A/N: Warnings for this chapter: The usual: Gilbert and Roderich are terrible parents; Ludwig continues to make questionable life choices, but it actually works in his favor?

Musical inspiration: Radiohead – Fake Plastic Trees; Erykah Badu – Orange Moon

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A week passed.

Friday night arrived and Ludwig was hardly ready for it. He had spent the days avoiding thinking about what had happened between Feliciano and himself. His hand had improved, the cuts healed and bruising faded. The pain in his middle finger had reduced, though the knuckle was tender to the touch. Probably would have healed a lot sooner had it not been his dominant hand. He didn't bother telling Roderich or Gilbert. Didn't need them worrying. What had happened backstage might as well have been another lifetime - one he did not feel much like revisiting.

Except he had to.

He realized that as he walked home from school that afternoon, realized it as he sat at his vanity backstage, staring at the pots of makeup and the wig on its stand. He would have to revisit that life - that choice - every night he went on stage.

"Mijo, what are you doing? Curtain goes up in ten and you're hardly dressed!" said a voice. It was Antonio. Ludwig watched through the reflection in his mirror as the Spaniard powdered his face.

"I don't want to get dressed."

Antonio sent him a stern glare that became sympathetic when he saw the sullen look on Ludwig's face. He set down his makeup and swept over, wrapping his arms around the German.

"I know what happened," he said softly.

Ludwig scoffed. "Of course you do."

"I'm sorry, mijo. I know how much he meant - "

Ludwig silenced Antonio with a sharp glare.

Antonio sighed, combing a hand through Ludwig's hair. "Remember what I told you: Don't let them see you sad. You can't. Putting on a show when your heart is hurting is perhaps the hardest thing in the world, but...it's what we must do. Make it real. For them."

"But I don't want to be her anymore, Antonio. I...I c-can't."

Antonio opened his mouth, about to speak, when Eduard announced it was time for the opening act. The Spaniard swore under his breath, planted a swift kiss on Ludwig's forehead and said: "You'll figure it out," before hurrying off to the stage.

Ludwig stared at his reflection. He had spent so long trying to be somebody else for someone else, he wasn't even sure he knew himself anymore. Marlene was all the things he wasn't - beauty, grace, seductive smolder - and he was awkward, serious, quiet, a horrible dancer...and really, what was so wrong with that? Feliciano had loved him exactly as he was, only he had been too blind to see it. And maybe...if Feliciano had loved him...maybe someone else could, too.

You are an even more beautiful man.

You look...even more beautiful - handsome, I mean...

An idea struck him.

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Roderich saw him before the audience did. He was dressed in the tuxedo corset and stockings he usually wore for the Fesche Lola routine but was not wearing the wig and had slicked his hair back. The make-up was minimal - just enough to enhance his features. The heels, though, were higher than the ones he normally wore; it was obvious he was having trouble walking in them.

What the hell do you think you're doing? read the glare on Roderich's face, to which Ludwig lifted an eyebrow and gave a slight nod: Just go with it.

Roderich shook his head, heaving a deep sigh, and played the intro to Ludwig's song. But instead of the usual applause that broke out, there was a smattering of hand claps and confused muttering as Ludwig staggered out on stage and promptly fell on his face. Gasps arose from the audience. Roderich's hands struck a dissonant chord as he got to his feet, ready to rush the stage and make sure Ludwig was okay. But Ludwig got to his feet and sheepishly brushed himself off. The audience gave a few nervous chuckles - half relieved he was all right and half thinking he was crazy. Roderich seemed to be thinking along the same lines. Ludwig made a gesture with his hands: From the top. Roderich sighed through his nose, sat back down, and starting playing the song again. Ludwig began strutting around the stage, wobbling and catching himself in his too high heels, sending the audience a cheeky smile. By now they had caught onto the joke and were laughing so loudly, he almost missed his cue to start singing.

His performance was flawless, though he threw in a few affected trips and stumbles for good measure, earning him an uproarious laugh every time.

When it was done, the applause was so great, he swore it shook the floor. He bowed graciously before kicking his heels off and sauntering backstage. He had turned his persona into a parody. He was not Marlene. He never could be. He was just Ludwig. Awkward, desperate Ludwig.

He went back to the dressing room and changed before making his rounds through the dining hall. He didn't care what Roderich had said about him staying in costume and in character while the doors were open. He was no longer Lola.

The audience flooded him the moment he stepped out. Hands money lips. All were pressed his way. More so than when he had been Lola. One man grabbed his face, kissing it, and proclaimed Ludwig the most handsome thing he had ever seen. His breath reeked of alcohol. Ludwig extricated himself as quickly as he could, but it was overwhelming him, the sea of hands and faces. His heart hammered behind his ribs. The air around him grew thick. Hot. It was hard to breathe amid the stench of people, sweat, and booze. He was going to pass out...

A hand broke through the crowd, wrapping itself around his shoulder and steering him away from the crowd. Ludwig could do nothing but let himself be dazedly led.

They broke through the lobby doors, and Ludwig felt his lungs expand. He could finally draw breath. He looked around, ready to embrace his savior, and was met with a wall of chest.

Ivan. Smiling lopsidedly down at him.

But rather than fling his arms around the Russian as he had been prepared to do seconds before, Ludwig pushed him back, his relief replaced by a stinging pain in his chest.

"Where've you been?" Ludwig growled.

Ivan frowned, shuffling his feet back and forth. Ludwig bit back a scorning laugh. He wondered what Ivan's fellow racketeers would think, seeing the Russian reduced to a bashful child at his feet.

Ludwig folded his arms and leaned against the wall, looking away with feigned disinterest.

"You've been gone over a month."

Ivan slowly approached. "I told you. Business matters."

"'Told' me?" Ludwig scoffed. "You mean that note you left?"

"I'm sorry I could not stay," Ivan said. He reached out, trailing his fingers down Ludwig's arm.

Ludwig shrugged away. "And you think that makes up for it?"

Ivan was standing close now, his presence too hard to ignore. "How do I know you won't disappear on me again?" Ludwig sniffed, trying to play the jilted lover. (His life off-stage was just as much of an act).

"Can we not do this?" Ivan's forehead pressed against his. The back of a finger stroked down Ludwig's cheek.

"Do what?"

"Fight."

"...But I thought that's what you liked about me." Ludwig grinned. Teasing lips brushed against Ivan's. Ludwig angled his head, focusing on a spot on Ivan's nose so he wouldn't have to look him in the eye - a trick he learned from Feliks.

"You're getting better," Ivan said, pulling back.

"At what?"

"Flirting."

"Maybe I've had practice."

"You ought to be careful. The way some of them look at you..."

"It's what I'm supposed to do - "

"I know. And I told you before: You don't have to."

Ivan leaned in for a kiss, but Ludwig turned his head.

Ivan pulled back, brow furrowing. "What is it?"

"You want to own me."

Ivan's shoulders dropped. He lifted a finger to Ludwig's chin, turning it towards him. "I want to give you whatever you want. You know that I can."

"You don't need to buy my affections. You need to earn them."

Ivan looked at him a moment that lasted an eternity, letting out a long, deep breath as he straightened up.

"Is that what he did?"

"Who?" Ludwig said.

"The American. Alexei told me. Maybe I did stay away too long..."

Ludwig rolled his eyes, looking anywhere but at Ivan. "So what? We had a dance. That was all."

Ivan cupped a hand on Ludwig's cheek, the smile on his face sad. "If only I believed that were true. Go on. Do as you like. But the thing to remember about Americans is: They are not as tolerant as they would have you think. You are nothing more than a curiosity to him."

Ivan swept off, pushing back through the door to the dining hall.

Ludwig's head buzzed with static. This night was shaping up to be a repeat of last weekend. He wanted to punch another wall, though the dull throbbing in his hand reminded him why that was a bad idea. He looked down at it, wondering when the pain would finally go away, when the door opened again. Ludwig looked up, half expecting to see Ivan. But it wasn't him. It was the American. Alfred.

He seemed to startle when he saw Ludwig. "O-oh! Hey. I was, um...looking for you."

"Of course you were," Ludwig snorted and looked back down at his hand.

Alfred raked a hand through his hair, mussing it. "Say, you didn't...punch another wall by chance?"

Ludwig shook his head. Trying to remember English was giving him a headache. Maybe if he ignored Alfred, he would go away. (And a part of him wanted to prove Ivan wrong - he did not have feelings for the American).

"You didn't hurt it again when you fell up there? On stage, I mean?" Alfred said, taking his hand. When the hell did that happen? How had the American gotten so close to him without his noticing? Just like Feliciano….

He shook his head again. "The only thing I hurt up there was my pride," he grinned.

Goddammit.

Ivan was right. His flirting was improving...

But Alfred was different.

Easy to talk to...

Fuck.

He jerked his hand back.

Alfred frowned. "You really should get that looked at. At the very least, you should have been putting ice on it."

"You couldn't have told me that last week?" Ludwig ground out.

Alfred shrugged. "It was darker. In the dance hall. Didn't get a good look at it. Sorry."

Ludwig rubbed his forehead with a noncommittal sound.

"Are you okay?"

"Fine. It's just...thinking in English is making my head hurt."

"Oh! Right. I'm sorry. It's...habit," Alfred said, switching to German.

"What? Assuming everyone speaks English?"

Alfred's cheeks flushed. A disconcerted look on his face as he scratched the back of his neck.

"That was meant as a joke," Ludwig said, trying to suppress a smile.

Alfred's face spread into an expansive grin. Ludwig felt his stomach do something funny - like he had missed a step going down a set of stairs.

Ludwig cleared his throat. "So, you found me. Now what?"

"Well, I was going to ask you for a dance, but..." Alfred trailed off, again taking Ludwig's hand. "I'm worried."

"About what?"

"Your hand. You need to get it taken care of."

"It's probably just a sprain-"

"Even still. Why won't you get it fixed?"

Ludwig shrugged. "I suppose I'm stubborn. It runs in the family."

"Well, if you won't go to a doctor, would you at least let me take a look at it?"

"What could you do?"

"Well," Alfred said, drawing the syllable out in mock-thought, "I suppose I could help you. Being a doctor runs in the family, so..."

Ludwig felt his lips engaging in a smile/frown tug of war as he fought to keep his burgeoning emotions in check. He averted his gaze, despite his certainty that Americans were not as adept in reading the subtleties of body language. He did not wish to find out how right or wrong he was, especially with Alfred. Ludwig heaved an affected sigh, ironing out all the imperfections until his face was a mask of composure and it again felt safe to look at Alfred.

"If it would make you happy," he said.

Alfred grinned and Ludwig felt his stomach do that odd flip-flop again.

He examined Ludwig's hand, gently prodding along the back of it, feeling for any broken bones. Ludwig sucked in a sharp breath when Alfred touched the middle knuckle.

"Definitely sprained," Alfred said.

"I told you."

Alfred rolled his eyes. "You know, I could wrap it for you. So it would hurt less."

"Wrap it with what?"

"Gauze. Tape. Whatever. You got anything like that here?"

Ludwig shrugged.

"Hmm. I've got some at my place," Alfred said.

"Your place?" Ludwig echoed dubiously.

"Yeah. It's not far from here. In Bergmannkiez. Am I saying that right?"

Ludwig nodded.

"It's not much, really," Alfred went on. "Just a rented room. But the landlady sure as hell can cook. Oh man! I swear, her meals are better than my mom's. So. What do you say? My place? And I'll get you fixed up?"

Alfred held out his hand. Ludwig looked at it, suddenly wary.

"What's wrong?" Alfred said, grin faltering.

"N-nothing! It's just...I..." Ludwig looked at the door leading into the club. He could hear the din of the crowd, the bright sounds of Roderich's piano just beyond. All things familiar. All things he had grown up with. And the American was...different. "I-I don't even know you. We've...only really spoken twice and..."

Ludwig swallowed, helpless for a moment to try and explain his thoughts.

"...And?" Alfred prompted.

"Are people so trusting? Where you're from?"

"Well, yeah," Alfred shrugged. "I mean, they are in the town where I live. I'm not sure about New York or any place big like that. But...in my town...we all know each other, you know?"

Ludwig looked at him blankly.

"Okay, I guess you don't know. But, look. You have my word, as a doctor - "

"You're not a doctor."

"Okay. As a medical student and doctor's son, I give you my word you're safe with me."

"...All right."

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Alfred had not been lying when he said his flat really wasn't much. It was a third floor room with window, bed, dresser, and a pile-of-something in the corner. It reminded Ludwig of a hallway more so than an actual room. The walls were long and narrow. Ludwig felt certain if he stood in the middle of the floor and stretched out his arms, he would be able to touch the walls. He hardly believed it could contain a person, let alone all that it did, which was not a whole lot, considering.

The only source of light was a small lamp beside the bed. Alfred went over and switched it on. The room was small enough that it lit everything. The pile-of-something turned out to be a small table heaped with books and paper. Underneath it lay a suitcase, its lid flipped open and contents spilling out. Ludwig wondered why he hadn't bothered unpacking. Alfred saw him staring at it and guessed what he was thinking.

"I didn't think I was gonna stay in Berlin this long. My friends left for Paris a month ago. I was supposed to go with them, but...I don't know. I like it here." Alfred shrugged. "And if you think my German's bad, you ought to hear my French." He chortled and Ludwig couldn't help but smile in return.

"Your German's not that bad."

Alfred grinned sheepishly at that, ducking his head and rubbing the back of his neck. Ludwig felt his own ears starting to redden. Both seemed to have forgotten what they were even doing there until:

"Oh! Your hand," Alfred said, snapping his fingers.

He went over to his pile of books on the table and started shifting them into a precariously stacked tower near the edge. Buried within the stack of books and loose paper was a small black bag. Alfred made a quick rummage, pulling out a roll of gauze.

Ludwig sat on the bed, watching as Alfred wrapped his hand, binding his middle finger with the one beside it.

Alfred placed the gauze back in his bag once he was finished, his back to Ludwig as he busied himself rearranging the unbalanced books on his table. Ludwig looked at his hand and frowned. The walls of the small room were starting to feel even closer. The wariness from before was creeping back in. Alfred was bound to want something - to expect something - after fixing him up. No one did anything out of generosity. Something was always expected in return. Why should the American be any different? He never should have come here. He really ought to be going...Gilbert and Roderich were bound to worry...

"What is it?" Alfred asked, pushing his glasses up his nose.

"N-nothing! It's...I - " Ludwig broke off, biting the inside of his cheek.

"Are you...all right?" Alfred said. He sat down beside Ludwig, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Ludwig tensed at the touch.

Alfred sensed it and immediately withdrew. "Sorry. Again, it's habit. Or maybe it's a doctor thing. I don't know."

"N-no, it's fine...it's..." Ludwig took a deep breath. "What I meant to say was: thank you."

"No problem," Alfred said. He took Ludwig's hand, examining it one last time. "And if you're going to be doing anymore of those fake falls on stage, please be mindful of it."

"I don't know if I will be. I'm sure Roderich will be livid."

"Why? I thought you were hilarious! Funnier than Charlie Chaplin. Have you ever seen his movies?"

Ludwig shook his head. "...I don't really like movies."

"Oh. What do you like to do for fun, then?"

Ludwig shrugged. "...Play piano...draw..."

"Hmm. Well. I hate to break it to you, but...you're probably not gonna be able to do those things for a while."

Ludwig let out a nervous laugh. So did Alfred.

"What do you like to do? For fun, I mean?" Ludwig said at length. "Other than go to the movies?"

Alfred leaned back on the bed, propping himself on his elbows. "...Uh, I don't know. Walk around the city, I guess. Reading. Though you'd probably find it boring."

"Why do you say that?"

Alfred nodded over at the books piled on the table. "Those're all my books from school. And stuff my dad gave me to read. Medical stuff. Most people find it boring. Or gross. But I like it."

Ludwig went over to the table. "'The Hand,'" he began, reading off the title in English. "'Its Mechanism and Vital Endowments as E...Envincing? Design.' Well," Ludwig smirked, "no wonder you were so keen on me getting this fixed."

"God," Alfred groaned, flopping back on the bed. "Of all the books, you had to find that one." He scrubbed his hands over his face, pushing his glasses up to his forehead. He blinked, seeing a fuzzy Ludwig smiling down at him. Alfred adjusted his glasses, propping himself up again. "I didn't used to be so boring, you know."

"Oh, really?" Ludwig said, a hint of amusement in his voice. He sat on the bed.

"I wanted to be a pilot. When I was a kid. Ever since I saw my first barnstorming show. But I don't have the eyes for it. Can't see a damn thing without my glasses. I would still love the chance to fly in a plane. To know what it feels like."

A comfortable silence followed. Ludwig leaned back on one elbow, curling onto his side.

"What about you?" Alfred said. "Did you have any wild dreams when you were a kid?"

Ludwig swallowed and shook his head. "...No. Not...not really."

Alfred gave a dubious click of his tongue. "C'mon. I don't believe that. Every kid dreams of something."

"Yes, but...I...i-it's not something that - "

"What?"

Ludwig shook his head again. "It...it sounds silly."

"So does me wanting to be a professional barnstormer."

"But that's typical, though. Kids always want something wild and crazy."

"Yeah. That's kind of like the point of being a kid. You do all the crazy stuff then so you don't do it as an adult and screw your life up." Alfred said. He turned onto his side, facing Ludwig, and took his hand.

Ludwig stared at his and Alfred's entwined fingers, tracing the ridges like hills and valleys, shadows and light. He thought of his mother's voice, his uncle's house - the corners where he used to hide, where he thought the light could not quite reach yet always seemed to find him. He never could run from it. He thought of his brother. He had always been told he was too old, too serious for his age. And as always, it left him with mixed feelings of pride and inadequacy - not quite an adult and not quite a child, but rather something in between. Orphaned at such a young age, he had been forced to grow up fast thereafter. He had come to reconcile that fact. But it still did not keep him from wanting to know the feeling of an arm around his shoulders, comforting and protective, that feeling he was sure only a parent could give. To know that everything was going to be okay. To know that he was okay and loved just as he was.

"What did you dream about?" Alfred said.

Ludwig sniffed. "...Being happy," he whispered.

The bed shifted as Alfred moved closer. He drew Ludwig up and into an embrace. "That's not silly. That's something everyone deserves."

Ludwig squeezed his eyes shut, letting his chin rest on Alfred's shoulder. "...But it...no matter how hard I try...I can't s-seem to get it right."

"Maybe you need to stop trying and just let it happen." Alfred's lips whispered against his neck.

"...Maybe," Ludwig sighed.

Make it real for them.

Ludwig swallowed around the lump settling in his throat as Antonio's words echoed in his head. He didn't need to make it real, because...because this was real. For him. He had shared something with Alfred he had never dared tell anyone else. For once, he didn't have to pretend. He didn't have to try and fit because it just happened.

Ludwig straightened, looking at Alfred a moment, and kissed him, deep and deliberate. They sank onto the bed, Ludwig pulling Alfred on top of him. Lips trailed along jawlines. Fingers slid open buttons. Alfred's chest was warm against his. Ludwig rolled his hips up. Heat pooled in his stomach. Hot breath panted against his ear. He slipped a hand under the waistband of Alfred's pants. The American tensed.

"...Wait."

Ludwig looked at Alfred. The American's typically bright eyes seemed suddenly clouded. An all too familiar flush was creeping up his neck. Fear. Anxiety. He had done it again. He had misread the signals...

You're just a curiosity to him.

Ludwig looked away, abashed, and withdrew his hand. "Sorry."

"Hey, no. It's okay," Alfred said, suddenly looking worried. "I just...didn't want you to think I only brought you here because I...because of...well, sex."

Ludwig let out a breathy laugh, half relieved and half amused at the American's stumbling manner. "I know you didn't."

Alfred carded a hand through Ludwig's hair, smiling as he cradled the back of his head.

Ludwig relaxed into the touch, tilting his chin back and feeling the bob of his throat as he swallowed.

Alfred's eyes were half lidded, blonde lashes obscuring bright blue. He took off his glasses and tossed them on the table beside the bed. His lips were soft and wet as he kissed Ludwig. Fingers pushed up Ludwig's undershirt, seeking the warm expanse of flesh underneath. Ludwig kissed him back, letting his good hand wander and explore around Alfred's chest to his back. He remembered thinking how wiry Alfred felt. He could feel every muscle movement. It sent a thrill through him, finding all the spots that made the American tense or shudder, coiling and uncoiling beneath his touch.

Alfred broke away with a moan as Ludwig's lips went to his neck, plying at the soft skin. He let them linger there a moment before pulling away, looking down at Ludwig with a grin, and kissed him again. He kissed him deeper, pressing him into the mattress; his want, evident. Alfred's hands left Ludwig's chest to begin undoing his pants. Ludwig followed, tossing shirt and pants aside. The cool air prickled his skin. He gave an involuntary shake, but Alfred was encircling him again, his own limbs free from their constraints. He radiated heat, pouring it into Ludwig as he closed the gaps between them. Ludwig took his mouth, teeth gnashing together as Alfred pushed into him.

It was different. Rhythmic and slow. Yet Ludwig felt his heart race all the same. Irina and Mathias had both been hurried affairs, taking place in the darkest of rooms. But with Alfred, it was different. The lamp on the bedside table lit the room with a warm, yellow glow, illuminating sinewy muscle, a sweat-slicked chest and legs. A small vignette among many, set against the murky night sky.

They lay together, arms enfolding the other, desires sated.

Alfred turned off the lamp, the golden glow replaced by silvery strands of moonlight streaming through the curtain. The pale light reflected on Alfred's face, bouncing down onto Ludwig's as the American leaned over him for one last kiss. Ludwig had always thought himself to be like the moon - one half in light, the other in shadow. One face he shone upon the world, reflecting the light of the sun, while the other remained hidden. (He had been the moon, and Feliciano his sun). But with Alfred, he didn't have to keep that face hidden. He could be both light and dark.

Ludwig rolled onto his back, his good hand pillowing his head. Alfred curled next to him, already asleep, his head tucked in the space between Ludwig's neck and shoulder. One arm rested on Ludwig's chest. It struck him just how comfortable it was, laying there with Alfred. Like they fit together. Their bodies, two pieces of a puzzle. He had spent his life trying to blend in, to make his jagged edges fit in somewhere. But the more he tried, the more he stuck out. Maybe Alfred was right. Maybe he should just stop trying...

Ludwig turned his head, pressing his lips to Alfred's hair. Alfred sighed deeply in his sleep, his breath feathery against Ludwig's neck. Ludwig smiled, kissed his head again, and let his own eyes slip shut.

.

"This is your fault! All your goddamn fault!" Gilbert seethed. He had been pacing between the window and the door for close to an hour, hissing the same phrase through his teeth over and over again. The only time he stilled was to listen for the sound of footsteps on the stairs or to twitch the curtain aside, scrutinizing every head that passed below a streetlight. He shot a glare over his shoulder at Roderich for every one that was not his brother. Then he would shake his head and continue his pacing.

"How can you sit there so - so - fucking calm!" Gilbert spat, rounding on the Austrian.

Roderich, for his part, sat on the sofa with one hand around a glass of brandy while the other held a cigarette. Anxiety roiled within him despite his cool exterior. He longed to calm his nerves with the piano, but he did not wish for Gilbert to see how shaky his hands had become.

"On the contrary," Roderich said evenly, "I am just as concerned as you. Only I prefer not to show it by wearing a hole in the floor."

Gilbert stopped pacing. He twitched the curtain aside, peering down the street, and muttering something under his breath.

"You don't give your brother enough credit," Roderich said. "Ludwig is smart. And sensible." He brought the tumbler of brandy to his lips. "God knows he didn't get that from you," he muttered into the glass.

"This is all your fault," Gilbert hissed, yanking the curtain back. "I don't know what you said - what you did - you and that damn Russian - to make him want this. I - " Gilbert cut himself off and shook his head. He resumed his circuit from window to door, door to window.

"I told you before," Roderich said, "he came to me."

Gilbert stopped in front of the door, the look on his face incredulous. "Yeah. And why didn't you say 'no'!?"

Roderich looked away, his cheeks flushing as if he'd just been slapped. "You act like you're the only one who's ever cared for him."

"Maybe because I am!"

Roderich began to rise.

"Admit it," Gilbert continued, arms folded across his chest and chin tilting up, "you've only ever seen him as a meal ticket, Roddy. Just another pawn for you to use. Because that's what you do," he hissed. "That's what you were raisedto do. To use people. Fucking aristocrat. Admit it!"

"Yes! All right!? Fine! Yes! Are you fucking happy?! If it's a sin to want a warm house and regular meals and - and a decent living - then, fine, yes - I am fucking guilty. If it's a sin to - to do whatever it takes to save my business, to keep my doors open, to keep my employees, then yes, I'm fucking guilty. I was trying to help - "

"Help?" Gilbert balked. "You've got a funny definition of what 'help' means."

"If I do, it's only because I'm in a funny business, thanks to you."

"You could have left anytime."

"Yes, I could have. But you see, there's the difference between you and me. You would have left, without a single thought for those young men. They would have still been on the street - or worse - if not for me."

Gilbert rolled his eyes. "Well, aren't you just the fuckin' patron saint of gay prostitutes. You're a pimp, Roddy. A fucking pimp. And my brother will not be your whore!"

Roderich sniffed, choosing to ignore that last jibe. He brought his cigarette to his lips, inhaling smoke with as much haughty disdain as he could muster.

"Sometimes I wish you had just stayed away," Roderich snipped.

"What?"

"You heard me," Roderich said, arching an eyebrow. He sank back onto the couch, tossing his cigarette into an ashtray and swallowing down the rest of his brandy.

"Oh, is that what this is about now?" Gilbert fumed. His arms uncrossed, falling to his sides, no longer on the defense. His fists clenched open and shut. "You want me out, is that it? Well if I go, so does Lutz."

Roderich hung his head, staring at his hands held in his lap. His thumb would not stop running itself over his fingers. The telltale indention was gone, but his eyes were fixed to the spot where his wedding band once rested.

"You never had to open your door to me," Gilbert said.

Roderich puffed out a deprecating laugh. "Didn't I?" he said with a tight voice. He picked his head up, eyes shining. "You knew me, Gilbert. You knew what I would do. And that's why you came back. If it makes you feel better to sit on your high horse and look down on me and what I do, then by all means, don't get out of the saddle. Only stop pretending like you haven't benefitted too. I did what I had to do."

"But it's Lutz, Roddy. My Lutz."

Roderich pressed his lips into a thin line and swallowed. "I know. Which is why it makes this...I mean, I..." He whipped his glasses off, pressing his fingertips to the corner of each eye. "I'm sorry, Gilbert. I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

Gilbert folded his arms and shuffled back to the window, peering down at the deserted sidewalk. The clock on the fireplace mantle struck three in the morning. Gilbert sighed through his nose, shoulders sagging.

"This ends now," he said, tone devoid of color. "I should have stopped it ages ago. And I'm sorry I didn't." Gilbert pressed his forehead against the cool windowpane.

"I tried to discourage him, Gilbert," Roderich said, his voice small and quiet. "I tried to - to t-talk him out of it. Believe me. But the truth is, he chose this."

Gilbert threw a glance over his shoulder. "He's seventeen. He doesn't know what he wants."

.

It was the lightening sky that awoke him. Ludwig grudgingly opened his eyes, expecting to see the walls of his room, orderly and familiar, but was met with a space so small it hardly contained the cluttered mess within.

Ludwig's brow furrowed a moment. He felt a weight at his side and turned his head to see Alfred, still deep in sleep on his pillow, his hair sticking up in every direction. Ludwig felt himself smile. He leaned in and kissed Alfred's forehead, then settled himself back against his pillow, about to try and reclaim the sleep that had been stolen by dawn, when reality crashed in around him and he bolted upright again.

Oh shit. Shit, shit, shit!

He had spent the night at Alfred's.

He had left the club.

He had not seen Roderich. Or Gil.

He had made an ass of himself last night on stage. And he hadn't even bothered to check in with Roderich. He probably ruined everything - his reputation, as well as Roderich's and the club's. Roderich was bound to be furious. And he had left. Had up and disappeared. Without telling anyone. It felt like a lifetime ago. Ludwig put his good hand into his hair and raked it back.

"...Hey," came a sleepy voice beside him. Alfred was sitting up in bed. He reached for his glasses on the bedside table, settling them on his nose. "You don't look good. Are you okay?"

"...Yeah," Ludwig breathed, trying to smile. "It's just I...I have to go. Home. A-and, um...well..." His jaw clenched shut. He slid out of bed and started gathering his clothes, deliberately avoiding Alfred's gaze.

Alfred placed a hand on his back. Ludwig tensed at the touch. "I want to see you again."

Ludwig spun around, looking at him. "...You...you do?"

Alfred chortled at the dubious look on Ludwig's face. "Yeah. Isn't it obvious? I like being with you. Is that...okay?"

"Yeah," Ludwig said, pulling on his undershirt. "You know where to find me," he added, with a playful wink. (Alfred's face was looking too serious and why, why, why was he suddenly feeling uncomfortable?)

Ludwig cleared his throat and pulled on his pants, the rustling sound of fabric suddenly seeming too loud for the little room.

"That's not what I meant," Alfred said, standing. He was holding Ludwig's button-up with a slight frown.

Ludwig took it, busying himself with doing up the buttons. Alfred's statement prompted a question - one Ludwig was unsure of asking. It lingered on the tip of his tongue, held back by the dam of his teeth, but the silent air between them demanded filling - and Ludwig could not stand to see the look that now shaped Alfred's face.

"...Then, what?" he blurted, fingers slipping on a button. Ludwig grumbled his frustration. With the shirt. He was frustrated with the shirt, he was sure. To be fair, it was difficult, after all, negotiating small round things through tiny holes with a hand that was pretty much out of commission due to the fact his most dexterous fingers were swallowed up by a bandage, that, had he not been such an idiot, would not have even been necessary in the first place. Yes. He was annoyed with the shirt and certainly not his own stupidity.

"I meant...I want to see you," Alfred said, stepping closer, fixing Ludwig's buttons. "Outside of the club. Y'know, like, go to a movie or get lunch or something." He tucked the hem of Ludwig's shirt into the waistband, smoothing down the front with a nervous glance up. "Would that...be okay?"

"I...y-yeah, sure. I-I'd like that."

Alfred's face broke into a beaming grin. And Ludwig felt certain he would do anything to see that grin again. It pained him to leave that morning.

The moment he hit the sidewalk, he all but ran to his flat. It was only half-past seven, but he knew better than to think Gilbert and Roderich were asleep. They had most likely spent the night fretting over his whereabouts.

His hand shook as he fit the key in the lock, but the door swung open before he even turned the handle.

"Ludwig! Thank God!" Roderich breathed.

Thin hands fluttered up. For the briefest of moments, Ludwig thought Roderich might actually hug him, and he readied himself for it. But no embrace came. Instead, the hands came to rest on his shoulders.

Of course.

Roderich would never hug him. It would be a breech of some unspoken protocol. But sometimes...sometimes Ludwig just wished...

"I-I'm sorry," he found himself automatically saying.

"It's all right," Roderich said. "Just don't - "

"Where the hell have you been!?" Gilbert's voice thundered down the hall, making both Ludwig and Roderich jump. The man himself stormed in seconds later, tearing Ludwig from Roderich's grasp and slamming him up against the wall.

Ludwig felt the air leave his lungs. He sputtered and gasped, trying to get it back, but Gilbert's arm was under his chin, pressing against his throat.

"Where have you been!?" Gilbert demanded again, his voice cracking on the last word. He let his arm drop, eyes blinking furiously as he gave a loud sniffle.

Ludwig inhaled a few deep breaths, rubbing his throat. He tried to side-step his brother, but Gilbert held his position, hands going up to cup either side of Ludwig's face.

Ludwig flinched at the motion, ready to duck a fist, until he realized what Gilbert was doing.

"Promise me you won't do that ever again," Gilbert said, eyes wide and searching, his voice a low and urgent plea.

Ludwig nodded his head vigorously. "I promise."

Gilbert drew him into a hug, and suddenly Ludwig felt like he was eight years old again and the strange man with white hair and reddish eyes had come to rescue him. But before that feeling could fully settle, Gilbert was already pulling away, slipping through Ludwig's fingers like the quicksilver man he'd always been.

Ludwig stood by the door as the pieces were carefully replaced and arranged back into some semblance of their lives before. Like nothing had ever happened. Gilbert went into the kitchen. The sound of a pan scraping over a stove burner and the sizzle of meat was soon heard. Roderich sat himself on the couch, scanning the front page of a newspaper as he lit a cigarette. And Ludwig found himself selfishly wondering just how worried they had been. Neither one had even noticed his hand...

Gilbert called everyone into the kitchen moments later. Breakfast was ready. Roderich stood and limped over. Ludwig followed, lingering a moment in the doorway before taking his seat. Gilbert had already plated up everything. Cups of coffee stood cooling at each place setting. Whorls of steam drifted up from the meal, mingling with the heavier stream of tobacco as Roderich finished his cigarette, scenting their home with that unmistakable smell Ludwig would remember well into his adult years. Bitter and salty, sweet and dark.

He watched as his brother took the seat beside Roderich and tucked into his plate. Roderich eventually picked up his fork and knife and cut into the meat, each movement deliberate and controlled - unlike Gilbert, who ate like he would never get another meal. Roderich's eyes never left his plate, his face inscrutable as ever.

To anyone who did not know them, they could be seen as a family - he and Gilbert, brothers, and Roderich...a cousin, or family friend, perhaps. This was what normal people - families - did together, right? Sharing a meal before the hours of the day stole everyone away. It was what he and Uncle used to do. Whatever grievances they may have had were always put on hold for a meal around a table. Breakfast and lunch and dinner could reconcile the deepest of sins...if only for a time.

A slant of sunlight cut across his chair as he made to sit, the light sharp and white. He never could run from daylight. It always found him out. He was the moon, reflecting the light of the sun - whoever he was with, whatever they wanted him to be, keeping his other face hidden.

Ludwig slid into the chair, reaching for his coffee with his good hand.

"Ludwig?" Roderich said. "Is anything the matter?"

Ludwig felt the heat from sunlight spilling across his face. He remembered Antonio's words from the previous night: Make it real for them. If he could put on a show for a hundred people, surely he could do it for the two he lived with...

(He was the moon. Reflecting the light of the sun.)

Ludwig sipped his coffee and set the mug down, turning towards the Austrian with a casual shrug and his best smile.

"Why would there be?" he said.

.

.

.

Ende

A/N (2): So, I've decided to split this fic up into two parts 1.) because there will probably be a major tonal shift (bye bye decadent Weimar era Berlin) and 2.) this fic is already long enough, jfc. The second part will be a whole new fic and is called "We Are Not Ourselves." It starts in 1932 and includes WW2 and a few years after. Given the subject matter and history, yes, there will be at least one character death. That is all I'm going to say, so…consider yourself warned. Thank you to everyone who's read/favorited/reviewed/or just stuck with this thing. I hope to see you all at the second installment!