categories of an hour at a time, twenty-four times over and over.
“Good morning, Eduard.”
Ludwig never initiated much conversation, but Eduard had taught himself that invitation was unnecessary. “I finally sold that old Nokia phone I’ve been holding onto for a pretty good price. I knew somebody would buy it eventually. How was your weekend?”
“It was fine. Nothing of note.” His responses were always curt but true. Weekends existed just as every other day did—in twenty-four increments. Routines were his sole addiction, and he took his medication daily.
The door swung open as a thin man with springy blond curls rushed in. “G-good morning, Mr. Beilschmidt! Good morning, Mr. von Bock.” The office intern was a surprisingly traditional fellow who, try as they might, refused to speak to them informally. Eduard returned a jovial “Morning, Raivis!” while Ludwig sent a sharp head nod and “Good morning”. Raivis took his place next to Eduard, whom the college student would be shadowing for the day, and the pair repeated the same conversation Ludwig and Eduard just had.
The work day officially started, and requests were already beginning to pile in. A university IT department was never devoid of work, even if some of the tasks were menial. Flipping breakers, switching cable wires, and submitting paperwork and replacement requests were among their most common issues. As Ludwig began filtering through the priorities, a call came through the office phone.
“Campus IT, Ludwig speaking. How may I help?”
“Ah! Hello! Uh…” The speaker on the other line was obviously frazzled, each word accented in high staccato. “The projector?” —the voice briefly faded out— “I think it’s the projector?” —and then came back— “Um, the projector isn’t working; it won’t display anything. Maybe it’s broken! Could somebody come down to the gallery and help? Please! And thank you!”
This was nothing out of the ordinary; not a single week went by that somebody didn’t have projector problems.
“Of course, I’ll be on my way over.”
“Oh, okay! Thank you! Yes, I will see you soon!” And the line fell dead. Ludwig stood, height reaching far above the rows of computers, and started to collect his materials.
Eduard asked: “Heading out on call?”
“Yes. Projector issue at the gallery. If you see him, would you let Chen know I’ve stepped out?” Their manager, Chen, was as friendly as fireflies—fun and admirable, if only you could catch them. He loved to bring in perks for the office and treated them lavishly on the rare occasions he was in. Nobody quite knew where he was most of the time, but he always dressed smartly and always responded to his emails.
Eduard’s wink and snap served as affirmation, and Ludwig was off. Ludwig walked briskly everywhere he went—another facet of his strict upbringing. The campus sidewalks were rife with bustling students, but he cut through the throngs with ease. A man of his stature, menacingly tall and burly with a straight-laced expression, was one people tended to avoid; paths opened effortlessly for him wherever he went.
Long strides brought him to the grand double doors of the galleria, revealing a spacious and pristine lobby.
“Oh! Are you Ludwig?” That voice again, rapid and upbeat, echoed off the walls. A young man, presumably a student, with ruffled, caramel-colored hair jogged over (nearly tripping on the edge of a pedestal) to greet the IT worker.
Ludwig hailed him, “Yes. Can you show me what the problem is?”
“Yes, of course! Come with me!” Evidently, this person had very little awareness of personal space as he took the other by the arm and began dragging him through a miniature construction zone, leaving Ludwig to dance around various piles of mounting tools and haphazardly placed stepladders. The brunet was still rambling, but his words were hard to follow while simultaneously avoiding each pitfall in their path.
“Oh, by the way, I’m Feliciano! But you can call me Feli!” For a millisecond, Ludwig averted his gaze from the ground and found himself astounded by dizzying amber eyes. The bright light of the room bounced off them like jasper in a glass case, and Feliciano smiled with his whole face, lips and cheeks upturned until they made the corners of his eyes squint. Immediately, Ludwig tumbled over the leg of a ladder.
“Are you okay?!”
The older man hoisted himself up, too confounded to be embarrassed, and brushed the dust off his knees. “Yes, I’m fine.” He straightened his posture and crimped the collar of his uniform shirt. “Now, what is the issue?”
Beaming, Feliciano gestured to a projector sitting atop a small rolling cart. Now, Ludwig was not an outward person. The most defining characteristic about him was his innate lack of facial expression, but in this moment, he could not stop his countenance from contorting in bewilderment. There were knots and threads of wires everywhere, concealing half of the projector in a mass of gray and black overgrowth. A tumbleweed of rubber—it was no wonder it wasn’t working.
He cleared his throat. “May I ask what happened here?”
Abashed, yet somehow giddy, Feliciano answered. “Well, I thought something would happen if I switched some of the wires around, but nothing changed! You know, they should really keep instruction manuals with these things.”
Ludwig stifled a sigh; nobody could blame the kid for trying. But this task just became tenfold longer. He knelt down to examine the mess of cords and began unplugging them from the machine. “I’ll reset the projector and troubleshoot it from there. This might take a couple minutes, so feel free to resume your work.”
Oddly enough, Feliciano begged to stay and watch. “Could I watch you? So I know what to do next time?” He had pulled up a stool and was leaning intently close. “I’m the only one working the gallery this morning, so there wasn’t anybody else I could ask for help. I’m so glad you got here so fast! We’re preparing for a new exhibition at the end of the week. Oh! You should come by when it opens!”
Feliciano loved to talk. Ludwig seemed to listen. While the amateur gallerist prattled on about some subject or another, Ludwig zoned into his work. A few of the lines didn’t even connect to anything, but he was no longer interested in the past whys of Feliciano’s technical incompetence. Steely blue eyes iced over with concentration. Laboriously, he freed each cable from its matted prison, meticulously coiling them into neat nests. Efficiently, he reconnected the correct wires in orderly fashion—perfect parallels running from A to B at the lowest cost.
“What about you?” The question broke his focus.
“What about me?”
Feliciano burst into a childish fit of laughter, the shape of his shut eyes forming impossibly model arches. “You’re so funny, Ludwig!”
That was a compliment he had never received before, especially unwarranted. Suddenly, he wanted to know what the joke was. But lost and without a clue, Ludwig continued to repair the connection between the projector and the display monitor. If he was correct, then…
“Yay! You fixed it!” Feliciano applauded Ludwig’s efforts with zeal. Admittedly, Ludwig himself was quite proud of his fast handiwork, but he did not join in the celebration.
“Right. Please let us know if you have any more issues.” He turned about-face to meet Feliciano. Those shining eyes flashed again, but Ludwig blinked them back to matte. “And next time, call before you try to rearrange any more wires.”
People don’t usually take well to passive scolding, but Feliciano took faults without missing a beat. “Okay! I will!” It was a promise sealed with an eager thumbs-up. They bid their farewells, and when Ludwig exited the galleria, he glanced at his watch.
10:00
Perfect.
The rest of the day passed without incident. Lunch was from twelve to one, and work was over everyday at five. Routine goodbyes were exchanged, Ludwig got home at his self-scheduled time, and the evening ticked away. Nine o’clock came. He flossed his gums, brushed his teeth, and washed his face. Ten o’clock came. It was time for bed. He’d tell someone goodnight, but his dogs were already asleep.
__________________
0500
Wake up. Walk and feed the dogs.
0600
Shower. Shave. Gel. It's a weekday. Get dressed.
0700
Breakfast and coffee. The morning news and weather.
0800
Pack lunch. Lock the doors. Commute to work.
0900
“Good morning, Ludwig! Always on the dot.”
Another day, another twenty-four hours. Rinse and repeat.
“Good morning, Eduard.”
On cue, Raivis came rushing in and greeted them in the exact same way he had been for the past couple months: “Good morning, Mr. Beilschmidt. Good morning, Mr. von Bock.” They had given up trying to get Raivis to address them any other way.
A month had passed since that first bemusing episode with Feliciano in the gallery, and the event rarely crossed Ludwig’s mind. That is, until today.
The office phone sang the only tune it knew, and Ludwig answered the only way he knew: “Campus IT, Ludwig speaking. How may I help?”
“Oh! Hello!” What an oddly familiar tone.
“Feliciano?”
“You remembered my name! Aw, how sweet; I love that!” Decidedly, this man was too affectionate, but the matters of Feliciano’s endearments weren’t important. What happened this time?
“What’s the matter?”
“Oh, that’s right! So, I’m in a computer lab—I think somebody’s supposed to be in here but there isn’t—and I’m trying to use one of the programs. In case you’re wondering, I only work in the gallery three days a week, so that’s why I’m not there today!” Ludwig wasn’t wondering that, but he hummed a “Uh-huh” in response anyhow. “Anyway, so I’m trying to use this program for one of my assignments, and I keep getting errors! I tried a couple of the other computers, and they tell me the same thing. Could you come down and help me? Please?”
“Of course, I’ll be on my way over.”
“Thank you, Ludwig! I’ll see you soon!”
“Wait—!” But Feliciano hung up before Ludwig could ask which computer lab he was in. Deeply, he sighed.
“Woah there,” Eduard commented, “Don’t hear a lot of those from you. Weird call?”
Ludwig raised his arm to run his hand through his hair, a habit he picked up from his older brother that their father often told them was “unbefitting of esteemed gentlemen”, but he stopped short from messing up his slicked-back style. He shook his head and recentered himself.
“It’s fine.” He stood and made his way to the door. “I’m heading out on call. Page me if you need anything.” And he was out the door before Eduard could even finish saying the word “Alright”.
__________________
It took a mockingly long time before Ludwig found the right room.
“There you are!”
“Sorry,” Ludwig panted. They were on the third floor, and he had traversed a total of two buildings and eleven flights of stairs before arriving. “It’s been a little slow-going this morning.” A stray blond lock teased his peripheral, and a lick of annoyance briefly wet his mood. He ran a stiff palm over his hair, forcing it back into place. “Now, what’s the issue?”
The issue, this time, was legitimate. As it turned out, this particular computer lab had been due for an update, and multiple programs were in need of license renewals. Somehow or another, Feliciano just happened to choose the very room that had been neglected.
“So what’s it like?”
“What is what like?”
“Your job! Do you like it? You never really look like you like it.” Decidedly, this man also asked too many questions. Perhaps answering them would prove sufficient; Ludwig already knew Feliciano wouldn’t be content to sit in a room with nothing but the click of mouse and the clack of the keyboard.
“It’s fine.” There was unsettling silence. Why wasn’t Feliciano talking? He realized the brunet was waiting for him to continue, and he forced himself to swallow an ounce of displeasure. “I like it fine. It’s stable. It’s what I’ve been trained to do.” More untoward silence. What could possibly be wrong with that answer?
Annoyance irking his brow, he hazarded a look at Feliciano, frustratingly curious about his sudden quietness. Uneasily, he was met with a content stare; Feliciano was simply smiling to himself, head cocked to the side in mute observation.
“…What?”
“You’re very handsome, Ludwig!” Ludwig’s face scrunched in apprehension. “And you make such funny faces!”
“I thought you had work to do.”
Feliciano laughed in reply. Was Ludwig making another weird face again? He returned his attention to the loading screen on the monitor.
“Why don’t you go to a different room? It’ll be a while before this finishes,” Ludwig offered.
Feliciano refused, “That’s okay! It’s not that important right now. Hey, I didn’t see you at the last showing. The one where you had to set up the projector for me?”
The worker inwardly grimaced. He couldn’t believe he was letting someone younger than him drag him around like this. “It slipped my mind. Work gets busy,” he lied.
Yet Feliciano was an avatar of hope. “It happens! But you should come to the senior exhibition at the end of the semester! I’ll have an entire wall up!”
“So you’re graduating this year?”
“Yes!”
Only a few more months.
“But I’m going to grad school here.”
Great.
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you! So you’re coming?”
When did I say that? he thought, baffled. Feliciano created narratives all on his own, but Ludwig recognized a pleading wish in the young man’s eyes. It was a look akin to the one his dogs made when they begged for food, and it was one that Ludwig was weak to. This was an artist looking for a little praise and validation; nobody could fault him for wanting to share his passion. His shoulders dropped in surrender.
“Sure.”
__________________
Another month had passed since that second encounter with Feliciano in the computer lab, and Ludwig had resolved more problems for Feliciano and the art gallery than he thought was possible to have. Over a slow, numbing course of several weeks, the two had become too close to each other than what Ludwig believed was natural. Instead of the distinct boxes of practice and procedure Ludwig kept in his mind, his thoughts were gradually being overrun with the young artist with carnelian features and quicksand charm. Why did he know that Feliciano has an older brother with a sour attitude? Why did he know that Feliciano ate pizza at least once a week? Why was he allowing a stranger to occupy so many of his twenty-four hours?
“Hello, Ludwig!” They were speaking on the office phone once again. Ludwig had become the unofficial gallery technician, and others in the department had even started deferring requests made there to him.
“Hello, Feliciano. Where are you?” Ludwig no longer asked for the reason for calling. He’d find out whenever he got there, and Feliciano’s rambling was harder to stop over the phone than it was in real life.
“I’m in the painting studio above the gallery! Make sure you come quick, because it’s actually a little important this time!” Ludwig swore to be there as fast as possible, and Eduard and Raivis were already used to watching the tall blond take off. It had become half-routine for him to walk to the art studios, and his route became shorter and shorter as he discovered new shortcuts in and around the campus buildings. As per Feliciano’s jumbled directions, Ludwig found the creaky wooden door that opened into a large and lived-in studio floor. Easels and paints were scattered all about the place, and the hardwood floor was irreversibly stained.
He had been instructed to make his way to the far end of the workspace. He did just that, but strangely, there was no sign of Feliciano in sight. Tape arrows pointed Ludwig toward a small photography setup, complete with a white background and professional standlights. He followed without question, ending at a large ‘X’ in the middle of the stage.
“Say cheese!” Ludwig spun on his heel at the sound, landing perfectly in the frame of a candid photo. Grinning from behind the camera was Feliciano, who was looking over the moon with himself.
“What is this?!” Ludwig demanded. An impish laugh filled the empty space between them.
“It’s my very important request!”
He had been ambushed! “Feliciano, what are you doing? I am actively working! You can’t just call me out here whenever you feel!”
But Ludwig’s distress was casually disregarded: “That’s why I said to get here fast!” Either Feliciano did not grasp the seriousness of the situation or he simply did not believe it existed. Even more distressing, Ludwig did not find this behavior out of the ordinary. He really was letting a silly undergraduate run him ragged.
Feliciano proffered an explanation for the impromptu photoshoot: “I need one more portrait for my exhibition! Please?” He begged, “Can I please use you?”
“What? Me?” He had never been the subject of someone’s work. Those things were usually reserved for more remarkable people, weren’t they?
However, the college senior did not placate any more questions. “Please?” he repeated.
Ludwig yielded with a sigh. Feliciano smiled and took another photo.
__________________
They were a month out from the senior exhibition. By some way, Ludwig had committed himself to attending, and it was solidified by the event marking in his calendar. It had made itself at home on the paper square box, and he no longer felt that pin of obligation whenever he saw it. Dare he say he was looking forward to it?
Presently, it was the weekend, the only two days in which he could resume his regularly-scheduled programming. But then his doorbell rang and there was a familial banging at the door, and he knew any plans he may have had were thrown out the window.
“Hallo, Bruder,” he flatly greeted.
“What’s up, mein liebling?!”
Ludwig exhaled purposefully and exasperatedly as he begrudgingly stood aside to grant his brother entry into his townhome. Gilbert Beilschmidt, his loudmouthed and frivolous older brother, was a man both much too alike and at the same time much too different from Ludwig. They both endured the same militant upbringing, yet Gilbert had somehow gained the rebelliousness to live both inside and out of their designated boxes. When you put the siblings next to each other—one with white hair and ruby eyes, the other with flaxen hair and blue eyes—they didn't even look related. Ludwig truly believed they would be strangers if they didn’t share the same surname.
“What are you up to today?” Gilbert asked as he greeted Ludwig’s two dogs: Berlitz, a German shepherd, and Berlitz’s comically small dachshund, Blackie. Maybe Gilbert would know what Ludwig was doing if he ever bothered to call beforehand.
“Not much,” he confessed since it wouldn’t matter if he actually had plans or not.
His brother made himself at home on the couch, stretching his long legs out in front of him as he continued to pet and coddle his animal nephews. “Awesome! Me either! Let’s do something!”
“Don’t you have anyone else to bother?” deadpanned Ludwig. Gilbert had quite the circle of rambunctious friends to entertain, unlike Ludwig, who liked to keep to himself and his regimens.
“Always, but I think it’s fun to annoy you.”
Ludwig crossed his arms, signaling suspicion. “Are you avoiding someone again?”
Narrowed red eyes flashed dismissively, and Gilbert drawled a slow and firm, “No…” Ludwig didn’t press; he wouldn’t get any answers. “So what have you been up to?” Gilbert continued, “How’s work?”
“Work’s fine. Nothing of note.”
Gilbert loved Ludwig’s apathetic responses since it left room for him to badger his baby brother. “Yeah? Haven’t met anyone special yet? Still sticking it out with the dogs?”
“No. And yes.”
Gilbert turned to talk to Berlitz, who smiled with his tongue out the entire time. “Your daddy is so lame,” he goaded in a baby-voice, “He has no friends and no bitches.”
“Please don’t abuse my dog.”
Ignoring Ludwig, he carried on rubbing Berlitz’s cheeks and cooing, “But it’s true.”
“He’s not going to talk to you.”
“Sure he is! Berlitz! Speak!” Berlitz obediently barked. “Good boy!” Gilbert praised. “You could be a good boy and speak, too, Luddy.”
The younger one scoffed. “There’s nothing to report. I haven’t done anything.”
“Then what’s that?” If there was one thing Gilbert inherited from their stern father, it was keen observational skills. He pointed at the tiny writing on the wall calendar; pathetically, it was the only thing marked for the whole month.
Ludwig walked into the kitchen, distancing himself as a means of a diversion. “That’s just an art gallery reception I'm going to. Nothing crazy.”
But that older-sibling-desire to know everything was a prominent part of Gilbert’s relationship with Ludwig. “Didn’t know you were a man of the arts!” When Ludwig didn’t refute, he assumed, “You must be trying to impress somebody.”
Ludwig sputtered. “I am not! One of the artists invited me, and I said yes. That’s it.”
Oh, how Gilbert loved to tease. “Sounds like you’ve got an admirer. How’d you two meet? I didn’t realize you knew anybody outside of your department.”
“He is not an admirer!” Ludwig let the refrigerator door slam close a little too loudly. “He’s just some kid who really wants me to see his paintings. End of story.”
Gilbert teleported to the door, wearing that shit-eating smirk on his face that told of his mischievous motives. “I know what we should do today.”
Ludwig would regret asking, “What?”
“Kaffeeklatsch.”
“No, don’t—“
“Kaffeeklatsch!!” And Gilbert was cackling away as he pushed Ludwig out of the house. Ludwig hated kaffeeklatsch—Gilbert always got too much information out of him.
__________________
There they were, two grown men squeezed onto tiny wooden stools of the nearby coffeeshop. This was a hotspot for sorority girls and Gilbert’s appetite. The older brother had a penchant for sweets, another habit that bled over into Ludwig’s own tastes.
“Wow, this kid must really rely on you.” Gilbert had successfully extracted all the necessary details of Ludwig’s past months’ worth of ordeals.
Ludwig shook his head and took another drink of his coffee. “He’s even found where I take my lunch breaks.”
Gilbert’s eyes went wide, a piece of cake nearly falling off of his fork. “Holy shit, this dude must be desperate.”
“I wouldn’t call him desperate,” he acquiesced. “But I don’t know how he’s gotten so attached to me. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a nice guy,” the caffeine and sugar made him unbearably talkative, “I just don’t know how I'm supposed to interact with someone like him. He’s so… so random. He’s like an anomaly, like—“
“A person, Ludwig.” Gilbert laughed and swallowed a forkful of whipped cream. “He’s not part of the matrix like you are.”
“But why me?”
“Why anyone?” Gilbert extended. “Why are we sitting here drinking coffee right now?”
“Because we’re family and you hate me.”
Gilbert chuckled and clapped Ludwig on the back. “You got me there! But that’s not the point. Sometimes, things just happen! Sometimes, people just meet. The world doesn’t march as perfectly as you do.”
They sat quietly with each other for a moment, the words processing in Ludwig’s hard drive. It wasn’t an orderly answer the technician wanted, but it was the chaotic truth of the universe.
“Listen, I think he really looks up to you. You’re a dependable guy, Ludwig. Plus, he sounds hilarious; I can’t believe he got you to follow some random tape on the floor.”
Ludwig flustered red and furious. “It was in the shape of an arrow! What other directions would you need!”
__________________
0500
Wake up. Walk and feed the dogs.
0600
Shower. Shave. Gel. It's a weekday. Get dressed.
0700
Breakfast and coffee. The morning news and weather.
0800
Pack lunch. Lock the doors. Commute to work.
0900
“Good morning, Ludwig.”
“Good morning, Eduard. Raivis.”
Days in the office were slowing down with the approach of the hot summer season. They were no longer fielding Feliciano’s calls as he and the other senior artists were doubling down in their craft. That pleasant lull of monotony was present once more, but after months of upturned days and overturned schedules, Ludwig was unexpectedly fretful. Feliciano’s silence worried him more than his petty mistakes. The hour hand on the analog clock passed ten, passed eleven, and eventually landed on twelve. Ever since Feliciano found Ludwig at his usual picnic table across from his building, there were very few days where the undergraduate hadn’t shown up to pester him, but today, he spent his lunch break surprisingly mostly alone. His twenty-four boxes were suddenly feeling quite light, quite empty.
“Ludwig!” Feliciano’s bright voice rang familiar in his ears. That’s weird: was he expecting him?
Swift, somewhat clumsy, steps brought Feliciano racing to the table. Excitedly, he slammed his hands down on the weather-worn wood. “I need you!”
Ludwig’s heart beat with terse anticipation. “To do what?”
“To paint! Today! As soon as you can!”
“What?”
But Feliciano was out of breath and out of time. “Come to the studio today! My whole degree depends on it!” Shot of lightning—he was gone just as quickly as he had appeared. Enthusiastically, he waved farewell, nearly tripping over the ledge of the sidewalk as he took off, leaving Ludwig lost and unsure once more.
__________________
1700
Clock out. Go…?
Ludwig left the office every weekday at five o’clock, but he did not go home today. Brusquely, his feet took him back to the studio above the art gallery. His guess? His body was trying to outpace his heart. He entered, and this time, Feliciano was there to meet him properly. Instead of tricking him into another photo session, however, Feliciano set Ludwig in front of a blank canvas and stuck a paint brush in his unsuitably large and rough hand.
“Okay, Ludwig! Paint!” he cheered. Ludwig paled.
“No, no, I-I can’t do that.” He delicately put the utensil down on the edge of the easel and backed away. “I thought you wanted to paint me, not the other way around. I am not an artist.”
For the first time, Ludwig noticed the completed portraits hanging on the wall. There were four in total, all masterfully rendered and carefully produced, showcasing a wide range of emotions worn raw and bare on their faces. Truly and totally, he was impressed.
“I could do a paint-by-number, maybe, but I could never create something like that.” He crossed his arms, hiding his inept hands.
Feliciano introduced the guests on the wall. “These are my fratello, Lovino. I’ve told you about him.” Feliciano had, and the stories fit the bill. One painting illustrated an intense scowl with fierce, fiery eyes, indicative of an infamous short temper. The other featured a twisted smile, as if he had been laughing so hard it pained him, with eyebrows mangled in a delirium of joy. Feliciano mentioned that such a sighting was rare but imprinted deeply. The artist moved to the remaining two, both of an elderly man with hard features but soft gazes.
“These are my nonno.” Ludwig hadn’t heard much about him. “He passed last year.” That was why. While Feliciano took a moment to himself, Ludwig examined the pictures, looking into the past. In one, the elder was depicted as hale, healthy and vigorous despite his apparent age. In the other, a forlorn and weary expression masked a feeble attempt at a smile.
“He taught me how to hold a paintbrush,” Feliciano reminisced. “I wish he was here to see me use them!” He wiped a single tear away from his eyes before resuming his cheerful character. “Now I’ll teach you!”
Feliciano loved to pull Ludwig down into his whirlpool of reality, and Ludwig was always too flabbergasted to resist. Gingerly, the painter placed a brush into Ludwig’s hand, readjusting the grip until it sat just so in his fingers. Stiff as a statue, Ludwig froze in his position.
“I’m not sure what you’re expecting me to do. There’s no guidelines, no instructions. I’m not trained for this!”
“You don’t have to train to be creative,” Feliciano insisted. “Just do what you feel you should. Pick any color you like. Just try it!”
But the non-artist was still apprehensive. “No—I’m sure these are quality brushes, and the paints must be expensive. I know materials cost a lot and—”
Feliciano interjected, “Just try it!”
Ludwig scanned the paints, feeling stupid and overwhelmed for fearing mere tubes of pigment. Just choose something, he convinced himself. I can pick any one of these. Since when did he have so much free will? What was he supposed to do with so many options?
Then from his sideline view, he saw toffee-sweet hair, gleaming agate eyes, and the soft blue of Feliciano’s draping shirt. He reached for orange, for brown, for red, for blue. The colors splat on the canvas with little experience, for carelessly, Ludwig brushed them on. Maybe if he mixed the orange and brown, he could create that caramel color. It might help to add a little white. Maybe if he worked together the brown and the red, he could blend his way to an earthy red clay. Was there any chance he could match that bright blue?
In time, he stopped. The canvas was a mess—it felt horribly unfinished—but he was mentally exhausted. Feliciano came up beside him to admire Ludwig’s work.
“I hate it,” Ludwig declared.
Feliciano smiled. “I love it.”
__________________
Tonight was the night of the reception. Ludwig had never before attended a gallery show, so he was terribly afraid of underdressing. After consulting some magazines that were likely out-of-date with the latest fashion trends, he decided on a slightly nicer collared shirt, a slightly nicer pair of trousers, and a slightly nicer set of shoes. As per his brother’s suggestion, he parted his blond hair a little differently, and at the end of it all, he looked slightly more handsome than usual. He didn’t want to trudge through the weeds about it any longer lest he be late.
The galleria was packed full of admiring students and faculty members, all praising their fellow peers and pupils for their hard work and dedication over the last semester. Artwork in all varieties of mediums were on display, and Ludwig took the time to appreciate each one. The exhibition proved to be quite expansive, and as he perused the pieces, an itching thought crept up his spine. Feliciano had supposedly painted him; what kind of face would he be immortalized in? The only two in his repertoire were serious and vaguely annoyed. Every second he spent looking for those paintings was another breath that quickened. Dare he say he was nervous?
Finally, he caught sight of Lovino’s hiss and growl, and he knew he had found it. A clear path parted in front of him, and his pulse and pace matched as he beelined to it. There were six paintings in total, arranged in two rows of three. Sitting center in the line-up was a mirror image of Ludwig, blue eyes cold and resilient, lips set in a line and unmoving. It was undoubtedly him. What other face could he make?
Then his eyes drifted upward, and his mouth fell open in wonder. There he was again, carrying an expression he would never recognize. His typically broad and straight shoulders were slumped in relaxation. His eyebrows were turned up—half in amusement, half in relentment. His lips hinted at the faintest smile. His eyes were the most powdery baby blue. And a messy wash of orange, brown, red, and blue mingled in the background. Was it really him in that painting?
A small sign was plastered on the wall beneath the set of canvases. It read:
—————————————————————
“Expressions”
The expressions of the people around us. Two expressions each from those who have especially helped me. I dedicate these works to a world free to evince love in its many innumerable ways.
Feliciano Vargas
—————————————————————
“I didn’t know I could look like that.”
“What are you talking about? You look like that all the time!” Feliciano materialized behind the onlooker, and Ludwig found it natural that the artist only appeared at the most unsuspecting times. “That’s the funny face you make whenever I ask you for help.” He giggled to himself. “So I’ve seen it a lot.”
“They’re beautiful,” Ludwig complimented. “You’ve worked hard.”
“Grazie, Ludwig. I really appreciate it.” He smiled again, cheeks pressing the corners of his eyes up. “Do you think you’ll stay a while?”
Ludwig might’ve checked the time, but he left his watch at home. He smiled faintly, eyebrows quirked in half amusement and half awe, sky eyes soft and feathery.
“Yes, I think I will.”