"It is no problem," Ludwig replied, averting his gaze to the menu before him.
"What are you doing? We already ordered our food…" you questioned. Ludwig's lips quirked into a brief almost-smile that you had to replay again and again in your mind to make sure it actually happened.
"It is not for me. My friend is a very big fan of pasta, and I am looking over the selection beforehand so I do not have to listen to him go on and on about it."
"Go on and on about what?" A feminine (but somehow still masculine) voice with an Italian accent so thick you almost wondered if it was real for a second. Of course it is. Why wouldn't it be? you though to yourself. Glancing over, you took in the man's tan skin, stylish clothes, and brunette hair with the strangest gravity-defying little curl. Yep. Definitely Italian.
"Oh, nothing," Ludwig answered the newcomer, "Have a seat."
The Italian man sat in between you and Ludwig, watching you with an appraising look. "Ve~ I didn't know Luddy had a girlfriend!" the man said innocently, even though you could guess that his motives were less then pure.
"Vhat have I told you about calling me that?!" Ludwig snarled, no real anger in his words though. It seemed almost like routine for the two men, and you guessed that they were much better friends then Ludwig had been letting on.
"Not to do it!" supplied the Italian cheerfully, as if the angry German man wasn't about to yell at him.
With a bitter sigh, Ludwig leaned back in his chair, one hand massaging his forehead as if to relieve an oncoming headache. "______, this is Feliciano Vargas, the friend I was telling you about. Feliciano, this is ______."
Turning to you, Feliciano asked, "So you're not his girlfriend?" just as you were taking a sip of the drink the waitress brought you. You choked and coughed for a few minutes, unsure of what else to do with the situation you found yourself in.
"Nein, she is not," Ludwig answered as he reached over to pat your back as you continued to cough, "I found her on the bridge just a little vhile ago."
"Oh, really? What were you doing there?" Feliciano asked again, prompting you to wonder if he ever shuts up.
"Er…I'd rather not say." Was the only thing you felt you could say, simply because you were too ashamed to say the real reason you had been on that bridge.
"All right _____! Let's see, what is there to eat?" Feliciano muttered to himself as he looked over the menu offered to him. While he carefully read each meal description, Ludwig rolled his eyes and sighed. You bit your lip to prevent a giggle from escaping.
Leaning over, Ludwig whispered in your ear quietly, so Feliciano couldn't hear. "He orders the same thing every time. Spaghetti and meatballs."
This just so happened to be said at the exact same moment Feliciano announced, "I'll get the spaghetti and meatballs!" You burst out laughing, and it only worsened when Feliciano asked "What did I say?" with the most adorable confused look you had seen in a very long time.
And then the waitress came.
That damn waitress. She purposefully leaned across the table so Ludwig could get a good look at her chest that you were convinced had been enhanced by the use of a push up bra, whereas she practically slammed your food down in front of you.
"Have a nice meal!" she purred as she sauntered away. Anger shot through your being, but you did your best to keep it in check so you didn't embarrass yourself any more in front of these two very attractive men, mentally scolding your brain for producing the feelings so akin to jealousy because you weren't jealous at all. Nope. Not at all.
"Vhat an unpleasant lady," Ludwig's voice cut through your thoughts for the second time that day, and you saw him grimace at his food before cutting up the baked potato side dish he ordered and mashing it with his fork.
The irrational part of your brain, as you had dubbed it, practically sang with joy before you stomped out the out of line emotions, instead turning your attention to the strange behavior being exhibited before you.
"You know, they offered mashed potatoes as a side. You could have just ordered those."
"Nein, they taste better this vay. Not as much salt and butter, Americans use too much of those. They ruin the flavor." Ludwig grumbled, not looking up from his careful smashing of the pale vegetable.
"Suit yourself," you said before beginning to devour your meal, not missing the look one Feliciano Vargas was giving you and your other dining companion.