Fic; Sick musings; Germany/N. Italy; Axis Powers Hetalia
Title: Sick musings
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 5000+/-
Pairing/Characters: Germany/N. Italy, mentions of others.
Warnings: none (maybe fluff).
Summary: Feliciano, a sick Ludwig realizes, is always in his mind.
A/N: I love how utterly confused Germany is about his half of Italy, and I love his slightly dere side. I regret nothing.
The Italian’s words (while incredibly annoying at times) are, at least, always sincere, that much he knows.
“I love you more than pasta!”
It touches him, somehow.
Hearing things like that had become something he actually cherishes; Feliciano, after all, annoys his way to you. And, he is willing to admit that having someone worrying over him instead of them just assuming he’ll just carry on doing things forever is nice. It even helps him focus on some days.
It’s probably dangerous that he is thinking of Feliciano right now. Isn’t he supposed to be the reliable one?
He blames the headache from hell he has. The documents in front of him are basically unintelligible to his brain at this point.
He misses the sound of his study’s door opening, and the person looking at him. He doesn’t react the second time either, until the sound of papers being moved and the smell of pasta coming from the kitchen come to him.
Feliciano puts a hand on top of his own, and only then he realizes how tightly he was holding his pen.
“Germany? I made pasta~” Feliciano says “just the way you like it! Let’s go eat?”
Feliciano’s voice makes him wince, even if he is, for once, not being loud. He can’t even snap at him. For once, he doesn’t deserve it (lately he seems to be less loud sometimes, if still just as annoying; progress is progress, he thinks) and not to mention his own voice would make it worse.
He nods, resigned. If the last two hours were wasted, it makes no sense stay now. Maybe some rest will help. He tries to stand up, but his head throbs and he falls down to his chair again, holding his head with one hand.
“Ludwig!” Feliciano says, kneeling in front of him, holding his other hand tightly between his own “let’s get you to your bedroom right now, I’ll take our dinner there,” he says, and then starts to ramble “I know Ludwig doesn’t like to eat in bed, but just this once please let go, I’ll clean, I promise, and…”
“Feliciano…” he interrupts, sighing, “very well, let’s go” he says, standing up, relieved because the pain feels at least manageable now. Feliciano blinks at him, and not letting go of his hand (unaware as he is of the touch, walking on a daze), walks with him to his bedroom.
“Will Ludwig be okay?”
He nods. He starts to move towards one of his drawers, but the brunette beats him to it and handles him some of the clothes he uses to sleep.
Feliciano leaves then, and he discards his clothing, changing with extra care. This kind of thing, he thinks, is exactly why he wanted to keep working. Nobody knows when the next cold or sickness will strike, and he’s tired of that.
“Ve~” Feliciano comes back, entering the room precariously balancing two trays “here it is!” he puts them in the bed and Ludwig barely has time to snatch the glasses before a mess could be made.
Feliciano apologizes loudly, hurriedly mixing Italian and English, stopping abruptly when he sees Germany grimace. He frowns a little and reaches out for the glasses himself, settling them aside.
He then touches his temple, and moves his thumb soothingly.
“Ludwig’s been working too hard, right?” he murmurs, looking at him in a sad way Germany doesn’t quite get.
“It needs to be done,” he says, trying to ignore the way his head aches “the current state of things is absolutely impossible to accept, you know that”.
“B-but,” Italy throws himself onto him, somewhat managing not to spill the contents of the plates. “It’s making Germany feel really bad” he hugs his neck and wraps his legs around him. “I want things to get better, too” he says “but not if Ludwig will have to suffer, I don’t want things to be like that” he gives a little sob and clings harder.
Ludwig is taken aback, and awkwardly hugs Feliciano with one arm, wordlessly trying to console him. Instantly hugging is not his style, but his head… He isn’t really good at this, that much has always been obvious, but at least he has an idea of how to handle the Italian.
“Feliciano…” he says, and doesn’t continue until he’s sure he’s got his attention. “This… something must be done,” he finds it hard to say what he wants, his head still killing him. “But, ah… if… it makes you feel better, I’ll make sure not to overdo it from now on, ok?” he pats his head, awkwardly, but that’s a more usual gesture (they have shared the aftermath of many battles after all, and many times he has consoled the Italian over silly things too; lack of pasta, a sad movie or song, things like that) and the Italian calms himself a little, looking up at him.
“Really? You really promise?”
“I promise.”
“Yay!” he squeezes his neck and nuzzles him happily. “Ve, ve, let’s eat, let’s eat. We don’t want the pasta to go all cold and soggy and yucky, right?”
He is not actually hungry (his head hurts too much for his stomach to actually demand food) but he knows he needs to eat. There’s little more than been on his stomach, since, he remembers with a wince, he ended up postponing his lunch as to not interrupt his work pace.
He eats small bits, grateful because Feliciano is always trying to find new recipes more to his tastes. It’s actually delicious, not that he expected otherwise. He has the odd impulse of congratulating Italy, but squashes it down, blaming his sickness.
He empties half of the plate before Feliciano speaks again.
“Wait,” he says “now that you eat something, take this,” he handles him two pills “sleeping with such a headache would be too hard, right?”
He swallows them, even though he wants to use an entire package, if only because his head feels that bad.
“And now this~” Feliciano says as Ludwig looks up. He grabs the German’s face with both hands and kisses his forehead. “Now Ludwig will definitely feel better soon!”
Ludwig flushes, not really knowing how to respond.
“Grandpa always did that,” Feliciano rambles on without noticing Ludwig’s blush, “and it always worked, so now I’m sure you’ll feel better!”
“Mmm, yeah,” he says awkwardly. “Actually, I’d like to rest, now” he moves his tray off his lap, and settles his back against the wall behind him.
“Ve!” Feliciano nods, as he finishes Ludwig’s share, his own long gone. “Ludwig should rest, I’ll take this downstairs,” he says, but stops at the door. Germany misses his worried look. “Can I stay later?” he asks, lowering his head and looking particularly shy, something unusual in him.
Ludwig blinks; he’s unaware of how used he is to that happening (Italy and bed have become something that he simply lumps together lately… perhaps that bears some thinking, his mind supplies). He doesn’t even object nowadays. “I don’t mind,” he says.
“Yay! I’ll be right back, then.”
Resting his head on his pillow, he dozes off.
A few minutes later, his bed creaks. A faint smell of soap reaches him, and he feels fingers tangling on his hair. It’s relaxing, for the most part, and he sighs. The movement stops at that, but it starts again when he grows quiet.
The Italian kisses his forehead again, and then slowly moves, curling up next to him, his palm resting slightly on his chest. In some part of his mind, Germany thinks it feels oddly intimate, despite years of sharing the bed more often than not.
More on auto-pilot than anything, he moves to get himself comfortable, always with Feliciano’s comfort in mind, and sighs again when he crawls closer, now resting his head on his chest.
Ludwig remains annoyingly conscious for a few moments, before he falls into a deep, dreamless sleep.
xxxxxxxxxx
The next day, he wakes up to the sound of birds chirping outside and the sun (he guesses, since it’s quite bright already, even with the curtains) already out; he’s worn out, but he’s definitely feeling better.
“Ve~ is Ludwig awake?”
Ludwig looks down. Italy, much to his surprise, is, first, awake, and second, wearing pants. He wonders if he really looked that sick the previous night.
With a start, he realizes how close they are. There have been other times when he woke up to discover himself keeping the other man close, but he always wakes up first, and Feliciano sleeps deeply enough that he can move him without having to worry about that. He moves away hastily, and Feliciano blinks at him before stretching himself.
“Ah, Ludwig was holding me so tight I thought he was still in pain,” he turns around to face the German “but you look so much better than yesterday, ve~”
The words ‘holding me so tight’ seem to echo in Germany’s mind for a long, painful moment. He blushes hotly.
“Is Germany actually okay? You’re very red…”
“Ah, yes. I. Just…”
Feliciano puts a hand on his forehead, interrupting him. “Ve, it seems you’re okay… Are you feeling better? Is the room too hot? Should I open a window?”
“No. It’s okay. And yes, I am feeling better…” a pause. “Thank you, Feliciano”. Ludwig notes how Feliciano’s face seems to light up at that.
“Germany praised me, ve~!” He looks downright delighted. “If there’s anything I can do to help, I’ll do it!” he says, sitting up. “So, if Ludwig ever feels sick again, please, please tell me, okay?”
Well… he supposes it isn’t a bad thing in the end. Feliciano did take good care of him, after all. So he nods.
“Yay!” jumping, Italy hugs his neck, almost sending them back to bed.
They stay like that for a moment.
“Ve, you know, Ludwig?”
“What?” He pats his friend’s head, feeling incredibly awkward (as usual) with Feliciano clinging to him while his own arms are hanging on his sides. Damn Feliciano’s affectionate nature.
“I worry about Ludwig when he is sick,” Italy’s body becomes somewhat heavier on him, and Germany certainly does not like that tone in which the Italian speaks (he has come to realize there’s a difference between the usual, over-reacting, melodramatic worry he displays to people he considers close and a certain, hollow tone he uses sometimes. Few things manage to make his chest twists like that tone, the one he is using at the very moment) “I worry so very much, ve…”
Before he can think about it, his arms go around Italy. For a split second, Italy’s hold around his neck goes loose, before he clings again.
“Italy… I promised, yesterday. But I- we’ll- for a while, there’s no telling if a cold will come, or at what times. That’s… that’s how things are at the moment. But, I, um, I will try my hardest to avoid… worrying you,” he says, lamely. If they weren’t so… close at the moment, he’d probably be covering his face with both hands to hide his nonsensical blush. Words… No, explaining things like these (how he somehow means to console him even though he probably will not like what Germany will say), things he can’t understand, definitely isn’t his strong point. “I will not ask you not to worry, because we’re… friends, but, I…”
Italy suddenly lets go of him. “Ve, Germany… you need to worry about yourself. I’ll worry anyway, you know? Because Ludwig is precious to me! And… ve, ve! You know? I’ll work hard too! So if Germany needs help, I’ll be able to give it to him!” And even if I wasn’t able to, I still would, he thinks, smiling at the memory of his brother and Spain a few years ago. With that, he grabs both of Germany’s hands between his own.
Germany is uncomfortable for a split second, but Italy doesn’t notice. Sometimes, he thinks it’s wrong to let Feliciano’s soft (yet sometimes surprisingly strong) hands hold his own. And Italy does it quite often; it’s not unusual for him to cling to his arm or hand on their way to World Meetings, or while doing every day activities. Moving his thumb, he smiles at Germany.
“But today~” Feliciano continues “today, Ludwig… let’s take it easy, okay? I don’t want you to overwork yourself so soon after you got better. In fact, in fact~” he bounces out the bed (missing Germany giving his hands an odd look) “let’s eat outside?” he says excitedly, at the same time he tugs at the curtains to show that, like Ludwig thought, the sun is already out and high on the sky.
He’s distantly aware that he should be worrying because he slept so much. He tells himself he isn’t because he was exhausted and needed it, therefore it wasn’t necessarily a waste of time, even if that barely covers a third of the reasons why.
“Italy…” he begins to protest, despite himself.
Feliciano is back on bed after what it seemed like two large jumps. “Please, Ludwig? Please? I’ll make a quick snack for you right now and I’ll cook lunch since it’s already a bit late for breakfast and, and after you eat you can help me clean if you want so we can come back and find the house clean just the way you like it, besides, when it’s with you, chores are fun, even if you can be quite strict, but that’s you and I like you just fine the way you are and-”
“Feliciano,” he says, once again finding himself thinking that, if it were anyone else, he should be feeling insulted (he wonders if being touching and somewhat insulting at the same time is an Italian thing, or if it’s just Feliciano - South Italy is all insults to him so it’s probably just another mysterious, Feliciano thing). He sighs deeply, pushing his hair back to his usual hairstyle. Feliciano is giving him a look not unlike those his dogs give him when they want another snack. Thing is, he can refuse them. When it’s Italy, he’s found he can’t. He sighs again, and feels the corners of his mouth move upwards in a slightly self-deprecating smile, feeling amusement apparently only Italy is capable of making him feel. “Fine, we’ll go,” he says as Feliciano cheers “but,” he says, and has the odd impulse (which he thankfully manages to control) to pat the Italian’s head when he slumps back in bed as if expecting some kind of rejection “we’ll go downstairs together. It’s not fair to have you do all the work, especially when I’m feeling better already.”
With a (very) cheerful “okay!” Feliciano jumps him again, giving him two kisses, one on each cheek, running out the room before Ludwig can even process things.
“I’ll go ahead, veee~” he yells as he runs downstairs, sounding extremely cheerful and, Ludwig has to admit it, happy.
He stays there for a second, trying to will the blush on his cheeks down. “Italians,” he sighs, shaking his head.
He stands and stretches, testing his muscles. There’s some tenseness on his body, but it will most likely go after he moves a little. After all, he was sitting for most of the day yesterday, and slept like a log. He stretches some more, taking his time. He has time until Feliciano gathers things.
As he reaches his door, he can distantly hear Italy sing. It’s a silly song, about circles and the Earth, but it brings back memories of the first years of his acquaintance with the Italian.
He doesn’t know if he did it on purpose back then, after giving up on trying to drag him away from his desk and plans for the next day, but often, he could hear his voice, a song that, if not cheerful, at least carried a sense of hope. He didn’t understand Italy much back then (and much to his chagrin, he has made little progress in all the years they had known each other), but sometimes he thought the song was a way to try and make him know he was there, that he wasn’t alone. Feliciano doesn’t usually seem smart, not in the traditional sense, but there’s something about him that goes beyond that; he has witnessed it, he has been on the receiving end of that… kindness enough times to know first-hand. It’s almost like he has an instinct to spread his joy, his own calmness. He’s grateful for that, and will always be.
He finds himself blinking, not aware he is already outside his room, almost at the stairs. Why is he analyzing Italy, again?
“Germany, Germany~” Feliciano comes up, running and tripping. He stumbles onto him with an “oof, sorryyy…” as he hugs his waist, looking up with a blinding smile. “Ve~ Germany~ I took a shower already, and I tried to be quick so you can shower too~ Ve, ve~” he rubs his wet hair on his chest, apparently even more hyperactive than before.
“I see, Italy,” he pats the Italian’s head slightly. “Then I will shower myself. It won’t take long, so… I guess you’d like to start preparing the kitchen?” Feliciano nods. “Is there anything in particular you have in mind?” he asks, knowing Italy probably has a mini-feast in mind already.
“I want to make something with Germany’s chocolate!” he says, dreamily, looking quite like a child
“Italy,” he scolds lightly “we can’t have just chocolate for lunch”
Italy stops, his brows furrowing as if he’s thinking hard. “Pasta?” he asks then.
Germany’s palm meets his face.
Feliciano looks around, trying to think of something else. “We can just make sandwiches?” he asks hopefully.
“It sounds fine for a meal outside,” Germany agrees.
“I’ll go prepare the kitchen then, Ludwig!” He makes a salute and runs off, making Germany sigh. “He can’t be so happy just because we’re eating outside…” he murmurs to himself, going to the bathroom.
xxxxxxxxxx
Italy sees Ludwing come back to the kitchen, and runs excitedly to his side. “Germany~ let’s get started, sí? We can eat a little bit while we make them.”
Nodding, Germany waits until Italy carefully lays the ingredients in the table. He blinks when he notices Italy never asks where things are anymore, but doesn’t dwell on that, instead focusing on following the Italian’s instructions.
His people (and he) are quite fond of Italian cooking, that much is obvious. It’s kind of… fascinating, watching the usually spacey Italy with such a focused face, his movements precise (for the most part, he knows he needs to keep an eye on him anyway), his usual attitude changing.
“Ludwig~” Italy says, turning out with a smile “cut the bread for me, yes?” he asks, separating the cheese and cutting some tomatoes.
“Triangular shape, right?” Germany asks.
“Sí, sí~ I’m so glad Ludwig remembers!”
With a slight flush, Germany begins his task. Knowing Italy’s appetite, he cuts plenty of slices.
“Oh~ Germany is always so precise” Italy says, sneaking on him from behind, trying to look at Ludwig’s work. “These are perfect!” he exclaims, clasping his hands together, a big smile on his face.
Barely avoiding the odd impulse to rub his neck, Germany feels his cheeks heating up again. “Yeah, well…”
“I love cooking~” Feliciano says cheerfully “but I love it even more when I can cook for Germany! I’m always so happy to see Germany and his people enjoying my food, you know?”
“Y-you are-” Germany stutters, a bit taken aback. There’s a weird feeling on his chest - he wants to tell Italy that he loves his food and it’s absolutely delicious. “You are…” he says, trying to put his thoughts in order “… an outstanding cook when you put your mind into it, Italy,” he manages to say.
Italy drops the knife he was using to cut the cheese, turning to him with tears on his eyes. “Really, Germany? You really mean it?” he cries, throwing himself at the unsuspecting blond.
Caught of guard by his tears, Germany barely has the reflexes to catch the Italian. He can’t help but think his reaction is a bit over-the-top, but he pats Feliciano’s head nonetheless, making an affirmative sound. Feliciano himself pushes himself off him, just as he was starting to think things were becoming awkward, tears already dried.
Smiling brightly, Feliciano spins around, going back to cutting the ingredients. “Let’s finish cooking, si~?”
“Ah, yes. Tell me what you need me to do, Italy.”
“Ve!” he nods “see this? Help me cut it!”
“Very well. Like this?”
“Yes, yes,” he nods again “grazie, Germany!”
Ludwig unknowingly smiles, and Feliciano has to blink his gaze away from that.
xxxxxxxxxx
With a basket in each hand (meal and dessert), Ludwig walks behind a cheerful Feliciano (who is swinging the bag with the bottle of wine and the beer for him) eyeing him warily. He knows better than to think he will drop such an expensive wine, but each time the bag makes a full circle he’s extremely tempted to snatch the bag of his hands.
The walk is silent for the most part, except for Feliciano’s occasional humming.
“Ve, Ludwig, are we close to the park?”
“Yes. We should see it when we turn around the corner just now.”
“Yay!” Feliciano starts running “Germany~ hurry up!”
Sighing, Germany complies. At least, his body feels less stiff already.
“Germany! Over here~!” Feliciano waves sitting under a tree. Ludwig gets there quickly, sitting next to the Italian. He’s kind of relieved to sit down, actually. “Ah, Italy… give me some beer, please,” he says, feeling his throat dry thanks to the heat.
“Um! But don’t drink that much now, yes, Germany?” handing him a can, Italy smiles “Ludwig can really drink so much sometimes…” he looks pensive for a second “at least you’re a better drunk than your brother…” he muses, opening a basket and getting a sandwich.
Ludwig sighs. Some people think even England is a better drunk than his brother when he goes all out. The last time Gilbert drank that much, he ended up giving half the world (quite literally, in this case) a view of Hungary’s underwear, confused the older Italian brother for the younger and managed to piss Spain off in what is reminded as one of the greatest moments in the history of drunk Nations by some, and all around made Austria apparently materialize a piano out of thin air to express his disgust. “He can be quite hard to handle. It’s a wonder he knows what restraint is at all at times.”
Watching the troubled expression on Ludwig’s face, Feliciano knows he’s remembering that last time and laughs. “Ah, but my brother was so happy for days after that…” he takes a sip of wine. “After he calmed down though…” he adds as an afterthought.
He obviously does not voice the thought, but Germany can’t help but think that is pretty weird to imagine. “Italy,” he says instead “why are you sitting like that? It will hurt later.”
Italy looks down at himself. He’s indeed sitting seiza style. “Japan says it’s a proper way to sit, ve. I like it! Kiku always gives me lessons when I go visit. Japan’s culture is so interesting!” he says, smiling a grabbing another sandwich.
Feeling his lips twitch upwards a little, Germany shakes his head, finally grabbing a sandwich. He’s been on Japan with Italy, watching him ask Kiku about everything and anything. Taking a bite, he’s very happy to see they turned out all right.
The conversation goes through mundane topics after that. Talk about bosses and people in their government come and go, and Italy makes a comment about definitely going to congratulate Angela (the name slips before he can’t help it, and he laughs nervously) later, and thoroughly distracts Germany when he makes a sour face about Feliciano and Lovino’s boss. He doesn’t want Germany to stress out about that anymore!
Sandwiches and chocolate go away fast, as expected. When Italy, really full but also really wanting that last piece, stretches out to grab it, he groans. “Ouch,” he falls, falling back into his previous position “ve, Germany was right, I’m still not used to this…”
“You should move,” Ludwig says, handing him the last piece of chocolate.
With another groan, the Italian moves, suddenly resting his head on Germany’s lap, chocolate on mouth. He stretches, his legs obviously relieved of pressure.
Trying to pretend he’s not one step away from blushing furiously, Ludwig just looks down for a second, avoiding Feliciano’s gaze when he smiles up at him.
“Ve~ I’m so full. We should cook together more often!”
“It’s… not such a bad idea.”
“Um! We really should!” Feliciano is quiet for a moment, before he grabs one of Germany’s hands, idly playing with it.
“I-Italy?” he asks, really blushing now.
“Hmm?”
“Why are you…?”
“Germany has really nice hands!” he says, threading their fingers together. “They’re manly and strong, and I like them so much,” he beams. “And he’s letting me touch them a lot today~ I like that a lot, you know?”
Embarrassed, Germany splutters something incoherent.
“Ve, Ludwig? You’re very red!” Feliciano bolts up. “But we’re in the shadow… are you feeling bad again? Should we go to your house?” he panics, his eyes filling with tears. “This was a bad idea, right?”
“N-no, Italy. I’m fine. It… it is hot here, but some fresh air was what I needed,” he manages to say, trying to will his blush down.
“But we should go back anyway. Germany should rest more, sí?”
“It’s not a bad idea, I suppose,” he agrees, touched because of his friend’s worry.
Grabbing a basket each, they pick up the little garbage around them, thinking about taking care of that on their way.
“Ludwig isn’t lying to me, right?” the Italian asks as they walk.
The German turns around to him, a bit confused. “No,” he says “I’m feeling remarkably better. And I wouldn’t want to waste your efforts taking care of me, Italy.”
“Germany!” Feliciano puffs his cheeks “you should take care of yourself for you, not because of the others!” Much to Germany’s chagrin, his eyes fill with tears again at a surprising speed. “Ve, you’re always thinking about how you should feel better to help or work, and not for you!”
Ludwig stares, taken aback. “Italy, ah… I didn’t mean it like that” he will never admit it, but Italy’s hurt look always makes him panic a little. “I mean, yes, I don’t like having to miss work, and it would be ungrateful of me to lie and end up imposing myself on you further, but… I will not lie about how I feel.”
“It’s not that, ve! I-I’m happy if there’s anything I can do to help Germany, so please, don’t think that…” he pouts, his bottom lip sticking out. “Are you really not going to lie to me, Germany?”
A much hidden part of Germany thinks that he looks cute. He quickly ignores the thought. “Really,” he finally answers.
“Good,” blinking away the tears, he grabs Germany’s arm with his free one. “Germany works so hard sometimes… it really worries me. Germany should really get out and have fun once in a while.”
“You should try to work seriously once in a while,” he replies good-naturally, and is admittedly relieved when Italy lets out a guilty “ve~”, his eyes closed and his tongue sticking out.
Sometimes, he has the feeling there is something behind Italy’s serious moments, but he dares not ask. Italy will tell him if he wants to, he thinks. It’s the pace of their relationship, gradually getting to know the other. There’s no need to hurry.
Fortunately, Italy is completely back to his cheerful self once they make it to the house.
“Ve~ Germany, let’s take a siesta, yes~?”
“I am not taking my clothes off,” he says automatically, his brain always putting what’s first, first.
“Eh?” Italy asks, his puppy eyes in place. “B-but that way, you will not enjoy siesta like you should…”
It’s an argument they always have, and Ludwig loathes admitting that, as far as keeping score goes, they are pretty equal about who wins. It seems, Ludwig thinks, cursing with all his heart whatever makes him so eager to comply when he uses that face… the scale will tilt to Italy’s side today. It would be fair, he thinks, since Italy was actually very helpful for the day. “Would… would wearing my underwear be acceptable?” he asks, feeling slightly humiliated.
“I guess…” Italy answers, tilting his head “I don’t understand why Germany is so shy, though.”
Shy, he thinks, incredulous. It’s more about decency. “Let’s go,” he says, sighing because he knows how futile it would be to try to argue that point.
By the time they make it upstairs, Italy is already naked. Ludwig walks purposely behind, his eyes glued to the floor as he picks up the trail of clothing left behind the Italian.
Feliciano is blissfully covered by the time he himself strips, and he goes into bed with a strange sense of disbelief.
“Sweet dreams, Germany!” Feliciano says, glomping him before snuggling and apparently falling asleep.
Sighing, Ludwig covers himself properly, and spends a few minutes willing his body to relax. He feels… good, actually. There was good food; good beer… and he really hadn’t spent some time with Feliciano outside work (or lunch breaks between work) in quite some time. He sneaks a look at the Italian’s sleeping face, but averts his eyes quickly, feeling a bit like an idiot for doing that.
He stares at the roof, trying to sort out the avalanche of feelings going through him. He knows he has a habit of musing non-stop of things he can’t quite get, and that Feliciano is one of the most puzzling people he’s ever met, but he somehow feels like the Italian has been sneaking into his thoughts a lot.
Just as he’s trying to get into his skull that it’s most likely because Feliciano was there with him all day, the Italian shifts and hugs him tighter, and he lets out a sigh, unable to hide a tiny smile as he pinches the bridge of his nose. It’s not the time to dwell on that again.
He has all the time in the world to do that.
And with that thought on his head, when he falls asleep, his dreams are rather sweet, as Italy wished them to be.
A/N: Guess who remembered sh has a writing journal! \o/;;; I started to write this waaay back then, when Angela Merkel was re-elected, hence the little comment about her, because of a very amusing RP of a friends I stalked, in which Germany quite nearly died upon finding out Feliciano was on a very inappropriate *gasp* first-name basis with her. And gave her flowers from time to time. Indecency at its best, you guys *gasp*.
Also, Feliciano is speaking about the events in "In just 2 minutes you can grasp the exterior of the European economy!" when he says that he would surely help no matter what, just like his brother.
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 5000+/-
Pairing/Characters: Germany/N. Italy, mentions of others.
Warnings: none (maybe fluff).
Summary: Feliciano, a sick Ludwig realizes, is always in his mind.
A/N: I love how utterly confused Germany is about his half of Italy, and I love his slightly dere side. I regret nothing.
The Italian’s words (while incredibly annoying at times) are, at least, always sincere, that much he knows.
“I love you more than pasta!”
It touches him, somehow.
Hearing things like that had become something he actually cherishes; Feliciano, after all, annoys his way to you. And, he is willing to admit that having someone worrying over him instead of them just assuming he’ll just carry on doing things forever is nice. It even helps him focus on some days.
It’s probably dangerous that he is thinking of Feliciano right now. Isn’t he supposed to be the reliable one?
He blames the headache from hell he has. The documents in front of him are basically unintelligible to his brain at this point.
He misses the sound of his study’s door opening, and the person looking at him. He doesn’t react the second time either, until the sound of papers being moved and the smell of pasta coming from the kitchen come to him.
Feliciano puts a hand on top of his own, and only then he realizes how tightly he was holding his pen.
“Germany? I made pasta~” Feliciano says “just the way you like it! Let’s go eat?”
Feliciano’s voice makes him wince, even if he is, for once, not being loud. He can’t even snap at him. For once, he doesn’t deserve it (lately he seems to be less loud sometimes, if still just as annoying; progress is progress, he thinks) and not to mention his own voice would make it worse.
He nods, resigned. If the last two hours were wasted, it makes no sense stay now. Maybe some rest will help. He tries to stand up, but his head throbs and he falls down to his chair again, holding his head with one hand.
“Ludwig!” Feliciano says, kneeling in front of him, holding his other hand tightly between his own “let’s get you to your bedroom right now, I’ll take our dinner there,” he says, and then starts to ramble “I know Ludwig doesn’t like to eat in bed, but just this once please let go, I’ll clean, I promise, and…”
“Feliciano…” he interrupts, sighing, “very well, let’s go” he says, standing up, relieved because the pain feels at least manageable now. Feliciano blinks at him, and not letting go of his hand (unaware as he is of the touch, walking on a daze), walks with him to his bedroom.
“Will Ludwig be okay?”
He nods. He starts to move towards one of his drawers, but the brunette beats him to it and handles him some of the clothes he uses to sleep.
Feliciano leaves then, and he discards his clothing, changing with extra care. This kind of thing, he thinks, is exactly why he wanted to keep working. Nobody knows when the next cold or sickness will strike, and he’s tired of that.
“Ve~” Feliciano comes back, entering the room precariously balancing two trays “here it is!” he puts them in the bed and Ludwig barely has time to snatch the glasses before a mess could be made.
Feliciano apologizes loudly, hurriedly mixing Italian and English, stopping abruptly when he sees Germany grimace. He frowns a little and reaches out for the glasses himself, settling them aside.
He then touches his temple, and moves his thumb soothingly.
“Ludwig’s been working too hard, right?” he murmurs, looking at him in a sad way Germany doesn’t quite get.
“It needs to be done,” he says, trying to ignore the way his head aches “the current state of things is absolutely impossible to accept, you know that”.
“B-but,” Italy throws himself onto him, somewhat managing not to spill the contents of the plates. “It’s making Germany feel really bad” he hugs his neck and wraps his legs around him. “I want things to get better, too” he says “but not if Ludwig will have to suffer, I don’t want things to be like that” he gives a little sob and clings harder.
Ludwig is taken aback, and awkwardly hugs Feliciano with one arm, wordlessly trying to console him. Instantly hugging is not his style, but his head… He isn’t really good at this, that much has always been obvious, but at least he has an idea of how to handle the Italian.
“Feliciano…” he says, and doesn’t continue until he’s sure he’s got his attention. “This… something must be done,” he finds it hard to say what he wants, his head still killing him. “But, ah… if… it makes you feel better, I’ll make sure not to overdo it from now on, ok?” he pats his head, awkwardly, but that’s a more usual gesture (they have shared the aftermath of many battles after all, and many times he has consoled the Italian over silly things too; lack of pasta, a sad movie or song, things like that) and the Italian calms himself a little, looking up at him.
“Really? You really promise?”
“I promise.”
“Yay!” he squeezes his neck and nuzzles him happily. “Ve, ve, let’s eat, let’s eat. We don’t want the pasta to go all cold and soggy and yucky, right?”
He is not actually hungry (his head hurts too much for his stomach to actually demand food) but he knows he needs to eat. There’s little more than been on his stomach, since, he remembers with a wince, he ended up postponing his lunch as to not interrupt his work pace.
He eats small bits, grateful because Feliciano is always trying to find new recipes more to his tastes. It’s actually delicious, not that he expected otherwise. He has the odd impulse of congratulating Italy, but squashes it down, blaming his sickness.
He empties half of the plate before Feliciano speaks again.
“Wait,” he says “now that you eat something, take this,” he handles him two pills “sleeping with such a headache would be too hard, right?”
He swallows them, even though he wants to use an entire package, if only because his head feels that bad.
“And now this~” Feliciano says as Ludwig looks up. He grabs the German’s face with both hands and kisses his forehead. “Now Ludwig will definitely feel better soon!”
Ludwig flushes, not really knowing how to respond.
“Grandpa always did that,” Feliciano rambles on without noticing Ludwig’s blush, “and it always worked, so now I’m sure you’ll feel better!”
“Mmm, yeah,” he says awkwardly. “Actually, I’d like to rest, now” he moves his tray off his lap, and settles his back against the wall behind him.
“Ve!” Feliciano nods, as he finishes Ludwig’s share, his own long gone. “Ludwig should rest, I’ll take this downstairs,” he says, but stops at the door. Germany misses his worried look. “Can I stay later?” he asks, lowering his head and looking particularly shy, something unusual in him.
Ludwig blinks; he’s unaware of how used he is to that happening (Italy and bed have become something that he simply lumps together lately… perhaps that bears some thinking, his mind supplies). He doesn’t even object nowadays. “I don’t mind,” he says.
“Yay! I’ll be right back, then.”
Resting his head on his pillow, he dozes off.
A few minutes later, his bed creaks. A faint smell of soap reaches him, and he feels fingers tangling on his hair. It’s relaxing, for the most part, and he sighs. The movement stops at that, but it starts again when he grows quiet.
The Italian kisses his forehead again, and then slowly moves, curling up next to him, his palm resting slightly on his chest. In some part of his mind, Germany thinks it feels oddly intimate, despite years of sharing the bed more often than not.
More on auto-pilot than anything, he moves to get himself comfortable, always with Feliciano’s comfort in mind, and sighs again when he crawls closer, now resting his head on his chest.
Ludwig remains annoyingly conscious for a few moments, before he falls into a deep, dreamless sleep.
xxxxxxxxxx
The next day, he wakes up to the sound of birds chirping outside and the sun (he guesses, since it’s quite bright already, even with the curtains) already out; he’s worn out, but he’s definitely feeling better.
“Ve~ is Ludwig awake?”
Ludwig looks down. Italy, much to his surprise, is, first, awake, and second, wearing pants. He wonders if he really looked that sick the previous night.
With a start, he realizes how close they are. There have been other times when he woke up to discover himself keeping the other man close, but he always wakes up first, and Feliciano sleeps deeply enough that he can move him without having to worry about that. He moves away hastily, and Feliciano blinks at him before stretching himself.
“Ah, Ludwig was holding me so tight I thought he was still in pain,” he turns around to face the German “but you look so much better than yesterday, ve~”
The words ‘holding me so tight’ seem to echo in Germany’s mind for a long, painful moment. He blushes hotly.
“Is Germany actually okay? You’re very red…”
“Ah, yes. I. Just…”
Feliciano puts a hand on his forehead, interrupting him. “Ve, it seems you’re okay… Are you feeling better? Is the room too hot? Should I open a window?”
“No. It’s okay. And yes, I am feeling better…” a pause. “Thank you, Feliciano”. Ludwig notes how Feliciano’s face seems to light up at that.
“Germany praised me, ve~!” He looks downright delighted. “If there’s anything I can do to help, I’ll do it!” he says, sitting up. “So, if Ludwig ever feels sick again, please, please tell me, okay?”
Well… he supposes it isn’t a bad thing in the end. Feliciano did take good care of him, after all. So he nods.
“Yay!” jumping, Italy hugs his neck, almost sending them back to bed.
They stay like that for a moment.
“Ve, you know, Ludwig?”
“What?” He pats his friend’s head, feeling incredibly awkward (as usual) with Feliciano clinging to him while his own arms are hanging on his sides. Damn Feliciano’s affectionate nature.
“I worry about Ludwig when he is sick,” Italy’s body becomes somewhat heavier on him, and Germany certainly does not like that tone in which the Italian speaks (he has come to realize there’s a difference between the usual, over-reacting, melodramatic worry he displays to people he considers close and a certain, hollow tone he uses sometimes. Few things manage to make his chest twists like that tone, the one he is using at the very moment) “I worry so very much, ve…”
Before he can think about it, his arms go around Italy. For a split second, Italy’s hold around his neck goes loose, before he clings again.
“Italy… I promised, yesterday. But I- we’ll- for a while, there’s no telling if a cold will come, or at what times. That’s… that’s how things are at the moment. But, I, um, I will try my hardest to avoid… worrying you,” he says, lamely. If they weren’t so… close at the moment, he’d probably be covering his face with both hands to hide his nonsensical blush. Words… No, explaining things like these (how he somehow means to console him even though he probably will not like what Germany will say), things he can’t understand, definitely isn’t his strong point. “I will not ask you not to worry, because we’re… friends, but, I…”
Italy suddenly lets go of him. “Ve, Germany… you need to worry about yourself. I’ll worry anyway, you know? Because Ludwig is precious to me! And… ve, ve! You know? I’ll work hard too! So if Germany needs help, I’ll be able to give it to him!” And even if I wasn’t able to, I still would, he thinks, smiling at the memory of his brother and Spain a few years ago. With that, he grabs both of Germany’s hands between his own.
Germany is uncomfortable for a split second, but Italy doesn’t notice. Sometimes, he thinks it’s wrong to let Feliciano’s soft (yet sometimes surprisingly strong) hands hold his own. And Italy does it quite often; it’s not unusual for him to cling to his arm or hand on their way to World Meetings, or while doing every day activities. Moving his thumb, he smiles at Germany.
“But today~” Feliciano continues “today, Ludwig… let’s take it easy, okay? I don’t want you to overwork yourself so soon after you got better. In fact, in fact~” he bounces out the bed (missing Germany giving his hands an odd look) “let’s eat outside?” he says excitedly, at the same time he tugs at the curtains to show that, like Ludwig thought, the sun is already out and high on the sky.
He’s distantly aware that he should be worrying because he slept so much. He tells himself he isn’t because he was exhausted and needed it, therefore it wasn’t necessarily a waste of time, even if that barely covers a third of the reasons why.
“Italy…” he begins to protest, despite himself.
Feliciano is back on bed after what it seemed like two large jumps. “Please, Ludwig? Please? I’ll make a quick snack for you right now and I’ll cook lunch since it’s already a bit late for breakfast and, and after you eat you can help me clean if you want so we can come back and find the house clean just the way you like it, besides, when it’s with you, chores are fun, even if you can be quite strict, but that’s you and I like you just fine the way you are and-”
“Feliciano,” he says, once again finding himself thinking that, if it were anyone else, he should be feeling insulted (he wonders if being touching and somewhat insulting at the same time is an Italian thing, or if it’s just Feliciano - South Italy is all insults to him so it’s probably just another mysterious, Feliciano thing). He sighs deeply, pushing his hair back to his usual hairstyle. Feliciano is giving him a look not unlike those his dogs give him when they want another snack. Thing is, he can refuse them. When it’s Italy, he’s found he can’t. He sighs again, and feels the corners of his mouth move upwards in a slightly self-deprecating smile, feeling amusement apparently only Italy is capable of making him feel. “Fine, we’ll go,” he says as Feliciano cheers “but,” he says, and has the odd impulse (which he thankfully manages to control) to pat the Italian’s head when he slumps back in bed as if expecting some kind of rejection “we’ll go downstairs together. It’s not fair to have you do all the work, especially when I’m feeling better already.”
With a (very) cheerful “okay!” Feliciano jumps him again, giving him two kisses, one on each cheek, running out the room before Ludwig can even process things.
“I’ll go ahead, veee~” he yells as he runs downstairs, sounding extremely cheerful and, Ludwig has to admit it, happy.
He stays there for a second, trying to will the blush on his cheeks down. “Italians,” he sighs, shaking his head.
He stands and stretches, testing his muscles. There’s some tenseness on his body, but it will most likely go after he moves a little. After all, he was sitting for most of the day yesterday, and slept like a log. He stretches some more, taking his time. He has time until Feliciano gathers things.
As he reaches his door, he can distantly hear Italy sing. It’s a silly song, about circles and the Earth, but it brings back memories of the first years of his acquaintance with the Italian.
He doesn’t know if he did it on purpose back then, after giving up on trying to drag him away from his desk and plans for the next day, but often, he could hear his voice, a song that, if not cheerful, at least carried a sense of hope. He didn’t understand Italy much back then (and much to his chagrin, he has made little progress in all the years they had known each other), but sometimes he thought the song was a way to try and make him know he was there, that he wasn’t alone. Feliciano doesn’t usually seem smart, not in the traditional sense, but there’s something about him that goes beyond that; he has witnessed it, he has been on the receiving end of that… kindness enough times to know first-hand. It’s almost like he has an instinct to spread his joy, his own calmness. He’s grateful for that, and will always be.
He finds himself blinking, not aware he is already outside his room, almost at the stairs. Why is he analyzing Italy, again?
“Germany, Germany~” Feliciano comes up, running and tripping. He stumbles onto him with an “oof, sorryyy…” as he hugs his waist, looking up with a blinding smile. “Ve~ Germany~ I took a shower already, and I tried to be quick so you can shower too~ Ve, ve~” he rubs his wet hair on his chest, apparently even more hyperactive than before.
“I see, Italy,” he pats the Italian’s head slightly. “Then I will shower myself. It won’t take long, so… I guess you’d like to start preparing the kitchen?” Feliciano nods. “Is there anything in particular you have in mind?” he asks, knowing Italy probably has a mini-feast in mind already.
“I want to make something with Germany’s chocolate!” he says, dreamily, looking quite like a child
“Italy,” he scolds lightly “we can’t have just chocolate for lunch”
Italy stops, his brows furrowing as if he’s thinking hard. “Pasta?” he asks then.
Germany’s palm meets his face.
Feliciano looks around, trying to think of something else. “We can just make sandwiches?” he asks hopefully.
“It sounds fine for a meal outside,” Germany agrees.
“I’ll go prepare the kitchen then, Ludwig!” He makes a salute and runs off, making Germany sigh. “He can’t be so happy just because we’re eating outside…” he murmurs to himself, going to the bathroom.
xxxxxxxxxx
Italy sees Ludwing come back to the kitchen, and runs excitedly to his side. “Germany~ let’s get started, sí? We can eat a little bit while we make them.”
Nodding, Germany waits until Italy carefully lays the ingredients in the table. He blinks when he notices Italy never asks where things are anymore, but doesn’t dwell on that, instead focusing on following the Italian’s instructions.
His people (and he) are quite fond of Italian cooking, that much is obvious. It’s kind of… fascinating, watching the usually spacey Italy with such a focused face, his movements precise (for the most part, he knows he needs to keep an eye on him anyway), his usual attitude changing.
“Ludwig~” Italy says, turning out with a smile “cut the bread for me, yes?” he asks, separating the cheese and cutting some tomatoes.
“Triangular shape, right?” Germany asks.
“Sí, sí~ I’m so glad Ludwig remembers!”
With a slight flush, Germany begins his task. Knowing Italy’s appetite, he cuts plenty of slices.
“Oh~ Germany is always so precise” Italy says, sneaking on him from behind, trying to look at Ludwig’s work. “These are perfect!” he exclaims, clasping his hands together, a big smile on his face.
Barely avoiding the odd impulse to rub his neck, Germany feels his cheeks heating up again. “Yeah, well…”
“I love cooking~” Feliciano says cheerfully “but I love it even more when I can cook for Germany! I’m always so happy to see Germany and his people enjoying my food, you know?”
“Y-you are-” Germany stutters, a bit taken aback. There’s a weird feeling on his chest - he wants to tell Italy that he loves his food and it’s absolutely delicious. “You are…” he says, trying to put his thoughts in order “… an outstanding cook when you put your mind into it, Italy,” he manages to say.
Italy drops the knife he was using to cut the cheese, turning to him with tears on his eyes. “Really, Germany? You really mean it?” he cries, throwing himself at the unsuspecting blond.
Caught of guard by his tears, Germany barely has the reflexes to catch the Italian. He can’t help but think his reaction is a bit over-the-top, but he pats Feliciano’s head nonetheless, making an affirmative sound. Feliciano himself pushes himself off him, just as he was starting to think things were becoming awkward, tears already dried.
Smiling brightly, Feliciano spins around, going back to cutting the ingredients. “Let’s finish cooking, si~?”
“Ah, yes. Tell me what you need me to do, Italy.”
“Ve!” he nods “see this? Help me cut it!”
“Very well. Like this?”
“Yes, yes,” he nods again “grazie, Germany!”
Ludwig unknowingly smiles, and Feliciano has to blink his gaze away from that.
xxxxxxxxxx
With a basket in each hand (meal and dessert), Ludwig walks behind a cheerful Feliciano (who is swinging the bag with the bottle of wine and the beer for him) eyeing him warily. He knows better than to think he will drop such an expensive wine, but each time the bag makes a full circle he’s extremely tempted to snatch the bag of his hands.
The walk is silent for the most part, except for Feliciano’s occasional humming.
“Ve, Ludwig, are we close to the park?”
“Yes. We should see it when we turn around the corner just now.”
“Yay!” Feliciano starts running “Germany~ hurry up!”
Sighing, Germany complies. At least, his body feels less stiff already.
“Germany! Over here~!” Feliciano waves sitting under a tree. Ludwig gets there quickly, sitting next to the Italian. He’s kind of relieved to sit down, actually. “Ah, Italy… give me some beer, please,” he says, feeling his throat dry thanks to the heat.
“Um! But don’t drink that much now, yes, Germany?” handing him a can, Italy smiles “Ludwig can really drink so much sometimes…” he looks pensive for a second “at least you’re a better drunk than your brother…” he muses, opening a basket and getting a sandwich.
Ludwig sighs. Some people think even England is a better drunk than his brother when he goes all out. The last time Gilbert drank that much, he ended up giving half the world (quite literally, in this case) a view of Hungary’s underwear, confused the older Italian brother for the younger and managed to piss Spain off in what is reminded as one of the greatest moments in the history of drunk Nations by some, and all around made Austria apparently materialize a piano out of thin air to express his disgust. “He can be quite hard to handle. It’s a wonder he knows what restraint is at all at times.”
Watching the troubled expression on Ludwig’s face, Feliciano knows he’s remembering that last time and laughs. “Ah, but my brother was so happy for days after that…” he takes a sip of wine. “After he calmed down though…” he adds as an afterthought.
He obviously does not voice the thought, but Germany can’t help but think that is pretty weird to imagine. “Italy,” he says instead “why are you sitting like that? It will hurt later.”
Italy looks down at himself. He’s indeed sitting seiza style. “Japan says it’s a proper way to sit, ve. I like it! Kiku always gives me lessons when I go visit. Japan’s culture is so interesting!” he says, smiling a grabbing another sandwich.
Feeling his lips twitch upwards a little, Germany shakes his head, finally grabbing a sandwich. He’s been on Japan with Italy, watching him ask Kiku about everything and anything. Taking a bite, he’s very happy to see they turned out all right.
The conversation goes through mundane topics after that. Talk about bosses and people in their government come and go, and Italy makes a comment about definitely going to congratulate Angela (the name slips before he can’t help it, and he laughs nervously) later, and thoroughly distracts Germany when he makes a sour face about Feliciano and Lovino’s boss. He doesn’t want Germany to stress out about that anymore!
Sandwiches and chocolate go away fast, as expected. When Italy, really full but also really wanting that last piece, stretches out to grab it, he groans. “Ouch,” he falls, falling back into his previous position “ve, Germany was right, I’m still not used to this…”
“You should move,” Ludwig says, handing him the last piece of chocolate.
With another groan, the Italian moves, suddenly resting his head on Germany’s lap, chocolate on mouth. He stretches, his legs obviously relieved of pressure.
Trying to pretend he’s not one step away from blushing furiously, Ludwig just looks down for a second, avoiding Feliciano’s gaze when he smiles up at him.
“Ve~ I’m so full. We should cook together more often!”
“It’s… not such a bad idea.”
“Um! We really should!” Feliciano is quiet for a moment, before he grabs one of Germany’s hands, idly playing with it.
“I-Italy?” he asks, really blushing now.
“Hmm?”
“Why are you…?”
“Germany has really nice hands!” he says, threading their fingers together. “They’re manly and strong, and I like them so much,” he beams. “And he’s letting me touch them a lot today~ I like that a lot, you know?”
Embarrassed, Germany splutters something incoherent.
“Ve, Ludwig? You’re very red!” Feliciano bolts up. “But we’re in the shadow… are you feeling bad again? Should we go to your house?” he panics, his eyes filling with tears. “This was a bad idea, right?”
“N-no, Italy. I’m fine. It… it is hot here, but some fresh air was what I needed,” he manages to say, trying to will his blush down.
“But we should go back anyway. Germany should rest more, sí?”
“It’s not a bad idea, I suppose,” he agrees, touched because of his friend’s worry.
Grabbing a basket each, they pick up the little garbage around them, thinking about taking care of that on their way.
“Ludwig isn’t lying to me, right?” the Italian asks as they walk.
The German turns around to him, a bit confused. “No,” he says “I’m feeling remarkably better. And I wouldn’t want to waste your efforts taking care of me, Italy.”
“Germany!” Feliciano puffs his cheeks “you should take care of yourself for you, not because of the others!” Much to Germany’s chagrin, his eyes fill with tears again at a surprising speed. “Ve, you’re always thinking about how you should feel better to help or work, and not for you!”
Ludwig stares, taken aback. “Italy, ah… I didn’t mean it like that” he will never admit it, but Italy’s hurt look always makes him panic a little. “I mean, yes, I don’t like having to miss work, and it would be ungrateful of me to lie and end up imposing myself on you further, but… I will not lie about how I feel.”
“It’s not that, ve! I-I’m happy if there’s anything I can do to help Germany, so please, don’t think that…” he pouts, his bottom lip sticking out. “Are you really not going to lie to me, Germany?”
A much hidden part of Germany thinks that he looks cute. He quickly ignores the thought. “Really,” he finally answers.
“Good,” blinking away the tears, he grabs Germany’s arm with his free one. “Germany works so hard sometimes… it really worries me. Germany should really get out and have fun once in a while.”
“You should try to work seriously once in a while,” he replies good-naturally, and is admittedly relieved when Italy lets out a guilty “ve~”, his eyes closed and his tongue sticking out.
Sometimes, he has the feeling there is something behind Italy’s serious moments, but he dares not ask. Italy will tell him if he wants to, he thinks. It’s the pace of their relationship, gradually getting to know the other. There’s no need to hurry.
Fortunately, Italy is completely back to his cheerful self once they make it to the house.
“Ve~ Germany, let’s take a siesta, yes~?”
“I am not taking my clothes off,” he says automatically, his brain always putting what’s first, first.
“Eh?” Italy asks, his puppy eyes in place. “B-but that way, you will not enjoy siesta like you should…”
It’s an argument they always have, and Ludwig loathes admitting that, as far as keeping score goes, they are pretty equal about who wins. It seems, Ludwig thinks, cursing with all his heart whatever makes him so eager to comply when he uses that face… the scale will tilt to Italy’s side today. It would be fair, he thinks, since Italy was actually very helpful for the day. “Would… would wearing my underwear be acceptable?” he asks, feeling slightly humiliated.
“I guess…” Italy answers, tilting his head “I don’t understand why Germany is so shy, though.”
Shy, he thinks, incredulous. It’s more about decency. “Let’s go,” he says, sighing because he knows how futile it would be to try to argue that point.
By the time they make it upstairs, Italy is already naked. Ludwig walks purposely behind, his eyes glued to the floor as he picks up the trail of clothing left behind the Italian.
Feliciano is blissfully covered by the time he himself strips, and he goes into bed with a strange sense of disbelief.
“Sweet dreams, Germany!” Feliciano says, glomping him before snuggling and apparently falling asleep.
Sighing, Ludwig covers himself properly, and spends a few minutes willing his body to relax. He feels… good, actually. There was good food; good beer… and he really hadn’t spent some time with Feliciano outside work (or lunch breaks between work) in quite some time. He sneaks a look at the Italian’s sleeping face, but averts his eyes quickly, feeling a bit like an idiot for doing that.
He stares at the roof, trying to sort out the avalanche of feelings going through him. He knows he has a habit of musing non-stop of things he can’t quite get, and that Feliciano is one of the most puzzling people he’s ever met, but he somehow feels like the Italian has been sneaking into his thoughts a lot.
Just as he’s trying to get into his skull that it’s most likely because Feliciano was there with him all day, the Italian shifts and hugs him tighter, and he lets out a sigh, unable to hide a tiny smile as he pinches the bridge of his nose. It’s not the time to dwell on that again.
He has all the time in the world to do that.
And with that thought on his head, when he falls asleep, his dreams are rather sweet, as Italy wished them to be.
A/N: Guess who remembered sh has a writing journal! \o/;;; I started to write this waaay back then, when Angela Merkel was re-elected, hence the little comment about her, because of a very amusing RP of a friends I stalked, in which Germany quite nearly died upon finding out Feliciano was on a very inappropriate *gasp* first-name basis with her. And gave her flowers from time to time. Indecency at its best, you guys *gasp*.
Also, Feliciano is speaking about the events in "In just 2 minutes you can grasp the exterior of the European economy!" when he says that he would surely help no matter what, just like his brother.