"Erm, yes. Hello, Mr. Vargas," He said as smoothly as he could muster (which wasn't very smooth at all, to be honest).

There was a pause, and then the other man's face lit up into a smile.

"Oooh, you're so formal, Mr. Ludwig. Feliciano's fine! Honestly!"

Feliciano.
Now, Germany might have just passed his high school Latin class with a relatively low score (not going into details here, but it wasn't close to pretty), but even he knew what "Felix" (and with conjugations in Latin, Feli was probably close enough) meant. Happy.
...Lucky.

...He didn't stop to think about the implications, though it was damn tempting.

"Hmmmf. I'd like to keep up the formalities, thank you," He muttered, though it wasn't true.
He had just secretly resolved to himself to drop calling him "Vargas" when he stopped throwing Mister in front of his first name.
Honestly. How classless.
...And yet, oddly adorable.

There was an awkward silence as Feliciano insisted on rocking on the balls of his feet, looking around Ludwig's tiny cubicle with mild interest.
He seemed to take special interest with the bottom of Ludwig's shirt, though he thought nothing of it at the time.

"So, what do you want?" Ludwig asked after a minute, after getting rather anxious about the entire lack of conversation thing. Here he was, coming up to him on his own free will (and probably breaking some law of office code, but it wasn't as if anyone really cared around the office - while the boss himself was an asshole and only Ludwig himself seemed to be able to get along with him, his enforcers were, ah, weak and yielding - if you know what he meant), and the man couldn't even think of something to say.
It was sort of distressing, actually, and Ludwig mentally cursed himself for being useless in social situations.

"Oooh, uhm! Ve, I was just checking up on you! You know, you were out yesterday and I was just wondering and stuff." The other man was smiling again, closing his eyes in what Ludwig perceived to be delight, though he wasn't exactly sure what there was to be delighted about.

He then noticed, with slight dread, that his palms were beginning to sweat a little. Great.

"Thursdays are my day off, you know." Germany muttered, a little more meanly than he had intended.
Feliciano didn't seem to notice, and, in fact, it only widened his smile.

"Oh, good! I'd thought you'd gotten sick or something. I was kinda worried - but I'm all good now that I know that you're okay!" His smile could have put the sun to shame.
...And Ludwig instantly berated himself ruthlessly for thinking like that. God, at this rate, the next thing he was going to do was compare him to a summer day.

He shook the idea out of his head, and was about to ask his companion to leave so that he could reflect on this meeting in private, find out what he was doing wrong, and maybe formulate a million different scenarios and responses three hours after the fact. It probably wouldn't do anything for either side, but it'd make him feel better and maybe give him false hope or a prayer or a terrible case of the shoulda-coulda-wouldas (all of which being, of course, a hundred times better than flat-out refusal or trying to come up with something conductive to say and getting it all wrong).

However, Feliciano himself seemed to notice that he wasn't going to get any conversation out of his coworker, and instead of just standing there for minutes on end and getting slowly disenchanted by the incredibly awkward silence, he simply cleared his throat and said,
"Oh oh oh. I heard you talking really really loud and mean to someone! Who was it, Mr. Ludwig? Were they mean? Was it a prank calling person teenage girl or something?"

"Errm, yes. I think it was. Can't be too sure.... You heard that?"

"Uh, pretty sure the entire the entire office heard that. You were really really loud, don't mind me saying."

"I, erm, apologize for it."