Winter Chills [Ludwig Beilschmidt]

[Feliciano Vargas]

It was so cold.

Feliciano clutched his towel closer in a desperate act to hide, tiny shivers wracking his body. The damp fabric did little to help him--in fact it probably only added to his chills--but offered just enough mental comfort that he couldn't release his white-knuckled grip. The stone of his new cell sapped what little heat he could generate before he had the chance to feel it and his body only fought harder to warm itself up, creating a vicious cycle that did nothing for his comfort. Winter had hit weeks ago, Feliciano could smell the fresh scent of melted snow upon the guards as they appeared for their shifts, but the temperature continued to drop every day. He couldn't take it. There was no heat in the Underground, or at least none for the mutants. Only in the Arena could you warm up, with the overhanging swelter of desperate humans fighting for good views smothering heat into even the numbest of limbs. Here, in the cells, only the guards' mercy kept you alive to see spring.

A quiet whine escaped the damp Italian and he curled in on himself. He'd been dragged from his cell for the weekly 'shower', which was nothing more than being pummeled by the icy spray of a hose. A dishrag of a towel tossed in your face, then you were carted back to your cell. Only the successful Arena fighters were allowed to use the actual showers--or so he'd heard. Feliciano hadn't won a single match since his induction into the Underground, so all the supposed 'perks' that existed, he only knew from hearsay, which you had to take with a grain of salt. Maybe they were all treated the same. It didn't change his situation, though. The brunette had been forced into his clothes before he even had the chance to pick up his towel and dragged off to a new cell in a different block than his last, with only wet clothes and a damp towel to fight against the icy fury of a Russian winter. He wasn't sure why he was moved--though he hoped they were simply cleaning it and he'd be returned soon. He had food stashed throughout the cell and he didn't want it to go to waste.

A reminder of his empty stomach did nothing to ease his worsening mood. Between the harsh cramps of hunger and the deep ache of numbing extremities, Feliciano honestly wasn't sure whether he could survive another winter here. [He couldn't tell you how he survived last winter] The cold had never been the boy's friend, but at least when he was little he had proper clothes, blankets, and heat to keep him from feeling winter's chill. Here in the Underground? What doesn't kill you makes you feel weak, sick, and just plain awful. He couldn't even concentrate enough to shut down his senses for just a moment, to give himself some peace away from the shivers and the aches and that overhanging cold that sank as deep as his very bones. [The smarter part of him knew if he did try to force away his senses, his body would stop trying to heat itself up and then he really would kill himself and he hasn't lived this long just to let a bit of ice and wind kick him down]

The worst part of all this? Feliciano didn't have a cellmate. He hadn't in weeks. The Italian had just woken up to an empty cell. It was nice because he could keep both flimsy blankets for himself, generating at least a little bit more warmth, but either his previous cellmate had been bought or killed in the Arena he didn't know, and that uncertainty kept him up at night so he couldn't even enjoy the extra heat. [Plus it's warmer to cuddle but no one seems comfortable with that despite how much better it would feel instead of letting yourself freeze halfway dead] There wasn't anyone to talk to, a distraction from the pain and the cold. Whether he'd get a new roommate in this cell  or if he'd even get to go back to his own, he didn't know. There were too many questions, not enough answers, but such is the life of a mutant. Doing as you're told without the reason why.

Another whine left his throat. None of this thinking was helping. Feliciano just kept drifting back to well-weathered thoughts and sad musings. Nothing that could keep him focused away from the way his shirt had frozen to the stone wall behind him or how badly he was shaking. He hoped the guards would come back soon with bedding, or at least dry clothes. He didn't know how much more he could take.

[Ludwig A. Beilschmidt]

The water coursing through his hair and down over his skin felt lukewarm at best, but compared to the heat of the arena, it was sweet relief.

Ludwig hadn't gotten used to winning. Aside from the education he'd gotten there, his training at Weeds had focused on teaching him how to obey: keep your mouth closed, don't act unless ordered to, that sort of thing. The winners at the boarding school had been the ones who had allowed themselves to be ground into the dirt. In the Underground, with effective free reign over his powers once he set foot in the arena, things were much different. And his fifth straight win -- a wonderfully quick and painless bout where the other fighter had passed out from heatstroke before Ludwig had to resort to real violence -- had earned the man a few nice prizes. He got a trip to a shower block post-fight, for instance, instead of the usual weekly once-over with the hose; a small soft cake of white soap and a coarse rag had been given to him to keep on top of that. He'd be allowed a slightly larger ration of food if he kept winning, one of the guards had informed him, and maybe some 'comforts' for his cell.

Ludwig hoped he was allowed to ask for books, or at least paper and something to write with. Lying on a bed with nothing but your thoughts for company got boring quickly. And his roommate was none too talkative. He was an older man who had never done well in the arena and only occasionally got short term contracts. It would be enough to make anyone upset, Ludwig supposed.

"Alright, that's enough, time's up."

The water raining from the shower-head shut off abruptly, and Ludwig bit back a sigh. At least he'd managed to get clean -- properly clean, too. Grabbing his scratchy towel from where it hung nearby, he dried himself off and dressed in a fresh set of clothes; the soap got wrapped carefully in the washcloth and both precious items were tucked securely in the pocket of his pants. Still toweling the moisture from his hair, Ludwig kicked his shoes on and left the shower room. The two guards standing outside wore heavy clothes to combat the icy winter chill that had begun to seep into the Underground. Ludwig counted himself fortunate: even in threadbare clothes with damp hair, he felt comfortable, not cold. The pneumonia or frostbite or hypothermia that killed a handful of mutants every year would never reach him.

"Follow us," the guard ordered calmly. "You've been transferred."

For a second, Ludwig felt stunned. Transferred? Why? As the guards began to walk away from the showers, one in front of Ludwig and one behind, the mutant opened his mouth to ask about the transfer, hesitated, then spoke up again, too curious to avoid the risk.

"May I ask why I am being moved?" His cell had been nothing special: the same uniform size and with the same uniform furnishings as all of the other cells. Surely his win couldn't have earned him a better Underground home? Did he dare hope for such a nice prize?

The guard in the lead looked back at him, his expression clearly unimpressed, but he answered nonetheless, "Stenson lost his match earlier today, so he's being moved to a more appropriate cell. We needed the free cell for some new arrivals, so you're just being reshuffled. It's normal procedure, nothing more." Ludwig nodded silently to indicate that he'd understood. As much as he had ignored his former cellmate, he couldn't help feeling a bit sorry for the man. 'More appropriate' in this case probably didn't mean 'nicer'. The rest of the journey was undertaken in silence, but Ludwig had been right about one thing: the cell the guards halted in front of looked identical to the one he'd left a few hours before prior to the fight.

"Inside," one of the guards ordered, opening the door, and Ludwig obeyed. The door was relocked and the guards moved off without another word. The blond watched them go, gripping the bars with his hands. It would have been pointless to ask for the things from his old cell; everything he "owned" -- his blanket, his clothes -- was communal. Turning around to take stock of his new accommodations, Ludwig gave a small start when he realized he wasn't alone. His new cell mate had apparently been there all along, but the man was trying so desperately to make himself small that Ludwig hadn't noticed him from outside the cell. And the man was shivering nonstop, so violently that looking at him made Ludwig feel dizzy.

"Hallo," he greeted quietly, moving to sit on his bed; the other man had taken the blanket from there, apparently, as Ludwig could see it on his bed.  He paused to get a better look, and frowned. Something about him was familiar. Maybe he had shared a cell with him before? Squinting, Ludwig tried to jog his memory. Everyone wore the same clothing, really, but maybe his hair…

That was it! That weird, stray bit of hair -- Ludwig had seen it before. At least, he thought he had. Currently, the man's damp hair seemed to be in the process of freezing, so it was difficult to tell if it naturally occupied that state. But Ludwig could risk a guess. So he spoke up again, his tone curious, "Vargas?"

[Feliciano Vargas]

The door to the cell opened with the painful screech of metal upon stone and Feliciano couldn't help his flinch, fingers tightening upon coarse fabric. The guards had returned. He knew he should look up and figure out what was going on. However, he couldn't quite bring himself to uncurl from the fetal position he'd tucked into. It helped conserve heat and keep damp cloth from freezing to his skin--at least some of it, anyway. There was no hope for the hems and outer trimmings of his clothes.

Despite the boy's silence, there was no reprimand for the guards. He was too distracted by the encroaching numbness up his arms and legs--hands and feet already succumbed--to try listening in on either of them as a short pause of silence punctuated by softly shuffling feet before the cell was locked up once more. This wasn't the lack of sensation of turning off his senses, either. That was a calm sea of nothing. His limbs felt almost bloated and stiff; difficult and painful to move. Slim fingers offered no sensational input to the Italian's brain--for all he would know, they might not even be there anymore. Despite that, though, there was this strange ache at the ends of his arms and legs, throbbing softly in time with his heart. What didn't hurt from the lack of heat hurt from the violent shivering. There are definitely bruises in his future.

It was too cold.

Old springs creaked in agitation and Feliciano started, dislodging that half-frozen towel from equally-icy shoulders. A quiet "hallo" a second or two later confirmed his hypothesis. He finally had a cellmate. [Why was that voice familiar, though? Feliciano was sure he had heard it before. His brain protested any attempts to identify the stranger. Thinking was too hard right now] With a bit of difficulty, the Italian shifted upright. Subtle, silent creaks and cracks spread along his clothes at the movement. He wanted to try and stretch but it hurt to move and the air took eager pleasure in clawing away heat from freshly exposed skin. He hurt far, far too much.

Amber eyes locked on a familiar face when that equally familiar voice spoke up once more, widening in shock. "Vargas?" the blonde asked, blue eyes crinkled beneath curious brows. Ludwig Beilschmidt; how on Earth had he, momentarily or not, forgotten Ludwig? He couldn't help the bright grin that twisted up the corners of his lips.

"L-Lud-ddi!" In a flurry of poorly-coordinated movement, Feliciano scrambled to his feet. Where he was cold and sluggish and aching before, now he was a man with purpose. It was difficult to maintain his balance, his legs vanishing from his knowledge somewhere just below his knees, but he refused to be deterred. He practically threw himself at the German, wrapping trembling hands around wide shoulders in a tight hug--and barely managed to keep his instincts from jerking himself away. He knew that Ludwig could create fire, they'd spent plenty of time as children using that ability to their advantage and cooking their own meals when they could. The other was always a little warmer than average because of it. However, that normally comforting warmth felt like the Italian had tossed his half-frozen self straight into an inferno. It hurt, it hurt so bad as his nerves were forced to deal with the sharp temperature change, but at the same time it was Ludwig--how would the man feel if Feliciano pulled away so suddenly? It wasn't his fault Feliciano was cold and he wasn't. If anything, the boy tightened his grip, all-but crushing himself against his old friend. The shock of it all only made his shivers stronger, but they were ignored along with the dampness of his clothes [even if he felt guilt start to creep in on him for getting Ludwig wet as well]. He was torn between laughter and tears and his voice betrayed that knife's edge, wavering as he spoke. "It-t's really you!!"

Whatever sight he made for his old friend, the brunette didn't know, but the German was more than a welcome one. Ludwig was as big as ever; if he'd lost a bit of weight, it was difficult to tell. Either way, he looked healthy, whole, strong, and bright; just like Feliciano remembered in their last days at The Academy. He was even clean--how Ludwig was lucky enough to find soap he wasn't entirely sure, but he could smell the soft aroma. Honestly, the scent warmed his heart as much as the sight of the blonde himself; Ludwig was here and he was well-taken care of. That was all he could've hoped for.

SPOILER: Click to show

This is the kind of reunion these two should've had on MoF too xD;

[Ludwig A. Beilschmidt]

The crack and squeal of breaking frost filled the cell and Ludwig's gaze instantly turned wary; it would be fitting with the dark humor of some of the guards to throw him and someone who controlled ice together in a cell to see if mutual destruction occurred. But then his cellmate lifted his head and revealed a familiar pair of large amber eyes, and Ludwig's hesitant expression cracked like the ice. It was a Vargas, and not the older, angrier one that Ludwig had scarcely seen. A rare, genuine smile broke across his face and he already had his arms extended by the time the smaller man had stumbled off the bed and secured a hug around his shoulders.

"Feli!" he greeted, hugging his friend just as tightly. "It's good to-" Ludwig's face twisted with startled discomfort: the other man was freezing. He might as well have just embraced an ice sculpture. Feliciano's limbs felt stiff and cold around his shoulders and now that the shock of finding an old friend in the most unlikely place had worn off, Ludwig realized that his new cellmate was shivering. The cold seeped out of Ludwig as quickly as it had come, but that relief wouldn't come as quickly to Feliciano; Ludwig knew Feliciano could amplify his senses, and that would only serve to make things worse. The pained warble in the other's voice only seemed to confirm what Ludwig had been so worried about.

"You're freezing," he spoke, releasing the other from his hug and gently prying the skinny arms off of his own shoulders. Now that he got a better look at him, Ludwig realized that Feliciano didn't seem to be faring well. The wet spot left on his shirt confirmed just why the man had been fighting off frostbite a moment ago, and Ludwig indignantly realized that the onset of winter was apparently no concern of the guards whose task it was to give their charges a weekly "shower". But Feliciano also looked underfed and shrunken, a pet who had been kicked beyond the reach of anger, the animal who didn't fight back when attacked but fled to the safest place available and waited for the pain to stop. And of all the people he knew, Feliciano deserved that treatment, this fate, the least. "Gott," Ludwig spat, shaking his head, "let me fix this."

Grabbing one of the threadbare blankets that the man had been using to fight off the encroaching cold, Ludwig tossed it rather haphazardly over Feliciano's head and shoulders, tucking the other man's hands inside the makeshift cloak and gripping the lose edges in front closed with his fingers. The fabric felt just as cold, if not colder for its lack of life, but that served Ludwig's purpose well. Carefully, he reached out through the interwoven threads, and the sad scrap of cloth began to warm, moving from icy to cold to cool in the span of a few moments. A man with lesser control would have just released everything and the blanket would be ablaze as a result, but Ludwig was an expert in self-regulation. The fabric, now lukewarm, began to steam gently in the icy air. Ludwig let out a sigh of relief.

"And to think I was irritated about moving cells," he muttered. "It's good to see you again... even in a place like this." He almost asked "how have you been" next, which would have been monumentally stupid. If he kept winning fights in the arena, Ludwig resolved, he'd share his prizes, because Feli clearly needed them more. It made him feel terrible enough that he'd been cleaning up in a special and different area, instead of here, where he could have shared his soap, washcloth, and warmth. "How are you feeling?" Ludwig asked instead, meeting the other's gaze with an anxious one of his own.  His guilt over not being able to help one of his closest friends was fast being overshadowed by concern.  Was this just too little, too late?  What if the other man was already past saving?  Don't panic, he had enough energy to jump up and hug you, the German reminded himself.  That had to be a good sign.  But until he saw color returning to Feliciano's skin, nothing was certain.

SPOILER: Click to show

Sorry for the delay, hope it is alright!
And yessss D: MoF brings only pain, not happy reunions.

[Feliciano Vargas]

A soft sound of protest left Feliciano as he was gently pushed away, forced to stand on numb feet. He tried to hang tight, hug Ludwig a little longer, but the man's shirt easily slid from nerveless fingers. As he rocks back on his heels, the exertion of too much movement after too much inactivity catches him head-on. Only Ludwig's hands still around his wrists, burning painful sensation into icy skin, kept the boy upright. Black spots buzzed in his gaze and he let out a shaky exhale, swaying in place. Lightheadeness assaulted his senses and only concentrating on that gentle, yet so painful touch, helped him fight it back. Still he shuddered under the blonde's hands, smile long since gone as he breathed back the nausea and the dizziness. It only took a few long moments to scare it away. But between the ache and the spinning, he'd subconsciously tuned out most of Ludwig's presence beyond those too-hot hands wrapped so easily around his wrists. Only a displeased grunt caught his attention, dragging him back from the momentary still of ice skin and fire hands until the world was in focus.

"Gott, let me fix this."

Hazy amber eyes forced themselves open, blinking dazedly down at the blonde. Something akin to anger colored pretty blue eyes a darker shade, warring with more obvious concern. Feliciano frowned, worry he caught Ludwig's steady gaze on him, visibly concerned. Worry sunk deep in his chest and his own lips drew down in a frown. It had been his fault for not trying to move around sooner, and then for leaping so suddenly at the blonde. (A lack of food and the drop in body temperature probably had something to do with it as well, but Ludwig didn't have anything to do with those things either.) He was careless enough to over-exert himself, if only for the moment, and it made him a little dizzy. He was fine. He didn't like making his friends worry like this, which is why he tried to keep his smile going when he didn't really feel up to it. This, however, was the time for apologies and reassurance, not easy smiles and disregard. 

However, before he could speak up, the words stuttered to a stop as Ludwig leaned forward, into his space. Feliciano's eyes widened in surprise, but before he could ask what was going on, one of those thin wool blankets was dropped onto his head. The fabric hung in front of his face and only the fact that it was Ludwig who'd cut off his sight kept the brunette calm enough to stay still. Those rough shivers intensified, though not only because his hair was forced down against his ears and the back of his neck. It took a moment of fumbling, especially once he realized that Ludwig was holding the blanket shut against numb fingers, to reach up in that cage of cloth and push the edges of the blanket aside, but eventually he managed to peer out with confused brown eyes. "L-Luddi, what are you d-d-doing..?" He asked, still reeling a bit from before and his confusion now. His question was answered fairly quickly, though. Something ice-cold slid down his spine and he nearly squealed, a heavy shudder tearing through him.

The ice in his hair was melting.

"And to think I was irritated about moving cells," Ludwig murmured, sounding much calmer than before, but Feliciano struggled with paying attention, missing the rest of the man's words. The space around his head and shoulders was heating up much faster than it would naturally and he let out a shaky exhale. He hadn't felt warmth like this in months; the cold before 'showers' had been barely manageable but manageable all the same. Now, though, he could feel just how cold the rest of him was. His nerves were beginning to finally awaken in his fingers and hands, and the 'pins and needles' sensation hurt so much more than usual. They were so cold against the gradually warming air, and his legs were still frozen and numb. The world was fading out around him and god no he did not want that but the scratch of wool against his scalp and the hair prickling over his arms was so distracting. A whine escaped him, the world gone gray and blackening fast. Awkwardly that half-numb hand shoved the blanket aside, reached out, and caught hold of Ludwig's shirt at the shoulder. It was dry and warm and it made it so much harder to keep the Italian calm, but it was the only anchor he had keeping him upright. 

"V-Ve, dissspace, Luddi," Feliciano murmured weakly, his own voice sounding far away to his own ears. Amber eyes clenched shut to match the tight grip he had on his old friend. His control was shaky on the best of days, but as he warmed up the lingering cold was that much sharper and he was so tired. It was a worse fight than usual to try and keep all this under wraps. "J-Just give me a sec-c-c--"

[Ludwig A. Beilschmidt]

Focusing on keeping his ability under tight control so as not to put Feli in any kind of pain, Ludwig didn't immediately notice that even the little warmth he was using was a sensory overload. His eyes had left the other man's face and were instead watching the thin coating of ice slowly crack away from the other man's auburn locks. For heaven's sake, was it seriously too much to ask the guards to at least warm up the water in the hose, or provide proper towels? The Underground was a terrible place: Ludwig wasn't denying that. But its purpose was to provide entertainment for with the arena fights and cooperative and able mutants to work outside of its walls. Letting fingers and toes and ears fall off from frostbite seemed counter-productive.

The low whine Feliciano gave drew Ludwig's attention slightly, and he murmured some instantly forgotten reassurance, still too absorbed in his thoughts and in his control. He only knew from secondhand reports, but warming a freezing limb back up was supposed to sting.  When the freezing man finally managed to mumble words out through his chattering teeth, pleading for a brief respite, the blond glanced down and instantly realized he'd gone way too far. Feli's amber eyes were wide and slightly glazed, staring off somewhere beyond the both of them; those eyes shut quickly as his skin grew pale and he fought with stiff fingers to hang onto Ludwig's shirt, pushing the blanket away. He looked ill and weak and on the verge of collapsing. Ludwig let go of the blanket instantly and it fell to the floor in a heap.

"No, shh, it's fine, it's my fault--" How, in the course of everything that had just transpired, had he forgotten his friend's abilities? He'd been too wrapped up in the excitement of finding him and then in the worry of trying to keep him warm, Ludwig rationalized, but he had no excuse. He knew exactly what Feli could do and how it affected him, and he'd been pushing the smaller man closer and closer to the edge of a cliff. Unsure whether or not he could actually reverse the process, the German sprung into action nonetheless.  He'd been the one responsible, and it was his duty to try and fix this.  He just sincerely hoped Feli didn't hate him for it.  He hadn't seen his friend in ages, he'd had no idea if Feli had been bought or killed... all of the excitement had jarred Ludwig out of thinking logically for a moment.  That quickly reversed itself.

"I've got you." Before Feli's knees gave out and he hit the cold hard floor, Ludwig scooped him up easily, one arm around his shoulders and one under his knees. The man felt unrealistically light, and the blond realized unhappily that he probably hadn't been fed well; the Italian was scrappy but against some of the other mutants, he stood no chance in the arena and probably earned less than enough sympathy from the guards. Unwilling to hang onto the other man for too long, Ludwig carefully deposited him on one of the other beds, which had escaped the hosing from earlier and remained dry, resting Feli's head carefully on the sad excuse for a pillow that each bunk received. He honestly didn't care if Feli got the bunk wet or cold: he'd be able to fix that quickly himself.  What mattered at the moment was keeping the other man from passing out.

Hovering anxiously next to the bunk, Ludwig clenched his hands into fists before unclenching them again. "I'm so sorry, I wasn't paying attention," he blurted out in a low, guilty voice. "Just… just rest, okay? Take deep breaths." He wouldn't touch the other man for now, but even just standing nearby like this, Ludwig radiated a gentle heat that warmed the air from its usual wintery temperature. Hopefully just that low level of interference wouldn't send the other man's senses off the charts, Ludwig prayed, but even so he stood ready to take a step or two back.

[Feliciano Vargas]

Swearing was uncommon for the younger Italian, but in his mind he was cursing his own ability profusely. To be so at odds with the world around him, to the very point that a little warmth from his well-meaning friend could make him sink so low, was disgusting. Were it not for the lack of food in his stomach, the nausea in him would be too much to take. It just wasn't fair. The sick sensations roiling in his gut grew only worse as Ludwig released that blanket and that warmth was sucked away, leaving him cold all over again. "No, shh, it's fine, it's my fault," the blonde reassured, and it was nearly enough to make Feliciano cry. Not only were his powers souring what should have been a great, well-welcomed reunion with his friend, but it was hurting the other as well. Worry and guilt were easily audible in Feliciano's ears, despite the faraway, fuzzy way they registered the sound, and had he opened his eyes, the brunette knew those same gut-wrenching emotions would be on Ludwig's face as well. He trembled there, without the warmth he'd been trying to grow accustomed to and fighting against the cold assaulting his senses once more. This was all too much; the world was spinning faster and faster out of his limited control and all he wanted was for things to slow down. His grip on Ludwig tightened all the more, until the tenseness of aching muscles smothered static-y sense of feeling from white-knuckled fingers. That hold was all he had holding him in place, keeping him from getting swept up in the rush of stimulation threatening to knock him out of reality entirely.

It didn't help, either, when he was hefted so easily off his feet. Feliciano knew the blonde was just trying to help, trying to keep him from getting sucked under, but it was too fast, too much. This time a weak groan escaped him, trying to cling to Ludwig, his only remaining safe place. (Not that numb legs kept him anchored to the ground; the trembling of his knees showed they would've betrayed him soon anyway) "I've got you," the blonde murmured reassuringly, and honestly Feliciano knew that Ludwig was there for him. He knew that even if he lost this inner battle and faded for however long his body needed to recover, Ludwig would be at his side, taking care of him in any and every way he could. But the ease he was swept up and against a broad chest, burning warmth into too-pale skin, belied the blonde's surprise at his weight or lack thereof. Had Ludwig been less controlled, he would've stumbled for sure. Feliciano, however, didn't want Ludwig to take care of him--he wanted to be well enough, in control enough that he didn't drag down those he cared about. But he still wanted to just stay right where he was, because that meant stillness and calm until he fought his powers and his own traitorous body back into submission.

Unfortunately, Ludwig couldn't read his mind--or perhaps only part of it. Feliciano didn't know how he could expect Ludwig to understand when he himself failed to comprehend his own world right now, but disappointment ran through him all the same. The blonde's body was hot, too hot because damn it the constant flip-flop between heat and cold, heat and cold, back and forth, was like a hand pushing the merry-go-round faster and faster. He could only register temperatures at their most extreme--either cold as the Artic, or hot as the volcano. "L-Ludwig, please wait-- S-stop," he tried to say, but the quiet whimper went unheard. The blonde was at least slow and careful with laying him upon one of the small beds. He didn't even try fighting as his grip on one broad shoulder was disentangled and he was gently pushed back to properly lie down. He could already feel dampness spreading beneath his shoulders and head from the moisture of his clothes and hair, but he didn't mind it either way. His arms and hands had fully come to life, nerves buzzing like angry hornets as they told his brain they were finally awake and getting ready to function properly. Feliciano lifted his hands to his face, fingers clenching at his bangs while he pressed the heels of his palm into his eyes.

Then he just laid there and breathed.

Inhale for one, two, three, four. Hold the air in for one, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Then exhale for one, two, three, four, five, six...seven.......eight. It ached, forcing that much air out of his lungs, but he managed well enough. Wash, rinse, repeat.

That's all the Italian had wanted; not for Ludwig to pull away, or to be moved to lie down like an invalid. He just needed the world to slow, and by slow down he meant stop. Laying here helped, even if tears burned the corners of his eyes because Ludwig had recoiled from him. He made the other man think he was hurting him with his attempt to help. (He had been, in a way, but it wasn't his fault, and the dissonance would've faded in a few moments' time, Feliciano was sure) It was just so frustrating, his continued inability to keep himself in check. To hurt and worry the people he didn't want to hurt and worry at all. That upset only grew worse as Ludwig apologized, words and voice near visibly laden with guilt and sadness. "I'm so sorry, I wasn't paying attention," he mumbled, near-breaking the brunette's heart in the process. "Just...just rest, okay? Take deep breaths." Feliciano couldn't convince himself to argue, or speak up just yet. If he did, he was sure his voice would crack, and then he'd start crying and he'd ruined this impromptu reunion of theirs enough as it was.

Without having to worry about supporting himself, or the world changing around the Italian too quickly for him to keep up, it only took a few long, uneasy minutes before things began to relax. His nerves took that time to finally calm down, granting him sensation without the pain, and even if his hair was still cold and clumpy against his ears and neck, it wasn't frozen into ice. His skin stopped reporting the sensation of millions of strands of body hair shifting and rubbing against the fabric of his damp clothes, or his damp clothes chafing his skin with every movement. Even the cold air felt less icy, though his friend was probably as much a part of that as his sensitivity dulling down. He could feel the heat radiating from Ludwig, who thankfully stuck close by despite Feliciano's horrific, knee-jerk reaction earlier. The Italian even managed to will away the tears in his eyes. Mostly. The tears lingered on his lashes and dampened his palms, sure, but he wasn't going to start crying, at least.

When he finally trusted himself to stay calm, Feliciano forced himself up into a sitting position, blindly reaching out with his right hand over the edge of the cot. It took a few stumbling movements to finally find and clasp onto one of Ludwig's hands, but when he did, he latched on almost tight enough to hurt. He didn't want Ludwig to pull away, not again. "D-Don't apologize, Luddi," he mumbled, a shaky sigh escaping him. He could feel the beginnings of a painful headache throbbing at his temples. Despite that, though, he offered a small, apologetic smile in the blonde's direction. "I-I'm the one who should be s-sorry, ve. I didn't mean t-to lose control like that." He squeezed that large hand, hoping to reassure his friend and scare away the guilty look on his face. He preferred it when Ludwig was smiling. "I'm f-fine now, si? I just...got-t overw-whelmed is all. Nothing Lud-ddi has t-to be sorry about. I-It's not his fault."

[Ludwig A. Beilschmidt]

Still standing watch next to what passed for a bed in the Underground, Ludwig realized he'd been holding his breath. He let out a quick exhale, frowning, but his unhappy expression covered up a deeper nervousness and guilt. He'd gotten Feliciano safely to the bed and laid him down without having the other man black out on him, but his friend's complexion remained ashen, his eyes wide and staring. Feliciano had pleaded, mumbled something when Ludwig had been carrying him, but the blond hadn't been able to make out the words, and now he worried that perhaps he should have paid more attention. He couldn't be logically expected to read the other's thoughts, but right now that hard fact frustrated him, because he had been worse than useless without it: he'd actually done his friend harm. As Feliciano clawed at his forehead, palms pressed hard against his eyes, Ludwig started holding his breath again, and once more had to mentally remind himself to exhale.

For a while, only the muted noises of breathing and the faint echoing drips of the melting frost filled the cell.

While Ludwig didn't dare touch the other man as he recovered, he felt somewhat helpless and stupid just standing there, waiting. Curling and uncurling his fingers into fists, he tried to think of some way he could aid his friend as he recovered. But what was there to do? He'd just moved into the cell, so he had no stored food to prepare for when Feliciano felt up to eating The water in the sink presumably worked, but he had no cup to carry it to the other man. More blankets would just make things worse, and presumably that applied to more heat. Frustrated, Ludwig forced himself to sit still and be patient and allow his friend all the rest he needed.

He himself had been very lucky, in a way, Ludwig realized. Everyone in the cells had been born a mutant, and the vast majority of them had been disowned by their families. But Ludwig’s ability had never caused him direct harm. Fire didn’t hurt him at all: it didn’t matter if it was fire he’d created or fire from somewhere else. Extremely hot weather bothered him, but he’d never die from it, he could hold red-hot metal in his hands without any ill effects, and boiling water didn’t scald him. But there were numerous mutants — Feliciano included — whose powers came at a cost, a double-edged sword of being born with an extra gift. How often did his friend’s powers overwhelm him, Ludwig wondered, and how did he cope when there was no one there to help? The thought made him want to hug the small man all over again, but for his sake, the German remained still.

After a tense few moments, Feli seemed to come back to himself: his breathing became less shallow and some of the color returned to his skin. As the other man sat up, Ludwig bit back the advice that rose to his lips: Feli could continue to lie down if he wanted to, he was an adult, he could make that decision himself. The Italian’s smaller hand found his where he’d been gripping the edge of the cot and squeezed it in a painful grip. Ludwig squeezed Feli’s hand back gently in return.

"D-Don't apologize, Luddi," his friend tried to reassure him. "I-I'm the one who should be s-sorry, ve. I didn't mean t-to lose control like that."

”It’s not your fault!” Ludwig replied automatically, sitting up from where he’d been leaning over the cot and looking anxious. ”I wasn’t thinking. I should have asked before hugging you.” To be honest, he hadn’t expected things to be this bad. Feliciano had never been the toughest individual (though at Weeds he’d certainly carried that image well enough for a while) but now he looked genuinely ill, starved of food and human contact. Ludwig hoped his living arrangements wouldn’t change for a while more; he clearly had a lot of work to do here.

"I'm f-fine now, si? I just...got-t overw-whelmed is all. Nothing Lud-ddi has t-to be sorry about. I-It's not his fault." Feliciano had what looked like cautious desperation in his eyes. Ludwig frowned, ready to deny once again that Feli was at fault here, but he hesitated. Perhaps it would be better if they just let the subject of blame drop. The blame could fall with Ludwig, who’d hugged his friend so readily and neglected to remember his powers; it could lie with Feli, who still hadn’t nailed down control over his abilities; it could easily lie with the nameless Underground guard who’d hosed the mutant down in place of a proper shower; it could even lie with winter, for being cold. An argument that went in circles, Ludwig observed.

”I’m still sorry anyways,” he insisted, ”that I hugged you when you weren’t expecting it after all of that cold. But I’m sure you’ll be fine soon enough. You were always tougher than you looked.” A quick half-smile crossed his face and vanished, but the mood in the cell had already lightened a little bit. ”It’s good to see you again,” Ludwig said, still holding the other’s hand. ”I’ve never been lucky enough to get put in a cell with one of my friends. I think we’ll get alone fine, don’t you?” It was a poor attempt at a joke, but right now, Ludwig wanted to keep his friend distracted. "How have you been? I hope the guards haven't been treating you badly..."

[Feliciano Vargas]

"I'm still sorry anyways, that I hugged you when you weren't expecting it after all that cold." It was so hard to stop himself from arguing further with the blonde. Ludwig's insistence that he should feel bad for hugging his friend cut deeply into Feliciano, because no one should ever feel bad for being happy to see someone they missed. It wasn't just that, either: he had hurried just as quickly to hug Ludwig as the blonde was happy to catch him and hug him close. It wasn't any fault of Ludwig's, for it was Feliciano's decision as well. Feliciano had been the one to lose control anyway, let his powers get the best of him once again. However, Ludwig was eager to change the topic, before Feliciano could decide on what to say. He spoke quickly, jumping from weak jokes and soft words to less...gentle topics, but all the same Feliciano felt a smile come to his face at the rapid words. "It's good to see you again. I've never been lucky enough to get put in a cell with one of my friends. I think we'll get along fine, don't you? ...How have you been? I hope the guards haven't been treating you badly..."

Some of that tension seeped out of Feliciano's frame, that smile only growing a bit wider. His grip loosened a bit on Ludwig's hand, staying strong but with none of the desperate, white-knuckled intensity from before. "I-I know...I know I showed it really badly j-just now, veee, but I'm happy to s-see you too, Luddi," the brunette replied softly, carefully shifting over so there was enough room on the narrow cot for the two of them to sit together. Whether Ludwig took up the silent offer was the blonde's decision, but Feliciano kept holding that warm hand either way. Now that his fingers were only cold, not numb and painfully buzzing, the touch was nice, comforting. "I'm really, really h-happy to see that you've been t-taken care of."

Now, the Italian could speak with honesty--not that he couldn't be honest before, but his words wouldn't fail him now. So long as no more surprises cam to shock his shaky system, he'd be okay. Now he could curl up with his friend, and simply enjoy the fact that they were together again, at least a little while. Who knew how long it would last? He had to enjoy the time Ludwig was here. "Ve, I hope you don't-t get upset for me saying this, b-but...you really don't look very different from when we were at W-Weeds. A little skinnier, maybe, but the guards are taking care of you." Amber eyes lifted up to smile into pale blue, squeezing the blonde's hand. "I didn't really know what to expect when we first got here, so I was w-worried about you. But you're ok-kay. That's good. V-Very good, ve."

Considering Ludwig's temperment and his control over his power, Feliciano honestly shouldn't have worried at all--whether it was in academics or something as dark as the matches in the Underground, the blonde was always one to excel. It was an admirable part of his best friend's character--something the small mutant never managed to achieve himself. It wasn't something he was particularly jealous of, though; he was happy that the German did well, without losing himself in the process. Of course he hadn't, this was Ludwig. He probably tried not to hurt the other mutants he was forced to fight, yet still succeeding to win whatever match may be thrown his way. Of course he won, too; the blonde wouldn't be in such good shape if he didn't. To win, yet not let the power go to his head, that was the Ludwig Feliciano remembered, and it was the best thing in the world. So much had changed in his life, in both their lives, he knew, so to have that one little slice of his past that made him happy, relatively untainted from the darkness of their current predicament... It made up for everything Feliciano had to deal with and more. Maybe then Feliciano could stay the way he was, too.

"I've been g-good, ve," he finally replied with that smile still on his face. That wasn't true, at least not wholly, but he was feeling better now so he didn't mind the little white lie. "The guards don't l-like me very much, but t-the caretakers and the scientist-tsss d-didn't really like me either, remember? So things are...almost n-normal. That's all, ve. What-t about Luddi? What's happened s-since I last saw h-him?"

Simple questions, back and forth; this he could handle as he finally started to warm up a bit. Feliciano wanted to hear more about his friend than stutter on about himself, anyway.

[Ludwig A. Beilschmidt]

With Feliciano smiling again, a small smile but a genuine one nonetheless, Ludwig could sense the tension between them dispersing. The brunette’s grip on his hand relaxed as well, although his friend didn’t let go, and that cheered him up even more: he wasn’t going to get pushed away, for one, but Feliciano had also gotten things under control. To hear that Feliciano was happy to see him as well just added to that feeling, and when the smaller man shifted on the bed to make room for him, Ludwig accepted the wordless offer, sitting beside Feliciano and eliciting a quiet creak of protest from the rusty metal furniture. He hadn’t let go of the other man’s hand: Feliciano’s fingers were still very cold, but Ludwig didn’t put in any extra effort to warm them, deciding to let things take a natural course now. Even without actively using his powers his body temperature remained higher than most.

”I’m really, really h-happy to see that you’ve been taken care of,” Feliciano was saying, and Ludwig gave a small half-smile in response to that. ‘Taken care of’… he wasn’t sure he would have used those words, because every positive reward he’d managed to get a hold of had been his own doing. He’d spent his first few months in the Underground starving and filthy like the rest of the new arrivals, although once he’d started consistently winning fights in the Arena and making friends with the right guards (not to mention Elizaveta) things had improved significantly. He still went to bed hungry but his situation was nowhere near as bad as it could have been. And staying clean always made him feel less like a prisoner.

”Ve, I hope you don’t-t get upset for me saying this, b-but… you really don’t look very different from when we were at W-Weeds. A little skinnier, maybe, but the guards are taking care of you,” Feliciano added through shaking teeth, and Ludwig shook his head patiently.

”I can’t get upset over something that’s the truth,” he teased the other man gently. ”Nothing’s really changed with me.” Ludwig had continued to wear his hair short and keep his appearance tidy. With long hours of nothing to do, he’d maintained a fitness regimen as best he could in the cramped cells. He hadn’t earned any horrible scars or injuries in the Arena.

Feliciano, on the other hand, looked shrunken and small, like a flower that hadn’t gotten enough sunlight or water and was barely continuing to live. Even as the Italian smiled warmly at him and squeezed his hand and murmured his happiness at finding his friend in good shape, Ludwig knew he couldn’t honestly return the sentiment. Feliciano wasn’t okay, that much was clear. It was some small mercy that he wasn’t sick or injured. The spark of fight that had lit up his eyes at Weeds had vanished, replaced with anxiety and even what Ludwig suspected might be fear. Normally he was terrible at judging people and reading their emotions, but he’d been around the other man far too long and had adapted to him — plus, Feliciano had always worn his heart on his sleeve, at least up until now.

”I’ve been g-good, ve.”

You haven’t, Ludwig thought, but he kept his mouth shut, listening.

”The guards don’t l-like me very much, but t-the caretakers and the scientist-tsss d-didn’t really like me either, remember?”

Ludwig nodded, fighting off a wince. He certainly didn’t want to remember. He’d have to introduce Feliciano to some of the nicer guards… maybe even to Elizaveta if he was able to. He had a feeling that the head guard might take to his friend; she seemed to have a soft spot for polite and friendly mutants. But Feliciano would have to build up his courage a little more first.

”What-t about Luddi? What’s happened s-since I last saw h-him?”

Feliciano was looking at him inquiringly, still smiling. Ludwig cleared his throat.

”Nothing’s really been happening with me, honestly,” he admitted. ”I’ve been here this whole time, doing the fights, mostly. That’s probably the most exciting thing I could tell you.” When he thought about it now, it made him depressed: two years of his life spent stuck in various cells with various roommates, only leaving when the human crowd wanted entertainment. It felt like a waste of time, but what other choice did he have?

”About the guards, you just need to know who to talk to and how to talk to them,” he assured the other man. ”They like to push people around, but some of them aren’t so bad if you can convince them not to. I know one or two who aren’t so mean, I’ll see if I can talk to them about it. Maybe they’ll start being nicer to you then.” It was an optimistic plan, but Ludwig had no certainty that it would work. He didn’t dare ask Feliciano how his arena fights had been, but he was betting that his friend hadn’t won many… or won at all. And the guards never treated the losing mutants with much respect.

”Anyways, it would be nice if the guards took care of you too,” he added, studying the smaller man. ”You look like you haven’t eaten much… although right now, when the food gets to you it’s sometimes already frozen, so I can’t really blame you for that.” Another problem Ludwig had been able to solve with his abilities, and another thing he had apparently been taking for granted.

”Next time I win an arena fight,” he offered, ”I’ll ask for some extra food and we can split everything — have a new cellmate party, ja? That’ll be fun.” He shot Feliciano another quick smile, hoping that he’d like the idea.

[Feliciano Vargas]

A quiet, content little sigh escaped the Italian as Ludwig settled down next to him upon the narrow bed, large fingers still carefully wrapped around his own. Despite the dampness of the bed, unfortunately matching the water-logged state of Feliciano's clothing, the blonde had climbed up next to him anyway. Despite Feliciano's earlier freak-out and his current half-lie, Ludwig hadn't called him out on anything, hadn't pulled away. He still let the Italian hold his hand, steal his warmth and just enjoy the fact that his friend was here, with him. It had been easy the first few weeks, to concentrate hard enough to find Ludwig amidst the masses of unfamiliar mutants and humans alike. Whether it was the familiar, steady heartbeat he could hear now, clear as day, or the warm, almost woodsy smell the blonde gave off naturally, the Italian had been able to keep track of him. That comforting presence, even cells and cellblocks away, had been reassuring in this strange, painful place. After a while, though...Ludwig had faded from his range of hearing, entangled in the populace and becoming another faceless person; one in the hundreds.

Guilt panged in his chest at the memory of how he'd become so distracted, so distant, that his best friend became more of a wandering fancy than a constant in his mind. As Ludwig got comfortable enough to offer an amused smile as he gently teased him, Feliciano shifted closer, resting most of his weight against the German's side as he slouched enough to use one broad shoulder as a warm pillow. For the moment, he felt bad for getting the man wet, again, but the promised warmth from proximity was worth it, in the end. Feliciano was still so cold, if his chattering teeth were any indication, and he couldn't help but try to steal some of that heat for himself. "Ve, if you can't g-get upset over the -truth, then exp-plain why you'd get so flusst-tered whenever I'd t-tease you for reading too much in sc-chool," he said with an answering smile, gently squeezing that calloused hand in his grasp. "Or when I'd c-call you cute for flushing s-so bad you'd start st-teaming."

Those were fond, fun days, when he and Ludwig had the free time to spend together and just goof off. They'd sneak up onto the roof to watch the clouds flutter by, talk without fear of being overheard, and practice their abilities without the judging eyes of the humans charged with taking care of them. Those days were the best days of Feliciano's life; when he could just be himself, not worry about having to scare away the bullies who'd try to pick on him for his small size and his "useless power", or the...tests that the scientists had set up for him. Unfortunately, he didn't have a lot of those days compared to the rest of the time at weeds, but isn't that what made them so precious?

Feliciano could feel Ludwig staring at him now, silent for the moment. The gaze made him slightly apprehensive; had he been caught in his lie already? Were the scars visible--no. His free hand wandered down to his waist to make sure his shirt hadn't ridden up any time during his earlier freak out, the rustle of cloth reassuring where it was moments ago bothersome and irritating. The blonde must just be thinking back on how easily he'd hefted up his slight weight, and how easily Feliciano's powers slipped out of his control when, in school, they were almost always tightly under wraps.

"Nothing's really been happening with me," Ludwig said quietly, almost sheepishly. The Italian wasn't quite sure if he believed that, but the blonde didn't sound like he was lying, either. His heart wasn't fluttering at all, he wasn't tensing up--so maybe if something had happened, Ludwig just didn't consider it a big deal. That didn't mean something didn't happen, but hopefully it really wasn't that important. "I've been here this whole time, doing the fights, mostly. That's probably the most exciting thing I could tell you."

That news was honestly surprising. Feliciano tilted his head back enough that he could gaze up at the blonde. "Ve...t-that's what I've been d-doing, too," he replied, rubbing small circles into pale skin with the pad of his thumb. "The only t-time I leave the cells iss for the fight-ts, it sseems like. So I can't-t really t-tell Luddi much more than he c-can tell me, I guess..."

Honestly, he wasn't sure if he should laugh or sigh at that statement. You'd think after two years separated, he would have more to share with his friend. Well, he did have a lot of stories he could share, but...as he'd decided before, why tell Ludwig of the painful things, as well? He'd stopped that habit fairly quickly after meeting the German all those years ago--he always worried far too much for his own good, even without things to fuel the furrow in his brow. Feliciano certainly didn't want to make Ludwig feel worse by telling him about the punishments he'd earned for his initial outbursts.

Ludwig was trying to reassure him, even without knowing those things, anyway. The Italian couldn't help the weak, infinitely fond smile that tugged the corners of his lips back up as the blonde spoke, "About the guards, you just need to know who to talk to and how to talk to them. They like to push people around, but some of them aren't so bad if you can convince them not to. I know one or two who aren't so mean."

That ruled Pyotr and Dmitri out, that's for sure. Maybe he meant Viktor, or Grigory, or maybe even Iosif? As much as Feliciano liked to listen in on the guards when he was particularly bored or eager for information of some sort, he couldn't name every guard in the Underground by name--most he knew by the way they talked or walked. The inflection of their voices spoke as much as the way they put their weight on the ground, and both sang far clearer to him than a simple name. There might be new guards, too--lately, Feliciano tried to stay in his cell than let his consciousness wander the halls in curling scents and sharp soundwaves. It hurt too much to break away like that.

"I'll see if I can talk to them about it. Maybe they'll start being nicer to you, then."

The Italian almost pulled away, he jumped so badly at those words. "V-Ve, you don't need to w-worry about doing that!" Feliciano stuttered hastily, face twisted uncomfortably at the very idea. "I'm f-fine, Luddi, really! Y-You don't need to do s-something for me like that--you might get in trouble, too..." That's all he could see happening if Ludwig started bugging the guards in their cellblock in efforts of getting him better treatment. Pestering the guards is what would get Feliciano into trouble in the first place! He certainly didn't want to ruin things for the blonde like that; what kind of friend would he be if he did that?

Feliciano only relaxed when Ludwig continued, that worry blatant on his pale face and making Feliciano frown in return, squeezing at the man's hand. "Anyways, it would be nice if the guards took care of you, too. You look like you haven't eaten much...althought right now, when the food gets to you it's sometimes already frozen, so I can't really blame you for that. Next time I win an arena fight," Ludwig added kindly, offering a smile like his previous concern hadn't existed, "I'll ask for some extra food and we can split everything--have a new cellmate party, ja? That'll be fun."

In response to the mentions of food, Feliciano felt his stomach gurgle unpleasantly. He tried not to wince too noticeably, knowing Ludwig probably heard the rumble as well as he'd felt it. The one downside to being moved into this new cell to share with Ludwig is that the food he'd left hidden in his old cell would go to waste. They were the tiding force keeping the sharpest edges of his hunger curbed; it had been a few days since he'd eaten. Only two or three--common when he'd earned the ire of the guards in charge of feeding the mutants, but hard-felt all the same. It didn't help that the food here was just so...gross, for lack of a better term, that he couldn't always eat it in the first place. The brunette tried to laugh the situation off, settling back on the blonde's shoulder, staring down at their joined hands rather than up at those too-blue eyes. "V-Vee, that does sound nice, b-but you don't have t-to do that, Luddi," Feliciano hummed, fighting off those shivers as best he could. "It's your food, you should eat it yourself. Y-You can't keep up those muscles of yours i-if you do't eat what you're given."

[Ludwig A. Beilschmidt]

All too familiar with the volatility of his closest friend’s powers, Ludwig took it as an excellent sign when the other man slumped against him, relaxed. The freezing water that still permeated Feliciano’s clothing shocked his skin for a fraction of a second before warming, his ever-present heat blunting the hard edge of the cold. The heat spiked just a bit slightly when the Italian confront Ludwig about the supposed ‘truth’ - that he’d been a bookworm, that he’d been cute. The blond’s cheeks heated up along with the surrounding air.

”That’s subjective!” he clarified quickly, the gentle squeeze of his hand not escaping his attention. With a timing so appropriate that Ludwig found it horrible, the damp bedsheets he and his friend sat on had heated enough in the frigid air that tendrils of steam began curling up from the fabric. ”Not a word,” Ludwig muttered, ”because this is not remotely related.” That he could even make jokes and tease… when had he last felt like doing that? As much as his friend’s physical appearance and bearing had changed, Feliciano’s personality hadn’t undergone the same transformation. Underneath the underfed and wary exterior hid the cheerful boy he’d befriended years ago, the one who’d never called him a teacher’s pet and swore that food could solve most ailments and stayed up late to trade secrets.

”"Ve...t-that's what I've been d-doing, too. The only t-time I leave the cells iss for the fight-ts, it sseems like. So I can't-t really t-tell Luddi much more than he c-can tell me, I guess…”

Ludwig nodded, both understanding and somewhat disheartened. Feli had possessed the same poor luck that he himself did, it sounded: an existence of being trotted out to serve as entertainment for an hour here and there, interspersed between long stretches of boredom. He’d been hoping the other man had been purchased at least once or twice, just to give him a respite from the Underground. The brunet’s alarmed reaction to his plan about the guards more than convinced Ludwig of that. Ludwig’s brow furrowed as his friend jumped, frowning, and hastily dismissed the plan - Ludwig might get in trouble, after all.

”No, no,” he assured Feliciano. ”I won’t, really.” Well, he might, but statistically speaking, the odds favored him. He didn’t start fights or cause any other trouble, he behaved politely to anyone in a uniform (no matter how they treated him in return), and when all else failed, the threat of his power helped dispel any misgivings the guards might have had about punishing him. At least that was how Ludwig understood it. But he didn’t want to encourage Feliciano’s anxiety by doubting himself. ”Most of them aren’t that mean to me, actually,” he reassured his friend, ”and the head guard? She even brings me to her office sometimes to help out with all of the paperwork she has.” Ludwig lowered his voice, glancing at the bars, ”She doesn’t make me wear handcuffs and she even gives me beer sometimes.” Elizaveta’s summons never came as often as he wished they would, and Ludwig realized that he’d stumbled back into his old and often-mocked ‘teacher’s pet’ territory. But here, if he behaved, if he helped out the right people, the rewards could be tangible.

The quiet rumble from Feliciano’s stomach at the mention of food didn’t escape the German’s attention; Feli was exactly as hungry as he appeared, although Ludwig doubted that the man would ever admit it. The other man pointedly avoided his gaze as he dismissed the idea of sharing food (Ludwig apparently needed his strength). Ludwig heaved a short sigh as the other man settled back against his side, resting on his shoulder. ”Honestly, they give me too much,” he tried to spin. ”If you win enough fights they just start, I don’t know… dumping food on you. And I’m not used to eating so much. I’d rather you have it than see it go moldy and rotten.” Ludwig had kept a small stash of leftovers hidden under his bed, right up against the wall where the stone acted as a natural refrigerator. It hadn’t been much, but he sincerely hoped that whoever got his place found it quickly and put it to good use. He’d have to win back his emergency rations now that he’d moved rooms.

”You think if I asked nicely, they’d give us a piece of cake or something?” he joked, then realized how dim the prospect of that actually was and hastily shut up. For a moment, he sat there in silence, observing, listening. Having someone else to talk to - to really talk to - felt a lot better than he’d expected it to. ”Even if you insist on my not sharing, I’m going to share,” he quietly warned his friend, ”and no more cold meals for you.” No more cold anything, Ludwig decided, still watching the steam rise in thin clouds towards the stone roof of their cell.

SPOILER: Click to show

Feliciano Vargas :: tagged! I am sorry I was slow...

[Feliciano Vargas]

Oh god.

Oh my god.

He truly felt bad--wait. No, no he didn't. He didn't feel bad at all because this was exactly what he was talking about! Before awed amber eyes, there were trickles of steam wafting up from the sheets beneath their bed and both their clothes as Ludwig's face flushed cherry red--and not just any cherry, but those ridiculously sugary ones in the fruit-cups they had back in school! The temperature discernibly spiked with that blush, too, but the brunette was too taken in by the hilarity of the situation to notice the little, momentary stabs of pain in his skin from the increased heat. Ludwig's lips still babbled on their objections to the Italian's words, not quite in tune with his brain, they sounded. However, he cut himself off a few moments after Feliciano stopped paying attention because suddenly it was quiet and, if he didn't know any better, the German flushed even more. "Not a word," he muttered, voice measured and flat as if trying to keep himself under control (and failing because you're blushing, Luddi!), "because this is not remotely related."

He didn't even feel bad about bursting out laughing at his friend's expense. At least he had the decency to lift his free hand to his mouth to try smothering the sounds, burying his face against Ludwig's shoulder as his own trembled under the force of his sniggers. A bout of truly good luck at last, even if it meant that he was simply getting to see his best friend be himself, at the moment virtually unchanged by the two years since they'd been separated. It was a bit mean-spirited to laugh at his friend like this, but he couldn't help it. It was just so surreal.

If the Italian's eyes watered up, he blamed it on laughing until his sides ached and he was wheezing around his hand. He couldn't quite seem to stop snorting out laughs despite the fact he was trying desperately to calm down, if for nothing else than Ludwig's sake. (Then again, laughing isn't saying anything so the blonde can't get too upset with him, right?)

Eventually the laughing trickled down to the occasional giggle, the Italian finally feeling warm and relaxed. He couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed so hard. At least his friend was willing to wait for him to calm down before he spoke up again. "Most of them aren't that mean to me, actually," Feliciano was told, back to that reassuring tone as Ludwig seemed to try keeping him from launching back into his earlier nerves. Not that he had to worry--after that laughing fit, his chest felt lighter than it had in ages, and the dark cloud threatening to overtake him had dissipated entirely. "And the head guard?" Ludwig continued, voice dropping in volume as if passing on a secret. The mention of the brunette woman he'd only seen once or twice and the only person in the underground Feliciano didn't dare eavesdrop, he perked up a bit, the last traces of mirth rolling away for genuine curiosity, sitting up slightly. "She even brings me to her office sometimes to help out with all of the paperwork she has."

What?

"She doesn't make me wear handcuffs and she even gives me beer sometimes."

...What?

Feliciano didn't know how to respond to that. The head guard...gave Ludwig beer in exchange for helping out with her paperwork?? Ludwig was allowed to see some of the forms going through the Underground (probably not the serious ones but still) and even work on them?! What could he even say to that?

Thankfully, he was saved from answering--which would've been silly because he's still just staring at Ludwig in shock. "Honestly, they give me too much food anyway," the blonde, leaping back to a different topic as if he hadn't just revealed that he was somehow friendly with the guard in charge of managing the Underground (it wasn't a bad thing, because Ludwig did need friends and if a human like Elizaveta Héderváry could show genuine kindness to someone she viewed as "inferior" to herself...). "If you win enough fights they just start, I don't know...dumping food on you. And I'm not used to eating so much. I'd rather you have it than see it go moldy and rotten."

A disbelieving snort escaped Feliciano despite himself, shaking his head slightly at those words. The idea of Ludwig not being used to eating was a strange concept--granted, he was thinking of their time in the Academy when Ludwig could easily out-eat most of the kids their age without gaining weight if he wanted (Feliciano wasn't much better, when he was eating something that agreed with his very particular palette). It didn't help that he couldn't honestly comprehend the idea of the guards willingly giving so much food to a mutant, Arena champion or otherwise. However, if it were the truth... The brunette's stomach rumbled once again at the thought. The guards didn't sit through meals with the mutants, simply depositing the bowls and/or plates without ceremony before continuing to the next cell, and while it wasn't allowed for mutants to eat more than their portions, they...wouldn't know...

"Even if you insist on my not sharing, I'm going to share," Ludwig murmured unexpectedly, shocking Feliciano from his musings. When the smaller mutant turned his gaze on his friend, the blonde was staring up at the ceiling. "And no more cold meals for you."

Despite the implication that he had no choice in the matter, something that bothers him the most out of everything they have to suffer through in this dark place, Feliciano didn't feel particularly insulted or threatened. He mulled over everything Ludwig had told him in momentary silence; a contemplative one as he continued to run his thumb over the back of Ludwig's hand. If he was being fed so much, and he really had earned such...respect, for lack of a better term, with the guards, the blonde had plenty of things he wasn't telling the brunette about their two-year separation. He didn't want to press too much, though, because if he did so Ludwig would only return the sentiment and there was no need to disclose his own...lackluster relationship with the guards (to put it mildly). Those weren't tales meant to be retold--simply remembered in the silence of nightfall, when no one else is awake.

"...I'll think about it, ve." He replied after that long pause, hesitant to outright agree with the idea because there was a chance of being caught and Ludwig would get punished and he didn't want to tarnish his friend's apparently good relationship with (some of) the guards. But Ludwig was offering, and if they didn't get caught, what did it matter? "But only if you eat your fill first. You do need to eat, too, Luddi." That sounded like a fair compromise to him. He'll just have to see if Ludwig was willing to take that.

He wondered, though... "How...How did you get so friendly with the head guard?" Feliciano couldn't help but ask, lifting his gaze back on the blonde. "She doesn't ever come down here to interact with us, ve--I've never heard her anywhere except her office and to check up on the guards--" --okay so maybe he eavesdropped on her a little, so sue him-- "--so how did you meet her?"

[Ludwig A. Beilschmidt]

At first, the redness in Ludwig’s face only worsened when he heard Feliciano’s laughter: that his accidental embarrassment had become a source of amusement only made him feel more embarrassed. But after a second, Ludwig had to remind himself: this was Feliciano. He’d never have laughed at someone’s humiliation, and Ludwig had to admit that the cosmic coincidence of Feli’s teasing aligning with the effect of his own body heat on wet fabric was an amazing one. And laughter - genuine mirthful laughter - sounded so rarely in the Underground. Eventually, even Ludwig’s stoic mask slipped, replaced by a happy half-smile. As Feliciano buried his face against his shirt and tried to stifle his giggling, the German took the opportunity to give the man a proper hug, one that wouldn’t overload his system and nearly knock him out. Releasing the other’s hand and twisting just a bit to quickly embrace his shoulders, Ludwig reassured his friend, ”I have missed you.”

His tale of being summoned to the head guard’s office seemed to surprise the other man, and not for the first time Ludwig had to wonder if he’d been the only mutant still confined to the Underground that had been allowed out of his cell for these special chores or errands. On the one hand, it was a privilege he enjoyed, because it broke up the monotony of his usual boring day quite nicely. But not for the first time, Ludwig wondered about his value. He had no record of struggling with the guards or fighting back against his captors and while that made him a valuable mutant and helper, Ludwig didn’t feel pleased with that. In Weeds, Feliciano had earned a reputation as someone whose size belied their fighting spirit; Ludwig had become known for being smart and resourceful (and later, tall). Here, his most defining trait seemed to be that he was cooperative. The thought didn’t really please him, although all of the years on instruction he’d gotten reminded him it should.

However, his spirits lifted when at last his friend agreed to consider sharing some of his food. He really did get too much, and although he’d never let Feliciano know, Ludwig would rather go to bed hungry if it meant his friend earning some of his former health back. ”Of course,” he agreed to the other man’s proposition. ”I know I need to eat. But if I’m full, you can have the rest.” He’d just have to practice his lying to ensure that Feliciano truly believed him when he announced that.

"How...How did you get so friendly with the head guard?”

Oh, Miss Elizaveta. It was only natural for Feliciano to be curious, Ludwig realized. She didn’t appear in the Underground often; mostly, she kept to her office and ran operations from there.

“She doesn't ever come down here to interact with us, ve--I've never heard her anywhere except her office and to check up on the guards, so how did you meet her?”

”It was a stroke of luck,” Ludwig explained. He didn’t really believe in luck, actually, so perhaps he should reword that. ”Or, I wouldn’t call it luck, but a combination of things. I don’t start as many fights or cause as much trouble as some of the others — “ and wasn’t that an understatement, he only fought in the Arena or to defend himself from someone trying to intimidate him, ”— and she passed by my cell on an inspection at one point. She had the marks on her uniform that designated her as the head of the guards, so I interrupted her inspection as nicely as I could and asked her if she had any plans to repair some of the older cells.” For a place as well-used as the Underground, it remained in a remarkable state of dilapidation; parts of it were literally crumbling. And Ludwig realized that hearing his story aloud certainly made him appear every bit the teacher’s pet he’d been as a child.

”Anyways, I tried to be polite and I think she understood that I was bored, and eventually she invited me to her office to help out with some small tasks. She was very careful to keep an eye on me at first, but I don’t have anything to prove,” Ludwig explained, ”so each time I got invited back, she treated me a little better. I think she cares about us more than some of the regular guards do, honestly. It’s a shame she can’t or won’t show it more.” He shook his head before offering a shrug.

”I’m not as perceptive as you, of course, so this could all be wrong,” he admitted. ”But it’s nice to have something else to do for an hour or two, especially because I’ve never been bought.” Meeting his friend’s gaze again, Ludwig tried to swing the topic to something more positive. ”So how do you usually pass the time when you aren’t in the Arena?” he asked. ”You always had a very big imagination…”

[Feliciano Vargas]

That hug lasted nowhere near long enough. Ludwig hadn't even given him a chance to enjoy that contact, stealing a touch when Feliciano was distracted by his giggles. However, he couldn't hold it against the blonde, not when he caught a glimpse of that small smile on his friend's face. That fond whisper, "I have missed you," warmed his heart enough to make up for the lack of a chance to hug the other back. The Italian couldn't quite remember the last time he felt so...content? That wasn't quite the right word for this sensation in his chest, but it wasn't uncommon for him to have a hard time defining things. Feliciano simply settled against his friend's side, waiting for an answer to his compromise and his question. He didn't even feel like pressing for those answers, not yet; content to leech heat from the other, even if that wasn't necessary anymore. Only his extremities were chilled by now, with the way Ludwig was radiating heat.

Ludwig, of course, answered promptly; never one to hem and haw when he knew what he wanted to say. "Of course. I know I need to eat. But if I'm full, you can have the rest." Once again, the mere mention of food caused the Italian's stomach to gurgle unpleasantly. A small frown momentarily curdled his expression, leading Feliciano to tuck his legs to his chest. Maybe if he hid his stomach, his stomach would stop rumbling? The hungrier he appears, the more his friend will worry, after all. The guards had already brought his allotted meal, at lunch-time. The "soup", of course, had been half-frozen by the time it reached him, so all he'd managed to eat before his dishes were taken away was a few bites of bread. Lingering on the topic of food would only make him miserable.

However... "You can't pretend to be full, though. I'll know if you try to lie to me," he mumbled, reaching out once again to lace chilly fingers with Ludwig's. "Even if I only get a few bites, it'll still be more than I had before, ve. Isn't that good enough?" Hopefully Ludwig will see the logic in that statement and let the topic drop.

Maybe that desire for a change of conversation burned in Ludwig as well (no pun intended, though he mentally chuckled at the comparison). The German was quick to go into full detail the course of "happenstance" that led to his unlikely friendship with Elizaveta Héderváry. She never seemed to wander the halls. The few times Feliciano heard her wander around, she was a whole cell block away, at least. To think one random meeting, a few words, an innocent question, could grant his friend such a beneficial friendship with someone so important in their sliver of the world. She must've seen more than simple "boredom" if she were willing to let Ludwig, unchained, from his cell to aid her in her work in the office. If only Ludwig could use that information to help the mutants rather than the guards--

No. Feliciano quickly drove that thought from his mind, tightening his grip on Ludwig's hand. If it were possible, Ludwig would've done something long ago, of that he was certain. To hope for Ludwig to do something when he could not would only be selfish. "I've never spoken to her, so I don't know what kind of person she's like, ve." She didn't seem outwardly cruel, from what he he'd heard, at least? That's certainly better than many of the guards she employs. "It seems like she likes you, sì? That's good enough for now, I think." The Italian offered his friend a smile. In retaliation to that earlier hug he'd been partially denied (one-sided hugs are absolutely not fair at all!), Feliciano released Ludwig's hand so that he could lift the other's arm up and over his own shoulders. Side-hugs are much better, after all; infinitely easier to tuck himself into the warmth of the blonde's side. "Maybe she's trying to keep you here until she can earn enough money to permanently get you out of here." That, indeed, would be the kindest thing the woman could do. Ludwig could do so much more good out on the streets instead of stuck in these murky cells. Ludwig didn't deserve to be in here, anyway.

"So, how do you usually pass the time when you aren't in the Arena?" Ludwig asked after a moment's pause, blue eyes watching Feliciano curiously--and a bit fondly, if Feliciano said so himself. "You always had a big imagination..."

Feliciano couldn't help but laugh at that. "That's exactly what I do, ve!" he replied cheerfully, settling comfortably against the blonde. "I can hear the guards in their little guard-posts from here, sì? I can hear the stories they tell each other, and I share them with the other mutants--anyone who'll listen, really. Sometimes I make up my own stories to explain why they do such silly things, when I don't really know the answer. It's fun, and sometimes the nice guards think it's funny to hear, and they listen, too. But sometimes I just like to sit here and look at the images I can see in the stones, and think up my own stories, let my mind wander." The Italian laughed again, turning Ludwig's palm to face him so he could doodle an unseen pattern over warm skin. "Veeeee, but I like to think of what it's like to live outside. What kind of things I'd do if I were out there, free to do whatever I wanted. It's fun, sì?" Feliciano didn't mention the efforts he takes to keep the other mutants as happy and healthy as he can. How he bandages the injured when he has the supplies, comforts the newcomers who're scared of their new surroundings and the cruelty of the humans in charge of them. Nor does he bring up the arguments with the guards when they wrongfully attempt to starve the others for no reason (not that any reason is justifiable), with the accompanying punishments leaving twisted scars upon his skin his reward for such "insolence". Such things aren't stories meant to be shared, after all. Those are the kinds of words that hurt rather than heal. His face betraying nothing of those fleeting thoughts, he eventually squeezed Ludwig's hand in his own, smiling warmly up at his friend. "What do you do, ve? Does Luddy still play with fire, like he did in school? Or did you have to come up with something else to distract you?"

He could only hope his friend didn't have any bad stories scarring him, as well.