Chapter Text
Summer in Düsseldorf truly was a beautiful time of year. The sun shone brighter, the days were longer, and everyone just seemed happier all around.
Everything was just... better.
The screwdrivers lined up in their case a bit straighter, the nuts and bolts were quicker to count, the wires didn’t fray as much, and his tools fit that much better in his hand. Even his apprentice complained slightly less, and Ludwig found himself with one or two fewer reasons to put the world to rights when the day was done, and the beers were poured. Instead of rolling his eyes to every one of his companion’s declarations of it being ‘well ‘ot!’, Ludwig happily took the chance to point out that it was simply proof that climate change was very real and that even though the additional few degrees might bring more opportunities to utilise biergartens and public parks, it didn’t mean that they had to eat their ice cream completely oblivious to the reality of the situation.
These conversations usually ended with Ludwig being told by his wise older brother to ‘chill out and save some complaining for winter, or you won’t even see winter if you don’t stop being such a killjoy.’ Which was foolish of course; there was nothing to say that complaints could only be limited to a certain time of the year, and who said that being factual automatically meant being a killjoy? He could still enjoy the sun and cycle to work to do his part for the environment and his overall health.
Or at least Ludwig would cycle to work if he were still in Berlin and had his bicycle with him, but for the next two weeks, he had been sent to Düsseldorf as a temporary transfer to assist with the extra staff from all areas required during the busy period that was Düsseldorf Fashion Days that saw an influx of passengers in the thousands. Tourists, workers, designers, models, and all kinds of passengers flooded the platforms and station grounds during this time of year. Which also meant his apprentice as well, as Ludwig deemed it unfair to interrupt someone’s learning. With the pair being literally ‘stationed’ in Düsseldorf for two weeks, it also meant that the company paid for their room and board at a local hotel. Even his brother, the five-year-running manager of the Deutsche Bahn Information Desk, or in Gilbert’s words, “The Voice of Berlin, so naturally, all of Germany.” In Ludwig’s words, “an excuse to yap away on the loudspeakers all day and subject everyone to hear your voice even louder than usual under the guise of making important public announcements”.
“I have to entertain Düsseldorf! They need me! How can I deny them my talents?” Gilbert had insisted. "And Francis is in Düsseldorf!"
“Your job isn’t about entertainment,” Ludwig reminded him. “It’s about providing accurate and up-to-date information to all individuals and answering queries and questions to the best of your ability.” Which, granted, Gilbert did do whilst also managing to be the station’s resident entertainment personality as well. The daily jokes over the public announcement system were also hardly very professional; it wasn't a toy, and if Gilbert used it too much, and for trivial nonsense, then he risked people not paying attention when they really needed to. That aside, having two-thirds of Gilbert's friend group so close was a disaster waiting to happen.
Speaking of the two people with whom Ludwig had come to learn got on like a house on fire, he still very much remembered the night out during which he learned why Arthur Kirkland had come to be his apprentice in the first place. As apprentices were usually younger than their mentors, Ludwig couldn’t help but be curious. When Gilbert publicly announced from his station at the Deutsche Bahn Information Desk to all staff and passengers at Düsseldorf Hauptbahnhof that it was Ludwig Beilschmidt’s 26th birthday, Arthur was nothing short of offended that Ludwig hadn’t said a word about the occasion. Apparently, the only right and proper response to withholding such important information was to earnestly agree with Gilbert that Ludwig ought to be taken out ‘for the night of his life’.
Which he most certainly was and paid for it the next morning.
After one too many beers that had been downed at a pace Gilbert was admittedly impressed by, Arthur had easily answered a question that he would never know took Ludwig multiple mental rehearsals to finally ask: “Why do you want to be an engineer?”
The simple answer was: “Money, and half-decent skill.”
He told Ludwig and Gilbert of how he was tricked by a ‘posh French girl’ in Los Angeles who had used her deceitful charms and feminine wiles after a particularly successful gig at the ‘height’ of his rock star career - that Arthur described as ‘unlike this pint, didn’t go down well’ - to trick him into thinking they really would be like Sid and Nancy when Arthur told her she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
“Which was just as well,” Arthur had noted. “I didn’t know her name at this point anyway.”
Gilbert had thrown his head back in laughter while Arthur confessed that yes, he really did believe they were going to be a ‘ride or die pair’ and that his punk rock band was going to be even bigger than the Sex Pistols. “God knows what kinda glue I was sniffing back then,” Arthur laughed.
The fact that neither of them had used protection, nor a sober and unintoxicated brain, Ludwig was told was completely beside the point after he brought it to his colleague’s attention that babies weren’t conceived out of thin air, and what did they expect to happen? Nine months later, ‘mademoiselle’ had, according to Arthur, “fucked off back to Paris” without warning and left Arthur with their infant son when she didn’t appreciate the humour of a French and English couple having their joint bank account dwindle down to a poetic amount of $10.66. At least not when the final demand for the electricity bill arrived in the post the same day as their eviction notice. Not after Arthur had promised again and again that this time his band would ‘surely’ get signed to a record label and that a ‘real job’ would just be a death sentence if he didn’t have the time to write his songs and book studio time as much as he claimed to need. After three more years in the States, and no hope of Arthur’s rock star career taking off because ‘the Americans don’t know good music anyway’, he returned home to London with a crying toddler in one arm and the boy’s Captain America shield-shaped plush toy in the other, and finally got a job with Transport for London as an apprentice engineer after a long list of job application rejection letters.
He had taken the opportunity for a temporary placement in Berlin as part of a Transport for London and Deutsche Bahn partnership scheme because the money wasn’t bad, and it was a good progression in his apprenticeship towards qualifying as a fully-fledged engineer on better money. The qualification and skill to his name that didn’t have anything to do with downing a specific amount of alcoholic liquid in under sixty seconds, would also mean he could take his son to see the latest Marvel film without having to pretend he wasn’t hungry while Alfred happily ate his Happy Meal when they went to McDonald’s on the way back to their council estate flat where the hot water never worked properly and the neighbours were all ‘rough as guts’. Applying for the placement had also been Arthur’s last-ditch effort to finally improve, because it turned out that he hadn’t been progressing well in his learning at all. Arthur had joked that his application to Düsseldorf was only accepted because all the engineers back home couldn’t put up with him and his questions anymore, despite his studying and having watched every episode of Thomas the Tank Engine.
And Ludwig couldn’t ‘put up’ with him either – how could he when Arthur simply wanted to learn? Arthur was never going to improve if no one ever took the time to properly teach him and have the patience. No one should be ‘put up with’ when they were just trying to learn. It also didn’t help that Arthur’s German was close to non-existent, but apparently, he had been assured that language wouldn’t be a problem as he had been told that he would be placed with an engineer who also spoke English. And Ludwig wanted to help! Which was why, when the fourth engineer gave up on Arthur and yelled at him to just go back to cleaning the trains instead of building and fixing them, Ludwig volunteered himself to work with ‘the new English guy’. And as long as they had separate rooms and didn’t sing in the van, Ludwig had no objection to being accompanied by Arthur to Düsseldorf for two weeks either.
Ludwig didn’t consider himself a master of his craft by any means; in fact, one of the things he loved about his job was that he was still learning every day. Yes, it was frustrating at times when Arthur could still only tell Ludwig about the background and historical significance of the components than their repair, maintenance, and why they were exactly the way they were. But Ludwig was happy to help someone learn who wanted to learn. And as much as Ludwig was fascinated by the history of trains and the people who invented and developed them, it wasn’t exactly an essential component to the practical side of mechanical engineering. Therefore, any such deviations from what he needed to know for his exams and projects felt somewhat frivolous if he wanted to graduate with a 1+ in his mechanical engineering degree at Technische Universität München. Which he did. After living in entire life in Berlin, the very idea of moving somewhere else he had never been before for the next four years had made him throw up every day for two weeks with nerves – so that Gilbert would tease him for being pregnant and doing a poor job of hiding his morning sickness when their parents had surprised him with a going away party with all their friends and family.
The rest of his department, Ludwig came to learn, were shocked and surprised that their quietest colleague had volunteered himself to work with the ‘lost cause’. But how was Arthur ever going to stop his hands from shaking every time they used a welding torch if everyone kept making him so nervous that he only ever focused on everything but the two pieces of metal in front of him? And when someone was willing to learning and wanted to learn despite proving just how much he was failing at it… well, Ludwig knew all too well what that felt like – not that he would ever say it out loud. Arthur’s progression was slow, and sometimes painful, but it couldn’t be denied that the man never skipped a day or stopped asking questions – even if they were the same questions. Again, and again. He made mistakes, he made errors, and sometimes he even made some things worse. But what he didn’t do was let the fear of failure paralyse him into a state of never trying.
And he was also getting better – or at least he wasn’t getting any worse. And pushing through something that made one question every aspect of their intelligence and capabilities was something that Ludwig couldn’t deny the merit in. Which was another reason why he liked working with Arthur; perhaps one day he might also have the guts to risk making a fool of himself as he risked failure and humiliation. Perhaps... perhaps one day, the next time or a worried or unsure passenger asked him, “Mi scusi, parla italiano?” he could answer honestly - instead of a safe, polite shake of the head and instead communicate using his best translator app on his phone.
“All I’m saying is that they should just block the tunnel and call it a day,” Arthur declared. “Easy. Caused no end of problems in London as well; people mixing up their euros and pounds, standing on the wrong side of the escalator, walking up the wrong side of the stairs…. Snickering at me and my crisp sandwich while they’re using cutlery for a croissant or something.”
Ludwig could say he was convinced.
“Cutlery for a…?”
“Oh you don’t know what I’m trying to say,” Arthur waved off. “They just laughed amongst themselves about being glad they brought their food, as if I was some kind of walking stereotype - there’s nothing wrong with a good ol’ Pot Noodle either.”
Arthur huffed at what was clearly some kind of raw mortal wound. “The ferry’s not much better either,” he muttered as he rummaged around in the toolbox.
Ludwig almost paused to wonder how on Earth his apprentice’s comments had anything to do with the overheating engine on a U-Bahn carriage in Düsseldorf that they were working on right now. However, experience told him that somewhere in his Arthur-in-Wonderland-Esque imagination, it all made perfect logical sense - it was just too bad that one had to be mad as a hatter to see it.
“Didn’t you once tell me that you and your brothers used to make trips over to Calais to stock up on cheap alcohol?” Perhaps Arthur’s dislike for the ferry came from the time he had been pulled over by customs for exceeding the limit of alcohol he was allowed to take back to England after a weekend’s shopping spree.
There were a few ways to get Arthur to stop talking when he needed to concentrate and pause his tangents while there was still hope. And this, apparently, was one of them.
“I don’t remember,” Arthur didn’t try too hard to wipe off his guilty smile “But that’s not the point; the point is, once again, every problem in my life – and life in general - can be traced back to,” he turned to Ludwig with the satisfied smile of a man who had just proven his point beyond all doubt, “the French,” he nodded.
Ludwig marvelled at the simplicity with which Arthur explained his entire life’s woes. He handed Arthur a checklist to complete and eyed him with the same look he’d given each time the topic of the French people came up.
“And an overheating engine in a U-Bahn carriage is to be blamed on the entire nation of France because…?”
“Because,” Arthur began, enlightening his superior with his latest pearl of wisdom, “if the Eurostar line connection to Düsseldorf hadn’t have cancelled without warning, there wouldn’t have been such an overspill onto the other lines and connections now being used as alternative routes – including the U-Bahn, specifically this train - which would have meant less stress on all the components of the engines, and therefore less likely to overheat break down, which would’ve meant that we wouldn’t have had to work overtime and be slaving away of a beautiful day like this. It's beautiful weather up there outside, and we can’t even see daylight! I feel like a bloody mole-rat down here.”
“I see…” Ludwig didn’t have to look up to know that Arthur was still paying attention. “And you’re definitely sure this doesn’t have anything to do with the mother of your child walking out and leaving you with your son to go back home to France when you were both 19?”
Arthur paused recording his reading, pencil mid-number on his clipboard.
“No.”
“No?”
“No. The Eurostar was France's idea, so it's their fault.”
“But wasn’t it a joint decision between France and Britain?”
“Initially, yes,” Arthur acknowledged. “But Britain sold its 40% Eurostar holding in 2015, so anything after that,” a simple shrug had Ludwig baffled, “is purely France’s fault – oh, and Belgium can hardly be blamed either, so let’s not drag them down too.”
Ludwig had to admit, Arthur’s knowledge of trains and his ability to recall so easily without being told he was boring people or not knowing when to stop because a question was only asked to be polite, was impressive. It was just a shame that it wasn’t the kind of knowledge that would help Arthur actually do his job without needing anyone to come along after him to correct his work.
“I didn’t know that,” Ludwig wiped the excess dirty lubricant from a faulty hinge.
Arthur gave a short laugh as he searched his pockets for a pen that worked.
“Well,” he began with a sigh as he looked for the correct section to record his readings of the pressure gauge, “that’s how we work, ain’t it? I tell you useless train facts and the history behind the trains we work with, and you teach me the useful stuff that’s gonna make a difference in our lives and put food on the table. Oh, and you take me to Wittenbergplatz to see the Underground sign when I get homesick.” Arthur chuckled at the situation, though Ludwig had a feeling that he was laughing more at himself. “Who knows, maybe one day I’ll be a practical as you and get my life on track as well as these bloody trains.”
Ludwig wasn’t entirely sure how to respond to both the sentiment and the part of him that wished he could share the courage to mess up, or even just take a chance for something new. Was ‘adventure’ the right word? The only risk Ludwig could recall taking lately was trying a different brand of modelling glue for his Fleischmann model Steam locomotive class 56.20, DRG when the official website was out of stock of the kind he needed. It was a bit touch-and-go at one point, but Ludwig had a steady hand and a pair of freshly cleaned glasses to see exactly what he was doing.
“I only ask because if you didn’t still read your French books like the morning paper, I’d assume you had something against the French.”
“Yeah, well… I have to read those books.”
Ludwig watched Arthur shrug and avoid looking him in the eye. “I need to understand what Francois’ yelling at me when he kicks me out of his shop four times a week, don’t I?”
“And yet you still keep going back every time.”
That was the closet Ludwig would get to having Arthur admit he was right.
“Maybe,” he allowed, “but at least I’m not as bad as you and your Italy books you never do anything with,” Arthur threw back. “I’ve heard you practice your conjugations more than I hear you yell at people for slacking off.”
The heat in Ludwig’s cheeks was perfectly understandable in these warm weather conditions, and one mustn’t discount the temperature radiating from the overheating engine in front of them.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Well I do, because I hear all about ancient Rome from your documentary podcasts in the van, and my days are timestamped by your Duolingo app reminders to practise.”
“No, they aren’t,” Ludwig muttered. “It’s Busuu.” The correction was important.
Yes, some things were difficult to keep to oneself and working in pairs and travelling together to attend call-outs. Ludwig knew all about his partner’s trouble with his son’s school back in London, who were sending him letters and emails of concern about fighting with the Russian kid in his class. And in return, Arthur had quickly caught on to Ludwig’s fascination with the Mediterranean nation that he’d still never visited despite meticulous budgeting and his holiday allowance providing plenty of opportunity all year round to book the time off work. He even had the benefit of heavily discounted railway travel as a perk of the job, but it still never made actually doing it any easier. It was like an invisible force always stopped his finger from clicking on ‘confirm payment’ every time for the past five years that he’d gone to buy his ticket. Research and logic told him that the mysterious force was called anxiety, but his heart rate only told him to stop this foolishness, close the DB App and get back to ironing his work overalls that were only going to get creased again and dirty before 7am.
It wasn’t that Ludwig didn’t like his job – he loved it! It was what he studied for and what gave him fulfilment and a sense of accomplishment. Working with his hands and applying his technical and mathematical knowledge was the very definition of job satisfaction. Formulas were constant, equations remained the same, and variables could always be analysed using reliable frameworks. And, at the end of it, the fruits of his hard labour all came together like a... well, like a well-oiled machine. One that joined an enormous interwoven and interconnected network all across the country – even the continent! And not only passenger trains, but also freight trains, cargo loads, mail trains, livestock transport – it was all so beautifully coordinated, planned, and executed.
Most of the time.
If Ludwig might not be able to relate to his colleague on matters of heartbreak from a romantic relationship, that didn’t mean his heart didn’t break every time the digitalised word ‘Delayed’ was displayed above the platform like an unforgiving beacon of torment.
“Or, if you don’t, at least do yourself a favour and look into being one of those... what’re they called again? Zug... Zug-something, wasn’t it?”
Ludwig focused on his work.
“Zugleiter,” he supplied. “But I can’t just –“
“No, no, not that one, the other one!” Arthur jumped in; the name seemingly on the tip of his tongue, whereas Ludwig would never dream of suggesting that one first. “The one I said you should’ve been you when that clipboard wanker got a promotion. He knows fuck all about the trainlines” Arthur shook his head at the memory of catching Ludwig looking at the poster advertising job vacancies for train conductors and supervisors. “The only lines that bloke’s familiar with are the thin white ones he racks up before his shift.”
“That’s a very serious accusation,” Ludwig reminded him. “And Brandner has never failed a drug and alcohol test… to my knowledge.”
“Oh you know what I mean - there must be some reason he’s still shit at his job after all this time,” Arthur scoffed and made no effort to retract his words. “Everyone still always comes to you when they need help, and you know the train schedules better than anyone, and it’s not even your job!”
Ludwig couldn’t help a small, saddened smile at Arthur’s encouragement and frustration on his behalf. He oughtn’t dwell too much on it; being a train conductor required a certain kind of confidence, social skills and gracefulness that an engineer didn’t.
It truly was absurd that the role of a train conductor, one with so many possibilities for unexpected issues and unpredictable people, should occasionally pop into his brain that didn’t even have an area or cortex of his brain evolved for entertaining outlandish ideas and frivolous daydreaming. And if such a part of his brain did exist, it was already overworked by fantasy travel plans for Italy and rehearsing situations where he could actually apply his Italian language skills he’d been working on since he was 16 and first look Italian lessons at school.
“You need to just go to Italy, mate.” Arthur sighed and handed him another spanner, and Ludwig concentrated on loosening and tightening each bolt in the correct order. “Fair enough if you don’t wanna be a train conductor, or if you’re not ready to give it a go, but at least just go to Rome for the day. What about Venice? You know how to row a boat, don’t you? And even if you fall in, all that gel on your head’s gonna stop your hair from getting wet.” Arthur carried on with a smile on his face before Ludwig could point out that – “Something to break the routine, you know?”
Ludwig tried to think of an excuse he hadn’t used lately.
“Can I have a three-point-five-millimetre nut, please?”
The requested tool was promptly placed in his outstretched hand after Arthur dropped his shoulders and sighed.
“It’s easy,” he tried again. “Just book your flight and go!”
Easy?! “You never know, it might be the best trip you ever go on.”
“Bush pin coupling?”
A quick few seconds of rummaging from his companion saw the part handed to him.
It took some getting used to at first, to have someone older than him learning from him, but for all the things that Ludwig could help and teach him regarding the maintenance and repair of trains, Arthur taught him about the history and development of them and promised to take him to his favourite transport museums. Arthur was certainly getting better in the engineering department, however, his use of correct terminology for parts and equipment needed some work. Just this morning, he called a DB Class V 162 diesel-electric locomotive ‘that bloody loud one coming in’ and a hex head screw wasn’t identified in any manual, inventory or catalogue as ‘That-One-That Looks-Like-The-Orange-Quality-Street’. It was when his apprentice referred to the thousands of small washers that were once all nicely compartmentalised in their storage organiser - until he dropped the open box all over the floor during a busy Monday morning - as “Those-Little-Fuckers-That’re-Trying-To-Get-Me-To-Jump-In-Front-Of-The-Next-Moving-Tain-I-See!” as he crawled around trying find every last one and even hit his head on the workbench in the process when he looked up. Had Arthur been wearing his hard hat at the time, Ludwig wouldn't have had to remind him of wearing his PPE, even when it seemed ‘bloody pointless’ according to Arthur. When writing his feedback, Ludwig had strongly recommended that Arthur continue his study of part names and materials to familiarise himself with the correct terminology, again. Ludwig had also noted his recommendation for a mental health wellbeing check.
“Try some authentic pizza and chill out for a bit – you’ll have fun.”
“I... I can’t just leave whenever I want like that.” What if he missed an important post? What if they needed him to attend an emergency call-out and the person covering for him was so bad that Ludwig would have to spend the next six months apologising for shoddy work that he didn’t even do? What if he couldn’t stop Vash Zwingli, one of the train conductors here in Düsseldorf from overcharging people for train tickets and fining them at the wrong times? Train conductors were supposed to be helpful and fair figures of authority whom the public could trust. And they should not need to request to carry firearms on duty. If a train conductor couldn’t defuse a situation without fair discipline and authority –
“Yes, you can; that’s what your holidays are for! Go out there and conquer the world!” Arthur’s eyes lit up at the idea. “Go explore and try new stuff. Don’t get me wrong, I know I complain and moan a bit sometimes,”
‘sometimes’?! “But I do love being a dad. I just envy your freedom sometimes, mate – don’t waste it, y’know? You can do whatever you want, in your own time, and answer to no one.”
‘Freedom’? Well, that was an interesting word for loneliness, Ludwig supposed.
“I don’t want to conquer the world.” Ludwig tightened another bolt as he listened to yet another person tell him what he should be doing with his life.
“Well... just conquer getting to the airport, then. The rest with just happen,” Arthur dismissed. “Look at me, I never would’ve had Alfred if I hadn’t taken risks.”
‘Taken Risks’? Like risking chlamydia and hepatitis by having unprotected sex with a stranger? And risking a pregnancy at eighteen, which even ended up happening? Ludwig didn’t think he could be blamed for taking Arthur’s advice on risk-taking with a grain of salt.
“Pass me the drill.” Ludwig hoped that Arthur remembered to charge the battery this time.
In one breath Arthur would commend him for having his head screwed on and wishing he’d staying in school too, and in the next he was telling Ludwig how much he was missing out on.
“And I know how to get through an airport, Arthur. Believe it or not.” Just because his apprentice was a few years older than he was, it didn’t mean he knew everything. “And I’d rather go by train anyway.”
“Even better!” Arthur exclaimed, baffled by Ludwig’s hesitance to such apparent simplicity. “Just go after work one day then! Go take a chance for once – you might even meet someone,” he chortled a short laugh and pretended not to notice Ludwig’s side-eye. “And you never know, you could be drilling something else for a change.”
Ludwig almost drilled too far into the plate and bent the metal. He did not appreciate the teasing look from Arthur that came at the expense of his focusing on the work. It was hardly very professional, and Ludwig would be duty-bound to mention it in his feedback if the behaviour continued.
“Oh come on mate, it’s just banter, innit.”
Banter usually involved something that everyone found funny.
And even if he was the ever meet someone on a holiday, which he never would if he couldn’t even speak a word of Italian to anyone but himself in the mirror, Ludwig’s way of going about it included a bit more precaution and at least getting to know someone’s name first – unlike someone.
“You mean I might go abroad, get a girl pregnant after some drunken one-night-stand, have her leave one morning never to return my calls, block my number, become a single parent who has to finally get a stable job that isn’t the lead guitarist in a band without a contract or a future?”
Arthur paused mid-sip from his travel cup; it had technically been Ludwig’s gift to him (although it was mostly intended for the planet) after seeing his new apprentice bin his third disposable cup of coffee from the local café – because ‘none of ‘em make tea right’ - before their lunch break.
“Alright, alright,” Arthur rolled his eyes. “You’re a touchy git today, ‘n’t ya?”
Ludwig refused to dignify that with a response beyond requesting a new bearing of the correct size this time, and to put the drill back where it came from. “What, you saying you don’t wanna miss work ‘cause your ten-year-old came home with chicken pox? You don’t know what you're missing, mate.”
Ludwig still wasn’t laughing.
“Alright then, I’ll shut up.”
No, he wouldn’t, and they both knew it for a fact. “I just don’t want to see you waste your youth on all work and no play.” The only thing that was stopping Arthur from sounding exactly like Gilbert was that he hadn’t said it in German, and louder. “You’re only twenty-six!”
“And you’re only twenty-eight.”
“Yeah, but I’ve got more life experience.” Arthur went on the way he did when he thought he knew best. “You can’t learn everything in books, research, and tutorial videos.”
“And if I ever need to know the best way to get the mother of my future child to walk out on me after getting caught in bed with another groupie - or how to get a two-day ban from Le Crobag for asking for tomato sauce for a cheese croissant Francis sells me - then I’ll ask for your advice.”
“Fine,” Arthur shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He took another sip of his coffee. “Still fancy a beer after work?”
Because that was one of the best things about their working arrangement; whatever happened and whatever shift they had, they both took refuge in a peaceful beer after work that involved a healthy session of either comfortable silence or putting the world to rights. No partner, no one to worry about, stress about, think about, dream about, look forward to seeing each day...
Nope, all was fine, and Ludwig didn’t need to embarrass himself by trying to be something he wasn’t; a partner who could hold another’s hand without forgetting how to walk and getting tongue-tied before he’d even introduced himself. It was better for everyone that way.
Not enough time had passed until Ludwig was forced to look up again. Only this time, it wasn’t Arthur’s profanity that caught his attention, nor was it the sweet sound of 11:13 DBAG Class 423 rolling in on Level 1 Platform 4 like clockwork. No, this was the sound of Vash having found his next victim just a few meters away on the adjoining platform.
Looking up onto the adjacent platform from the depths from where he was crouched on the tracks, the first thing Ludwig saw was the source of the altercation with raised voices, thinning tempers, and, if he wasn’t mistaken, an unsteady voice close to tears. What also didn’t go unnoticed was that the three voices were all Italian!
“Don’t do anything until I get back!” Hoisting himself up onto the platform from where they were down on the tracks, Ludwig chose not to waste time responding to Arthur’s defeated sigh of, ‘here we go again…’