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Assistant: Title: Hit Me Up
        Author: Kafkaia Kafkaia 
        Chapter: 1/2 
        Summary: Ludwig wants nothing more than to find his voice — literally. Struggling with selective mutism and the guilt of his past mistakes, he’s drawn to the debate club not for competition, but for connection. Especially when a certain bright-smiled boy named Feliciano is involved. But joining isn’t as easy as it sounds. In a quiet world filled with loud thoughts, can Ludwig learn to speak up for who he is now… not who he used to be?ORLudwig is mute, but he really wants to join the debate club because of a certain *ahem* attractive Italian. When they make friends, he is ecstatic. However, when things start to spiral out of control for Ludwig, he's not sure what road in life he wants to take anymore...TW: POTENTIALLY OFFENSIVE CONTENT. DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE EASILY OFFENDED.
        Contents: Chapter 1: Mute
    

    


      
        
          IMPORTANT!!HOW TO READ:- This fic is part of a series called Triple Elegy- There are 3 works - Hit Me Up (this one), BALALAIKA and CHINCHIRO RHYTHM (if you don’t see BALALAIKA or CHINCHIRO RHYTHM yet that’s because I haven’t finished writing them up)- Start with ch.1 of Hit Me Up, than ch. 1 of BALALAIKA, then ch. 1 of CHINCHIRO RHYTHM, then move on to ch. 2 of those fics- It’s fine to not read the other fics if you aren’t interested in them but there will be some context you will have missed and there will be a VERY long wait before the next chapter of this fic (because schedule applies to ALL THREE fics together, not a different schedule for each fic) SCHEDULE:- I will try to post every week for two weeks and then a one week gap before the cycle starts again- Sort of like those webtoon authors if you read webtoons- I MIGHT not be able to work up to this (;-;) but I’ll let you know if I change the schedule :D FOR MY AMERICAN READERS:- This will be written in the English school system — nursery, primary school, secondary/high school, sixth form and college/uni/apprenticeship- I attended an all girls Grammar School, so that’s where my high school knowledge comes from. So, if you’re from England and thinking that this is inaccurate, that’s probably why- I also lived in Scotland before moving to England for the 11+, so some stuff from school I might have taken from there, oopsies Well… enjoy! :)
            
            (See the end of the chapter for  more notes.)
            
      
  

  
  
    
    He tried. He really did. But it never worked out. Ludwig always wanted to be part of the debate club. Most people participated in it because they liked arguing (in a professional manner), or they wanted to become a lawyer when they grew up. But Ludwig simply wanted to be able to express himself — the one thing he had never been able to do. Feliciano being in it was just an added side bonus. Every day, he walked up to his locker, and his face heated up when he saw that boy’s stupidly bright smile, laughing with his brother or with his friends. He was an effortless charmer (something Ludwig could never be). Ludwig could only stare dumbly, mouth slightly ajar, whenever that happened. Luckily for his tiny ego, no one ever noticed. The debate club wasn’t overly popular, but it wasn’t one of those dead clubs with barely two regular attendees. There were five weekly participants — give or take one or two due to sick days every so often — a pish-posh dude called Arthur (although he was off for the time being for cancer-related reasons); an obnoxiously enthusiastic guy called Alfred; Yao, a sixth-former who Ludwig didn’t really know; Arthur’s brother, also a sixth-former, Alistair; and Feliciano. Arthur was the one who started the club up, and he was very passionate about keeping it running. Some days, Ludwig would watch their sessions from the door, fascinating at the carefully selected facts to back up a specific argument, marvelling at the confidence emanating from the room. Even if they weren’t assigned an argument to back that they truly believed in, they would still work hard to support it in the best way they could. Ludwig really, really wanted to join the club, but… …he had selective mutism. When he was in lower high school*, Ludwig wasn’t a… “good” kid. In fact, you could say he was a bully. He found out that Francis was gay and dating another guy and was absolutely disgusted. From how he was brought up, liking the same gender was an abhorrent thing, so he, with lack of a better way to cope with his hatred, sought Francis out and hit him with his 30cm plastic ruler. It shattered with the force of the strike, cutting his arm and badly bruising his shoulder. Ludwig was immediately take to the headteacher, and was thoroughly reprimanded for his actions, but Ludwig didn’t feel sorry in the slightest. In fact, when his parents were called to the school, they defended him, saying that “it is only right to protect this zone from evils like gay men.” However, the next day, Ludwig was pelted in the hallway with various stationary. His classmates shouldered him roughly when he walked by them, and no one wanted to talk to him, though Ludwig strongly considered himself to have acted correctly under the given circumstances. Even when his friends left him to comfort Francis, he held onto that belief. They’d call him a “N@z@,” because his great grandfather worked for Hitler. Eventually, no one would even look his way, work with him, sit with him. No one wanted to be associated with him. No one wanted to be associated with the bully, the homophobe, the great grandson of a N@z@. He hid in the bathroom and cried for the first time in years. Later that week, Francis came up to him in the playground, at a small corner on the field where the teachers never went. He was smirking, and his friend, Arthur, was there with him, face hard and serious as stone. He walked up to Ludwig, raised his fist and punched him. There was silence at first. Ludwig slowly raised a hand to touch his bleeding cheek. How long ago had it been since someone physically hurt him? Well… Papa used to. But not anymore. Francis looked smug, flexing his — Ludwig hoped — sore knuckles. “Liked that?” he sneered. “N@z@ m@th@rf@ck@r.” “I’m not a N@z@,” Ludwig muttered, not that it helped Francis’s perception of him. It didn’t matter. He was a — what was that word again? — homophobe. That was N@z@ enough for anyone. Arthur snorted, and that was the first time Ludwig ever heard him make a noise, bar all the times he sucked up to the teachers, greeting them cordially as he entered the classroom, offering to retrieve something for them if they ever needed it, answering all their dumb questions even when he had no clue what the answer would be. Ludwig mustered a glare. “Do you have something to say?” “Not at all,” Arthur replied, voice dripping with artificial honey. “By the way,” he added, “you’re bleeding.” “F@ck!” Ludwig yelled. “You think I can’t feel that? F@ck!” A tear started to roll down his face. He tried to cover it up, but, by the look on Francis’s face, he had seen it already. “Aww,” he cooed. “Poor N@z@. Crying like a baby.” He crouched down. “Did daddy not give you enough attention when you were little?” “Wh-What…?” Ludwig was lost for words. “Of course not. Shut up! F@gg@t!” Francis flinched, and Arthur put a protective arm around him. It made Ludwig feel a big better, knowing he could hurt him back. "What? Scared of words? Little twink's hyperventilating because of some features of a vernacular?" "You..." Francis pulled his elbow back to punch him again. Ludwig winced before the blow even came, and his body's four other senses momentarily shut off as he saw the grass poking at his eyeballs, and only when he could taste the blood in his mouth did he realise that Francis was finished beating him. It's like an Uno reverse card, he thought grimly, spitting onto the grass. When he had the energy to sit up again, he did so, head reeling, and he nearly fell right back onto his side. Francis sighed. "Right," he mumbled. "I would hit you more — I'd make you feel two hundred times the pain I felt that day — but fortunately for you, my fists can only take so much bruising. Although, it'd probably be worth it, seeing you all beat up and bleeding from my dainty little fingers." He winked. "Au revoir~" Passive aggressive freak, Ludwig thought as Francis and Arthur walked away, the former yapping away like he hadn't just beaten up another classmate. It was the last thought he ever had before he burst out sobbing, running to hide behind a car in the parking lot. He stayed there until the end of break. ——— “Hey, Ludwig?” His younger brother, Gilbert, was standing at the door.. Their father didn’t like him very much, because he was a complete softie. Ludwig sort of resented that weak side of him, but he supposed Gilbert was a decent brother. “Mm? What d’ya need?” Gilbert started fidgeting with his sleeve collars. That was never a good sign. “I was wondering… Were you…  Have you checked the year 8 group chat?” Ludwig frowned. “No. I haven’t.” He paused. “Why?” “Nothing,“ his brother replied all too fast. “How do you even know what’s going on in the Year 8 group chat anyways?” Ludwig pressed. “You’re in the year below me.” “E-Elizaveta showed me.” “What did she show you?” Where Ludwig expected an immediate answer, there was instead a placid silence. Then, “… I think it’s best if you see for yourself.” Gilbert closed the door. Okay… Ludwig whipped out his phone and quickly tapped in his passcode. What kind of drama is going on there? He ended up wishing Gilbert never mentioned it in the first place. There was a LOT of messages. As Ludwig scrolled up, he kept catching fleeting mentions of his name, and his stomach began to churn in anxiety. Finally, he found two videos. They each had quite a lot of 😳, 🤣 and 🤮 reactions respectively. They didn’t have any visual, only audio, so Ludwig wondered how it could garner so much drama. He tapped play on the first video and instantly recognised the sounds. Crying. The drip of a leaky tap. And a voice, low, close to the microphone, saying, “Listen, it’s f@ck@ng Ludwig. He’s crying.” “Sh@t!” Ludwig nearly threw his phone across the room. “Sh@t! Sh@t! SH@T!!” “Language!” his mother yelled from somewhere in the kitchen, but he knew she didn’t give two craps about his swearing habits. “My… mein Gott.” He let a breath out through his teeth. “How did they…?” He tapped on the next video. This one was visual. It was recording when Francis was beating him up, all the way to when he ran to hide behind a car to cry. “What the… f@ck@ng…” Time to find out who’s behind all this, he decided, tapping out to check the name, only to find… “Who the hell is ‘PinkPrissy3?’” It turned out, this “PinkPrissy3” had been in the group chat for a long time, because Ludwig couldn’t find at which point they were added. Why is their name not their actual name!? Ludwig decided to look at the messages after the videos. Maybe there’d be a sympathiser. But NO, life dealt him a sh@tty hand. 
  Francis: LOL serves him right XD
 
  Alfred: And bro calls us crybabies 😂😂 
 
  Kiku: Imagine if he sees this
 
  Francis: He doesn’t have any friends anymore ergo he is now chronically online and DEFINITELY on his phone watching as we speak 
 Ludwig looked at the time next to the message. You wrote that twenty minutes ago, he snarked at an imaginary Francis. See, I’m not as chronically online as you think I am! He swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat, but something hard still lingered. “Th-There’s no way…” He flipped back onto his bed and groaned. “Sh@t…” Why? He asked himself as something constricted in his chest. Why would anyone do this? It’s just a… I only… Even I wouldn’t do something as sh@tty as this… f@ck… “…Ludwig?” Gilbert knocked tentatively on the door. The door creaked slightly. “I’m coming in.” “GET OUT!!” he screeched. There was a brief pause of silence, apart from Ludwig’s heavy breathing. “Did you watch it?” “I said GET OUT!!” Ludwig screamed, jumping off his bed and slamming the door closed. He heard his brother’s hesitant footsteps and collapsed to the floor, ugly tears flowing down his face. “SH@T!!” ——— He decided to stop talking altogether. Of course, he still talked with his parents and Gilbert, but that was all in German. He had started to be scared that he had forgotten how to speak English, even if he could still hear, read and write in it. It was the prospect that, if he opened his mouth, he wouldn’t be able to contain whatever came out of it, and he would be humiliated again, that drove him to the decision. Now, as he stared into G16, watching as the members of the Debate Club gathered around a table, chatting happily, a searing hand twinged at his heartstrings and he summoned all of his courage to place his foot past the threshold of the door. F@ck my mutism, he thought to himself. Not gonna stand around just staring at Feliciano any longer! The silence that followed weighed more than the ocean itself. Arthur cleared his throat. “Ludwig? Are you— I think you’re in the wrong room.” He opened his mouth to reply, but closed it when he couldn’t formulate a coherent response. “Don’t bother,” Alistair whispered into his brother’s ear, loud enough for Ludwig to catch what he said. “He’s mute.” “I know that, dimwit,” Arthur whisper-shouted, "I'm in his class!" “Just kick him out.” Alfred rolled his eyes. “Shove him out the door, or something.” To Ludwig’s surprise, Feliciano stood up abruptly, arms crossed. “Guys,” he not-a-whisper-ed, eyes wide and smiling at Ludwig with a face he couldn’t read. “I think here’s here for the club.” A pin dropped on the now-very attractive-looking grass outside, where Ludwig directed his gaze pointedly. He could practically sense the hostility oozing from Arthur’s lips as he made the simple noise of, “Ah.” Feliciano looked around, confused. “Why are you all so quiet?” He motioned to Ludwig and patted his seat enthusiastically. “Come, sit next to me!~” His voice seemed to be overflowing with smiley faces, eyes childish and wild, and Ludwig felt his heart flutter as he took a step forward, and another, and another, and sat himself down on to a seat blessed by Feliciano’s touch. For a second, he was immune to the weight of the awkwardness in the room. Then, Alfred cleared his throat. “So… are we gonna start, or what?” Arthur groaned. “Okay, fine. Yao, you were in charge of coming up with the debate topic.” Ludwig looked at the sixth-former, who hadn’t spoken in the session yet. He was smiling like Feliciano, but it had a practiced fakeness to it. “Yes. I’ve come up with this —“ He paused, and stared at Ludwig for a second too long. Then, the smile turned genuine, almost warm, and, funnily enough, it made Ludwig’s blood run ice cold. “— this idea: Should the Germans still be held in contempt for the events of the Holocaust?” Feliciano’s eyes went wide. He was completely oblivious to the tension in the room. “That’s such a lovely, dramatic topic!” he gushed. “Who’s ’For’? Who thinks they should still be held in contempt?” Not surprisingly, Alfred, Arthur and Alistair all raised their hands, glaring with identical angry faces at Ludwig, who melted slightly into his seat. “So, me, Feliciano and—“ Yao looked down at him, slightly hesitant. “Are you participating?” Ludwig nodded slowly. He could hear Arthur saying loudly to Alfred, “That’s mad! He can’t even talk! That’s debate suicide!” Yao blinked. “That means me, Feliciano and Ludwig are ’Against.’” “Good!” Feliciano exclaimed brightly. “Since there are adequate numbers of participants for both ‘For’ and ‘Against,’ it means we don’t have to go through drawing sticks again!” “That was a traumatic experience,” Alistair agreed, clicking his jaw whilst very unabashedly and obviously staring at Ludwig. “But, we still need a judge,” Alfred pointed out. “I’ll be the judge then!” Feliciano grinned, and Ludwig cringed for his dignity. He hopped over to another seat in the middle of the room. “Since you’re new, Ludwig,” he began, “whenever we have a new topic, the first session is a research session, and the next one is the one where we actually do debate! So, for today, we’ll be doing research and planning up the arguments.” Ludwig nodded, and Yao patted him on the back. He labelled it off as a patronising move. Yao took out his phone and sat down, and they worked in silence. ——— The next week came around fast. Too soon, Ludwig was sitting in the room’s plastic seat again, the same one he sat in last session. Arthur was already stood, a little booklet of notes held in his hand. Feliciano opened his mouth. “‘For,’ please present your main arguments.” “Of course.” Arthur cleared his throat. “Firstly, I would like to address the German in this room.” He motioned to Ludwig, and he clenched his teeth behind his lips, fists gripping his blazer collar tightly. He’s gonna insult me. Arthur took in a breath to continue. “None of what I am about to say is personally directed at you, so please do not take it in a personal or immature manner.” Immature? Ludwig swore in German under his breath. You’re f@ck@ng immature for mentioning my nationality in the first place! “Now that that’s out of the way, I’d like to present my arguments for the topic at hand. “It is widely accepted that the Germans regret and do not condone their past actions, but is this really the case? Though the Germans have made memorials for World War II and have shown their repentance through statues and archives of those the N@z@s killed, it doesn’t mean that they deserve forgiveness. May I remind each and every one of you that the N@z@s killed over six million Jews, not including the many black, Slavic, disabled, homosexual and communist people they prosecuted for not fitting the ‘pure Aryan race’ Hitler had idealised. That is over two-thirds of the Jewish population at that time. We shouldn’t take it lightly. We shouldn’t just have a laugh, drink some beer and pretend we’re all friends. No, those were some horrible people. Why should they be let off the hook so easily? “Now, let’s talk about the World War II memorabilia. Around ten percent of those who collect World War II memorabilia are Germans, but all German collections must be private due to strict laws preventing public display of the N@z@ symbol and legal impositions such as that. It makes one wonder: why would there still be that amount of collections, even though the Germans present such clear shame in their actions of the past? Or do they secretly treasure those times where the Jews, the blacks, the homosexuals, were treated unfairly and unjustly?” “Aaaaand… that’s your time up!” Feliciano stopped the timer on his phone. “Okay, ‘Against,’ it’s your turn! Please present your main arguments!” “Thank you,” Yao stood up before Ludwig could, presumably so that Ludwig had time to prepare. Oh, sh@t, he thought as realisation dawned on him. I’m gonna need to speak. I forgot about that. Oh sh@t, I fumbled so hard. Sh@t! What should I do? He stared up at Yao. He couldn’t hear a word he was saying, his ears were ringing so bad. He felt like one of those anime characters, sweating bullets and shaking in his seat, his mouth a squiggly line and an inner monologue screaming and rambling. ”SH@T!!” “And now, I will pass on to Ludwig.” Ludwig blinked, and Yao gazed down at him expectantly. As he stood, he could feel his heart hurtling about in his ribcage, an angry reminder of the mess he had gotten himself into. Okay… He flexed his papers. He inhaled sharply. He had made up his mind — he had to talk. He was going to. “…” …Only, nothing came out of his mouth. It was open, but he couldn’t say anything. It was as if his past memories had flooded from his brain and solidified in his throat, and he made a weird, spluttering noise, before starting to choke violently. “Sh@t!!” Yao was the first to jump into action. “Ludwig? What’s going on?” “He’s having a panic attack,” Feliciano gasped, jumping from his seat and running to Ludwig’s side, who was busy trying to rip his hair out. His eyes looked as if they were trying to pop right out of their sockets. “Something like this happened before in my old school. The Spanish teacher forced a mute kid to speak and he— he had a panic attack.” “Okay, sh@t!” Alfred yelled. “What are we supposed to do?” “Lug him to Pastoral!” Alistair barked, already taking hold of his arms as Ludwig flailed. “You— uh, Yao, I mean, help me!” Yao rushed over, grabbed his feet, and together they lifted him out of the room. If he had to guess, Alistair wasn’t helping to bring him to Pastoral because of pity. Judging by the expression on his face, maybe it was because of instinct. Maybe he was already used to this kind of thing.Then, as if scripted, Arthur suddenly collapsed to his knees clutching at his… crotch? It probably wasn’t that exact area, since Ludwig couldn’t see very well through a haze of tears whilst also being carried out into the hallway, but he was definitely in pain. Just like me, but in a different form. 
  
    Come to think of it, it’s the fourth day of the fourth month, and it’s the fourth day of the week, Thursday.
  

  
    It’s funny, isn’t it?
  

  
    444…四… 死?
  

  
  

    
      
        
        
          *Lower school in high school involves Y7 and Y8, or 11-13 year oldsYou know what’s happened to Ludwig, but what’s up with Arthur? …Read CHINCHIRO RHYTHM (coming soon~) to find out!HeheOkay... so if you think anyone is out of character, I DEEPLY apologise, I was in the countryhumans fandom before this and found an artist called -Skan- on weibo, and my interpretations of their art of CH characters kind of influenced my writing hetalia... um, sorry guys :D--NOTE!!!--12/16/2025: PLEASE READ THIS IF YOU ARE OFFENDED BY THIS WORK. IT IS COPY-PASTED FROM MY REPLY TO A HATE COMMENT I RECEIVED, AND I WOULD LIKE TO CLARIFY SOME THINGS:I did feel like the fic might have been insulting, but the reason why Yao did it was so that he could give Ludwig a chance to prove that he’s changed (which he has). Also, the disrespect towards the take on the holocaust is stemmed from Arthur’s hatred towards Ludwig, NOT because I am actually trying to downplay that the Germans are not those kind of people anymore. People call Ludwig out on being a Nazi because it’s the best insult they can come up with, and internalised homophobia is a thing.I can understand if you felt insulted by this fic, and I was a little scared of how people might take it, but I can assure you I wrote everything with my best intentions in mind.--END OF NOTE--So! I'm happy that this fic is finally out there. I will try my very best to update regularly (I have no excuse not to, this is the most motivated I've been in a long time and my parents and friends are actually quite nice, seems like the ao3 author curse hasn't caught up with me yet but that might change)My personal headcanon for this world is that Yao sympathised with Ludwig (who is called a Nazi) because people used to make fun of him for being an unashamed communist.Stick around for the next chapter :)'
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