It was a stressful time. Ludwig lay feverish in his bed, coughing, but thankfully asleep. Ever since the boy caught the terrible sickness that had been plaguing nearly everyone, Gilbert had been fretting and worrying over him, while trying not to catch it himself. He sat now at his dinner table, one that he and Ludwig shared as they shared everything else now in their tiny flat (the government had gutted their pay once the armistice had been signed). The rickety piece of second hand wood held Gilbertās coffee cup and ashtray for the cigarette he was shakily nursing on. It was evening now, quiet in the flat and quiet in the neighbourhood, thankfully. Gilbert did not want noise, he didnāt want to hear anything at all for the next hundred years.Ā What a day, he thought, what a life.Ā
A knock at the door startled his thoughts, and Gilbert looked up from his coffee. He thoughtlessly went to the door, unlocked it and opened it, wondering who it could be- they did not get many visitors nowadays. The door swung open, and Gilbert was surprised to see who it was standing there.
āI trust then you received my letter,ā he said after a moment of dumb, blinking silence.Ā āAnd that youāre here for him. Heās asleep right now, heās very ill.ā Gilbert stepped back, leaving the door open for Roderich to come in.Ā āIām surprised you came.ā
