Feliciano raced along the long train platform, pushing through the mass of waiting passengers, apologising and laughing as they stared bewilderedly after him. He turned to check that Roderich was still in sight behind and spotted him easily through the crowd, dressed in his elegant dark suit and carrying his small, simple suitcase. He gave a little nod and Feliciano laughed again, swinging his own small case beside him as he spun around and headed for the far end of the platform.

They all looked rather important, these people who crowded the busy station, like they had something urgent to do and somewhere special to go. Feliciano felt like he was one of them, even though his simple wool jacket and flat brown cap weren't nearly so fancy as the men's black suits and the ladies' lovely dresses. But he belonged here just as well, since he also had somewhere special to go. Feliciano tore through a small group of closely huddled gentlemen, accidentally knocking their newspapers in a falling flurry, then past a cluster of pretty girls in bright dresses who laughed and flipped their hair when he took off his cap and flashed them a grin.

Feliciano could not remember ever feeling this excited, this alive. Not since before Ludwig left, and that could have been a lifetime ago. The cool air flowed fresh on the wind and in his lungs, the bright sun shone warm in the sky and on his face. Intense, almost painful excitement had bubbled in Feliciano's chest since morning, since he had left his little farmhouse and his little village and everything he had ever known. Since he had thrown his arms around Lovino, promising him they'd take their own train ride together one day; had kissed Antonio's cheeks, promising to bring him back real German tomato schnapps; had been swung wildly in Grandpa Roma's arms, laughing, promising to come home. Even the long car ride to the city had not dimmed Feliciano's excitement. The drive had simply increased it; travelling down roads and through towns he had never seen, knowing that every turn of the tyres was taking him closer to Ludwig.

Feliciano wondered, briefly, if he should be afraid. He was used to feeling that way, after all. But even though this was new, even though he was leaving everything he had ever known, even though he did not know what to expect - Feliciano could not be afraid. Because Feliciano was going to Ludwig. He was going to his happiness, and his peace, and the place his heart had been leading him for years. It wasn't their oak tree, but that didn't matter. Because wherever he was, whether in Italy, or Germany, or the moon, Ludwig was his somewhere else - Ludwig was where he belonged. Feliciano was going somewhere he had never dreamt of, yet at the same time, he was going home.

By the time Feliciano reached the far platform, a long line of travellers had already formed, jostling and talking loudly and fumbling for tickets. Feliciano literally jumped in excitement when only moments later, a huge red train tore, steaming and screaming and whistling, down the line and into the station. "It's our train!" he cried out gleefully. "Roderich, Roderich, it's our train, it's here, our train is here, Roderich!"

Roderich finally reached him, adjusting his glasses wearily and letting out a very deep breath. "Yes, yes, Feliciano." But even if he had a slight exasperation to his voice, he was also smiling, and did not try to hush Feliciano up as the surrounding crowd stared at them openly.

When the train came to a slow, steady stop, Roderich took Feliciano's arm, leading him past the long line and up towards the front of the machine. They stopped before a long, polished door that read First. All this was brand new to Feliciano, and he watched with rapt interest as Roderich showed his tickets to the man beside the door, who bowed his head and motioned them inside. Feliciano practically pushed Roderich aside in his haste to get on the carriage, but once there, he stood at a bit of a loss. Feliciano had never been on a train before, had never even seen pictures, and all these doors leading off the long, red carpeted corridor just confused him. Roderich smiled as he passed. "First class passengers have separate compartments. We're just up here, Feliciano."

Feliciano nodded, hefting his bag under his arm and following Roderich to a compartment at the end of the hall. Inside, deep brown leather benches faced each other beside the tall windows, alongside a shiny wooden table and elaborate light fixtures. Long, gold ties held back dark red curtains, and plush, red material carpeted the floors. The compartment was only around the size of his bathroom at home, but it looked like pictures Feliciano had seen of hotels and restaurants in places like London and New York. Feliciano stood still and whistled softly. "I had no idea trains were so fancy."

Roderich gave a tiny shrug as he placed his suitcase on the rack overhead. "It is pleasant enough. The line from Berlin to Vienna had slightly larger compartments." Roderich took Feliciano's bag and Feliciano bounced into the big, comfortable seat by the window, staring around and wishing he had brought his camera to take photographs for Lovino.

"You must be really rich, huh, Roderich?" Roderich just let out a short breath of laughter, placing a newspaper from his pocket on the table and taking the opposite bench. Feliciano turned to him and grinned. "How long until we get to Berlin?"

Roderich bit his lip, trying to hold back his laughter. "Two days, Feliciano. But this is an Italian train, so..." Roderich shrugged apologetically. "Possibly longer."

Feliciano's shoulders fell and his heart sank. He had not expected the journey to be so long - how could he possibly wait so long? "Oh."

Roderich's smile turned kind. "But I brought some books. And the kitchen serves quite excellent cuisine."

Feliciano immediately brightened. "Do they make pasta?"

Roderich laughed again. "I said this was an Italian train."

.

The afternoon passed as quickly as Feliciano expected - which was, of course, far too slowly. Feliciano tried what he could to take his mind off waiting. He went for a long walk along the length of the train, into carriages darker and shabbier than his and Roderich's, and tried to guess where passengers were from by chattering at them in a mixture of three languages. He cuddled a fluffy puppy belonging to a little girl from Salzburg in second class and had a very interesting chat about buttons with a nice Roman lady in third. He raced all the way back to his seat in first class, saluting the stewards on the way, and put his limited German into practice by shouting, "Hallo! Ich bin italienisch!" at a passing Austrian couple who rolled their eyes and nodded as though that sentence seemed to explain something.

As the evening drew on, Feliciano flicked through Roderich's books on the German language and culture, disappointed at the lack of pictures of any kind. He stared out the window and tried to guess exactly what part of the beautiful Italian countryside they were currently travelling through. He headed out into the hall, chatting with the stewards and juggling oranges from the food cart and playing marbles on the floor with a little English boy who kept telling him he 'spoke funny.' He prodded Roderich with questions about Berlin and Ludwig's village and what Ludwig's grandfather was like and how much longer it would be until they finally arrived because this endless, interminable day just seemed to stretch on forever. And when the dinner bell finally rang, Feliciano jumped up and raced into the hall, desperate for another distraction.

The first-class dining car was even fancier than the rest of the train, and Feliciano was delighted to see that Roderich was right about the cuisine. Feliciano finished his fettuccine pesto so quickly that Roderich gave him the rest of his own, explaining that he didn't eat that much anymore. By the time they arrived back at their compartment, the light had long since faded outside. The gold lamps flickered brightly, and still the constant, whirling, restless excitement turning in Feliciano's stomach and buzzing through his veins refused to subside. He simply did not know what to do with himself. How could he possibly sit in this seat, quiet and still, for another two days? How could he sleep, how could he breathe, how could he stop for one moment to think, when Ludwig was so close? No, he had to keep moving. Had to keep talking. Feliciano practically bounced in his chair as he spoke. "Roderich, where do you think we are? Are we still in Italy? I wonder if we've crossed into Austria... Roderich, what is Austria like? What is your home like? Is it..."

"Vienna is the most beautiful city in the world." Roderich interrupted smoothly, taking his seat opposite Feliciano and drawing the red curtains shut. "It has changed slightly since the war, but anywhere you go, you can always hear music playing. In the park, on Sundays, people come dressed in their finest clothes and waltz to the tune of a full orchestra, all afternoon. In the winter, small choirs sing Christmas carols on street corners in the snow. And sometimes..."

Feliciano rested his head on a pillow against the wall, listening to Roderich's soft, calming, almost hypnotic voice. Vienna sounded wonderful. Feliciano immediately decided to see it with Ludwig. And they would see Berlin together, and Paris, and London, and maybe they could even go to America one day. He and Ludwig could go anywhere, now - together. Feliciano closed his eyes as he imagined it. No bombs echoing off the mountains. No enemy planes flying overhead. No sunset when Ludwig would have to turn and leave. Just Feliciano, and Ludwig, and the entire world...

Before he knew it, the room had gone silent and Feliciano realised Roderich had long since stopped talking. He shook himself from his haze, looked up at Roderich and asked, a little dazedly, "What time is it?"

Roderich put down the book he had started reading, pulled his pocket watch from his pocket, then blinked as though surprised when he clicked it open. "9:55pm." His eyes softened and he breathed a short sigh of laughter, as though he was remembering something.

Feliciano tilted his head in confusion. "Why is that funny?"

Roderich shook his head. "Never mind, Feliciano. But I think it is time for you to get some sleep."

The very mention of the word turned Feliciano's stomach cold. He swallowed heavily and looked down at his feet, ran a hand through his hair, twisted his fingers together, then jumped when Roderich's hand rested gently on his as though to still him. He glanced up, surprised, to see Roderich looking slightly concerned. "Calm down, Feliciano. What's wrong?"

Feliciano took a deep breath. His wild excitement had dulled somewhat, and now he was starting to feel a slightly nervous twisting in his stomach. "I'm scared that if I go to sleep I'll wake up tomorrow in my bed at home and this will have all been a dream and then I'll never see Ludwig, and I want to see him so much, even if this is only a dream, even if I have to stay awake for three days so I don't end up back in my own bed."

Roderich stared at Feliciano blankly for a few moments, as though absorbing his rapid-fire words. Then he smiled softly. "I promise you, Feliciano, you're not dreaming. You are really here. We really are going to Germany, and you really are going to see Ludwig very, very soon."

Somehow, Feliciano found that Roderich's calm, kind words reassured him. The whole frantic afternoon caught up with him, his eyelids grew heavy, and the next thing Feliciano knew, he was blinking blearily in complete darkness. He realised that he must have fallen asleep, and immediately broke into a cold, panicked sweat. No, no... What if he was back home? What if this was all over? Feliciano wrenched himself upright and turned his head, almost expecting to see Lovino's bed across the room. Instead he saw Roderich sitting opposite him, holding the curtains slightly aside and staring out the window, his violet eyes shining in the early morning moonlight.

Feliciano rubbed his eyes and sighed quietly in relief. "Can't you sleep?"

Roderich glanced up at him, a little startled, then shrugged slightly. "I'm just thinking."

"About Gilbert?" Roderich froze and Feliciano winced. He had tried to avoid that very subject all day, and now, in the dark, silent hours of the early morning, he just blurted it out without thinking. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked that, should I?"

"It's all right. I wasn't thinking of..." Roderich broke off and sighed quietly, shakily. "Well, I suppose I was, in a way. I suppose I'm always thinking of him in some way."

"I understand. I used to wonder sometimes, about what happened to Ludwig. You might think I'd wonder all the time, but I didn't, because that hurt too much. But even if I wasn't directly thinking about him, I still always sort of was, you know?" Feliciano paused, wondering if he was really helping the matter or just making it worse. He never did know quite what to say in these situations. He followed Roderich's gaze out the window and, in the full moonlight, could easily make out tall, white peaked mountains in the distance. It was easier to believe where he was going and what was happening in this eerie, moonlit stillness. "He'll be happy to see me again, won't he?"

"Feliciano, he lives to see you again."

Feliciano nodded, a bright spark of warmth flaring in his chest at the words. "Thank you for coming to Italy. To get me. I mean, it is such a long way to go, and I know that you love Ludwig's brother and so you must care about Ludwig too, I mean I'm sure I would care about Gilbert if I ever met him, but... oh no, I shouldn't have said that, should I? I just mean... well..." Feliciano stopped just briefly to collect his jumpy thoughts. "Why did you come so far? Why are you doing this?"

Silence; even the rattling of the train engine seemed to soften. Feliciano knew he'd asked too much. But Roderich still answered, even though it took him a few moments to do so. "You are right. Gilbert loves his brother, and I owe Gilbert everything. So of course I will do all I can to help Ludwig." Roderich again fell silent, staring out at the passing landscape, still and otherworldly under the blue waning moon and the sparse dusting of twinkling stars. Feliciano waited for him to continue. He still did not know much of this graceful Austrian who had fallen so unexpectedly into his life, but he knew he already trusted every single thing the man said. There was something about the calm, gentle, honest way he spoke that made it impossible not to. "There are many types of love in this world, Feliciano. Some are quiet, and comfortable, and smoulder softly. Some blaze brightly and fade fast. But some - and this is very rare - some burn forever." A small, distant smile appeared on Roderich's lips. "They change everything you ever thought you were, and at the same time, make you more yourself than you could ever be alone. Not everyone finds it. True, not everyone wants it. But if you do find it, or if it finds you, the whole world changes, and you realise that the true purpose of your being was simply to have been in that person's life, and them in yours. I think I am right in saying that you understand this."

Feliciano breathed cautiously in the silence. He was afraid to break it. His eyes drifted to Roderich's arm holding back the curtain, and that number etched crudely down his forearm, stark and harsh in the soft, pale light. 354471. Again Feliciano asked, before meaning to do so, "That number. Why is it really on your arm?"

"Because once, a number is all I was." Roderich clutched his marked arm, his eyes far away. "People do terrible things in this world, Feliciano. Things I will never forget, and never understand. And that's why we have to hold onto the beautiful things."

Feliciano did not want to know what terrible things Roderich referred to. He could tell it was something too painful and too unsettlingly wrong to speak of. So instead, he asked about the beautiful things. "Is that why you came for me?"

Roderich finally turned his head, his violet eyes staring directly into Feliciano's. They were deep, and sad, and seemed older than the rest of him. Feliciano suddenly wondered exactly what Roderich had been through during the war; what evil those eyes had seen. "I have seen too many lives destroyed." Roderich smiled suddenly, and somehow, his quiet joy seemed as intense as his sadness. "How could I not wish to see two remade?"

Feliciano felt happy, sad, and overwhelmingly grateful. He closed his eyes and simply said, "Danke, Roderich." A small smile tugged at his lips. "You are sort of my brother, in a way, aren't you?"

Roderich laughed breathily, then his cool hand smoothed gently across Feliciano's own. "Yes, Feliciano. Now go back to sleep."

The train continued travelling on, unending, interminable. Sometimes Feliciano slept, sometimes he couldn't. When he was awake, either pacing restless along the corridor outside the compartments, or chattering incessantly at Roderich, or watching the changing view of the Alps out the train window, all Feliciano thought of was Ludwig. The low buzz of excitement was still there, but this nervous waiting seemed to be slowly drowning it; this desperate longing growing stronger, constant. Through neat little villages and narrow mountain passes and tiny Austrian towns; over rolling green vales and blue, trickling rivers and pretty yellow fields. Constant, and unchanging, until the countryside turned darker and Roderich told him they were heading into Germany. Feliciano felt a leap in his chest at the words, then pressed himself against the window, desperate to take it all in.

Here, the broad, dark fields were untilled, bordered by wild, shady forest outskirts. White, craggy hills overlooked steep, tree-dusted valleys. Strong, solitary castles peppered the mountainous horizon, and the rivers they crossed were wild and gushing. The towns they passed were broken and ruined, the long, barren streets littered with debris. A dull, aching sort of pain throbbed beneath Feliciano's chest at the sight. So much was ruined here - so much destroyed. But this was Ludwig's land. This was his country, the one he loved and defended and fought for. This was Ludwig's home, and even if it was broken, it was beautiful.

.

In the end, the journey took nearly three days. The train pulled into the Berlin station in late morning, and Feliciano was not really surprised to find that Roderich had a big, black, shiny automobile with a driver already waiting. Feliciano did not speak as he climbed into the car, exhausted, drained, and growing so nervous that his stomach felt like it was crawling into his throat. With too many thoughts and feelings and worries spinning through his head, Feliciano tried to focus on the landscape outside the window as they drove out of the city and headed west into the countryside. The view of green, forest-rimmed fields and tall, distant mountains did not change for hours, though Feliciano's anxiety worsened with every passing minute. Every now and then Roderich would talk briefly about some castle in the distance, or offer Feliciano an illustrated page from his newspaper, or ask if he wanted to perhaps try and sleep a little. Feliciano could barely respond.

After a few hours they started to drive past widely spaced farmhouses, eventually drawing towards a little walled village. Part of the wall was missing, as though it had been blown away, revealing narrow, winding streets and rows of colourful, peaked buildings like little gingerbread houses. A multi-tiered, shining white castle rested on a forested hill and overlooked the picturesque, tree-bordered town. Feliciano's eyes widened as he tried to take it all in, his chest swelling at the charming yet awe-inspiring sight. It was like something from a fairy-tale. He recognised the place immediately from Ludwig's own description of it, on a long-ago winter afternoon overlooking the Italian countryside - It is warm and friendly. It is wonderful. It is home.

At the flash of memory, everything hit Feliciano at once. What was happening, where he was, where he was going. He could barely feel, barely hope, everything turning painfully real and meltingly dreamlike at the same time. A numbing, throbbing, almost terrifying anxiety overcame him, and Feliciano clutched the old wound in his chest, trying to think and trying to breathe as the whole incredible reality of these last few days pressed down on him. The car hurtled forwards, unstoppable, carrying Feliciano to his one final destination, to his purpose and his reason. To his somewhere else.

The car turned slowly into a narrow, pretty, cobblestone street. When they finally drew to a stop before a small wooden house with a peaked roof and flower-bordered windows, Feliciano was quite certain for a moment that he was going to pass out. His heart hammered beneath his skin, his breathing came too fast, and the old pain in his chest started to flare.

"We're here, Feliciano." Roderich opened the door for him, reaching out a steadying hand, and Feliciano stood on shaky legs. He could not answer. The rising anxiety reached almost painful levels, in his chest, his head, his veins; it turned his body numb and his mind to fog. Roderich did not need to lead him up the little hedge-trimmed trail that led to the house. Feliciano simply saw the door and felt himself drawn towards it, though he was unsure how he put one foot in front of the other. He did not have to knock - the door opened almost the second he reached it. Feliciano looked up, his breath freezing and his heart stopping, into a face like Ludwig's but older; stern and serious and framed by waist-length white hair. Ludwig's grandfather. He regarded Feliciano blankly, raised an eyebrow, and flicked his eyes to Roderich and back. Feliciano just stared.

"Please, sir, I..." Feliciano stopped when he realised he was speaking Italian. He thought frantically, but every single word he knew in both German and English abruptly flew from his mind. He was not even sure he could properly manage Italian. He froze in panic for a moment before saying simply, "Ludwig."

The stern German's eyes softened slightly. His next words were in English. "The little Italian, I presume."

"Feliciano." The word came out as a breathless whisper.

"Feliciano." The tall German looked Feliciano up and down with steely blue eyes, then took one steady step back and nodded down the hallway behind him. "The last door."

Feliciano stared blankly. He understood the words, but somehow, he did not know how to accept them. The last door... After all these years, could it really be this easy? Ludwig's grandfather did not repeat himself, however, and eventually Feliciano forced himself to take that long, slow, momentous step across the threshold of the doorway.

Feliciano had been racing and running for the last three days, desperate to keep going and keep moving. But now, here, at the end of the voyage and with Ludwig at the end of the hall, he could barely take a step. It was both too real and too illusory, as Feliciano walked slowly down the hallway in an almost trancelike daze. Images drifted past the corners of his vision: paintings and photographs on the soft white walls, light through the open doors cutting rectangles onto the dark green carpet. Sounds floated, ethereal, through the pulsing silence: a floorboard creaking, a bird singing outside. It all flowed across his senses, sharp and dull, but Feliciano barely noticed any of it. His gaze remained locked on that final door; his very bones felt drawn towards the end of the hall.

Because in the end, the whole journey had led Feliciano here. The car that took him from the only village he had ever known; the train that carried him through places he'd only dreamt of; the shiny black automobile on the road outside that finally brought Feliciano here, to the most important place in the world. To this house, and this corridor, and that door at the end of the hall.

But it was a longer journey than that. A journey that had started four years ago, on a warm winter afternoon, when a kind German officer with sky-blue eyes first gazed down at Feliciano in the sunlight. A journey Feliciano had remembered and recreated so many times it seemed almost fantastical. Speeches of flying and lavender and loyalty; words spoken in too-lyrical German and too-strong Italian. Stolen glances and songs of resistance, language lessons and soccer games beneath a gnarled old oak tree. Falling against Ludwig's military jacket in a narrow alley that echoed with gunshots; wearing that very same jacket, studded with green leaves and rosemary, during a simple, calm, beautiful walk into the hills. Every day of waiting, every hour of not knowing, every endless second of being without the person Feliciano needed more than anything else in the entire world. All of it had led him here. Every step Feliciano had taken for the last four years had led him here.

But after waiting so long, these last few steps of the journey were almost too much to take. Clenching anxiety rose in Feliciano's chest; hot panic clawed at his throat. What if Ludwig had changed? What if he had moved on? Feliciano's head swam briefly... oh Lord, oh God, what if Ludwig had forgotten him? Feliciano's head felt light as his pulse pounded in his ears. He had been so excited the day before... where had this crippling terror come from? Surely these fears were nonsensical - surely he was being ridiculous. But this situation was too strange, too real; it was too much, too close...

After a deep, dark eternity, Feliciano finally reached the end of the hall. He ran his trembling hand gently over the wooden door - dark, smooth, heavy - then turned the polished handle shakily, pushing it open with an almost painful hesitation. He felt numb, like he was watching all this from far away. Numb to the sensation of his heart pounding in his chest, of sweat beading on his brow; numb to the heavy tread of his feet on the ground. Feliciano stepped nervously, cautiously, desperately, into a small, green courtyard. The warm scent of lavender and rosemary drifted on the cool, fresh air, reassuringly familiar and comforting. Sunlight streamed brilliantly through an intricately latticed ceiling, illuminating the bright, open room, brightening rows of flowers and potted plants and dark wooden furniture. And there, in the corner...

Feliciano froze. His breath stopped; his bones locked. It was only a brief, still, stunned moment before he gasped deeply and put his hands over his eyes. "I'm dreaming." The words came out faintly, unbidden, and he did not know if he spoke them in Italian or English. He could not even look. Of course he was dreaming... because how could he be here? How could Ludwig be here? Feliciano's hands shook against his face; his breath sounded fast and heavy in his ears. He had imagined this meeting a thousand times, played it over and over in his mind, and now that it was happening, he didn't know what to do. It was too wonderful to be real, and he was so scared to look, and oh, God, what if this was all...

"Feliciano."

Ludwig's quiet whisper sliced through the still, rushing, pulsing silence. It cut through Feliciano's ears, his head, his heart, and mended all the broken pieces that had lay shattered inside him for years. For one brief, black, silent moment, the world ended. When it flooded back, Feliciano was surprised to find himself still standing. He lifted his hands, opened his eyes, and Ludwig was still there. Still sitting beside the window, still gazing back silently, still a calm and perfect image from Feliciano's memories and dreams. But this time, finally, Feliciano would not have to wake up. Praying his legs would not give out, Feliciano tore across the room. He fell to his knees, threw his arms around Ludwig's shoulders, and finally let the relentless tears that had been building inside him for so long come pouring out. "Ludwig..."

Ludwig gasped and embraced Feliciano desperately, surrounded him with strong arms, almost lifted him from the floor in a frantic embrace. Feliciano could not contain his sobs of relief. He was back where he belonged. He hid his face in Ludwig's chest, clutched at his shirt, touched him and felt him and breathed him. Ludwig's heavy breath sounded broken and unsteady in Feliciano's ears; his chest rose and fell rapidly against Feliciano's cheek. Everything outside this moment disappeared. The haziness in Feliciano's head cleared and sharpened until there was nothing in the world but Ludwig holding him. Feliciano barely managed to speak, choking out shaky words against Ludwig's chest. "Ludwig, please... please tell me..."

"I'm here, Feliciano." Ludwig spoke into Feliciano's hair, his voice heavy and rough. "I'm here with you."

Wild, overflowing, unbearable joy rose in Feliciano's chest. He was made whole with Ludwig's words, and could only laugh at the overwhelming sensation of relief. He could only lean into Ludwig, could only melt into his embrace and feel all of him. Ludwig's skin, his hair, his heartbeat; that still-familiar scent, that strong, gentle warmth. Warm fingertips brushed the tears from his cheeks, and when Feliciano finally looked up, Ludwig stared back as though Feliciano was the only thing that had ever existed or ever mattered.

Ludwig's face was older, thinner. A long, deep scar ran under his eye and across his cheek. His heart clenching, Feliciano reached out and traced a finger lightly over that raised, red scar, as though he could wipe it away. What had caused such a thing? What had been done to him? At the touch of Feliciano's hand, Ludwig closed his eyes and turned his head. Feliciano froze at the movement. Oh, what if Ludwig thought he was disgusted? What if he thought Feliciano was horrified? Feliciano could not stand Ludwig to think that, so he leant forward quickly, unthinkingly, and pressed his lips against the scar. Ludwig's breath stuttered and he returned the kiss, gently, against Feliciano's cheek. His breath tickled Feliciano's ear as he whispered, "Feliciano..."

Feliciano's heart soared. Because a scar meant nothing. Because Ludwig was beautiful, and breathtaking, and perfect, and his eyes were still the bluest thing Feliciano had ever seen. "Ludwig. You are..." Feliciano could finally believe it. He ran his hands over Ludwig's face, touched his lips, and he had to gasp for air, breathless from his laughter and his tears. "You are here. Ludwig, I missed you - I missed you so much, and I didn't know if you..."

"I know, Feliciano." Ludwig's hand rested, warm and heavy, on Feliciano's cheek. He brushed the corner of Feliciano's eye with his thumb. "My Feliciano..." Ludwig was older, and changed, but he was also just as Feliciano remembered. Feliciano felt warm, after being cold for so long; he felt right, when things had been so wrong. He was found, after so many years being lost. This was overwhelming and amazing and beautiful and perfect and bright and wonderful, and yet none of those words meant anything, because no mere words could possibly describe this.

Feliciano leant into Ludwig's hand, grasped it with his own. His racing pulse pounded swiftly between their fingers. "I said I would come, Ludwig. Remember? I told you I would come for you if you... if you did not come for me."

Ludwig's eyes darkened, like he did not know whether to laugh or cry, and he whispered. "Yes. I remember."

Feliciano pressed himself closer against Ludwig, ran his hands over his face, his arms, his hair... "And I waited. I waited so long, but I said I would wait, remember - I told you I would wait forever..."

Ludwig's hands trembled, but only slightly. "It's all right." Ludwig held Feliciano tightly, strongly. After all, Ludwig was always the strong one. Feliciano knew Ludwig would keep him from falling apart. "It's all right, Feliciano..."

Ludwig ran a hand soothingly over Feliciano's hair, but the words kept tumbling out, unthinking, as though Feliciano was trying to release the feelings that crowded his chest. He had not anticipated the full, striking effect of this moment; had not realised how strong this would be. "... and... and I worried, also. I worried, and then when Roderich came for me instead of you I thought something might be wrong, isn't that silly?" Feliciano laughed, but Ludwig lowered his eyes. "Oh Ludwig, I was so surprised when Roderich turned up and..." Feliciano did not know how to handle these emotions flooding though him. It was suddenly too much to deal with. "Oh, Ludwig, Roderich is here too! You must come and say hello!"

Feliciano wanted to stay with Ludwig forever. He wanted this to be the way it always was, like the entire world had disappeared, like no one else existed. But these feelings running through him were so strong they were painful, so strange; and he needed to breathe, he needed air; he need to stop, needed to fall deeper... Feliciano tore his hands from Ludwig, forced himself to his feet, and turned - because it was the only way he would stop falling apart. He did not hear Ludwig move behind him, however, and turned to see him still sitting.

All Feliciano could think to do was call him. "Come on, Ludwig!"

Ludwig stared up at Feliciano for an endless moment, his blue eyes strangely lost and empty. The gaze seemed to last for hours. But finally Ludwig breathed out heavily and lowered his head. The simple movement turned Feliciano's blood cold. He stilled, frozen; unable to move, unable to blink. Unable to think it. "Ludwig?" A small, unanswered whisper. "Ludwig, stand up."

Ludwig did not reply. Feliciano's heart dropped, slowly and heavily. A burning chill ran down his spine. He suppressed the sudden thoughts and memories that spun through his head - I am here on behalf of one who can not come himself...

Feliciano shook Roderich's words from his mind. He was over thinking... he was misinterpreting... This time Feliciano said the words firmly, desperately, with a hint of panic. "Ludwig. Stand up, Ludwig."

Ludwig closed his dark blue eyes, slow and silent in the fading sunlight that streamed through the latticed ceiling. The silence lasted too long before he spoke, low and soft and broken. "I can't."

Feliciano paused for a moment. He could not understand the words. He paused to think, to forget, to ignore. Then he shook his head determinedly. He managed one word through the tears that refused to stop falling. "Why?"

"A parting gift from the Russians." Ludwig's voice was still low, still soft. Still broken. His eyes opened slowly, staring at the ground. "A bullet to the spine."

A long silence. "... oh." Feliciano was not sure if he did not understand, or if he did not want to.

Again, it took too long for Ludwig to continue. "I can't stand up, Feliciano. I can't... can't walk. I never will." Ludwig broke off, shuddering, and still Feliciano could not move. Still could not understand. "That's why I'm here." Ludwig spoke with his eyes on the ground, with his hands in his lap. He looked like he was apologising. "Do you think I would be sitting in this room, in this house, in Germany, if I could walk? Do you really think I wouldn't have done anything, everything, to..." Ludwig broke off again. He looked out the window beside him, blinked firmly, breathed deeply before he could finish the sentence. "... to get to you?"

Feliciano could barely move. Seeing his strong, brave Ludwig look so lost and broken was too unexpected. Because always, since the first moment they had met, Ludwig had been the strong one. He had been the one to hold Feliciano, to calm him; to accept him, to sustain him. Even these last few years, not knowing Ludwig's position or his fate, Ludwig had been Feliciano's strength - the very strength Feliciano had clung to when everything else had fallen apart. But now, seeing Ludwig unsure like this, Feliciano realised that he could be the strong one. He was strong enough to accept this - he was strong enough to keep Ludwig from breaking apart.

Feliciano stood still for only the briefest moment more. "Don't cry, Ludwig." He walked to Ludwig slowly. Again he dropped to his knees, a dull, broken thud in the silence, and ran a shaking hand across Ludwig's cheek. Ludwig reached for Feliciano, a stark desperation in his face, and pulled him back into his arms. Feliciano leant into Ludwig's neck, breathing that scent that was still so familiar after four long years. He whispered, brokenly. "Don't cry, Ludwig, because it's all right." Feliciano breathed through these settling, familiar feelings, and he accepted this - because this was all right. This was Ludwig, and Feliciano could do this for him. Feliciano could do anything for him.

Ludwig's damp eyelids fluttered closed against Feliciano's cheek. His deep voice sounded pained and devastated. "I'm sorry you came all this way, just to..."

"No." Feliciano said it firmly. He drew back and placed his fingers on Ludwig's soft lips, stopping him before he could say it. He shook his head determinedly. "Don't ever apologise. Don't think of me like that, Ludwig. Don't think that this matters to me like that."

Ludwig nodded, slowly. "I know, I..." He smiled as though realising, as though understanding. "Of course. I know." He laughed, breathlessly, and it was the most beautiful sound Feliciano had ever heard. "Feliciano..."

"Ludwig..." Feliciano smiled back, his chest swelling, and it was like every feeling, every sensation, every particle of joy and longing and aching and bliss hit him at once. He felt lost again in those blue eyes, and this could have been any of those precious, golden moments he'd spent with Ludwig. It was familiar, it was eternal, and it was a new beginning. He'd felt this before, but now there was no one to stop them and no war to break them apart. Everything merged, joined, defined into a joyful uncontainable realisation, like nothing Feliciano could have ever imagined. It burst through his mind and his head and his body, like an explosion of light, and Feliciano laughed and shouted. "I'm here with you!"

Ludwig laughed, pulled Feliciano close, and with their arms around each other and their tears mingling on their cheeks, Ludwig finally pressed his lips to Feliciano's. Everything fell into place, complete. Ludwig's lips were soft against his, strong and close and right. Ludwig's arms were firm around him, and it was perfect. Because this was Ludwig. And even if he was broken, he was beautiful.

Feliciano's entire life had existed only to lead him to this moment, to Ludwig, to this single embrace. It was the same as that first kiss under the oak tree, as that perfect kiss in the rain; the same as those shattering kisses in a barn beside a fire, as that last devastating embrace on a silent Italian road. The same joy, the same completion, the same perfection - all of it.

Except that this time, they did not have to say goodbye.