Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Feliciano rounded the long corridor and nearly crashed into a doctor.

“Sorry!” He called over his shoulder, not slowing his pace. This meant he only caught a glimpse of the peeved look she shot back at him.
It didn’t deter him. His focus remained on finding room 240A, and no amount of nurses or trolleys would hinder that.

Well, maybe his lack of stamina, which dwindled the longer he sprinted through the hospital. Beads of sweat gathered on his forehead, cooling when he dashed around yet another corner. His legs pumped in agony as his breath ragged with each step. But none of those sensations compared to the stinging pain of his heart rampaging through his chest.

The moment he had received Gilbert’s text, Feliciano dropped everything and raced to the hospital, speed bumps and poles be damned. But that wouldn’t mitigate the fear, the torturous voice at the back of his mind telling him he was too late. He could easily picture the horrors he would encounter once he finally found the right room. Found Ludwig.

Feliciano swallowed a sob and rubbed his eyes, which had become too blurry to see the numbers beside the door. Besides, he should save his tears for when he knew for sure, when he knew he had become a widower at the tender age of twenty-four. A widower who hadn’t even been married yet but was about to be, in exactly one month.

A widower who knew he would look horrible in mourning clothes. Black just wasn’t his color!

Tears fell freely now, attracting a few odd looks from the people Feliciano sped past. He paid them no mind; he was more worried about the funeral he now had to plan—a task he would gladly dump on Ludwig if he weren’t the one who had died!

Finally, Feliciano reached the right room. Heart pounding, he threw open the door and tumbled inside.

“Lud—!”

Three figures turned to shush him, making him recoil. He had to adjust his eyes to the darkness of the room. The curtains were drawn close, the lights switched off. 

A dead silence settled.

Feliciano’s breath hitched as he struggled to glance toward the bed in the middle of the room where Gilbert, Antonio and Francis had gathered around. He was glad they blocked the view of the figure lying within it. Biting down a whimper, he crept towards the nearest person and tucked at Matthew's sleeves with trembling hands.

“Is he…?”

“Hm?” The Canadian blinked down at Feliciano with a cocked his head. It took a few seconds until he understood what the Italian was getting at. “Oh, no, he’s fine,” he said with a reassuring smile that was hard to make out in the darkness. He adjusted his boyfriend’s jacket in his hold. “Gilbert just wanted you to come so you could see Ludwig wake up from the anesthesia. Apparently, ‘the more people that see his brother high on narcotics, the better.’ His words.” 

Feliciano collapsed in relief. Matthew caught him just before he could hit the floor. “So they didn’t cut out his stomach and failed to put it back in again and so he died?” He asked while the Canadian swooped him up in a bridal carry like he weighed nothing. 

Matthew paused, choosing his next words wisely: “How do you think an appendectomy works?”

Just the way Feliciano had explained it. But now that he thought about it, he probably should have watched one of the many YouTube videos Ludwig had sent him on the matter. Ludwig would have explained it to the Italian himself, using his colorful markers and their whiteboard, but he was too busy. Instead, Feliciano spent most of his time watching slime content or planning his fiancé’s get-better-soon meals. 

With an earnest expression, Feliciano grabbed hold of the Canadian’s shoulder to ask the most important question of all: “Will he be able to eat, though?”

“Yes,” Matthew said, his kind demeanor ever present, “because the surgeons didn’t remove his stomach.”

Just like that, all of Feliciano’s worries dissipated and he leaned back with a sigh. He would have cozied up in Matthew’s arms for a while longer, but the Canadian gently let him down again. 

Now sure that he wouldn’t see a corpse, Feliciano craned his neck to peer into the bed. His heart leaped in both excitement and relief when Ludwig, propped up on the mattress, yawned lazily, unfazed by the flashlight and camera in his face. The Italian intended to rush to him, but Matthew held him back with a small shake of his head. 

“Now, let’s try this again,” Gilbert said, his hands wound behind his back as he paced back and forth. His usually high-pitched voice was now a low murmur, his gait and demeanor somber. “Summer 1998,” he began, as if he were a detective in a murder mystery show. “Did you or did you not forget to close Balthasar’s cage?”

Ludwig watched his brother for a moment, his face giving nothing away. He narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing Gilbert until he decided to lean closer to respond with a question:

“Why are you so white?”

With their faces just inches apart, Gilbert blinked once, then twice, his sharp gaze meeting Ludwig’s groggy one. “That’s… racist,” he stated simply before throwing his hands down onto his brother’s mattress to wake him up. “Ludwig, focus! How did we lose the awesomest and fiercest creature that ever lived?”

“Who is Balthasar?” Francis cut in, holding Gilbert’s phone uncomfortably close to Ludwig’s face. Close enough to capture the German’s nose hair. 

Gilbert didn’t answer right away. First, he directed a heated glare at his brother, grinding his teeth before forcing out: “Our hamster.” He lowered himself again, staring straight into Ludwig’s eyes, into his soul. “And it’s time to find out what really happened to her all those years ago—”

“Balthasar was a girl?” Antonio asked, adjusting the flashlight in his hand—a tool meant to make this interrogation so much worse.

“We didn’t know that when we named her,” Gilbert snapped back at his friends. “Get your priorities straight, people!” He turned back to Ludwig, whose eyelids drooped every so often. “Did you forget to close her cage the day she went missing?”

Ludwig’s gaze dropped to his lap, but not out of shame or guilt. He raised his hands, fascinated by them.

“Why are my hands so big—?”

“Ludwig!”

“Hm? No,” the German finally answered, his speech a long, drawn-out drawl. “I released her into the garden,” he mumbled. “Wanted to show her the weeds. To eat them. Then she ran away. Poof—” he made the motion and sound effect, “—gone.”

A silencing arrow shot through the room and all eyes zapped to Gilbert, who had yet to close his agape mouth. “You told Papa that I lost her,” he whispered as his crimson eyes clouded at the memory. His voice cracked when he realized: “You framed me.”

“Yep.” Ludwig popped the ‘p’ and flung his head around on his pillow. “So I won’t get in trouble.” To underscore his point, he added a word that had shocked everyone, one he had never used in his lifetime: “Duh.” 

While Gilbert looked ready to black out and clamor at the same time, Francis stepped in to offer a few words, but not out of wisdom: “Wait, so you just told your dad it was Gilbert’s fault and he immediately believed you?” He asked Ludwig, who nodded clumsily. The Frenchman glanced up and down his friend. “Checks out.”

Gilbert could only glare. “All these years…” He began to reminisce, then stopped to chuckle. “You know, I ‘m aware that I’ve not been the most well-behaved child growing up,” he admitted to the room as he slowly rounded his brother’s bed. “I might have been ‘difficult’ according to my parents, ‘a pain in the ass’ according to my teachers and voted as ‘the person most likely to be homeless and twice divorced at the age of twenty’ by my classmates in middle school. But there was one thing I never was...” 

He tipped in so that Ludwig could see the contempt in his eyes as he hissed: “A filthy liar. And that just at the age of seven too.” He spat the following words: “But your days of deception are over. It’s finally time to face justice for your crimes.”

“Didn’t your father die six years ago?” Antonio pitched in. 

“I’m not talking about him.” Gilbert pointed at his phone in Francis’ hands. “This is going straight to the police.” 

“Babe,” Matthew tried softly, putting his hand on his boyfriend’s stiff shoulder, “I think you might be overreacting just a teeny-tiny bit—”

Gilbert wouldn’t listen. “But before I do that…” He took his phone back. A predatory grin split his face as he approached Ludwig again who eyed the camera blankly. “What other secrets are you willing to share? I, for one, remember High School 2006 vividly. Did you really get laid at Pia’s house or did you just lie about it so people would stop questioning your sexuality?”

Ludwig shrugged with only one shoulder. “Never went to her house,” he slurred. “We split after playing on the slide at the playground. Her hair got caught in my braces.”

Mildly disgusted faces surrounded him. “How…?” Gilbert hollered, trying not to gag. “Ew. Were you trying to eat her head?”

"It was actually—"

“That’s enough,” Feliciano said and pushed into the scene to intervene. He swatted at the camera on his way to the curtains and flung them open, letting daylight flood the room and momentarily blind everyone. Turning to face Gilbert, he crossed his arms. “Do you really have to bully and humiliate him right now?”

 “Feli, schatzilein,” the older Beilschmidt implored with a hand on his heart, “you should know by now that that’s my job. And I take it very seriously, don’t I?” He turned to his partners in crime, who nodded saintly.

“Even when he just had surgery? Look at him!” Feliciano gestured at the bedridden German, who looked beyond helpless in his hospital garb and ruffled hair. With a sympathetic whine, Feliciano inched closer to his fiancé, resting one leg on the edge of the mattress. “How are you feeling, ciccino?” He cooed, tenderly caressing Ludwig’s temple. “Do you hurt anywhere?”

He intended to comfort his soon-to-be husband, not to shock the living daylights out of him. Ludwig stared at Feliciano as if the Italian had sprouted two heads.

“Gilbert,” he said, his wide eyes still fixed on Feliciano.

His older brother was only half-listening, distracted as he fumbled with the settings on his phone. “What?”

“This cute nurse is talking to me.”

That made Gilbert snap to attention, along with everyone else. Matthew covered his mouth in shock, Antonio’s jaw dropped, Francis blinked in surprise, and Feliciano nearly fainted. 

“Nurse?” He croaked. The whole world knew he wouldn’t last a day in medical school with his fear of needles! Feliciano cupped the German’s face with quivering fingers. “Ludwig, it’s me!” He shook the other. “Don’t you recognize me?” 

Ludwig flailed for words, his attention drawn to where Feliciano touched him. “Gilbert,” he said again, prompting a concerned tilt of his brother’s head. “He’s still talking to me. What do I say?”

“You could ask the cute nurse for his name,” Francis chimed in, unable to restrain himself.

Feliciano glowered at the Frenchman, who was barely able to stifle a chuckle. “This isn’t funny.” He examined Ludwig’s face for signs of fever, then checked his neck and torso. Panic surged in his chest when he noticed his fiancé blushing like a chaste virgin. “Is this normal? Where is the doctor?” He scoured his surroundings. One of the buttons by Ludwig’s head should alarm a professional, right?

“Don’t just stand there!” he growled at the onlookers, who only seemed to grow more amused as the terror-stricken Italian pressed every button in sight. “Call someone!”

The only person who spoke up was Ludwig, but only to shyly ask: “Are you single?” 

Feliciano paused mid-frenzy, giving his fiancé a miserable look. “Oh, Ludwig—”

“Are you blind?” A disembodied voice called from a distance. Of course, Antonio had to FaceTime Lovino to enjoy the spectacle as well. A sneer broke across the screen. “Don’t you see the ring on his finger?”

“Lovino!”

Ludwig glanced down, and the hopeful enchantment in his expression instantly shifted to crestfallen heartbreak. Even worse, he wouldn’t allow Feliciano to console him with the truth. “Oh. Oh no,” he whispered, and Feliciano realized he had never seen him this downhearted before.

To lift the mood, Matthew—who Feliciano had considered the most mature person in the room up to this point—added: “But it’s only an engagement ring, so…”

Francis snickered and high-fived the Canadian, who threw Feliciano an apologetic glance. 

“Hilarious, really,” Feliciano scoffed, a rare moment that made him sound and look like his brother. “Are you done having your fun now?”

“Relax,” Gilbert said, placing a reassuring hand on the Italian’s shoulder. “Postoperative cognitive dysfunction can happen after anesthesia; they warn you about it beforehand. Besides—” he folded his arms, a smug smile spreading across his lips—“ shouldn’t you be happy that he’s still attracted to you even if he can’t count to ten when asked?”

Feliciano said nothing, biting down on his lips as a new wave of unease washed through him. The others giggled on, heedless of his inner turmoil. Why shouldn’t they? They hadn’t been there the day Ludwig and Feliciano met at the bar for the first time. An encounter that had quickly devolved into a drunken one-night stand that had left both breathless. The next morning, when Feliciano woke up with a swelled heart and butterflies in his stomach, he found the German already awake, throwing on his clothes with lightning speed. Feliciano had tried to make him stay, offer a warming cup of coffee, but Ludwig had already rushed to the door. 

But he didn’t leave without first apologizing for his recklessness, his audacity,

His mistake.

Feliciano had broken down into tears the moment the German was gone but couldn’t ignore him the next time they crossed paths. Ludwig’s face was simply too pretty, the memory of his lips too alluring to shun. He apologized again, this time for his gracelessness in social situations. Feliciano laughed, because when had anyone ever been this honest with him? And the rest, as they say, was history.

So then why was he still so anxious? Maybe it was that he hadn’t completely shaken off the memory. Or maybe it was just Ludwig’s intense stare, combined with him straightening his posture that squeezed his gut into tense knots. 

“I don’t usually do this,” he began with a slight sway of his head, unaware of how his next words would tear through Feliciano like a spear: “But I think you are making a horrible mistake.”

 The chuckles behind them cut off, replaced by the pounding of Feliciano’s racing heartbeat in his ears. On the blanket, his fingers curled into shaky fists. He swallowed hard, fixing the German with a solemn glance.

“Why?” 

Ludwig didn’t look up from the engagement band he had given Feliciano on a warm autumn night on the beach in Capri, when the stars smiled down on them. The disdain in his eyes for the ring did nothing to calm the storm raging in the Italian’s ribcage. “I don’t want to come between you and your fiancé,” he muttered, finally meeting Feliciano’s gaze, his bright blue eyes steady and serious. “But I know I can make you happier.”

A weight worth a hundred tons lifted from Feliciano’s chest. He nearly fell off the bed when he threw himself back in relief.

Everyone else erupted in laughter, startling Ludwig. But his shock quickly turned to offense. He must have thought no one believed his promise. With a pout, he tried to glare, but it came out more like a woozy squint. “I mean it,” he grumbled.

Feliciano pressed his lips close to suppress a smile. “You do?”

A jerky nod. “I have a lot of qualities that he probably doesn’t have,” Ludwig assured and flushed when Feliciano pushed closer in interest. 

Lovino’s voice cut through their sizzling tension: “Like what?” 

Ludwig thought for a bit before facing Feliciano with a determined look. “First—” He raised his wrists, “—I got really big hands.”

With an equally serious expression, Feliciano took one of the other’s hands in his own and appraised it as though it were quality merchandise. “That is true.” 

“And I have a stable job as a train conductor,” Ludwig went on, talking about his life as though Feliciano hadn’t thrown him a party the day he had completed his training. “And I am very good at home repairs,” he made sure to add to snatch even more brownie points. He wasn’t wrong; if it hadn’t been for him, Feliciano would have burned down their apartment—and himself—twice. “And I make really good bread.”

Feliciano smiled, acting surprised. “Really?”

Another nod. “Really good bread. My Rhineland Black Bread won a prize once,” he announced, still as proud as the day he brought home the ribbon. It now hung above the TV, facing their set of couches. A strategic move to ensure Ludwig could recount his victory to anyone who showed even the slightest interest.

“Can your fiancé do that?” Ludwig asked haughtily. 

“Well…” Feliciano shifted on the mattress and adopted a pensive expression. “He also makes really good bread.”

“Yeah, buddy,” Gilbert called from behind. “We’re in Germany. You’ve got to offer something more than bread to impress Feliciano here.”

All the confidence drained from Ludwig’s face. He frantically scanned the room, as if it might offer him a way to defeat his romantic rival. He lit up when it came to him: 

“I can dance too.”

Now Feliciano was genuinely astonished. “You?” He echoed. “Can dance?”

“Well, not yet,” Ludwig admitted, dragging his fingers through his hair and subconsciously slicking it back. “But I’m taking lessons because someone once told me I dance like a cardboard cutout on wheels.”

“That was me!” Lovino piped up, his voice laden with pride. “I said that.”

Ludwig angled in towards Feliciano, beckoning the Italian to do the same. “But it’s a secret,” he said, probably not aware how loud he was. “No one knows I’m taking them. It’s supposed to be a surprise.”

There was only one reason Ludwig would endure this—why he’d battle his own fears, push past the pain, and learn something he’d always resented.

The wedding. 

“So, shh.” Ludwig gently pressed his finger to Feliciano’s lips, his touch lingering for a moment longer. “And when I’m finished, I’ll take you out.” His cheeks flushed, his gaze dropping to the safety of his hands. “If you allow me to,” he added, his voice barely above a whisper.

Feliciano’s heart overflowed with emotion, warmth rising in his chest as tears welled in his eyes. “I’d love that,” he said, his voice thick. Overcome, he bent down to kiss Ludwig’s cheek, and the blonde jolted back in surprise.

“Gilbert!” He called, like a triumphant child running to their parent. “He kissed me!” 

Feliciano finally let out a ringing laugh, the sound bubbling up as he pressed another kiss to his fiancé’s temple, prompting the same startled reaction from him.

Suddenly, without any warning, strong arms wrapped around Feliciano’s waist, pulling him closer. The expression on Ludwig’s face was a mix of determination and guilt as he drew Feliciano in. “I’m a homewrecker,” he lamented, yet made no effort to resist when Feliciano leaned in as well, their lips connecting in a way that seemed to momentarily suspend time.

The rest of the room erupted into cheers and hollers as Ludwig tipped Feliciano backward, adding a dramatic flair to the moment that felt more theatrical than necessary.

They didn’t head home right away; instead, Ludwig soon fell asleep on Feliciano’s chest, reveling in the soothing sensation of the Italian’s fingers caressing his face and toying with his hair.

Unbeknownst to the couple, Lovino instructed Antonio to point his phone toward Gilbert. “Did you get it?” he asked.

Gilbert pressed the white button on his screen to stop the recording. He turned his phone away from his brother, then smirked.

“I got everything.”

Chapter Text

“And if you listen closely—” Ludwig guided the fork down, slow and purposefully, cutting through the crumb like it were a medical procedure. He tipped towards Feliciano, whose face was only inches away from his. “That squishy sound it makes? That’s a good sign. A sign of quality cake.”

Feliciano hummed, studying the piece of Classic Almond-Infused Tiered Cake with the same scientific intensity as Ludwig. “I see,” he said with a thoughtful nod. “But, um, Ludwig?”

“Yes?”

“We are still kind of at our wedding and your brother is waiting to give his best man speech.”

Ludwig glanced up to find over fifty people staring at him. The wedding guests were gathered around the couple as clusters of round tables, silently watching as the German abandoned the cake and snapped to height, offering an embarrassed apology. 

After a few chuckles from the guests that made Ludwig’s ears burn, Gilbert cleared his throat. He was the only one standing, wearing a half-amused expression as he began with: “Ladies and gentlemen.” He leaned so close to the microphone that his voice vibrated throughout the venue. “We are all gathered here today because Ludwig and Feliciano just couldn’t keep it in their pants.”

If Ludwig’s face had been burning before, it was on fire now. How grateful he was for the rosy lights shimmering down on them which masked the redness in his face. He wasn’t the only one affected; Feliciano’s cheeks also sported a cute blush, and Ludwig was close enough to see it. However, the sight did little to quell his regret over appointing his brother as his Best Man.

If he even appointed Gilbert as such. Did he, actually? Or did his brother just claim the position without any questions asked?

“No judgment here,” Gilbert went on merrily. There was a twinkle in his eye Ludwig could spot from a mile away. The same mischievous twinkle that always appeared before his brother decided to turn someone into his source of entertainment. Safe to say, Ludwig feared the worst. “I mean, I was shocked Ludwig even knew how to get them off since they’re usually pulled up so high, I thought he wanted them to double as suspenders. Or break some wedgie world record.” 

Gilbert ignored the heated glare directed his way and took a sip of his champagne. “So you can’t blame me for thinking his relationship status would be ‘single’ forever, or maybe ‘married to the gym’ or something. But hey, miracles do happen.”

With a dramatic pivot, he turned to Feliciano. “Miracles come in the form of a little Italian who appeared out of nowhere and stole my baby brother’s heart.” At least he had the decency to look a little less devilish as he addressed Feliciano. Some might even describe his expression as fond when he continued: “I’m not saying Feliciano has the patience of a saint, but… okay, no, actually, that’s exactly what I’m saying. Because honestly—” he raised his palm to fake whisper, “—how do you put up with him? Blink twice if you need help, Feliciano. We’re here for you.”

Ludwig was still the only person who failed to find any of this funny. He rolled his eyes instead, just as a hand found his. Feliciano’s warm fingers tightened around his in quiet reassurance, and just like that, the tension in Ludwig’s shoulders dissipated.

But Gilbert wasn’t done. Of course, he wasn’t. “I seriously never thought I would see the day Ludwig stopped pretending his model train collection was the only thing worth committing to. But here we are, and you two are living proof that soulmates not only exist but can apparently be found after a few too many bottles of beer. And I already know what all of you are wondering now: No, Matthew and I didn’t meet that way,” he clarified, because it wouldn’t be a speech by Gilbert Beilschmidt if he didn’t find a way to make it about himself. “Unlike my brother, I actually know how to flirt—like a real man. I showed him my extensive bird feather collection, and we were a done deal.”

He lowered the microphone to the person sitting next to him. Matthew assured: “It was very sexy.”

Overly smug, Gilbert raised the mic to his lips again and peered over to Ludwig, who was right to assume yet another round of mockery was coming. “Now, I was originally going to make fun of you some more. I have some great material on your hair…” To Ludwig’s surprise, his brother paused, his smirk fading. “But Matthew forbade me from sharing it. Apparently—” he made air quotation marks, “—my ‘tendency to mask genuine emotions with deprecating jokes and exaggerated behavior isn’t appropriate for my brother’s wedding.’”

“So my psych-grad boyfriend suggested I say something from the heart instead.” Gilbert cast Matthew a sharp, placid smile. “Which is hilarious because everyone knows I don’t have one.” A snort followed, and Gilbert adjusted the mic in his hands, almost as if he were fiddling with it.

“But if I did,” he continued, a bit quieter this time, focusing on the stacked wedding cake by the couple’s table as his shoulders slumped slightly. Caved in. “And if I listened to it, it would probably tell me to say something to you that our father never did.”

He looked up, his crimson eyes catching the evanescent lights—a gaze that went straight to Ludwig’s heart.

“I’m proud of you.”

Gilbert had shoved one hand into his pocket, his posture nonchalant, but there was a quiver in his voice as he held Ludwig’s gaze. “For how far you’ve come, how much you’ve achieved, and of course, for having found someone who loves you despite—” He stopped, chuckling at a joke that had never escaped his lips, like a silly secret he shared with himself. “Who loves you,” he corrected, firm. “And I mean, no one can look at all that and not think: good job.”

Warmth bloomed in Ludwig’s chest, rendering him momentarily speechless. He remained silent for a moment, like he always did to gather his thoughts. Only that there weren’t any. Only sensations that had tapped his heart and pulled on its strings. It didn’t take long for a sound to follow. It was faint at first, a little whimper, then a snivel that choked into a sob—

Sounds that came from Feliciano, who had begun bawling and lamenting how “sweet” that was. With an amused smile, Ludwig wrapped his arms around his husband and fished out a new packet of tissues from his jacket to dry Feliciano’s tears. He hoped the twelve he had packed that morning would be enough, but given that he had already used seven of them and it wasn’t even noon yet, he wasn’t so sure anymore. 

Thankfully, Gilbert didn’t expect him to react with anything more than a silent, yet genuine nod. The few seconds shared between the Beilschmidt brothers was enough for him to pivot to the crowd again. “To Ludwig and Feliciano. Watching you both grow as a couple has shown all of us that love is real. Not only that, but it can be as strong as Ludwig’s obsession with leg day or as passionate as Feliciano’s debates on the right way to make pasta. A little weird for sure, and sometimes borderline insane, but never boring.” With a cutting grin, he raised his champagne flute to the ceiling. “Cheers!”

The crowd responded in kind, leaving Feliciano to lean toward Ludwig to rest his head on his shoulder. Matthew also raised his glass, peering up at his boyfriend with pride. However, the smile on his face dimmed the longer Gilbert remained standing. Confusion turned to realization, and Matthew, wide-eyed, tried to get Gilbert’s attention. But the chatter drowned out his already quiet voice. Even his attempts to grab hold of Gilbert to drag him down failed—it was already too late.

Before Ludwig could figure out what was happening, a glass plunked down on the table. “Alright,” Gilbert said, taking off his jacket and throwing it into the crowd, hitting Antonio’s brother in the face. “Let’s drop the facade and get to the real reason we’re here.” He faced the room and threw his arms wide. “The question we’ve all been asking ourselves for so long.”

A grin crossed Gilbert’s face as he whirled around to Ludwig again, but his crimson eyes burned with intensity. “The question of what really happened to Balthasar.”

Ludwig froze, his hand tightening around Feliciano’s shoulder.

Alfred leaned toward his brother to whisper: “Who is Balthasar?”

Matthew gave a worn smile. “You don’t want to know.”

“Francis, is the projector ready?” Gilbert called.

Standing at the opposite side of the hall and looming over a set of technical equipment, Francis proudly announced: “Yeah, I still don’t know how to operate this thing.”

“Antonio?”

“Right here!” Came a voice from somewhere above, followed by a spotlight blasting into Ludwig’s face. The German had to shield his eyes—and Feliciano’s—with his hand lest their vision broke.

“Shocked, Ludwig?” Gilbert asked, his tone edging toward maniacal. “You really thought I would just give a best-man speech and call it a day?” He laughed, and it sounded like a witch’s cackle. “You think I’m that mentally stable? Oh no, we are just getting started.” He ignored his boyfriend’s attempts to sedate him and pointed an accusatory finger at his brother. “And we are going to solve this mystery whether you like it or not. You cannot run, you cannot hide, and all your attempts to deny it will be—”

“I lost Balthasar.”

Mouth still open and ready to fire, Gilbert paused, blinking. “Huh?”

Ludwig swallowed, squinting at the burning light above. It effectively made him look like the criminal he knew he was. He had dreaded this moment for decades, but his brother was right—the truth had to come out eventually. “I lost Balthasar,” he repeated. “And I’m sorry for having framed you.”

The wedding hall fell silent, and so did Gilbert. Ludwig took that as his cue to continue. “I didn’t realize it still affected you this much,” he said honestly, noticing how his brother’s hair stood on end. Ludwig scratched the back of his neck. “I mean, you never asked me about it. I wouldn’t have denied it, but that’s no excuse.”

He rose from his chair, straightening to his full height. Yet his gaze lowered in shame. 

“Not only did I cause our hamster’s death—" Ludwig indulged in a moment of silence for their departed pet. Their first pet and the awesomest and fiercest one to have ever existed, "—but I also lied to our father and hurt you deeply. I should have known better. That wasn’t the person I set out to be, nor the principles I wanted to embody.”

“Weren’t you, like, seven?” The Italian beside him asked.

“Basic morals have no age, Feliciano.”

“Right.”

Jaw tight, Ludwig’s eyes found his brother again. “I’m still ashamed of what I did. I know I should have come to you and told the truth myself, but I…” He sucked in a deep breath and pumped his fingers into fists. There was no backing out now, no matter how much it stung. And Ludwig wasn’t keen on taking this issue to his grave. “I guess I didn’t want you to think of me differently, you know… with your no-lies policy and all.”

To avoid meeting anyone’s eyes as his expression tensed, he glanced up at the ceiling, where Antonio sat on a very unsafe-looking crossbeam. Weirdly enough, the Spaniard’s kind expression championed him on to reveal: “After losing Balthasar, I panicked. I was so afraid of getting in trouble that I thought I could avoid it—like you would have done.” He would have laughed at his own foolishness if the memory weren’t so crushing, the realization so hard-hitting. “But it didn’t take long for me to realize I wasn’t cut out for that. I didn’t have your wit, your quick thinking, or confidence.” 

After a pause that felt too long, Ludwig added in a shy whisper: “I just thought that if I wished for it enough, I could be like you someday.”

The fact that this “someday” never happened was evident. Ludwig wouldn’t look down just yet and instead concluded with: “If I could go back in time and take away the punishment you received, I would.” A frown crossed his face as a tinge of anger clawed at his chest—he wasn’t sure who it was directed at. “If I could tell Papa the truth now, I would. But I can’t. So all I can do is apologize and hope that maybe, one day, you can forgive me.”

Glancing down, he found Gilbert still standing in the same spot, mouth slightly parted but his blaming index finger had long fallen slackly to his side. His eyes were wide, and for a moment, he almost seemed… lost.

But the older Beilschmidt soon caught himself, quickly replacing his expression with one of languid satisfaction. Yet without his signature smirk. He flung his gaze around the room, avoiding Ludwig’s face, and gave a twitchy nod. “I—” His voice cracked, so he cleared his throat and tried again, managing a simple: “Apology accepted.”

With that, he turned. Like a wooden figure with fixed legs, he hurdled to the table and plopped into the seat next to Matthew—saying nothing.

Ludwig sat down as well, which prompted the guests to chatter amongst themselves again. Yet the German occasionally glanced back at his brother, who was slumped over the table, mic shut off, as Matthew slowly approached.

The Canadian tried to get a view of Gilbert’s face, but the German had shielded it with his palm. In a low murmur, Matthew said: “It’s okay to cry, you know.”

“I’m not crying,” Gilbert quickly countered, his voice wobbling. “My contacts are just itchy.”

“Since when do you wear contacts?”

“Last night, when I was working on my twenty-page soliloquy and Q&A section.” He sighed dramatically, perhaps to distract from the fact that he was wiping his eyes again. “But I guess I can trash it all now. Five hours for nothing.”

Matthew rubbed his boyfriend’s back, smiling softly.

“It really is a shame.”

A moment passed before the microphone turned on again. A creak jittered through the hall. “Well,” Lovino began, now the center of attention as he eyed Gilbert’s still-hunched form. “That was… weird for everyone,” he announced, but said nothing more afterward. It was almost as though he was waiting for someone to prompt him to deliver his own speech, to which he already had an appropriate response.

“If any of you bozos think I’m going to give a speech now as well, you’re wrong. I already said my piece to Feliciano in private before the wedding because, frankly, it’s none of your business what I tell my brother.” He turned to Ludwig, who immediately felt a sense of unease spread in his gut. “But I do have something to tell you. You know, apart from ‘hurt my brother and you’ll lose both your thumbs.’”

He smiled. Actually smiled, and a shiver ran down Ludwig’s spine. “Enjoy.” He snapped his fingers in Francis’s direction and ordered: “Play it!”

The Frenchman still hovered over the laptop as if it were a futuristic time machine. “Yeah, I still don’t know how—”

With a groan, Lovino strode over to plug in the missing cable. A few seconds later, the projector, which Ludwig hadn’t known existed until that moment, sprung to life.

A video began playing, depicting a hospital room with a person lying in bed, and—

Oh, God.

“Why are my hands so big?”

With horror, Ludwig watched himself pull up his wrists to appraise his hands as if he had never seen them before. And he didn’t know what was worse: his impaired speech and lack of sense, or the fact that the person filming seemed to have had a strange fascination with his nostrils.

“No one cares about that part,” Lovino muttered as he hit fast-forward.

Suddenly, Feliciano had entered the frame, sitting by Ludwig’s bedside. His face was drawn, his expression distressed, and Ludwig’s deductive skills kicked in, forcing him to consider every phrase or action he must have said or done to upset his husband. Not that he could remember anything, which only escalated his spiral of overthinking.

But no, as it turned out, he simply didn’t recognize his fiancé, and the wedding venue erupted in laughter when he asked the Italian if he was single. And didn’t that just make him want to die on the spot?

“Matthew!” He hissed toward the Canadian, the only person he thought could be truly empathetic. “Kill me! I know you can!” He added when Matthew dutifully tried to ignore him, “I’ve seen you play hockey!”

The Canadian’s back stayed turned, and Ludwig stayed seated, sinking lower and lower in embarrassment to the point where he pondered slipping under the table to hide.

Then he heard it: the laughter of his now-husband, light and lovely. Like music drifting through their sunlit garden and kindling Ludwig’s core. His desire for Matthew to end his existence drifted further and further away as the Italian threw his head back, his lips curving into a mirthful smile that left Ludwig breathless.

One that he had caused.

Yes, maybe it wasn’t so bad after all. Besides, if Ludwig died Feliciano would have to plan the funeral, and the German was no monster to expect that from him.

As the video reached its final seconds, the German thought it couldn’t possibly get any worse.

Well, until: “I’m taking dancing lessons.”

Ludwig almost snapped his neck as he whirled to Feliciano. “You knew this whole time?” he croaked.

Feliciano, sensing the betrayal in his voice, avoided the other’s piercing gaze and fumbled with the ring on his finger. “Yeah...”

Ludwig groaned into his hands.

“But I loved the surprise regardless!” Feliciano called over the noisy crowd that currently enjoyed the part of the video where Ludwig nearly suffered a stroke because of a single kiss the Italian had bestowed upon him. “I really did.” He gently pulled Ludwig’s hands away from his face so the German could see his tender smile. “It was so sweet and wonderful. I felt like I was about to explode with happiness right then and there.”

“Still…” Ludwig sighed, but he didn’t pull back, especially not when Feliciano peppered kisses on his cheeks and lips. He stilled as the room fell silent again, glancing around, uncomfortable under the weight of all the eyes on him—not to mention the spotlight still aimed in his direction.

“Why is everyone staring at me?”

Feliciano gave a coy grin, batting his lashes. “Well, they’re probably waiting.”

“Waiting for what?” Ludwig asked, raising an eyebrow.

Then it hit him.

“Oh.”

Under his husband’s expectant grin, Ludwig slowly pulled back. He stood up, keeping his gaze fixed on the ground as he murmured: “I’ll be right back.”

His steps quickened as he made his way to the doors. He almost didn’t hear Antonio call out (and nearly fall off the beam): “Don’t take too long preparing!”

“Yeah,” Alfred chimed in with a laugh, “you don’t want someone else snatching your husband off the dance floor.”

With the last word, Ludwig slipped out of the wedding hall, the door clicking shut behind him with a finality that echoed in his ears. He hurried down the corridor, past the extravagant floral garlands and swags Feliciano had spent an unhealthy amount of time arranging. Before, the many cornflowers filled the air with cheer. As “vibrant as your pretty eyes” Feliciano would say to Ludwig. but now, they seemed to mock his turmoil. 

When he was certain no one would see him, he pressed his back against the wall and clutched his chest, where his heart raced like a wild animal, threatening to break free. 

“It’s just a dance,” he whispered, his voice trembling with each syllable. “Just a dance. A single dance.” But with every shaky breath he took, more panic clawed its way into his chest, twisting tighter and tighter. His breaths turned into ragged gasps, as if the very air around him was suffocating him.

“Just one…” Ludwig slumped down the wall, one hand fisting the fabric of his dress shirt while the other raked through his hair in desperation. He tried to calm his breathing, but it was a futile effort; his body was betraying him. He slammed his head back against the wall, seeking some semblance of relief.

“Dance or embarrass your husband in front of all his friends and family. Your choice, Ludwig.” The words echoed in his mind, a relentless drumbeat of anxiety. He closed his eyes tightly, wishing the dizzying sensation would ease the pounding in his chest, but all he felt was a wave of shame and guilt crashing over him. “What is wrong with me—?”

“Ludwig?”

In an instant, Ludwig jumped to his feet, hastily trying to fix his wild hair and attire before Feliciano could see his disheveled state.

The Italian slowly approached, his expression twisted with concern. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes,” Ludwig replied quickly, awkwardly positioning himself against the wall. “Just been…” He patted the concrete a few times. “Admiring this wall. It’s a nice… beige,” he said, then pivoted back to Feliciano, uncertain. “Right?”

“Well, technically, it’s a soft taupe,” Feliciano replied, “but that’s beside the point.” He stepped into Ludwig’s personal space, eyebrows furrowed in worry. “What’s wrong?”

Ludwig bit his lip, battling with himself. How he wished he could just lie, but that hadn’t been a good idea back then, and it wouldn’t be now. Besides, his husband would see right through it immediately. His gaze drifted to the windows, where the Venetian skyline came alive in the full light of day. The stunning array of hues managed to calm his racing heartbeat just a little. 

While marveling at the city’s vista that sparkled like jewels as the sun illuminated the rooftops and canals, Ludwig quietly admitted: “It’s just…” He straightened his spine while his voice fractured slightly. He cleared his throat to get rid of it. “What I said in the video about taking dancing lessons and taking you out—”

“I get it,” Feliciano said and offered a small smile as he stepped closer to adjust Ludwig’s collar. Ludwig wished he hadn’t; he was too close. Too close to feel the German’s pulse hammering in his chest. “You weren’t… in your right mind, but I understood what you meant. Why you did it.” He guided his hand to cup Ludwig’s cheek. “And why you waited until today to reveal it.”

Blinking, Ludwig paused, then looked down at his husband in confusion. “Today?”

“Yeah. That’s why you took the lessons. For the wedding.” When Ludwig didn’t respond, Feliciano’s fingers on his collar twitched. His voice dropped into a softer, unsure tone. “Right?”

Ludwig stepped back to study his husband’s face. “I took them in hopes of dancing with you tonight in our hotel room,” he said. “I had the room service decorate the place and sort out the music before we got there.” He heaved in a deep breath. “So I’m… surprised to see that everyone is expecting me to dance with you now, even though I never mentioned it in the video.”

A few seconds ticked by as Feliciano processed Ludwig’s words. His eyes widened and he slapped a hand in front of his mouth. “I thought that’s what you meant, and I… I told everyone because I was just so happy and excited, and—” He broke off to stumble back as he tugged at his hair, clawed at his neck. “Oh, no. No, no, no.”

The sight of Feliciano hyperventilating was unnerving. Ludwig reached out to touch his husband’s shoulder. “Feli, it’s alright—”

Feliciano yanked away. “No, it’s not! Look at you—” He gestured wildly at Ludwig. “You’re freaking out! You’re freaking out because of me!” Tears welled in his eyes as he screamed: “I-I’m supposed to know you! Not make assumptions based on—” His voice shook as he met Ludwig’s gaze, face contorted into despair. 

“I’m so sorry,” he choked out. The tears fell freely down his cheeks, spilling onto his lips. “I never meant to push you into something you weren’t comfortable with. I never wanted to disappoint you like this.”

He flopped against the wall, burying his face in his knees as he cried and mumbled incoherently about anything and everything. Something about regrets… apologies… and mistakes.

Slowly, Ludwig lowered himself to his husband’s level. It had become standard protocol: whenever Feliciano was in distress and didn’t initiate physical contact, Ludwig would rub his back and patiently wait for the Italian’s sobs to quiet before wrapping him in his arms. This was often easier said than done, as Ludwig also had to gauge the strength of his hug carefully to avoid creasing his husband’s blouses or any other easily wrinkled materials.

Like the Italian’s current tailor-fitted light gray vest over a satin blue dress shirt, chosen to match Ludwig’s pocket boutonniere. It had taken Feliciano the same amount of time to adorn Ludwig with it as it did for the German to perfect its pronunciation. They had both been equally proud of one another afterward.

A wave of calm washed over Ludwig as he gently pulled his husband into his embrace. Feliciano melted against him, going limp. “Disappointment? Mistake?” Ludwig said, ensuring Feliciano could hear him over his own whimpers. He murmured into the Italian’s hair: “Feliciano, what are you talking about?

“The morning after we hooked up…” Feliciano started, eyes downcast. “You left. You apologized for your mistake and just… left.”

Ludwig’s hand stilled, his soothing circles stopping mid-motion on Feliciano’s shoulder.

He wished he could kick himself. He really had a talent for traumatizing people for generations, didn't he? First Gilbert, and now Feliciano…

With clammy fingers, he pulled another tissue from his jacket. When he had packed them this morning, he had planned to use them for happy tears. Who would’ve thought he’d need one now, for this moment—when Feliciano broke down, revealing just how deeply Ludwig had hurt him in the past?

And yet still went on to marry him as though nothing had ever happened?

He gently cradled Feliciano’s head against his chest, dabbing his face with the tissue. “I thought had ruined everything.” His voice was low, steady, as he caressed Feliciano’s back. “When I met you that night at the bar, I actually came up with a plan and everything beforehand. On how to approach you, how to talk to you… I had even practiced a few jokes I thought might make you chuckle just a little.” He couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his own lips, remembering. He’d been utterly smitten the first time he saw Feliciano—sitting by the bar, looking like the most perfect and beautiful person had ever laid his eyes upon.

Approaching him had taken every bit of bravery he had had. “But the moment you turned to me, smiling… I blanked.” He gave a soft, rueful chuckle. “I forgot everything I wanted to say. I was so lost for words that the only thing I could think to do was order us drinks.”

His expression grew somber. “I threw out every careful rule I had ever stuck to about dating and romance. And with it… my chance of you liking me back.” He paused, brushing a thumb along Feliciano’s temple. “I didn’t know how to fix it. And so, the next day, I ran because I couldn’t bear you finding out how I messed up.” He swallowed. “How I really am.”

Feliciano looked up at him, his expression full of heartbreak. “Ludwig—”

“I know.” Ludwig interrupted softly. Feliciano didn’t need to say anything; he’d shown the German every day since they’d fallen in love just how foolish those old doubts had been. “I was dumb back then.” He huffed a laugh, a touch ruefully. “Dumb and scared.”

His gaze shifted down the hallway. A new surge of resolve propelled him to his feet. He extended a hand to pull Feliciano up. “Now, let’s go dance.”

Feliciano grasped his arm, hindering from stepping towards the doors. “Are you sure?” He said and clasped both Ludwig’s shoulders to make sure the German saw the earnestness in his amber eyes when he said: “You don’t have to do this.”

“I do,” Ludwig simply answered, then led them to the door. He pushed it open and squeezed the hand in his hold as he stared straight ahead. “Because you’re worth it.”

The wedding guests hailed and hollered when the couple resurfaced. And since Francis still couldn’t seem to grasp technology—as if he were born in the fifties—Alfred took over and put on a song Ludwig didn’t recognize.

And just like that, panic slammed into him all over again.

“Everything alright?” Feliciano asked as Ludwig tugged him to the dance floor, which was really just a cleared space in plain sight of everyone.

Ludwig nodded, though it probably looked like a nervous spasm. Turning to Feliciano, he realized with horror: “I wish I’d looked over my notes. I planned to review them before this.”

Feliciano raised an eyebrow. “You took notes? How is that even possible in a dance class?”

“You sound like my dance instructor,” Ludwig countered, glancing to the side as though she stood there, shaking her head at his apparent "antics" like she had so many times over the course of their lessons. He narrowed his eyes at her imaginary mocking smile. “Probably shouldn’t have underestimated me, Signora Diamanti.”

But his smugness vanished as soon as he felt the weight of every gaze locked on them, silently urging him to make a move. He reached for Feliciano, only to have his chest tighten, breath quickening.

“God.” He swallowed hard, pulse racing. “I’m blanking. I forgot everything—”

“That’s okay,” Feliciano said softly, his voice wrapping around Ludwig like a warm embrace as he gently guided the German’s hand trembling hand to rest on his hip. “I’m here.” The tenderness in his touch sent a surge of comfort through Ludwig, grounding him in the moment.

Ludwig nodded, though unease still gnawed at him as he stole a glance over his shoulder. The concerned whispers of their guests felt like daggers, cutting into the intimacy they shared. A million thoughts and sensations coursed through him at once. He couldn’t keep track of them all, mainly because he currently had to fight the spur to flee.

A finger under his chin drew his gaze back to Feliciano, those warm amber eyes locking onto his with unwavering reassurance. “Don’t look at them. Look at me.”

Taking a deep breath, Ludwig focused on Feliciano, who radiated the tranquility he hoped would infect him. It was a simple request, yet it felt monumental. Feliciano began to sway gently to the music, a slow melody that filled the air with a rich, soulful voice. The rhythm pulsed in Ludwig’s veins, coaxing him to slowly let go of his fears and follow his husband’s lead.

With each sway, the noise from the crowd faded into the background, replaced by the warmth of Feliciano’s presence. The tension in his muscles eased as he began to mirror Feliciano’s movements. The song wrapped around them like a soothing blanket, lulling them into their own world.

Before long, Feliciano’s arms found their way around Ludwig’s neck, their bodies drawing closer. The connection sent a jolt of electricity through Ludwig, igniting a fervor that spread from his heart to his fingertips. They were dancing—imperfectly, perhaps, but dancing nonetheless.

Ludwig could hardly believe it. As they moved together, laughter bubbled up inside Feliciano, mingling with the music and the atmosphere around them. And it wasn’t the first time, nor will it be the last for Ludwig to feel at home. Here, with Feliciano, where he belonged. In the whirlwind of uncertainty, he had found his little haven of solace. Of peace. 

“You know,” Feliciano began after a long while of dancing among other couples. Too entranced by the other’s eyes, they almost didn’t notice they weren’t the only ones on the dance floor anymore. Still not particularly affected, a content smile lighting up his face. “Since your surprise was revealed ahead of time, it’s only fair that mine is too.” His eyes sparkled with delight at the confusion on Ludwig’s face. Biting his lower lip, he confessed: “I was going to bake you some exquisite bread on the first day of our honeymoon.” 

Ludwig stopped in his tracks. He stared down at his husband. “Really?”

“Yep,” Feliciano replied, emphasizing the ‘p’ and giggling at Ludwig’s shocked reaction. “And guess what I’ll be making!”

It was impossible for Ludwig to guess because, until this moment, he believed the only "bread" Feliciano was capable of making was putting sandwich slices in the toaster.

Feliciano kissed the corners of Ludwig’s lips before whispering: “King Ludwig Bread.”

“It wasn’t easy to find the right recipe.” The Italian chuckled in pain while Ludwig was still trying to wrap his mind around who this man in front of him was and what he had done to Feliciano. “And I might have had a mini nervous breakdown in the middle,” he admitted, which could finally explain the smashed microwave Ludwig had discovered when he came home one day. Feliciano beamed up at the other. “But just picturing your reaction kept me going.”

Ludwig pulled him closer, rocking them both to the rhythm of the music again. “And what would that have been?”

“Well…” Feliciano feigned hesitation before narrating like a running tab: “First, you gasp and say, ‘Oh mein Gott, Feliciano, is that for me?’” He mimicked Ludwig’s deep yet excited voice—one he had yet to use himself. “Then you try a slice and nearly collapse because of how tasty it is. After you’ve cried tears of joy, of course.”

“Of course.”

“And then you call all your buddies at the train station to tell them how great of a baker your husband is. At first, they won’t believe you, saying, ‘Your husband? The one who thought making sourdough meant just adding lemon juice to any dough?’ And you would say, ‘Yes, that husband.’” (As though there were more to choose from). Feliciano swung his head from side to side, fully immersed in his imagination. “And then you would just go on and on about how smart and amazing I am.”

“Well, lucky them.” Ludwig tucked a strand of hair behind his husband’s ear. “Because they already can’t hear it anymore.”