Chapter Text
Ludwig gazed at the words on the page, entirely lost in his own world — or rather, the world manufactured by a certain classic-writer, Emily Brontë. The story was slow at first, yes, there was no arguing with that, but he had heard whispers that it began to pick up in the second half — therefore, he was determined to persevere through all of the build-up, and plough his way through to the real, rewarding plot. A mechanic by day, bookworm by night. He was a man on a mission — one entirely of his own volition.
He was sat on a balcony shared between the residents of his apartment block. He figured that if he was going to sit in one place for a prolonged period of time, it was best to pick a place with fresh air. It was good for him. So, he found himself in the leftmost corner of the balcony with a clothbound classic, letting the slight breeze brush past him, not strong enough to turn a page, but strong enough to feel pleasant as it hit your skin. He found himself relaxed in a rare moment of peace, completely absorbed by the prospect of his book, Wuthering Heights. The idea of putting your free time to good use, whilst simultaneously unwinding in the cool, fresh air proved to be a flawless idea … well, until another man walked onto the balcony.
The problem wasn’t so much that he had company, no — Ludwig hardly even noticed his presence at first. He heard a lighter click, a tin set on a table and, after a few moments, someone exhaling. Then, the smell of tobacco began to slowly creep into the air that Ludwig was breathing in. Ludwig looked up. Surely the other man had to have noticed? Looking around the balcony for a solution, he found that he wasn’t overly sure where else the man could stand as an alternative to alleviate the amount of smoke being wafted towards him. Oh well. He gazed down at his book once again and attempted to continue reading. He’ll be gone in a few minutes anyways.
Then the man lit another cigarette. Great.
Ludwig looked up, sure that traces of annoyance had made their way onto his face. Still, the other man seemed entirely oblivious. He was standing, leaning on the railing, with a cigarette between two of his right fingers. He looked out at the buildings, and then to the street below, brow slightly furrowed in thought.
Ludwig looked back down at his book and, as inconspicuously as he could possibly muster, cleared his throat. It wasn’t even that loudly.
Nothing could have prepared him for what happened next.
The other man shrieked shrilly and nearly jumped out of his skin, raising his arms up to protect his face. “Please, I don’t want to die please, please, please don’t hurt me,” he pleaded frantically, “I’m too pretty and I’m only twenty-three, I have my entire life ahead of me!-“ he opened one eye to peek at Ludwig, and once he was met by his mortified, entirely confused, expression, he brought his arms down cautiously. Ludwig stared in complete disbelief. The man was somehow still holding his cigarette, which was nearly fully burnt out. He put it out in an ashtray quickly, before rushing over to Ludwig, surprisingly much calmer and — seemingly — relieved, having recovered quite quickly from… whatever that was.
Ludwig’s hopes for peace and quiet sitting on the balcony that day were crushed.
“Oh my- I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you there,” he tittered before continuing, “it’s nice to meet you. I don’t think I’ve seen you out here before!” He smiled awkwardly, and his eyes flickered down to Ludwig’s hands. “Ooo, did you bring a book? What’s it about?”
Ludwig stared for a second in shock. The man’s eyes gained a curious glint, and whether that was because he was desperately trying to change the subject, his interest was genuinely piqued, or both possibilities were simultaneously true, Ludwig wasn’t sure. He couldn’t quite believe he was about to answer the man, but he felt slightly compelled to speak to him in spite of himself. He wasn’t at all sure why — half of him just wanted to run away. He pulled at his collar… was it getting warmer or was it just him? “It’s, um, a gothic novel. Wuthering Heights. It’s about, uh, dysfunctional family dynamics, race, and an all-consuming, obsessive love, and how that sort of love destroys people.”
The man tilted his head to the side. With a slight smile, seemingly only hearing the world ‘love’, he asked, “So… you’re reading a romance?”
Ludwig put his head in his hands momentarily, sighing. He looked up again and squinted at the man, trying to gather the words. “Does it sound like a whirlwind romance to you? Where someone gets swept off their feet to fall madly in love with someone in a way that brings out the best in them both? It’s not a romance. There’s nothing romantic about it. It’s obsession, and it’s unhealthy.”
He stared at Ludwig wordlessly, before a mischievous smile began to creep across his face. “In the few moments I’ve known you, I never took you for such a romantic.”
Ludwig reddened, and pretended to cough into his sleeve before rebutting, “What- what is that even supposed to mean? It’s literature, and I think it’s pretty obvious to anyone with a brain that a- a love so twisted doesn’t, in any way, qualify as a wishy-washy romance.”
The man laughed and leaned back slightly on the balcony railing. “Ah, did I touch a nerve? It wasn’t meant as an insult, just an observation,” he said innocently.
Ludwig pulled the ribbon to bookmark his page, closed his book, and stood up. “I’ve just remembered, I have somewhere I need to be. Have a good day.”
This amused the man greatly. As Ludwig quickly vacated the balcony, he shouted after him, “Hey, you too! Have a lovely day, Romeo!”
So annoying.
Ludwig wasn’t sure if his blood was boiling, or if he was just so flustered at being called such a thing that his skin was burning up. Maybe it was a mix of both, but he preferred to focus on the former.
**
It took a few days for Ludwig to muster up the courage to set foot on the balcony again. There was no way that that man would be there all of the time — and besides, it was a shared balcony. The guy didn’t own the place. Ludwig headed down the corridor once again, book in hand, reading glasses on, and walked up to the doors of the balcony.
And there he was, standing in the exact same place, setting his lighter down on a table — a freshly lit cigarette once again placed between two of his right fingers.
Ludwig turned on his heel, pivoted, and set to stride off in the opposite direction, right back where he came from, before the man could catch sight of him.
“Ah, hey! It’s you!”
It was too late.
Ludwig took a deep, steadying breath, and mustered his best pleasant face. He felt himself grimacing, so gave up on that quite quickly. He turned around slowly.
The other man was leaning halfway through the doorway, holding the door open for him and grinning. Ludwig’s heart beat against his ribs. The man was slender, with brown hair and brown eyes. He carried an easygoing air about him — his body language completely open. He was handsome, he’d give him that much.
“Hello again.” Ludwig said, stony-faced. He walked over to the door and pushed it fully open, the man moving back slightly to let him onto the balcony.
At this, the man furrowed his brow, yet showed no real signs of concern on his face. “Aw, why so unhappy, eh?” He smiled to himself, appearing to study Ludwig’s face intently. “Hey, come on now, Romeo, turn that frown upside down!”
Ludwig stiffened, closing his eyes and taking a breath. “It’s Ludwig,” he corrected.
“Huh?”
“My name is Ludwig,” he managed to reply through gritted teeth, “call me Romeo again and I’ll throw my book at you.”
Completely glossing over the threat of being attacked by the clothbound hardback in Ludwig’s hand, the man laughed. He seemed to be a very cheerful soul, much to Ludwig’s chagrin. “Ludwig, huh? It suits you! The name’s Feliciano!”
Feliciano. It suited him, too. “You introduce yourself like a twenty-something-year-old American with too much grease in his hair.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“In what world- can I read my book in peace?”
Feliciano turned and leaned on the balcony railing to consider. He turned his head around again slightly, though not quite looking at Ludwig. He tapped his index finger to his mouth and then stroked his chin thoughtfully. He hummed, “mmm, I’ll think about it.” and locked eyes with Ludwig for a moment, taking another drag of his cigarette. He laughed to himself, a quiet laugh, as he looked back out, down at the surrounding streets.
Ludwig felt himself smile faintly, but fixed his expression quickly. He sat down and opened his book to where he left off, only a few pages in. Feliciano was a nuisance if anything, and he didn’t need to get the wrong idea — he didn’t want to be friends. Ludwig didn’t need friends anyways, he was happy enough reading his book.
Another waft of cigarette smoke hit his face.
Ludwig looked up, irritated. “Hey, you know that’s… really bad for you, right?”
Feliciano looked down at his cigarette, and then back across to Ludwig. “What, smoking?”
“What do you think?”
“No need to get so upset!!” He snickered, then nodded and looked ahead, out at something Ludwig didn’t know. “Yeah, I know it’s bad for me. The ladies love it, though.” He laughed again.
Of course. Of course Feliciano would do something as stupid as picking up smoking to impress women. Ludwig would never be able to understand it. “Your lungs don’t. Why would you damage your health to impress women?”
Feliciano stayed silent for a moment, apparently deep in thought. Then, he replied, “Well, it feels good in the moment.”
Ludwig didn’t know how to respond, so went back to reading. After a while, Feliciano went back inside. They said goodbye to each other, and then the balcony was silent.
If Ludwig hated being around Feliciano — if he was such a nuisance — then why did his heart sink when he left?
**
Over the course of the next two weeks, Ludwig kept meeting Feliciano, by chance, on the balcony every few days. They began to grow used to seeing each other there — Feliciano even started to try to smoke his cigarettes in a way that would best avoid the smoke hitting Ludwig. If the wind was on their side, he wouldn’t have to worry about it. If it wasn’t, he would hold the cigarette on the other side of the railing, and turn his head to blow the smoke away. It didn’t always work, but it was the thought that counted, Ludwig figured. He was grateful of it, anyway.
Despite these frequent interactions, they never really talked, bar their first two meetings.
On a quiet, Thursday evening, however, Ludwig brought out a small candle to set on the table beside him to use as a reading light. The issue was that he’d forgotten his matches.
Oh well, he thought to himself. He could see without the candle, it wasn’t pitch dark yet. So, he stuck on his glasses and turned his chair slightly, so that the light from the apartments illuminated the pages of his book instead. This slight change of angle proved to be quite significant, as he didn’t notice another person walking onto the balcony. The turn of his chair rendered him quite susceptible to surprise, as it turned out.
“What’s with the candle?” an apparition seemed to wonder.
It was Ludwig’s turn to nearly jump out of his skin this time. He thought he felt his soul leave his body entirely before he vaguely registered Feliciano, who had burst out laughing.
“Dummkopf! Don’t scare me like that!” He roared.
“But-“
“You saw my chair was turned, why did you sneak up on me?? I could’ve- I could’ve damaged my book, you idiot!”
Feliciano was silent, and he looked guilty — it wasn’t even his fault. Ludwig felt a pang of regret, and went silent himself. He looked away for a moment, collected himself, and turned his head back to look at Feliciano, cheeks flushed red in mortification.
“…”
“…”
“I’m sorry,” Feliciano said regretfully.
Ludwig pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “No, I’m sorry for raising my voice- and calling you an idiot. I overreacted.” He fiddled with the ribbon of his book, then laughed at himself. “You scared the Scheiße out of me! I’m sorry for reacting how I did.”
At this, Feliciano stifled a grin. “I mean, it was pretty funny … for a second, I thought you’d hit some sort of ejector button on the seat and flung yourself into the air, but it was all ‘cause you didn’t hear me- or see me!”
“How flattering.”
“I know, right?” Feliciano chuckled before continuing, “Hey, back to my first question, what’s with the unlit candle?”
Ludwig had long since forgotten about it, and turned to look at the table beside him. “Ah,” he said, remembering, “I brought it outside to give me some light to read with, but I forgot the matches. Hence why I’m facing a different direction than usual, to see using the light from indoors … and why you caught me off-guard.”
Feliciano’s face lit up. “You need to light a candle? I have a lighter, I can light it for you!”
Ludwig peered up at Feliciano’s face, half-bathed in the same light from the apartment that Ludwig was using to read. His eyes were practically sparkling with newfound purpose. How could he say no to that? He’d have to be evil. Exhaling, he smiled lightly. “Ja, okay. Light the candle if you wish.”
And so he did. He watched as Feliciano’s slender fingers ignited the lighter easily, a practiced art, and as the small flame lit the wick of his candle. After mumbling a thanks to Feliciano, he adjusted his seat back to normal and pulled the table in front of him once again. He set his book beside the candle, and began reading using the candlelight.
Feliciano lit his cigarette with a quiet click, and walked over to the railing to look down at the street yet again. Ludwig looked down at his book, took the ribbon out from between the pages, and found where he left off. Very little cigarette smoke came his way.
It was a quiet, shared peace, save for the light thrumming of Ludwig’s heart he could feel in his chest, something that he was growing increasingly used to happening when Feliciano was around.
Yet, this time, Feliciano hadn’t set his cigarette tin or his lighter on the table, just as he had always done. Instead, he had put them back into his pocket. Ludwig kept his eye on him, curious. Once Feliciano finished his first cigarette, he put it out in an ashtray. Then, Feliciano pulled a chair over to Ludwig’s table, facing him — not too close, but not too far away either. Just close enough for them to talk, and be the only people able to hear each other. Ludwig raised an eyebrow at Feliciano and eyed him intently.
Facing Feliciano over an intricate, candle-lit, wrought iron table on the balcony they first met, as the sun began to send whispers of the incoming night into the last few dregs of sunlight that painted the sky golden — it all felt strangely intimate, and it stirred up a warmth within Ludwig that he just couldn’t ignore. He carefully placed a ribbon between the pages of his book, set it down, and brushed his sweaty palms on his trouser legs, all too aware of the dryness of his throat. He felt Feliciano’s eyes on his every movement, but they weren’t invasive, nor seeking faults. They were simply just observing. He looked up at Feliciano, and their eyes met.
Feliciano looked almost expectant. Ludwig wasn’t sure what he was doing or what he wanted Ludwig to do. He felt his cheeks burning as he searched for any hint of an answer on his face in vain. Nothing. He needed to speak.
“Um… can I help you, Feliciano?” He managed. His voice came out surprisingly steady.
Feliciano smiled and laughed lightly; not out of mischief, not out of humour … not quite even of joy. Ludwig couldn’t find any words to describe it. Then, Feliciano spoke, “Tell me about yourself, Ludwig. We haven’t really talked much about anything other than books and cigarettes.”
“Ah, I see…” Ludwig paused. So he wanted to get to know... him? He wasn’t really interesting in any regard. He was a mechanic, and bad with people. He couldn’t read people all too well, and he found solace in books. Feliciano seemed much more interesting than him, of all people. He felt that Feliciano would get bored if he started really talking about himself — that’s the way it always went, after all. He didn’t mind, or at least that’s what he told himself. Ludwig thought for a second about what he could say, but only one thing fell into his mind. “Wait. You only had one cigarette there now, and then you put the tin away. What’s that about? You always have two, and set the tin on the table.”
At that, Feliciano scratched his head and looked away, bashful. “Well, um…” he paused, and stole occasional glances at Ludwig. Ludwig’s head spun; that was … an observation. He wasn’t sure if he should’ve shared it. He didn’t want Feliciano to think he was studying him too closely, in case he found it off-putting. He shifted in his seat. “I- I kinda took what you said to heart, you know? About smoking? It’s a filthy habit and all… my lungs’ll thank me for it, and maybe whoever I wanna date would like me better without the smoking. They should like me for me, anyway, and all that. I can definitely charm people without a cigarette in my hand, y’know?” He laughed and looked back at Ludwig.
Oh, Ludwig knew. He knew all too well. That was a realisation and a half. Trying to stay calm, he settled on replying with a noncommittal hum, but then thought he ought to say more. Nodding slightly, he said, “That’s good. I’m glad to hear it.” and smiled.
Feliciano returned the smile, fiddled with the button on the wrist of his shirt, and changed the subject.
They learnt a lot about each other that night — Feliciano was actually incredibly pleasant to talk to. He talked about his passions, like good Italian food, fashion, and the arts, in a way that could make even the most mundane seem like something beautiful. And sometime, when the conversation began to get deeper, he managed to coax Ludwig into talking about himself too. Ludwig found that the more he spoke, the more his fears of boring Feliciano began to fizzle out. He always listened intently to Ludwig, no matter the topic of conversation. This surprised Ludwig greatly. He seemed to take in and absorb whatever he told him, asking questions, inviting him to talk more.
Ludwig wasn’t used to this. Usually, people ridiculed him, labelled him as incapable of such interactions because he struggled to show his feelings outwardly, or spoke at him, rather than to him. No-one actually wanted to hear what he had to say … or, so he had thought. He found that there, in that golden, warm, evening, he felt no trace of loneliness. No trace of ridicule. That evening, the man across from him — beautiful, mischievous, charming Feliciano — seemed to really, well and truly, care about what he had to say. Who he was, what he was interested in, and the way in which he saw the world.
Feliciano was truly beautiful, inside and out, Ludwig thought. He was like a painting, or even classic literature itself — filled with hidden bits of intricacy interlaced between the parts that made up the bigger picture. He was clumsy, yet intentional. He seemed almost silly at face value, but under the surface he harboured real intelligence.
Feliciano had a myriad of layers to him, and during their long, long conversation, Ludwig came to the realisation that Feliciano was someone he wished to study deeply, just like symbolism. He wanted to sift through, layer by layer, and uncover every last detail he could possibly ever find out about him. He was kind, funny, and intelligent, and cared about Ludwig, though they had barely scratched the surface of knowing each other. It seemed he saw something in him that no one else could — not even Ludwig himself.
After a few hours, the song of sleep began to serenade them both, and the flame of Ludwig’s little candle began to wane. Gently blowing out the candle, Ludwig spared a glance at Feliciano. He was staring at him, watching him intently with a soft smile on his face. Ludwig felt heat rush to his face once again, so busied himself by picking up his book and his candle, careful not to spill the melted wax.
Then, when he stepped around the table and opened his mouth to say a reluctant goodnight, he froze as Feliciano wrapped his arms around him, pulling him into a hug. In shock, he stood with his book and candle, completely idle, before his brain caught up with what was happening. When was the last time someone had hugged him?
The lights inside had been mostly turned off by this point. The corridor was dark too, though its lights would turn on when they opened the door to go back inside.
On the sequestered balcony, it was just the two of them, the warm moonlit night, and the sound of their breathing. Ludwig was almost sure you could hear his heartbeat too. He set his book and candle down on the table and, hesitantly, as carefully as he could, wrapped his arms around Feliciano in return.
Feliciano’s head leaned on Ludwig’s shoulder, sighing contentedly into it. He was warm. The pair were entirely still for a moment, save for the rise and fall of their chests, before Ludwig raised his hand up to brush his fingers delicately through Feliciano’s hair. After the first time he ran his fingers through his hair, he paused — he wasn’t sure if it was okay. To that, though, Feliciano buried his head deeper into Ludwig’s shoulder, and tapped lightly at Ludwig’s back; a signal to keep going. Thus, he moved his hand again, smoothing his fingers through Feliciano’s hair. It was soft under his fingers, and almost silk-like. They remained like this for another while, before Ludwig set his hand back down to rest between Feliciano’s shoulder blades, his head, by this point, leaning slightly on his shoulder in return.
Drowsiness washed over them both. They needed to sleep. It was getting late, and they were both tired. So, reluctantly, Ludwig pulled away. Slowly, carefully bringing his hands to rest on Feliciano’s shoulders, he whispered, “I think it’s time we go to sleep now.”
With a rub at his eyes, and a yawn inconspicuously hidden behind his hand, Feliciano sighed dejectedly. “I don’t wanna.”
Ludwig smiled softly at this. Feliciano’s voice was laced with sleep. “Me neither, but all good things must come to an end.” He murmured, “It’s just a ‘goodnight’. I’ll see you tomorrow, Feliciano. Can you get back to your room okay?”
Feliciano thought for a moment, and then nodded his head. He paused before slowly taking Ludwig’s hand. He rubbed his finger over the back of it, barely even grazing it, before kissing it gently.
Feliciano smiled and placed his other hand over Ludwig’s heart, beating at a hundred miles a minute. Ludwig did not dare move. His smile turned into a not-so-innocent-looking grin, and his gaze flickered up to look Ludwig directly in the eyes. So unbelievably sly.
And with that, Feliciano departed back to his room after raising his own hand to his mouth, kissing it, and sleepily blowing the kiss in the direction of Ludwig with a wave of his hand, leaving him standing completely frozen in shock on the balcony now bathed in moonlight.