The Collective Analysis of a Former Delinquent

I don't know why you guys are so in love with Ludwig's gorgeous blue eyes

They're just…blue and shit—nothin' special except for how beautiful they are

Gosh guys. Oh oh man how do you feel about Lovino/Ludwig in a hilariously one-sided crush because I am so down for it like whoa

(And now…the mystery of the TV dinner comes closer to being solved because of the awesome that is Feliciano)

Lovino Vargas had no idea what time it was when they shuffled onto the F train going to Manhattan—he just knew it was too early for this shit.

"—oh yeah, good one Ludwig," he snapped, crossing his arms irritably. He hated having to scold Ludwig about his fuck ups at night. "'Cause that was th' most hah'dcore thing ya could'a said! We'll be back t' clean up ya house? What're we? A couple'a fuckin' custodians?"

Ludwig looked like he wanted to slam his forehead through subway's large panning window. "It wasn't about being hardcore, Lovino," he replied tersely, like Lovino was bothering him or something as crazy as that. "It was generally me trying to ensure that Mr. Kirkland was aware that we could kill him if we so wanted to."

See, that was the thing about Ludwig that nobody ever got—the big lug was always thinking, for God's sake. He thought and thought and thought until he couldn't think anymore, and then it so happens that he ended up overthinking the situation in it's entirety.

(And people usually thought that Lovino was unobservant.) (They also thought him to be rude, inconsiderate, selfish, self-centered, self-serving, insufferable, cowardly, a 'douchebag', depressing, and weak. These were the people who obviously had too much fun with a thesaurus like the assholes they are.)

"Ludwig," Lovino replied with an exaggerated eye-roll. He scoffed, lightly punching his partner on his well-muscled arm to show that he found the whole 'overthinking' thing kind of endearing if it weren't for the fact that the German is a huge, bossy, tasteless, alcoholic douche. "We'ah th' fuckin' mafia—I think he knew we might be back. I mean, to kill him."

"I mean, yes, I understand that—"

"Then why the fuck did'ja keep talkin' t' him?" the Italian cut him off, smirking at the offended frown plastered to Ludwig's face. "'Cause sometimes, Ludwig? I think that you jus' like th' sound'a ya own voice." Not that it's a bad sound, but—shit bad thought process.

Ludwig scowled, hugging the TV dinner close to his chest. "I enjoy being more than just a grunt in the grand scheme of things," he said haughtily, sneering at the smaller man. "And there's no reason for me to love the sound of my own voice when you are always there to override it. Without fail."

Aww, Ludwig, Lovino thought sarcastically. It's great to know that I annoy you to the point of cynical status. "Well, ya could always just do what I do," he replied with a shrug.

"Whine to my brother about things that frankly don't matter to most humans?"

"Bitch, I will stab yer ass—I mean, no." Lovino cleared his thought, glaring at the German. "Ignore me. See, I've been ignorin' ya for a long time now—"

"I want you to take the amount of time you've been ignoring me and then multiply that by three thousand," Ludwig deadpanned. "That's a fourth of the number of times I have attempted to block the sound of your grating voice and then failed."

Lovino tried to reply to that, but he could only manage to open his mouth and then forgot to close it. Deep in his mind, he realized with a bit of rage that Ludwig von Doucheface got him again. Where the hell did he find all of these retorts to be used so calmly against Lovino motherfucking Vargas? This was not the kind of respect he wanted in the mafia! Like, seriously—he was the Boss's brother for god's sake!

"Oooh," someone in the same subway car muttered patronizingly. Lovino threw a dirty look in the general direction of the voice, for he never actually saw the person.

"You'sa bitch," he finally concluded with one last look at Ludwig. With that, he crossed his arms once more and huddled close to the cold seat in an angle that was not touching the German but was also not very far. He wasn't going to risk some shit happening to him because he was a little angry at the moment.

Ludwig shrugged, the TV dinner held tight against his hard, hot—bad thought process—body. "Of course, the same could be said of you, but I have better things to do than accuse you of the truth," he replied calmly.

Lovino scowled, looking up at the man. "Like what, asshat?" he asked, his voice laced with the acerbity he was known for.

"Like my future death if it ends up that we messed up here somehow."

Lovino winced, looking down at the dirty subway floor. Why'd he have to say that? Geez, now he reminded the Italian of how frightened he was concerning the situation as a whole. If they messed up, Feliciano would…well, there was no gauge on what could happen, but just know that it had the capacity to be painful.

"You'sa depressin' Jerry of a bastah'd, geez," the Italian grumbled, and Ludwig sighed in possible agreement.

They didn't talk much more after that.

"Stand clear of the doors please," the mechanical voice of the subway instructed sternly, and Lovino stood to the side of the platform as the train doors closed with a eerie creak. He watched the train pull off in a sudden lurch, and felt that he just found an awesome metaphor to this foreboding feeling.

"So…" he began slowly, looking over the large German man. "…What now, asshole?"

Ludwig stood tall, his head held high as he clutched a small blue box of microwavable food in his hands. "It's time to go to the surface," he replied stiffly, beginning the trek towards the subway exit. "And then, from there—it is time to die."

"You'se got jus' about no faith in the Boss," Lovino commented with a quirked eyebrow. "Which is real we'ahd considerin' how you two're, y'know, fuckin' like goddamn bacteria."

The German stopped in all of his steps and turned around just to scowl at Lovino. "Firstly, my relationship with d' Boss is generally none of ya business," he replied in his oddly deep voice, and that crazy German accent was starting to shine through like the immigrant he was. "Second—'s not that I have no faith in d' Boss, 's jus' d'at I am aware of my own mortality you moronic excuse of'fa New Yorker."

"Yo, calm down Nazi—it ain't so serious that ya need to pull out that accent o' yers," the auburn-haired man said in what he thought to be a placating tone, but it probably wasn't if the dirty look from Ludwig had anything to imply about it. "All right, all right. How's about ya think about how it's gonna be mad ace, Luddy? Felici ain't gonna say'a thing, 'cause we didn't do anythin' to get yelled at for, amirite?"

Ludwig seemed to contemplate these words, which was a first for Lovino if he were to be completely honest. "You're right for once," he said firmly, squaring his shoulders. "We've got the package, so the Boss should be happy if nothing else."

Wait, Lovino thought momentarily. The Boss is, like, default-happy…how do you make him happier? This was to be researched as soon as possible, because the Boss really was an odd man. (He reserved the blood right to say this, as well.)

The duo ambled out of the underground station, the cold air pinching their exposed skin almost immediately.

Lovino reached into his pocket for his balaclava, but Ludwig glared at him.

"You put on that disgusting thing," he started in a threatening pitch of voice. "I'll punch you in the face."

The Italian slowly returned his hand to his jean pocket, where he stuffed it in the denim in what he hoped was subtly.

(With muscles like those, even Lovino took threats from Ludwig von Beillschmidt seriously.)

Ludwig nodded with a pleased frown. "Thank you." The German man looked around the area with his absolutely amazing yet observant blue eyes. Lovino secretly thanked his Catholic God for the obvious height difference between him and Ludwig, otherwise he'd be staring into the guy's beautiful baby blues all day. "Oh, there he is."

"Who?" Lovino asked, looking around from behind Ludwig's back. "Feliciano?"

"…No." Ludwig waved his hand shortly, a small smile on his face. "Kiku."

…Kiku Honda?

What the hell was that man doing outside of his isolation bubble at this time of night?

(Lovino personally couldn't stand Kiku Honda, Jap extraordinaire. The man was weird to a degree where weird stopped being weird and just started being creepy. He was also mad short, like inches smaller than Lovino himself. And yet people insisted on getting the Italian's age mixed up with some high school kid's, but nobody messed up Kiku fucking Honda's age. Whatever it was, the sneaky fuck.)

The Japanese man caught sight of them, and held up his hand in greeting. He was leaning primly against a black car, reading a book and twiddling with his sleeves simultaneously.

Ludwig speed-walked in the man's direction, and Lovino hurried to catch up to the German's long-legged gait. What the hell was this douche planning?

"Kiku," Ludwig greeted with more exuberance than he usually showed Lovino, and Honda cracked a small smile with a nod. "Thank you for coming for us—you have been a great help."

"It is no problem, my friend," Honda replied, pushing himself off the side of the car with more grace than most men possessed. He glanced at Lovino, his eyebrow quirking in question. "Did…did you two manage to complete the objective? At all?"

Lovino narrowed his eyes. "Whaddaya tryin' t' say, he'ah?" he asked lowly.

Honda blinked. "I thought myself to be clear," he responded in the same monotone as usual. "But, I was implying that you and Ludwig's partnership is an epic failure on the Boss's side and that the two of you get more not done than you should."

Note to self, Lovino thought with a scowl. Talk to Feliciano about this douchebag. Well, after talking about that other douchebag first, of course. He snuck a short glare at the German next to him, who simply stood there with his lips pursed contemplatively.

He opened up his suit jacket just to expose a corner of the blue box. "We got the package," Ludwig said calmly. "And, to be honest, we wouldn't've been successful if it weren't for the fact that Lovino is not only an idiot, reminiscent of puberty for females, silly, uncouth, uncultured, terribly rude, cowardly, and three out of five times useless—he's also good at larceny and generally being a common burgular."

"…" The Italian's options were currently at three. He could, one, snarl and throw himself at the German asswipe in a totally not-homosexual way. Two, he could say something just as (if not more) clever to Ludwig but leave himself open for verbal heartbreak. Or, three—he could focus on the end of the statement. "Tha's real sweet'a ya, Luddy."

Yet, before the conversation could continue, Honda shook his head with the same deadpan expression as usual. "We have an hour until the Boss becomes impatient," he explained, opening the back car door. "So, if you may…?" He gave Lovino this significant look, like he wanted him to get in the backseat.

The auburn-haired man scoffed. "I call mothafuckin' shotgun," he snapped. "I ain't sittin' in th' back like some sort'a, I dunno, unda'privileged kid."

Ludwig stared at him. "When you write your autobiography," he commented offhandedly. "It will be obscenely accurate."

"Bitch, you—"

"Vargas, get in the car," Honda commanded sternly, wriggling his hand against the car door. "I have something of particular importance to speak with Ludwig about."

"You just wanna talk about some gay shit like that guy ya met yesterday or some shit 'bout ya stupid cats."

Honda's eyes narrowed. "My cats are not stupid," he said in a menacing tone. "And I can quite simply leave you here in the middle of Northside at about three in the morning. By yourself."

Lovino felt himself freeze at the thought of being alone in New York at three in the morning—dear god no.

(That was probably Lovino's greatest fear, by the way—the fear of being by himself in most situations. Being a twin has given him dependency issues that even he could admit to be troubling.)

"…Fuck you," but he shuffled into the backseat, crossing his arms like a petulant child. Goddamn the world for knowing his true weakness and using it against him constantly! "I hope ya crash, Jap bastard."

Honda sniffed, shutting the door a bit harder than necessary. "Then you would not be the most fortunate yourself, being in the car with me," he commented as he slid into the driver's seat. Ludwig sat in the passenger's seat a bit roughly, causing the car to slightly rock under his weight. "But, please, let's refrain from this unnecessary fighting, my friends."

Ludwig nodded, buckling in his seatbelt. "We must carefully consider the situation, Guido," he said, looking back at Lovino with narrowed eyes.

Lovino yawned, waving a hand in dismissal. "Don't worry abou'det," he muttered.

"I'm worrying about it," the German man admitted as they stood in front of a deceptively normal looking door. He squeezed the box in his hands repeatedly, and Lovino couldn't help but want to comfort the douche.

He placed a hand over Ludwig's shaking ones, sighing. "It's gonna be fine, Nazi," Lovino said slowly, mouth twisting in a mangled semblance of a smile. "We'ah gonna go in, give'em th' package, and then walk right back out as fine as th' day, ah?"

Ludwig blinked, and looked down at his hand. "Why are you touching me?" he asked carefully, making the Italian feel like the air just got very awkward.

(Actually, make that extremely awkward.)

"Um." Lovino looked down as well, and wished there was a way for him to remove his hand without adding on to the whole 'weird' vibe in the atmosphere. "I, err'a, um."

"This…is kind of awkward." Ludwig said in an particular tone of voice. It was the kind of tone that was strained but at the same time terribly confused.

Lovino could only agree. "Yeah," he said slowly. "Um."

Then, the door in front of them creaked open, and the auburn-haired man snatched his hand away from his partner's fist, stuffing it in his pant pocket.

Honda stepped out of the room, eyeing the two of them with a sort of wariness. "Vargas wants to talk to you two," he announced after a moment, fixing his suit jacket. "As soon as possible, he says."

Lovino frowned. Feliciano wanted to see them ASAP? That's…that's actually not very good. "Sure," he replied, smirking. "We'll be in there in'na sec, alright?"

"It is not me who cares," Honda replied cryptically, and he walked away with a small shrug.

Ugh, Lovino thought, watching the man walk away. That is one creepy-ass motherfucker.

"Lovino," Ludwig spoke to get his attention, and the small man looked at him with a jump. "It's time for us to go inside."

"Um." Lovino looked up at him, and realized that despite the fact that Ludwig von Beillschmidt was five foot eleven, endowed with gorgeous blue eyes, packed with muscle, a completely self-righteous douchebag, and a weird potato lover—he was still his partner and they had to face this together. "Yeah, you'se right."

"As per always when it comes to you," Ludwig replied curtly, and he opened the door wide enough for the both of them to fit through.

So, now it was time for Lovino to glance around The Office (as the emphasis was important for anyone in the Vargas Family) once more. It was a simple room, if not oddly intricate with the interior decoration that was all designed by Feliciano Vargas himself. The art on the walls was very Renaissance, and the furniture had a sort of modern redwood touch.

(But, that was enough about the decór.)

"Lovi?" a particularly childish tenor called out, and a high-backed chair swivelled around to reveal Lovino's beloved yet oddly dangerous younger twin brother.

Feliciano Vargas was quite possibly the most un-threatening-looking person in this entire mafia. He was very smiley—he had permanent dimples in his cheeks and his eyes were in a near constant state of closure whenever he was seen. His hair, a lighter reddish-brown than Lovino's, was styled towards the right of his face (except for an exceedingly stubborn strand that curled out on top).

Lovino gulped slightly as his brother grinned at him. This…was not going to end well. "Yo, Feliciano," he greeted with a faux sort of cockiness. "How'zit goin', bro?"

Feliciano laughed, delighted. "It's been goin' great, Lovi," he replied. He turned to the large blond man behind Lovino, and his smile somehow widened. "Ludwig! Hey!" He sat back in his chair, waving the man over. "Ya didn't gimme m' kiss yet, ya big doofus!"

Ludwig smiled even though one could tell he was trying not to, and stepped up to the desk. "Sorry," he apologized quickly, and leaned over the wooden surface in order to land a small peck on Feliciano's cheek.

Lovino looked away—they were so loving for mafioso that it was nearly sickening. That, and it also had this bad habit of reminding him of how single he was.

"Not'ta problem," Feliciano laughed once Ludwig returned to his spot next to Lovino. The younger Italian clapped his hands together, smiling at the two men. "So, what's the deal? Did'ja get th' package?"

Oh god, oh god. Lovino and Ludwig shared a long look before the shorter man cleared his throat. Better now than never, he believed.

"Yeah, we got'cha package," he said with a smirk, and Ludwig placed the Hungry-Man on Feliciano's desk. "Hope ya enjoy whateva' is in that thing."

Feliciano's eyelids opened to a half-lidded state, and he looked down at the box on his desk like it was a dead animal. "Hmm…" he hummed, interlacing his fingers with a click of the tongue. The smile stayed on his face, but there was a certain edge to it at this point—an edge that frankly was scaring the shit out of Lovino. "This is a Hungry-Man."

Ludwig swallowed rather loudly, and bumped his arm against Lovino's. "Yes," he replied uncertainly. "We brought the package as requested. Which was a television dinner box, yes?"

"Ya brought me'a Hungry-Man box," the young man repeated, picking up the blue box with his index and thumb, as though it were something terribly dirty.

Lovino braced himself, and Feliciano's eyes narrowed as his smile dropped.

"I wanted a Stouffa's," he stated in a deadly sort of voice.

The auburn-haired man immediately pointed at Ludwig, who already had his finger directed at Lovino. "He grabbed it," they spoke simultaneously, and threw the other a dirty look once they realized the purposeful betrayal.

Feliciano stood up momentarily and tossed the Hungry-Man into the garbage bin in front of his desk. He then sat down with his fingers automatically intertwined, a small frown on his face.

"Ludwig," he began, looking the German dead in the eye. "If ya woi'n't my lover, you'd prob'ly be dead right now."

Ludwig nodded, a depressed expression on his face.

The boss turned his light brown eyes to his older brother, whom of which was trying to subtly hide behind Ludwig and was failing. "And, Lovino—I don' even think ya wanna know what would happen t'ya if you woi'n't blood and m' brotha'."

"Eep!" Lovino squeaked, and then cleared his throat. "I mean, we'ah sorry Feliciano! T' be honest, it's a mistake that can easily be fixed, I swear t' ya!"

"A mistake?" Feliciano repeated, the smile slipping back onto his face. "Tell me 'bout this…mistake?"

Oh god, oh god, oh god! This was not a good meeting at all, Lovino felt.

"Okay, so rememba' that time on Wednesday when I got arrested on accident?" he explained, gesticulating as he spoke. He didn't know why he always used hand gestures as he spoke, but it was just something that he did all the time. In fact, so does Feliciano and his grandpa, so maybe it was an Italian sort of thing. "Yeah, okay—ya rememba' how ya sent Ludwig t' talk t' me directly after th' transaction, right?"

"Right," Feliciano agreed, eyes open in interest. "Keep talkin', bro."

"…Okay!" Lovino cleared his throat. "So, Luddy makes it, right? But, apparently in th' thirty minutes it took'em t' get to the precinct—he drops th' package."

Feliciano looked at Ludwig in a particular way, like he was gauging the man's scientific make-up. "That's real we'ahd," he commented offhandedly, tapping his chin in question. "It's not…like you to make a simple mistake like that."

Lovino snorted. "Tha's what I said, man," he muttered, crossing his arms with a huff.

Ludwig looked at him once and clenched his fists, which probably meant that Lovino should stop with his unnecessary comments if he want some of his bones still in place.

"In my defense," the German spoke up, his deep voice rumbling through the tension-thick air. "The man bumped into me rather roughly, and I did not want to leave such an important delivery in the car."

"I didn't say I was angry," Feliciano replied with a grin. "So, don't get all worked up, Ludwig. I was jus' sayin'—it's not like you t' make simple eff ups, y'know? But, hey, let's not get all off-track o' anything. Lovino, keep goin'."

Lovino nodded. "So, then two days lat'ah, yesterday, this we'ahd British douche comes in while I'm yellin' at Ludwig fer his dumbassery and 's all, ''Ello jolly good mates, I've got yer TV Dinna'!' So we broke int'a his apah'tment in Queens last night—he catches us—and lemme tell ya that this Brit has a fuckin' museum of Stouffa's. So, we grabbed the only one that was different, which ended up bein' ya Hungry-Man." He took in a deep breath. "The end."

Feliciano cocked an eyebrow. "…Nice, I guess," he said, shrugging with a hum. "But, I gotta say, Luddy and Lovi—ya story ain't ov'a yet."

Ludwig froze. "What do you mean?" he asked carefully, keeping his eyes on the small man behind the desk.

"Ya jus' told me that some British man in Queens has m' box of Stouffa's Broiled Chicken in Marinara," the boss explained with an excited grin. "And, ya two might not realize it, but that's a very important delivery to the Family. Of course, ya gotta get it back, guys!" He laughed, cheerful once more.

Lovino wanted to choke his brother. "But, bro—"

"No buts," Feliciano cut him off, smiling widely. His eyes were closed again, which meant that they were still safe…for now. "Ya lost it, now ya gotta find it."

The blond man next to Lovino tapped his finger against his clean chin, thinking rather hard about something. "Can I at the very least get a new partner?" he asked, and didn't even gasp for breath when Lovino jabbed his elbow into the man's hard stomach.

"What? No!" Feliciano chuckled good-naturedly. "Ya two work so well togetha'—ya don't even realize it, huh?"

"If by 'work well' you mean ultimate failure, then yes," Ludwig replied in a deadpan voice. "We do work very well together."

"It is an ultimate failure!" Lovino cried, rubbing his temples. "We do nothin' but fight, he insults me all th' time, I insult him all th' time, we can't even ride the goddamn subway togetha'!"

Feliciano snorted, waving a hand in dismissal. "Tha's bullshit," he retorted. "Ya did jus' fine gettin' me that Hungry-Man." His grin widened. "But, this time, instead of gettin' a piece of crap TV dinna', I'd like'a Stouffa's."

"Felici—"

"Ya got two days t' get me that Stouffa's," the boss cut him off once more, laughing. "'Cause, honestly? I'm hungry f' pasta, and I can't cook with all this papah'work."

Ludwig and Lovino shared another look.

"All right, Guido," the German finally said, squaring his shoulders. "Let's return to the outside."

Lovino blanched. "But, it's fuckin' dark out there'a, man," he whined. "And th' subway won't be runnin' again until, like, six!"

Feliciano blinked. "Oh man, then go t' bed," he suggested with a short frown. "It's real dangerous out the'ah at night anyway."

Ludwig nodded. "Thank you," he said, and turned around stiffly.

"Oh, Ludwig, you stay back," the boss said with a grin. "Lovino, ya room is clean and whateva'."

Lovino gagged. "You fags suck," he muttered, walking out. He plugged his fingers in his ears immediately after the statement in order to ignore his brother's likely-to-be-lewd statement.

(He had to get a great night's sleep tonight if he wanted to even breathe tomorrow, and that wasn't going to happen if he stayed in The Office.)

The Vargas Logistic - END

Feliciano the mafia boss equals lololol right riiiight

Because I laugh at the thought, yet also had tons of fun writing him. He's like really happy-go-lucky with the whole mafia business, but knows what the hell he's doing. That's why the Vargas Family is so feared yeah

Lovino is such an ass to everyone it's crazy

SONG QUIZ TIEMZ
"Oh look at those clothes—oh look at that face it's so old…it's such a (blank blank), it's really laughable!"
I love this song more than I love most things btw
(chapter two's answer was "balaclava" to Horchata by Vampire Weekend, and chapter three was "picture" to Everyone Says Hi by David Bowie)

Next chapter is Detective Bonnefoy—the TV dinner mystery is finally unveiled, but not solved!