Work Text:
Feliciano yawned against the drawn quilt resting on his chin, slivers of silver lighting leaving intricate tangles of streaked moonlight through half drawn curtains. A whispered wind rustled through the framing oak trees, its cold underlining trailed frost tipped fingerprints across Ludwig's bedroom. The room was bathed in the quiet of midnight’s veil, void of the day's naturally cluttered noise now replaced with the low distant hum of late night life and the quiet even breath of sleep.
Between his uneven breaths, the room's stillness paired with his rushing blood roared in Felicanos ears. A question sat on the tip of Felicanos tongue, gnawing at the soft matter of his brain and burning his lungs with each breath. Why had Ludwig looked at someone else like that? Why not him?
The heavy weight of unspoken words clogged his throat, an ugly secret. But here now, in this moment the room felt disconnected from the harsh light of reality. A quiet sanctuary where he can pretend that just for a moment more, that it was his still to keep. That when a new dawn rose the crushing factuality that his shot had missed long ago would be nothing more than the fickle memory of yesterday, that it was still lined correctly just waiting for Feliciano to shoot.
Underneath comforting quilts Felicano stretched from his half-curled position, back digging into the shot springs of the old mattress and his arm brushing against the warm skin of Ludwig's back. The touch was pleasant against the cold of the night's air, the feeling of an overwhelming sense of security luring Felicano in closer and an inexplicable vulnerability whispering all his softest fantasies back to him. A promise, as false as it may be.
“It’s a shame,” Tilting his head, Felicano’s eyes trailed the swirled patterns of Ludwig's sleep tussled hair, his fingers tracing strained patterns into the flimsy fabric of Ludwig's black tank top.
“Shame that we’re not soulmates,” Closing his eyes, he breathed in the cold air of the night, the air nipping at the lining, making his lungs feel impossibly full. He felt selfish for thinking that, for wishing for his and Ludwig's bond to be more than the generous offering that he had tried not to drown in.
His arm stilled against the firm muscle of ludwigs back, sliding along the seamed fabric till his wrist lingered in the juncture of his arm and torso. His arm slotted under Ludwig's perfectly, almost as if the hollow crevice between his rising chest and his stilled arm was carved for Felicanos own arm.
“It’s almost as if… he’s my missing puzzle piece.” Feliceano couldn't help his thoughts as they fell back into their old winding thoughts. But if the universe hadn’t practically made them for each other physically, then why could Feliciano comfortably fit himself against Ludwig's chest. Why were their fingers so comfortable intertwined, and why could Ludwig rest his head on Feliciano's own with no strain?
It was almost as if it were a taunt, a sick reminder of the close sliver of wholeness that Felicano had yearned for his entire life. The twisted fantasy of orange bathed scenes in warm kitchens played behind the glassy films of his eyes, the ones his brown lashes couldn’t stop.
This fantasy world he had created was deluded with wax poetics and decades of intimate moments left buried deep in fear of creeping embarrassment.
“How foolish… ” Felicano thought bitterly, a small tear streaking over the bridge of his nose and left to mingle with the growing damp of the pillow beneath his head.
He should’ve left, had set more self boundaries when Ludwig chased after another. Yet he didn’t. A small selfish part of him still yearned for Ludwig to realise his mistake, to come back to feliciano and profess all the things he had been dying to hear since the day he saw him again.
But he wont, and maybe he never will.
But till then, Felicano waits.