Chapter Text
Ludwig Beilschmidt prided himself on his organized life. His notebooks were color-coded. His uniform was always pressed. He arrived to class precisely seven minutes before the bell. He studied. He exercised. He did not deviate.
Which is why he was currently gripping the edge of the school bulletin board with barely restrained irritation.
"Academic Support Pairing Program – FINALIZED LIST," the poster declared in big, sparkly Comic Sans. Whoever designed it should be arrested, he thought.
His name was there, near the top:
Ludwig Beilschmidt – Assigned Student: Feliciano Vargas
"No. Absolutely not," Ludwig muttered. "This is a mistake."
He turned on his heel, ready to march to the front office and appeal the injustice. That’s when he heard the unmistakable voice.
"Ve~? Ludwig! There you are! Did you see? We’re study buddies! Isn’t that great?"
Ludwig blinked.
Feliciano Vargas stood in front of him with a half-eaten gelato cone in one hand and a paintbrush sticking out of his schoolbag like a flag of impending doom. His tie was askew, there was a smudge of blue on his cheek, and he looked like he hadn’t even seen a textbook in weeks.
Ludwig blinked again.
This was going to be hell.
"Great," he said flatly. "Just great."
They met that afternoon in the library. Ludwig had chosen the exact corner farthest from the windows (to avoid distractions), arranged the chairs, and even prepared a printed study schedule. Feliciano arrived twenty minutes late with a bread roll, three doodled-on worksheets, and a vague apology involving a lost pigeon.
Ludwig took a deep breath. He could do this. He was German. He endured chaos. He could endure this.
"Okay, Vargas. We’re going to start with World History. You will keep your eyes on the textbook. You will take notes. You will—"
"Can I draw little chibis in the margin if they help me remember the wars?"
Ludwig stared. The boy was serious.
He rubbed his temples. "Fine. As long as you remember the dates."
Feliciano grinned. "Yay~! You're nicer than you look, Luddy."
Ludwig had never hated a nickname more in his life. And yet, oddly, he didn’t correct him.
By the end of their first session, Feliciano had drawn a tiny Napoleon with a pizza and mispronounced "Versailles" five different ways. Ludwig had written three pages of notes and internally screamed at least six times.
And yet...
When Feliciano cheerfully said, "See you tomorrow, Luddy! Grazie!" and waved, Ludwig found himself nodding.
Maybe this wouldn’t be complete hell.
Just mostly.
That night, Ludwig sat at his desk, reviewing his notes and checking his next day’s agenda. As he filed away the pages, something small fluttered out of his binder. A sticky note.
It was a doodle.
A chibi Ludwig, complete with stern frown and a comically large stack of books, was yelling at a sleepy chibi Feliciano holding up a peace sign. There was a tiny heart in the corner.
Ludwig stared at it for a long moment.
He didn’t throw it away.
Instead, he tucked it into his drawer.
And wondered, not for the first time that day, what exactly he had gotten himself into.