"Doitsu Club holds its first meeting at lunch today, in room one hundred one . . . informational swim team meeting will be held in the gym, and is mandatory for all members . . ." Feliciano tuned out the morning announcements, half asleep on his desk. A week had passed since Ludwig's arrival at school, yet the swarm of fans surrounding him was relentless. Still, every day found Feliciano sitting on his rooftop with Ludwig, talking and laughing and learning more about each other. He found that Ludwig had an older brother, just like him, that longed to move back to Germany, his favorite food was potatoes, and his laugh was very deep and guttural. They never discussed his fame; Ludwig never wanted to. His friend was always late to see him, because his fans followed him everywhere he went; to make sure their time together was private, Ludwig had to devise clever diversions to attract attention away from him for long enough so that he could slip through the double doors, walk up the staircase, and sit down right next to Feliciano. He usually told the crowd that he needed to use the bathroom, and when they refused to give him privacy, he had lashed out at them, and the crowd had dispersed. Fortunately, there was a men's room situated in the same hall as the staircase. A part of him wished that the girls would pay less attention to him, but he knew they had good intentions. They just wanted to talk to him, didn't they?

A tap on the shoulder pulled the boy out of his daze. In front of him stood the cute brunette girl that had told him off a week earlier; he stared into her shiny brown eyes and smiled, putting the past behind him. Immediately, he brushed his hair back and leaned casually to his side, still while looking into her eyes. She giggled, causing his heart to beat with pleasure.

"Feliciano," she said through laughter, shaking her head a little. "Seriously! I have something to ask you!" Feliciano's eyes lit up as his classmate bit her lip playfully. Staring at the ground, she pulled out a piece of paper from her pocket and handed it to him. Feliciano took it, eying it curiously. Was this a love poem? He felt his cheeks turn a little pink.

The girl stared at her shoes shyly, only causing him to blush harder. "Um . . . how do I say this? Feliciano . . ." His heart was beating so quickly and so pleasantly.

"Yes?" he asked, hanging on to her every word. It had been a week since he had been flirted with like this—and it had been the most flirting he'd ever done. He would flatter the girls and cause them to blush, but he had never received a love note, or an invitation for a date.

"Could you deliver this to Ludwig?" His heart sunk. Of course this would happen. He wasn't famous, and he wasn't a new student, either. His new friend was interesting and though he liked to be around him, nobody had paid an ounce of attention to her friendly classmate anymore.

"Sure," he replied, his voice less cheerful and his eyes less wide. He stared down at his desk, hoping his bangs would conceal his eyes. How embarrassing, he thought, well aware of his burning cheeks. Still, he pocketed the letter, making a mental note to give it to Ludwig at lunchtime.

Three periods later and Feliciano had far too many love notes sticking out of his binder. The general thought was that because he had shown him around the school on his first day, he must have some special access to Ludwig that the singer had denied them. He didn't quite understand why he was so bent on avoiding them. Of course he knew how awful crowds were, but he could at least talk to them or offer to sing them a song. That's what Feliciano would have done, if he were in Ludwig's place. He sighed, his thoughts straying far from the history lesson he was supposed to be taking notes on. Ludwig was somebody important, and he was so accomplished. Not only did he begin singing at eleven years old, but he had won so many prestigious awards and titles. He was strong, and all the girls wanted to talk to him, to be with him. All it took was someone better than him, and more successful than him to take away his charms and everything that made him interesting. Sure, he could draw well, and he was on the soccer team, but he sure as hell wasn't a celebrity. The bell rang, interrupting his thoughts and signaling the beginning of lunch. Angrily, he debated whether or not to deliver the love letters. Didn't they know that Ludwig didn't care? Immediately, he regretted his thoughts of anger, ran to his locker, and placed the notes in his lunch bag. He couldn't deny the requests of many. They would only care less for him if he did.

Ludwig arrived fifteen minutes after he did, looking thoroughly exhausted. He wiped a sheen of sweat from his forehead as he sat down quickly, still paranoid that the paparazzi from below would catch him. Online, Feliciano had seen headlines like "Lord Doitsu Attends School!" and "Is Ludwig Beilschmidt Left-Handed? The Proof is in his Entrance!" The article went on to argue that because he had been spotting opening the school's front doors with his left hand, he must use it to write. Hopefully, the lack of public interest in such topics will eventually force the crowds of cameras to leave. It only reminded Feliciano of the abundance of notes in his lunch today, and how not a single one was for him.

"These are for you," he explained, forcing himself to hand the papers to Ludwig. They were all different shapes and sizes; some were folded meticulously while others were folded in half once, without aligning the edges. Frowning, the blonde took them, read one, and shoved it away.

"Are they all like this?" he asked roughly. Though Feliciano wished the notes weren't there, they reflected people's hopes of talking to Ludwig. So many people would be heartbroken to know that he barely spared a thought for them.

"What does it say?" he asked, though part of him didn't want to know. Ludwig's strong fingers picked one up, unfolded the notebook paper, and read its contents:

"Dear Ludwig Friedrich Beilschmidt—My name is Lauren, and I am your biggest fan. Other girls will say they like you more, but you should know that I have twelve posters of you hanging up in my room, a T-shirt from your 'Vaterland' tour, an iron cross necklace (an authentic, not a fake), all of your CD's (real copies, not downloads) and your movie. My favorite song of yours is Ich Liebe Dich and it's my dream for you to speak those same words for me. Maybe if you want, we can grab a smoothie after school sometime? Love, Lauren D." Ludwig stared ahead, his expression unwavering, though he seemed a little shocked. Feliciano leaned closer to him, in order to gain a better view of the note. "'Ludwig Friedrich Beilschmidt'. That's what my older brother calls me to annoy me."

Feliciano laughed, feeling a little guilty for finding Lauren's confession humorous. He found a piece of paper resting between Ludwig's legs; quickly he picked it up and began to read.

"Dear Mr. Beilschmidt—I love you so, so much! My birthday is coming up. Can you please sing for me and my friends? They'll be at my party. Love, Jessica C." He knew Jessica; she was a short girl with dimples that used to wink at him every day of last year. Now, she was another girl on the ship that had left him for Port Doitsu. His face fell visibly, but Ludwig hardly noticed. "Are you going to read the rest?"

"They're all the same," he insisted, shaking his head. "I don't need to." Feliciano's disappointment was quickly replaced with anger. He shoved a handful of notes into Ludwig's hands.

"They're not the same," Feliciano insisted. "Behind each letter is a different girl, and though the dream to talk to you is the same, they are all separate people! Reading one doesn't mean you've read them all! It means you've read the dreams of one person, and neglected the dreams of the rest!" His voice increased in volume, stunning even him. From day one, he had planned on never challenging Ludwig. The blonde was just as stunned as Feliciano was, but he made no move to start a fight. He stared at him with wide blue eyes, no longer sure of what to do with the notes. Suddenly shy, Feliciano laughed, feeling pink flush to his cheeks. He was curious as to what Ludwig would say, but he simply stared in silence.

"Why don't you want to talk to the girls?" Feliciano continued, trying to put words into Ludwig's mouth. "I like to talk to them. They're pretty, and a lot of them are really sweet, even if you think they're annoying—"

"They only like me because I am famous," he spoke finally, his voice accentuating every word. "Take away my fame, and I'm . . . well . . ." Ludwig laughed a little; the sound of it intrigued him. "I'm serious, and I'm just, well, awkward." He stared at the ground. Feliciano thought he was hiding something, like a blush on his cheeks. Concerned, he patted the top of his arm, scooting closer to him.

"You're really muscular and strong and kind of handsome, even if you are scary. I think the girls would like that—"

"Nobody even thought of talking to me before I was famous. I guess it might have been because I was some strong-looking child, and I never talked to anyone, so my social skills are a bit . . . I can talk to you alright, but with anyone else . . ." He cut off his statement, clearly at loss for what to say next. He tried harder to hide his face. Feliciano moved closer, and leaned against his bicep. He had to wonder how it was even possible to achieve a body like Ludwig's. Maybe that was another reason why the boys didn't like him very much.

"I don't think you like being famous, Ludwig," Feliciano whispered, his eyes closing. He could feel Ludwig's heartbeat quicken, though he did not know why.

"It was always Gilbert who wanted to be famous," he admitted. "You know, my older brother?"

"Yes, you told me about him," Feliciano said sleepily. Afternoon was a good time for a nap. Though he began to drift off, Ludwig continued to explain, and he continued to listen.

"He's two years older than me, and he wanted to become a singer. Unfortunately for him, my parents insisted he had no talent and denied his requests." Feliciano sighed and nodded. It felt unfair, especially now that Ludwig was famous in his brother's place. "My parents really wanted a famous son, and they had a family friend in the music industry. I began recording and eventually reached the level I'm at today." He spoke dully, as if he wasn't even remotely proud of such a high achievement. "I've told her that I wanted to stop, but I can't. She says I have too many fans, and I would crush too many dreams." He felt a wave of sympathy for Ludwig, as well as relief. He was suddenly glad he wasn't in his place. The girls admired him, but Ludwig wasn't happy, and he couldn't even quit. "My voice hardly belongs to me. It's edited, and it's fake. To think of it, I was never really that great at singing to begin with . . ." Ludwig stared back at Feliciano; he wore a smile this time. Opening his eyes, Feliciano gasped and began to laugh.

"Is anything wrong?" Ludwig asked, suddenly tense.

"I don't think I've ever seen you smile yet, Ludwig." His blue eyes widened; his smile became lost in thought. When it returned, it brought a laugh back with it.

"You know Feliciano, I don't think I've smiled in a while." Hundreds—maybe even thousands of notes meant nothing to someone important like Ludwig. Feliciano laughed, realizing that it felt nice to be something that could mean more to him than anyone in his school. Again, his eyes closed, and a smile and a pair of blue eyes was the last thing he saw before drifting away.