Locked Away (GerIta)

Chapter 47

Ludwig felt calm, his constant worries kept at bay for the time being. He didn't flinch when Feliciano came up behind him and placed his hands on his shoulders, rubbing gently.

He nodded and, to Feliciano's great pleasure, joined them for dinner, sitting and eating what he could manage.

Ludwig held Feliciano's hand underneath the table, gently resting their hands against his thigh.

~

Later on that night, when Roderich and Elizabeth had left, when Feliciano had decided that they would stay, Ludwig crept downstairs to the entrance.

He found his coat and rummaged around the pockets, retrieving his flask. He shakily twisted open the lid and drank, breathing heavily as if it was water he'd found after 40 days in the desert.

Ludwig slid down the wall and sat, head back with his eyes closed. The voices got quieter.

He nursed from the metal flask, holding it to his chest in between drink. A quiet voice startled him.

"Ludwig?"

He swallowed hard and stayed silent.

"Ludwig, are you there? Please come back to bed."

Feliciano's voice was laced with worry and Ludwig felt a tug in his chest. He stood, blindly placing the flask back in his jacket.

"I'm here." He whispered and reached out, hand gently bumping the Italian's wrist.

They went back up the room they were sharing for the night, simply because there was no extra bedroom.

Ludwig had been awake all night next to him, thinking, wondering. It became too much. Too loud.

He laid back down under the covers with a sigh and turned on his side when he heard a soft whimper come from Feliciano.

"What is it?" He asked softly.

Feliciano shook his head and just moved closer, hesitantly laying his head on Ludwig's chest.

"Is this okay?" He whispered timidly.

Ludwig took a shaky breath and his arm wrapped around Feliciano slowly, "Yeah."

Feliciano could smell the alcohol on his breath and he squeezed his eyes shut. It'd become so familiar, so regular. The old smell of mint Ludwig used to carry was long gone.

Feliciano placed a hand on Ludwig's waist and listened to the soft internal noises behind his flannel shirt. He sighed and drifted off to the sound of his ticking heart.

~

Feliciano noticed that the morning newspapers would be taken to Ludwig's room and they were never to return.

He came home more and more often to a stripped gun on the kitchen table, shaky hands cleaning and cleaning and cleaning the parts.

One day, when he could resist the curiosity no longer, and when he was sick of seeing the pistol out in the open, he asked.

"What are you doing?"

Ludwig carried on, ears deaf to what had been said.

Feliciano frowned. The German could do this process drunk, with his eyes closed, and behind his back with one hand.

"Ludwig." He snapped but the only response was a swig from the liquor bottle on the table. "Hey!"

Feliciano watched him keep drinking and he wanted to scream. He sat down in the chair next to him and yanked the bottle from his fingers.

"Please stop." He whispered, eyes pleading.

Ludwig's eyes, full of a dull franticness, bore into his. He kissed Feliciano slowly, gently suckling on his bottom lip.

The Italian whimpered softly. This is what he'd wanted for so long. But not like this.

"You're drunk." He mumbled as he pulled away.

Ludwig placed his hand on Feliciano's thigh and gripped. An intimate gesture that the Italian thought he'd forgotten.
He shook his head.

"You're always drunk." His voice cracked and he felt hot tears slipping down his cheeks.

Ludwig just stared at him, expression blank.

Feliciano sobbed softly, "What are you doing?" He begged, looking at the gun halfway cleaned on the table.

"Cleaning it." Ludwig finally said.

Feliciano looked at him, fumbling, trying to find something, anything that could be a reason.

"Everyday?"

Ludwig nodded.

Feliciano looked at it, grease smudging the cloth underneath it. His bottom lip trembled.

"Why?" He placed his hand on Ludwig's. "Why, Ludwig?"

The German yanked his hands away and stood abruptly, running his fingers through his hair as he paced.

"It just needs to be clean."

Feliciano shook his head, grasping Ludwig's hand again, desperately gripping. He looked at him, begging to understand.

"It needs to be clean. Just needs to." He mumbled, walking and pacing the room again. "Needs to. It has to work!" He shouted.

Feliciano strained to hear, Ludwig was muttering. "What are you saying?"

"It cannot jam." He snapped. "It can't stall. It can't. I need to make sure."

Feliciano swallowed hard and looked at the whiskey bottle on the table.

"You've been drinking too much. You're talking nonsense-"

"I NEED TO MAKE SURE!" Ludwig roared, slamming his fist down onto the table, startling the Italian who jumped in his seat.

Feliciano felt tears burning his eyes and he stood, rushed to his room and almost slammed the door but stopped himself and shut it softly.

He leaned against it and wiped at the angry tears on his cheeks.

Feliciano wanted to strangle him at times for being so goddamned misleading, wanted to scream and kick and cry and pick a fight just to see if he'd react. Ludwig seemed static.

Feliciano felt like he was in love with a dead man walking.

~

To be continued...