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The air felt heavier since Gilbert had disappeared. Ludwig had lived through countless wars, witnessed the rise and fall of empires, but nothing prepared him for the dissolution of Prussia. To the world, it was just history running its course. To Ludwig, it was an unbearable loss, a death that left a hollow space in his chest.
He’d never told anyone, but part of him believed it was his fault. If only he’d been stronger against the manipulation, the brainwashing—maybe he could have saved Gilbert. Maybe Prussia wouldn’t have been reduced to nothing, his existence washed away by politics and time. Guilt gnawed at him constantly, a voice in his mind reminding him that Gilbert’s fate was sealed because of him.
It had been years, but Ludwig still couldn’t move on. His brother—his Gilbert—was gone.
Until one day, he saw him again.
___________________________
It happened in a small town just outside Berlin. Ludwig was running an errand, lost in his thoughts, when he saw a man standing by the side of the road. His breath caught in his throat. The man’s silver hair was tousled in that carefree way Gilbert used to wear it, his posture cocky, defiant. And those eyes—sharp and red, the same as Gilbert’s had been.
Ludwig stared, disbelief washing over him. It was impossible, but the man was an uncanny reflection of his brother.
He pulled over, rolling down the window. “Do you need a ride?”
The man sauntered over, a smirk on his lips. “Yes please. Thanks.” His voice was deeper, but the familiar teasing tone sent a jolt through Ludwig. It was like hearing Gilbert speak from another time.
“What’s your name?” Ludwig asked, trying to keep his voice steady.
The man slid into the passenger seat, still grinning. “Heinrich.”
Ludwig couldn’t tear his eyes away. It was absurd, impossible—but the resemblance was undeniable. Heinrich carried himself like Gilbert had, every movement oozing confidence, his gaze challenging yet playful, as if daring Ludwig to see the truth.
“You remind me of someone I knew,” Ludwig said, feeling his heart twist painfully.
Heinrich gave him a sideways glance, an almost flirtatious smile tugging at his lips. “Is that so? Well, maybe I can keep you company for a while.”
For a moment, Ludwig allowed himself to believe it was real, that somehow, Gilbert had come back. That maybe—just maybe—he hadn’t lost him forever. There was something magnetic about Heinrich, the way he spoke, the way he leaned closer, making Ludwig’s pulse quicken in a way it never had before.
But the fantasy shattered too soon. That same night, as they parted ways, Heinrich was hit by a car while crossing the street.
Ludwig rushed to his side, his hands trembling as he held him, but Heinrich—Gilbert, whatever part of him was in this stranger—was already gone. The red eyes, once so full of life, dulled in death.
Another loss. Another death that Ludwig couldn’t prevent.
___________________________
Weeks turned into months, and Ludwig couldn’t shake the encounter. Heinrich was only the first in a string of strange, haunting meetings. It kept happening—always a different name, but the same piercing red eyes, the same arrogant grin that reminded him so much of Gilbert.
Each time, they died. Ludwig could never stop it.
It happened again a few months later, this time in a bar in Frankfurt. The man was sitting at the counter, nursing a drink, his silver hair catching the dim light. His name was Johannes, and as soon as their eyes met, Ludwig felt the same pull in his chest, the same bitter ache of recognition.
Johannes was every bit as lively as Gilbert had been. They talked for hours, sharing stories, drinks—Ludwig couldn’t help but feel the stirrings of something deeper beneath the surface, something he had never allowed himself to acknowledge before. Every glance, every playful smirk, every brush of their hands felt like more than just a ghost from his past.
But it ended just like before. That night, after leaving the bar, Johannes was killed in a freak accident. Ludwig found out the next morning, the news sending him spiraling into guilt and grief all over again.
It was as though Gilbert himself was punishing him, sending those perfect replicas to torture Ludwig for failing him.
___________________________
Ludwig stopped trying to make sense of it. He began to expect it—meeting versions of Gilbert in different places, always knowing how it would end. They came and went, leaving him more broken with each loss.
He met Tobias in Munich—a student, barely out of university, with the same cocky grin and those unmistakable red eyes. Tobias teased Ludwig relentlessly, his flirtations lighthearted but familiar. Ludwig felt that same pang of guilt, wondering if he had caused this, if he was responsible for these reincarnations, drawn to him only to die again.
“I feel like I’ve known you forever,” Tobias said one night, his voice low, eyes lingering on Ludwig’s in a way that sent shivers down his spine.
Ludwig couldn’t respond. He didn’t trust himself to. His feelings, confused, twisted with guilt and longing—were too much to bear. He couldn't escape it. Every time he met a reincarnated version of Gilbert, it stirred up feelings he had long buried—feelings he had never admitted, not even to himself. He had loved Gilbert, much more than he was ever supposed to. And with every death, it felt like punishment for wanting something he could never have.
___________________________
The night was still, the soft hum of the city outside barely reaching the small apartment where Ludwig and Tobias sat. The air between them felt heavy, laden with unspoken words and the strange pull Ludwig had felt since the moment they met. He hadn't meant to let things get this far, hadn't meant to let his guard down, but Tobias—his laughter, his teasing—had a way of slipping past every defense Ludwig had built around himself.
Tobias leaned back on the couch, the dim light casting shadows across his face, the red of his eyes catching the flicker of the lamp. “You’re thinking too much again,” he said with a grin, his voice low and teasing. “You always look like you’re carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders.”
Ludwig stiffened slightly, trying to avoid Tobias’s gaze. “It’s not that simple.”
“Nothing is with you, is it?” Tobias sat up, shifting closer to Ludwig. His tone softened as he studied Ludwig’s face. “You don’t have to be so serious all the time, you know. It’s okay to let go, just a little.”
Ludwig’s heart clenched at the words. He wanted to let go, wanted to lose himself in the moment, but the guilt was always there—heavy, constant. Tobias reminded him too much of Gilbert. The way he spoke, the way he smiled, that confident spark in his eyes—it was impossible not to feel drawn to him. But with that draw came a suffocating guilt, as though he was betraying Gilbert’s memory by even feeling this way.
Tobias’s hand brushed against Ludwig’s arm, a light touch, but it sent a jolt through him. “You don’t have to keep pretending, you know.”
Ludwig glanced over, meeting Tobias’s gaze. The words were on the tip of his tongue—to push him away, to say it wasn’t right, that it was wrong to feel this—to feel anything. But instead, he stayed silent. Tobias’s eyes, so familiar yet different, pulled him in, and for once, Ludwig let himself follow.
Tobias shifted closer, their legs almost touching now. His voice dropped lower, a teasing whisper. “What are you so afraid of, Ludwig?”
“I’m not afraid,” Ludwig replied, but his voice lacked conviction.
Tobias chuckled softly, leaning in just enough for Ludwig to feel the warmth of his breath against his skin. “Liar.” The playful edge in his voice sent a shiver down Ludwig’s spine. “I think you’re afraid of what you want.”
Ludwig swallowed hard, his throat tight. “Tobias, I—”
But before he could finish, Tobias reached out, his fingers gently brushing Ludwig’s jawline. “You don’t have to say anything,” Tobias murmured. His touch was surprisingly soft, careful. “I know you feel it too.”
For a moment, Ludwig was frozen. His pulse raced, his mind torn between guilt and longing. Tobias’s presence was overwhelming, intoxicating in a way that Ludwig hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years.
“I’m not him,” Tobias said quietly, his thumb tracing along Ludwig’s jaw. “I know you see someone else when you look at me. But I’m still here.”
The words struck deep, cutting through the haze of Ludwig’s confusion. He wanted to protest, to pull away—but the truth was, part of him didn’t care anymore. He was tired of running, tired of the guilt, tired of the endless cycle of loss. Tobias was here, alive, and for this moment, that was all that mattered.
Without thinking, Ludwig leaned in, closing the distance between them. Their lips met, a hesitant kiss at first, testing, unsure. But the moment their skin touched, the flood of emotions Ludwig had been suppressing crashed over him. The kiss deepened, and Ludwig let himself fall into it, all the restraint he’d held onto for so long slipping away.
Tobias responded instantly, his hand sliding up to the back of Ludwig’s neck, pulling him closer. There was a hunger in his touch, but also a tenderness that surprised Ludwig. It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t frantic. It felt like something they’d both been waiting for, something inevitable.
Ludwig’s hands found their way to Tobias’s waist, pulling him closer, needing more, needing to drown in this feeling, if only for a moment. Tobias’s lips were warm, soft, his breath mingling with Ludwig’s as they kissed, slowly, deeply, losing themselves in the sensation.
When they finally pulled apart, both breathless, Tobias rested his forehead against Ludwig’s. His red eyes flickered with something softer now, more vulnerable.
“I’ve wanted that since the first time I saw you,” Tobias admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.
Ludwig’s heart pounded in his chest, but it wasn’t just from the kiss. It was the guilt, still gnawing at the edges of his mind. He wanted to tell Tobias, to explain the storm of emotions raging inside him—but how could he? How could he explain that every time he looked at him, he saw Gilbert? How could he tell Tobias that he feared, more than anything, that this moment would end the way it always did—with loss, with death?
Tobias must have sensed the shift in Ludwig’s mood, because his hand slid back down to Ludwig’s arm, squeezing gently. “Hey,” he said softly. “Don’t overthink this. Just let it be what it is.”
Ludwig nodded, though the knot in his chest didn’t loosen. He wanted to believe Tobias, wanted to let go of the guilt and the fear. But deep down, he knew. The pattern was always the same. It always ended in loss.
Tobias leaned in again, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of Ludwig’s mouth. “Stay with me tonight,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.
Ludwig hesitated for only a moment before nodding. He wanted this—wanted him. Maybe it was reckless, maybe it was doomed, but in this fleeting moment, Ludwig allowed himself to want.
Only for Tobias to die in a hit-and-run two days later.
___________________________
One cold evening in Dresden, Ludwig found him again.
This time, it was a young boy sitting by a fountain in the park, sketching in a notebook. His silver hair fell in soft waves, and those familiar red eyes looked up as Ludwig approached.
“Hey,” the boy said softly, smiling in a way that made Ludwig’s heart ache. “You look like you’ve lost someone.”
Ludwig’s heart ached. "What’s your name?"
"Felix," the boy answered, his smile gentle. "Do you know me?"
Ludwig sat beside him, feeling the weight of all the years pressing down on him. "I’ve known you," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "In many forms."
Felix tilted his head, looking at Ludwig with a curious expression. "Why do you seem so sad?"
Ludwig stared at the boy, seeing Gilbert in his every gesture. But this time, something was different. This time, Felix wasn’t laughing or teasing. He was quiet, calm.
"Every time I find you, you leave," Ludwig said, his voice hoarse with emotion. "Why do you always leave?"
Felix’s expression softened. "Maybe it’s not me leaving. Maybe it’s you who’s holding on too tightly."
Ludwig’s chest tightened. He wanted to reach out, to hold on to this version of Gilbert, to never let him slip away again. But he knew how this story would end. It always did.
“You remind me of someone I loved,” Ludwig said, his voice breaking with the weight of unspoken confessions, of years spent haunted by guilt and grief. “If only I could see what was happening right in front of me back then… He would still be with me.”
Felix tilted his head, his smile gentle but knowing. “Maybe you should forgive yourself.”
Ludwig stared at him, feeling the truth of those words pierce him deeply. He had been holding on to Gilbert’s memory for so long, chasing these reincarnations, clinging to the idea that he could somehow bring him back. But Gilbert was gone. And maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t his fault.
Felix stood, brushing his fingers lightly against Ludwig’s arm. “Goodbye.”
And just like that, Felix was gone, leaving Ludwig alone on the bench. The evening air was cool, and the park was quiet, but for the first time, Ludwig felt a strange sense of peace.