The band had been playing continuously for hours, Gilbert had been drinking, and Feliciano had been dancing. With his brother, with Antonio, with Gilbert, with Alfred – to Ludwig, the Italian had been dancing with everyone but him. He didn't blame him; next to the bouncy and loveable Feliciano, Ludwig didn't appear to be the agile, dancing type. His suit was stuffy and restricting, his shoes were new and his feet, not used to the stiff leather, were aching, and his head was spinning slightly from one too many of the constant refills that Roderich's staff gave to the blond. Instead of actively taking part in the festivities, he had sat at a table along with Arthur and Roderich, himself. Despite hosting the party, the brunet had refused to dance.

However, after being sat with the other two men, Ludwig found himself more and more irritated as the night went on. Arthur had gotten completely drunk and had began to rant and rave about various wars, some of which Ludwig wasn't a massive fan of. Meanwhile, Roderich had tracked down Vash amongst the crowd, and had began to slip tidbits of information from their childhood into conversation, asking Ludwig not to tell Vash that Roderich had told him this information.

Now sick of the two, Ludwig rose to his feet and gave a short excuse to dismiss himself. The blonde made his way to the other side of the room. It wasn't long until he had found Feliciano in the crowd; he was locked hand-in-hand with Francis, spinning on the dancefloor, bumping into various other nations. Ludwig suppressed a sigh and retrieved another drink for himself.

The unexpected tug on Ludwig's sleeve caused the man to jump. The alarm melted when the person tugging revealed himself as the bright-faced Feliciano.

"Germany," he cooed in his usual sing-song voice, "I haven't seen you dancing all night! Why not, are you sad?"

Explaining Ludwig's emotions to the Italian proved to be as easy as explaining space travel to a six year old. "No, it's-" there was a frantic search for an excuse, which proved to be fruitless, "I just haven't wanted to."

Looking slightly disappointed, Feliciano pouted. "So you wouldn't want to dance?"

"I didn't say that."

The smile was back, "Why didn't you say that you wanted to dance?!"

Shocked, Ludwig responded, "You were enjoying yourself with everyone else, so I-"

"Germany," Feliciano interrupted, laughing, "I would have let them dance with someone else if I knew you wanted to dance with me."

The Italian took the drink from Ludwig's hand and led him to the floor by his hand. Uncertainty built in Ludwig's chest; surely, the man would be more used to an energetic dance, one of which the blond was not accustomed to. Instead, Feliciano took one of Ludwig's hands in his own, placed the other on his broad shoulder, and expectantly glanced at the man.

"Aren't you going to lead?"

Slightly flustered, Ludwig rested a hand on Feliciano's waist. "Yes, of course. I'm sorry."

"Don't be!"

With the Italian wearing his bright smile, the two of them enjoyed their long dance together. Neither of them were a step out of place, or ever missed a beat, and they hardly broke eye contact. Ludwig, too, held a smile of his own, finding happiness in the company of the Italian. Soon enough, Feliciano grew tired, and demanded to dance on Ludwig's toes. After another ten minutes or so of the new position, the two decided they would find Kiku and inform him that they were going home. Of course, with Ludwig driving.