warnings: Dangerously mood-lifting. CHEESE.
summary: The only thing Alfred has never tried to calculate is the velocity of love. AU in New York City with geekiness galore and a de-anon from the kink meme.
He receives a new coffeemaker for Valentine’s Day and immediately feels like the sort of dirt that Arthur freaks out over on his shoes.
Because, you see. Alfred got Ludwig a piece of paper.
So maybe not any piece of paper, but Ludwig has yet to talk to him about it, even though they’re both at their respective workplaces, so he’s thinking that it might’ve been a failure. Maybe Ludwig didn’t see it since he wedged it in the crack under his door like a plumbing advertisement. Maybe Ludwig did see it, but didn’t do anything about it since it looked kinda retarded, way beneath him—no pun intended—or maybe he did do something about it but thought it was the stupidest Valentine’s Day present ever, which is…okay, really, it wasn’t the real present anyway, no biggie, no big deal, whatever.
When Ludwig shows up on his caller ID he considers pretending he’s in the bathroom, but then remembers that he’d probably pick it up in the bathroom anyway, however gross that sounds.
“Hi.” A pause. “I solved your problem.”
Oh. Oh, okay. Cool.
“Did you…really need help with it?”
“No,” says Alfred, indignant, because it’s middle school math, seriously. “It, you were supposed to—what did you get as the answer?”
“I, assuming it isn’t positioned as an imaginary number, is less than three of u,” says Ludwig automatically.
“And?” Ludwig is floundering. He can imagine him, in an office on the other side of the city, furrowing his brow and reading the equation over and over again for anything wrong.
“Um, move the three a little closer to the less than sign.”
“It’s closer,” says Ludwig.
“I don’t…” The pause is more distressed this time. “I don’t see…”
It figures, and Alfred’s laugh stumbles a bit. “I,” he says, “less than three,” and cringes a bit, because the cheesiness of it only hits him now, “u. You.”
The heater in the corner seems to grow louder.
“…Oh. I see.”
“I’m sorry,” they both blurt out at the same time, and Alfred is cringing enough that his stomach,liver, and gallbladder are all uncomfortably pressed against each other.
“I mean,” continues Ludwig, with a note that translates through the phone and into Alfred’s ear and makes him bite his lip—I am not Mattie, I am not Mattie—“I..really appreciate it.”
“And the same to you too,” says Ludwig, who sounds like he’s melting into himself. “I love you.”
Alfred tilts his chair back and presses his phone to his lips.
On the way back from Club Row, later that night, or more likely dawn, Alfred is being supported by someone from the party—which was hilarious, by the way, especially when Ludwig’s friend Francis met Arthur, although he kind of wonders how someone like Ludwig gets to be friends with someone like Francis—and he’s blinking at the guy’s nose, he already knows who it is—haha—because it can only be Ludwig.
It’s Ludwig under the streetlamp they stop by, in the yellow and in the dark, in the light and in the black, body straight like a soldier, like he’s waiting for something or looking for something but he’s stopped because he’s found it, and god, god, god the night is slathering Ludwig in shadows so that all he can see is his face alight with a burning that Alfred can feel too, and oh—
Alfred lurches away from him, yanks his head towards the sky above, sees it purpling because of all the streetlamps, all the light pooling upwards into space, and yells with his arms out, “I’M IN LOVE WITH LUDWIG BEILSCHMIDT! I’M IN—“
Ludwig clamps a hand over his mouth. “Alfred, people can hear us—“
“THEY SHOULD,” he yells into his ear, and Ludwig reels back but laughs, loose and glorious. “I’M IN LOVE,” Alfred tells the city again, and then grabs the lapels of Ludwig’s shirt, both of them wide-eyed under the streetlamp, and kisses him.
It doesn’t matter, because it’s the night and no one can see them, or because the street is wide and the windows are bright and everyone can see them. He draws Ludwig closer, even closer, feels the thrum of his heartbeat encasing them and the joy in the shyness of his tongue, and after a second or two or twenty they break away.
And the laugh—it rises, again, like it did with the birds and with the tickets, and they’re still touching each other, face and neck and chest and with the rest that follows, gliding out of their throats and down the sidewalk, and—
The portion of West 26th Street they walk in: it echoes in love.
DONE! here's the meme link for erryone curious: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/15769.html?thread=46364313#t46364313
thanks for reading guys, i had a fun ride ♥