The silence of his study was absolute. Only the faint ticking of the clock upon the wall could be heard. His own measured breaths had lulled to the point of nonexistence, and aside from the occasional scrape of the pen against the paper, or the soft rush as he moved a page to the side, it was utterly quiet.
He had almost forgotten what such complete silence was like.
Feliciano, the nation of Northern Italy, the main occupier of his time, was to be spending a week back home with his brother. The hush within the darkening house was almost foreign to him now.
Yet, at the thought of Feliciano, his breathing hitched noticeably. The cold month of February has been a testing one for him regarding the mad little Italian. His thoughts continued before he could stop them, and he recalled that day.
That awful day. Valentine's Day.
Due to a series of misfortunate misunderstandings, Ludwig had ended up making an utter fool of himself on the particular holiday. He had mistaken Feliciano's actions, namely, giving him red roses, as signs of deeper affection. This, along with panic and bad advice, somehow conspired together to lead him into proposing to his friend and ally. He should have noticed earlier the look of alarm that Feliciano wore. Inevitably, Feliciano answered him, and it was with gentle words that he turned him down. He tried to help clear the confusion and told him everything was alright, but insisted that it would be best if he went to his brother's for a bit while Ludwig pulled himself together.
Still able to feel the shame burning across his face, he shook his head and the heavy, sick feeling of dread sunk into his stomach where he attempted to ignore it. He still wasn't sure what he had been thinking. It had all happened so fast, he had been so flustered. But, no. It was foolish for nations to bother with honest affections. They could marry, they could unite and ally, but these were all things to be done only in the best interest of their people, not for themselves as humans. Not for love. It was foolish.
Ludwig then risked a glance at the clock, which predictably prompted a heavy sigh. It was late. He was tired. But there was more work to do and it was his duty to do it.
Yet, just as he stretched and began to focus on his work again, there was a sudden, loud chime, alerting him to a presence at the front door.
After recovering from the shock, Ludwig frowned.
Kiku did not visit without invitation, or at least formal announcement, and Feliciano was not due back for another a day at the earliest. At such a late hour, Ludwig felt himself much more inclined to ignore the doorbell and go back to work, but something got the better of him, whether it was curtesy or curiosity.
He stood, smoothed his fine hair, and made his way to the front of the house.
His heels tapped against the floor crisply with each step, prompting the opposite hand to lift sharply in time.
Old habits.
Ludwig reached the door and opened it without hesitation, but whomever he might have expected, it wasn't who he saw.
Against the early dark of the winter sky, the tall nation stood defiantly. His dark clothing, his pale flesh. Those incredibly commanding eyes that seemed to freeze him in place.
"Sweden?" Ludwig blinked in utter surprise.
He bowed his head, and when his eyes returned, he saw something in them he had never seen before. He saw the coldness and the strength, but there was something else. Ludwig found he couldn't place it, but it was steadily boring into him. He shifted his stance.
"What can I do for you?" he asked as the howling wind swept between them harshly.
For a moment, it seemed like he was about to speak, but he never did. When this became apparent, he grunted, as if frustrated by his inability to vocalize his thoughts, and then simply undid the buttons of his thick jacket. As it fell open, Ludwig's eyes widened and his lips parted. Even against the black shirt, he could clearly see dark blood wetting his chest.
He might have gasped, the wind might have caught his breath, but he quickly pulled the nation inside and shut the door behind him.
Once inside, the yellow warmth of the lamplight was all but swallowed up by his long coat, its color that of midnight waters. As if to balance the intensity of what he wore, the light cast upon his flaxen hair was reflected as pale gold, and his fair skin warmly received the glow, softening his otherwise striking features. However, as his jacket now hung open, the violently red color that saturated his shirt glinted wetly, and Ludwig swallowed hard.
"I'll call a doctor," he said almost breathlessly, feeling as though he could have fallen asleep on his desk and this sudden situation could have simply been a bizarre dream.
Still, regarding the assumed reality of what was happening, he desired the presence of another. A doctor would do. Ludwig was a nation that had seen his fair share of war, had dealt with plenty of wounds, both his own and others', but it seemed that the Swedish kingdom was losing a lot of blood, although his face gave nothing away. It was almost eerie to look at.
Nations healed quickly, this was true, but it was still important that their wounds were tended to. Falling ill meant worse conditions for their economies.
"No." Sweden said suddenly in that strong, commanding voice, catching his wrist harshly as he began to leave.
The Germanic nation stared at him hard after recovering. "Why not?"
"Just need something to clean it with," he mumbled after a short staring contest, his voice sounding much meeker as he released his arm.
Debating silently, Ludwig eventually reasoned that if the taller man lost consciousness, then he would take him to a hospital, but while he was awake, he would do as he requested.
"I keep some bandages in the kitchen," he told him, and then slowly led the way down the hall.
Behind him, the injured nation kept up, but walked with a slight tremble, as though his knees were threatening to give out. Still, they made it into the kitchen without further incident, and Ludwig pulled out a chair for him to sit on while he fetched the bandages.
The tall kingdom grunted when he sat, the first hint that he was aware of his own pain.
"I have medicine," he told him.
He shook his head, his pale hair rustled slightly as he pushed his glasses up his nose. "Just bandages."
Annoyed by his stubbornness, Ludwig frowned a little, but washed his hands and brought the large, worn box over to the table next to where he sat. Sweden had slowly begun to shrug off his dark coat, but it seemed difficult for him. Ludwig cautiously raised his hand and helped him push it off. The Swede didn't complain, but he looked down.
Nations of pride, they both were.
Before Ludwig would even attempt to comfort him with words, however, he needed to treat the wound. The black shirt he usually wore with a tie was buttoned up normally, but hung awkwardly on one shoulder due to a large tear. It would seem he had been stabbed. Knowing the item would have to be removed, they avoided each other's eyes while Swedish fingers undid the buttons, and then German hands helped to pull the material away fully.
Once he could see the wound fully, Ludwig felt his shoulders relax a bit. It was clean, nothing rough or awkward. It looked like a quick jab from a short knife. Ludwig wondered who could have done such a thing to this quiet nation. But, the blood was still oozing from hole of gaping flesh, despite the way it seemed to be clotting well, considering how far he might have walked. So, Ludwig cleared his throat and began to clean the wound.
He knew his fingers were not gentle.
Every time the Swede winced and his breath caught he muttered an apology, but it was often followed by another grunt of pain. When the wound was clean, the bandaging went on much more smoothly. After only a few minutes of silence, his chest was cleanly patched and blood only dotted the white bandage.
Ludwig stood and went to the sink, rinsing the blood off his hands. Behind him, he heard the Swede let out a heavy breath, and shifted a bit as though he were trying to find a comfortable position. Since he already refused medication, Ludwig headed for the cabinet and drew out a couple of glasses. He glanced over his shoulder and saw those turquoise eyes fixing him with a questioning stare.
"How about something strong to drink?" he offered instead.
The stoic man might have smiled, and gave him a short nod. Ludwig felt himself mirroring the expression and withdrew an unopened, strangely shaped bottle. Swedish whisky.
When he brought it over, the Swede actually laughed. It was a nice sound, coming from deep in his chest with sincere amusement.
"We can go to the living room," Ludwig motioned behind him. "There's a fire going still, and the couch is more comfortable,"
A soft, kind smile touched Sweden's normally blank face, and with a slight grunt he got to his feet, and the two nations moved into the living room.
A golden fire blazed in its small, brick den, content to devour its meal quietly while Sweden sat on the long couch and Ludwig struggled to open the strange container, which was shaped like a cone. He poured its contents, a rich, golden colored whisky, into two glasses. When Ludwig handed him the crystalline glass as he sat beside him, the Swedish nation, with a trace of humor still glinting in his eyes, raised it to him in a silent salute of thanks, and they both drank.
It was a familiar sensation, a blend of tastes that could be described as a mild summer, a hint of sweetness, perhaps something like apples, but with a thicker taste of oak to finish. It left his throat feeling warm and his mouth dry, wanting more. They both drank quietly, tasting and warming, and tasting a little more.
In this light, the Swede looked different. Instead of softening his appearance as the yellow lamplight had done, the fire sharpened his facial features, intensifying them with sharper contrasts. As he regarded him, as discretely as he could, Ludwig couldn't help but feel something akin to admiration. The Nordic nation looked so fierce, even with his obvious wound; his calm motions and measured blinks only served to enhance the image of strength he silently asserted.
They were silent for a while longer, finishing their glasses off in the gilded glow of the firelight while the wind outside howled louder, announcing the arrival of a storm. When they were finished, their eyes eventually returned to each other's, and Ludwig observed that the Swedish kingdom's intense gaze unhindered by the glinting glass of his spectacles. Yet, after a moment, he was able to spot that remaining hint of amusement in those otherwise hard eyes, and felt himself relaxing further.
"So, what happened to you, anyway?" Ludwig finally dared to ask.
Sweden sighed exasperatedly, letting his head fall against the backrest of the couch, and then looked at him sideways.
"Ran into a knife."
Whatever Ludwig had been expecting, it wasn't that. He almost choked on his sudden laughter. Sweden seemed to enjoy his shattered composure, and grinned wryly.
"Didn't even see it comin'." he added, earning a few more laughs before Ludwig got a hold of himself and frowned at him.
"That is not funny."
They both stared at each other sternly for a few seconds before they both broke into wide grins and fresh peals of laughter shook their bodies softly. Ludwig wasn't sure if the alcohol had simply gone straight to his head, or if it was just the lateness of the hour and the oddness of the situation, but he laughed sincerely.
In all honesty, he liked Sweden. The nation was always pleasant to deal with, and was always calm even in dramatic situations. His weather could get a little intense, since not even the German's own dark winter seemed to have fazed the Nordic kingdom, but he liked his mild summers, and his coastlands. When he tried to tell him this, however, the nation sitting beside him suddenly grew quiet again, and stared into his glass.
It took him a moment, but then he noticed a slight red tint to his pale flesh, and with a jolt, realized he'd made him blush with his shameless onslaught of frank complements. In a desperate attempt to move away from what he had just said, Ludwig quickly refilled both of their glasses. A soft thanks was muttered in Swedish, and they both drank.
As they recovered quietly, he thought that the awkward moment might have fully passed, but then he heard the taller man clear his throat after stuttering a bit.
"You know, I, uh…I like you're topography, too," he told him quietly.
Ludwig blushed much harder than the faint pink that had dusted the Swede's face. He was certain his skin turned crimson down to his neck. In a fit of embarrassment, his hand flew to his mouth and covered it, and upon seeing his obvious shock and alarm, the room was suddenly filled with much louder laughter.
"Shut up!" he hissed, swatting at his unexpected guest, although he was still careful not to hit the wound on his bare chest.
He chuckled a little, but Sweden pressed his lips together. The amusement still shone clearly through his eyes, however, and so Ludwig continued to blush.
"Shut up," he mumbled again, draining the rest of his glass urgently.
The hour passed quickly, filled with rich alcohol, a warm fire, and a surprising amount of conversation. However, it wasn't until the clock informed them that it was passed midnight that the Swedish kingdom seemed willing to talk about what had happened to him. The mood settled with the low fire, and Sweden swallowed the last of the amber colored whisky, setting the glass on the table as a single drop wetly caressed its side.
He sighed as he sat back against the couch, shaking his head a little. "Should've seen it coming, I suppose."
Ludwig was quiet, listening intently as he spoke.
"He was my own, working for the government," he explained as he stared into the fire before. "But, he sold what he knew."
Ludwig couldn't conceal his surprise.
The Swede sighed and looked at his chest, and then at Ludwig. "Their betrayal is our pain."
He felt foolish, sitting with his mouth agape, but he couldn't think of anything to say. It was almost hard to imagine anyone could do such an awful thing to such a peaceful nation…to such a peaceful man.
"Sweden-" he began but was stopped.
"You can call me Berwald," he muttered, and then looked down again. "That's my name,"
He smiled inwardly, and in a fit of wanting to comfort the Swede, he reached forward and touched the hand that was lying on the cushion.
"Berwald." his throat seemed to close and his voice came out hardly louder than a whisper.
Nothing followed that word. Somehow, as they looked at each other, something was connected. Something between them seemed to have clicked together almost audibly.
Ludwig stared at him with wide eyes, unsure of what to do, but then the Swede acted.
The taller man leaned forward slowly, bringing their faces close together, and then tilted his head slightly. Ludwig hardly dared to breathe, but he felt his eyes close slowly as if on cue. Their first kiss was slow and almost timid, but surprisingly long. Instead of a quick peck, which could have later been written off as a joke or drunken accident, their lips lingered against each other's purposefully. Ludwig noted the faint taste of the whisky, the surprising softness, and the tender warmth. He felt Berwald (whom he now thought of as such, since he wasn't sure his immediate mind could handle the thought of kissing Sweden) slowly turn his hand over and grasp Ludwig's. The kind, reassuring pressure helped to ground him, as it was beginning to feel that if he opened his eyes, the room would be spinning.
When the Swede pulled back, it took a minute for Ludwig to realize he ought to open his eyes. He did so slowly, watching Berwald sit back farther. He seemed unsure and concerned.
"Sorry," he apologized quietly when the German didn't speak first.
The kiss had his mind spinning wildly out of control.
He had more work to finish. He should have gone to bed much sooner. He knew he should get up early the next morning, but the temptation he was faced with was too much. Ludwig was the nation of Germany and his responsibilities as such were great, but, on a night like this, on a cold, dark night where nothing seemed to exist outside the immediate walls, Ludwig had the power to believe he was only a man.
Ludwig then blushed, but did his best to ignore it. "Don't apologize for things you aren't really sorry for,"
Berwald blinked in surprise, and then began to smile, too, although his smile was no longer so innocent.
The wind thrashed against the house harder, like an angry spirit demanding attention. They both glanced at the window, and then at each other.
"Wonder how long it'll last," Berwald muttered, those distinctive eyes staring directly into his.
Ludwig blushed harder, but was relying on liquid courage to voice his thoughts. "Probably all night. You should stay here…just to be safe,"
Berwald blushed harder, looking like he was about to cough, although he didn't back down from the offer. He was no longer the nation of Sweden in Ludwig's eyes. He too was nothing more than a human. A man whose wounds needed to be treated, whose woes were best drowned by whisky, and whose exposed chest and torso looked absolutely divine in the firelight.
After a few moments of testing him with silence, Berwald simply reached out to him with the hand he had held before.
"Let's go."
Ludwig took his hand, but his brow creased in confusion. "Go where?"
Berwald chuckled deeply before leaning forward and whispering into his ear. "Upstairs."
Ludwig gulped audibly, but decided to leave his sense of formality and procedure there on the couch, and allowed the Swede to bring him to his feet.
It was colder upstairs. They had to stay closer. For warmth.
God, Berwald didn't even look nervous. He didn't stop blushing, and his movements were shy, but didn't stutter and fumble like how Ludwig did. The German almost couldn't hear over the pounding of his own heart.
They managed to make it all the way into his bedroom without any major mishaps, but as soon as they toppled over onto the bed, the Swede stiffened suddenly. At first, Ludwig feared he had touched his wound, but then he looked up and saw that Berwald was staring at something. He followed his gaze, but what he saw made his entire body feel cold.
Lying on the nightstand was a small box. Its lid was opened, revealing an awkward item: a ring with a tomato-shaped gem. The ring he had intended for Feliciano.
Berwald sat up and pulled away from him.
A part of him desperately wished that he had in fact fallen asleep on his desk. The sick feeling in his stomach returned to him tenfold.
"Where is he?" Berwald asked, his voice terrifyingly dark and serious.
"It's not what it looks like," he quickly tried to say, but Berwald turned his head a bit to the side and he fell silent.
"Why isn't he here?" He demanded, his body still as rigid as a statue, his words enhanced with a strange powerfulness.
Ludwig let out a hard breath and looked away. "He…he said no. It was all just a misunderstanding."
The Swedish body beside him jerked in surprise and he felt the weight of those intense eyes on him, but kept looking away.
It was too humiliating. There was too much shame. That awful day…
"I'm sorry."
Ludwig glanced at him and saw he wore an honestly concerned expression. It was sobering.
He sighed. What was he doing? Feliciano had left to give him the time he needed to pull himself together. This was not part of that plan. In fact, he was certain this was in direct opposition to that plan. And besides, he was acting upon foolish, selfish affections. It was not in Germany's best interest that he and Sweden were connected in such a way. He had no right to act this way towards him. He had no right to play pretend, to act as something neither of them were.
He stood and took a few steps towards the door.
"You can sleep here tonight. I'll be down the hall." He told him awkwardly and without looking back.
"Ludwig,"
He didn't want to acknowledge him, but he stopped in the doorway.
"I didn't mean...I just thought, that if you and him were-"
"I understand," he cut him off quickly in an attempt to keep the conversation as short as it could be, eager to get away.
The bed creaked as Berwald stood, obviously not intending to let him leave without everything being explained fully. "Then, why are you leaving?"
Ludwig turned a bit, but didn't look at him directly.
For a moment he was unable to think of a good way to phrase his thoughts, but then just decided that a short and to-the-point statement would probably be best, although it might be received harshly.
"I'm not interested in a one-night stand."
As soon as the statement left his lips, he was mortified. Shit, was that even close to what he'd meant to say?
That was, apparently, the wrong answer. The room seemed to darken with the Swede's anger, and he walked towards him.
Ludwig turned around fully, trying to hold onto a feeling of distance between them, but Berwald didn't seem to care about that. He marched forward until Ludwig could feel the heat radiating from his bare chest and could smell his strong scent. Something like pine...
"…I know." he told him simply.
Ludwig frowned at him, but it seemed to spur Berwald on, and he spoke again before Ludwig could open his mouth.
"Never meant it to be. Never would have come to your for anything like that." He told him, those cold eyes boring into his with more intensity than normal until it seemed like something suddenly broke. "I…I thought that, after what happened downstairs, you and I…"
Ludwig blinked in surprise, and Berwald saw him do it.
"I see. I'm sorry." was all he said and passed him, heading out the bedroom door.
Ludwig stared after him with wide eyes. He didn't turn back, however, and left down the stairs.
He closed his eyes and breathed out, putting his hands over his mouth and tried to figure out what had happened, and what had almost happened. Berwald and he might have…he blushed and coughed. It was hard to believe such a thing now that he was gone. And yet, he said he had known that Ludwig had no intention of engaging in promiscuous sex.
He frowned deeper. What did that mean? It wasn't in either of their nation's interests to become closer…so what, then?
The sound of solid footsteps heading towards the front door reached his ears, and he knew that if he allowed the Swede to leave, it would be as if nothing had ever happened. All the events of the night would be erased, and in the morning this would be a bizarre memory that he would never speak of to anyone. However, it would also mean he would never know what Berwald had meant in saying such a thing…
Ludwig swallowed hard and tried to hold himself in place. He knew it would be best to let this disappear. After all, he had even wished for it before. But, a sudden, powerful need overtook him, and he knew he had no choice.
Berwald seemed to know something he didn't about how all of this worked, how affections between nations seemed to be something else other than what he understood. He needed to know. After everything that had happened, he simply had to know.
Feeling almost as though he was shoved, suddenly and violently by something unseen, he darted out of the room and ran down the stairs. Berwald had his bloody, torn shirt in his hand and was in the process of shrugging his jacket on. Their eyes met, but Ludwig didn't stop moving towards him and Berwald didn't stop pulling his jacket on. That dark jacket, which signified the world beyond his door. If he managed to put it back on, Ludwig knew whatever he had seen before would be gone, lost in the darkness of the winter's night. Somehow, that thought was now horrifying.
"Wait," he ordered gruffly, stomping gracelessly over to him and stopping his actions by force by laying a firm hand on the collar of his jacket and holding it down.
When Berwald was not able to pull the jacket up, he halted his movements, falling completely still and fixing Ludwig with a hard glare.
He stared back, but realized he had prepared nothing to say. There was no way for him to word what he was thinking or feeling.
"Berwald," he said, struggling to just say something. "Wait, please,"
He arched an eyebrow at him slightly, but his eyes were cold and distant. The northern nation, which he had been so close to only a few moments ago, now felt so far away. It was almost physically painful to see.
Come back to me, he felt himself wanted to call. "Don't go,"
Berwald sighed and looked down, unintentionally letting his coat fall lower down his arms, exposing his bare back. "If you don't want this, I understand."
He shook his head hard, feeling like the words were getting stuck in his mouth, crashing into each other and getting all jumbled up.
The tall Swede said nothing. He would wait for him.
"It's not…I mean, it is what," he swallowed, unable to look at him while he said it as his eyebrows lowered to show his frustration. "It is what I want."
He didn't even look close to being convinced, but Ludwig didn't really blame him. After all, he was the one who had made to leave the bedroom, and he was the one who had been surprised when Berwald had confessed that he had gotten the impression of…affection. He had every right to be distrusting. Hell, Ludwig didn't even know what he was sure of anymore.
Still, he was determined to convince him of his sincerity. He didn't know how this would play out, but he knew that he couldn't bear to let him leave. He had made up his mind that far, at least.
"I want you to stay tonight. With me." he coughed, trying to keep his eyes on Berwald's, but he was aware that he was blushing and stuttering and it made him want to look away. "In my bed."
Berwald's hard eyes moved between his, searching for honesty. Perhaps more.
When he spoke, it was harsher. "Change your mind about a one-night stand, then?"
"Well, no." he swallowed, bowing his head slightly. "Er, but you said, you didn't want one either,"
"What do you want?" he asked bluntly, but with a hint of some kind of desperation.
Ludwig released his jacket and looked down further. Everything in his mind was so complicated, and yet, Berwald could ask him things so plainly. It made him feel ashamed he was unable to answer immediately and with the utmost certainty. But, one part of his mind, a less rational part, offered him an answer, and he took it.
"…you, Berwald. I want you."
This answer seemed to interest the Swede, and his eyes softened slightly and his words came to him much gentler as the taller man stepped closer. "For how long?"
His heart seemed to freeze, and then began to race. That's what he didn't know. How could they…?
Berwald looked at him, apparently able to see his helpless lack of knowledge. There was pain in his eyes, but also desire. The latter seemed to win him over, and without waiting for that answer, that fairly important answer, Berwald's shoulders relaxed, and he allowed the jacket to fall to the floor, forgotten.
At this, Ludwig's stomach twisted strangely.
Is this how they would do it? Fool themselves into thinking it was something other than a single night together, when in reality, it could only ever be exactly that? He supposed it wasn't the most farfetched notion he had tricked himself into believing tonight. If he had made himself believe he was nothing more than a man, then he could be with Berwald under the illusion that they could have a relationship. If this was the way their kind had to know love, Ludwig could force himself to accept it.
He breathed out, mixed feelings complicating the already confusing thoughts in his head, but when Ludwig looked up at him, he saw the Swede smiling slightly. He smiled back. He would stay tonight, that much was certain. That much he could take.
"Tyskland." he muttered, reaching out to him. "Ludwig,"
Ludwig eagerly stepped into the embrace, eager to close that distance between them again, and they met each other's eyes intimately before allowing their lips to be sealed together amorously again. This kiss wasn't as soft, it wasn't a testing kiss; it was a kiss of deep assurance, of promise, even if these feelings were forced, in that moment, they became real. Ludwig felt that kiss in every part of his body, warming him, electrifying him.
They kissed and kissed, but with a growing sense of urgency. Now that the immediate concerns had been dealt with, their future falsely secure, Ludwig found himself eager to get back to where they had been heading.
Berwald noticed this, and a playful smirk played about his pink lips, but he refrained from teasing him. Perhaps this was due to his own eagerness, but Ludwig took it as a good sign, and pulled his newly won Swede back to his bedroom. And this time, they stayed.
Ludwig slowly became aware of a wonderful warmth surrounding his body, accompanied by a feeling of perfect calmness, as though all of his inner tribulation was silenced, allowing him to carelessly relax into a state of utter comfort. He stayed in this place, this wonderful, peaceful place, until he was slowly cajoled into the waking world by the simple sound of rhythmic breathing, and eventually by the feeling of someone lightly stroking the skin on his arms, chest, and neck. Ludwig felt so relaxed he thought his physical body was going to melt, but the desire to come back to himself and remember how he had achieved such a wonderful state grew stronger, and after a bit he drew in a deeper breath, and opened his eyes.
"God morgon, älskling." the sweetest words he had ever heard fell from those Swedish lips, which then gently curved into an irresistible smile.
"Guten Morgen, Liebling." he whispered back, smiling as their noses brushed together.
Berwald was there, it had really happened. They had loved, and however illicit the act could be considered. And yet, if he had indeed committed a sin, he didn't feel like it. His mind was instead filled with dim images of Berwald's powerful body. Those broad shoulders, that sinfully tapered waist, an erotically engorged cock…although he might have blushed at the memories, he felt as though he was to treasure them, and not to be repentant or ashamed of them.
He let out a soft sigh. They had indeed loved, and Ludwig couldn't think of anything in his life that had made him feel more whole, or more cherished. Except waking up to this, perhaps.
"How do you feel?" he asked him, those sea-green eyes shining with so much affection Ludwig was slightly embarrassed by its intensity.
Ludwig chuckled deeply when he winced a little as he stretched. "…Well fucked."
Berwald let out a breath of amusement, and pressed a soft, warm kiss to his brow. "Sorry,"
He rolled to his side, bringing them close enough to entwine their legs together, breathing deeply when he was repositioned.
"Don't apologize for things you aren't really sorry for," he told him.
His Swede just laughed quietly and kissed his cheek.
Ludwig grinned wryly as their noses brushed again. They cuddled for a bit longer in silence, just treasuring each other's breathing and natural scent.
Then, Berwald spoke again.
"Jag älskar dig, Ludwig."
Those words shattered his peace.
He awoke, really awoke. The illusory world fell away, and he was the nation of Germany again, just the figure beside him was the nation of Sweden. They would never be able to speak of this to anyone. It would be a dark secret, for the rest of their lives. Berwald had touched him so tenderly and loved him so completely that he had honestly begun to believe that he would stay with him. But, no. He couldn't. It simply couldn't be. They acted on behalf of the best interests of the nations they represented, not on their own emotions and feelings as individuals. Not for love. It was foolish…
Berwald saw his obvious panic and sudden realization, and sat up quickly. He looked confused, as though startled by Ludwig's reaction.
The German swallowed quickly. He had forgotten that it wasn't real. He had let it slip out of his grasp, and now he was embarrassed. His entire body yearned to be pressed close to Berwald's again, to kiss him and touch him…to tell him he loved him back. But no, if Berwald knew he had really fallen for this, what would he think? Would he be upset with him? This was obviously a game the nations were supposed to play, and he was determined not to let his naivety show. Thinking quickly, he wondered how other nations might close this illusion. He decided formality was always good to fall back on.
"Thank you, Berwald, for last night," he tried to say it with his normal composure, but trying to act proper only reinforced his awareness of his current state: naked and still sore.
"Uh," the man beside him reached for his glasses, putting them back on and looking at him again, as though trying to see something clearer. "What-?"
However, before he could form his question, there was a loud chime downstairs, and they both jerked a little, startled. Ludwig bowed his head quickly and leapt from the bed, dressing himself in boxers and house robe. As he headed to the door, he looked back at Berwald again, and bowed his head a bit deeper.
"Er, excuse me, for a moment," he stuttered, and then left the room, shutting the door behind him in something of a panic.
He smoothed his hair back as he made his way down stairs, but several more rings to the doorbell had him nearly sprinting down the steps. He didn't even have time to ponder who it could be or how he would explain his unsightly state before he reached the thick door and opened it.
"Ludwig!"
He was blinded by a sudden flash of wild, red-brown hair, and his arms were pinned to his sides in a tight hug. Italy…
"Ciao! Ciao!" he called excitedly, clinging to him before Ludwig wretched him off.
"Feliciano," he cried in surprise and then looked at him, still feeling like he was too flustered to think clearly. "You're back?"
"Si!" he beamed at him. "Fratello sent me back early,"
"Ah, I see," he swallowed, trying to compose himself.
"Why are you in a robe at this hour?" the Italian asked innocently, bending at the waist to look over at the clock against the wall. "That's not like you,"
Ludwig felt as though he was about to faint from the panic that was flooding through his body. If he found out…
"Ah! Ciao, Mr. Sweden!"
Berwald simply grunted in greeting as he descended the stairs silently behind them. Ludwig turned and saw that he was fully dressed, his coat done up to hide his shirtless-ness, but still, Ludwig felt as though it was painfully obvious. And to the Italian, it apparently was.
"You two…?" he asked, looking between them.
Berwald simply looked at him, and Ludwig didn't react beyond his mouth falling open mutely, attempting to shake his head.
Feliciano laughed loudly and fully, but as Ludwig began to frown at him, he seemed to suddenly shift gears.
"But! Before I forget," he quickly offered him a small stack of papers. "I got these finished at Fratello's,"
Aside from everything else, he took the papers and looked at him in surprise. "You…did?"
"Si!" he beamed cheerfully, saluting with the wrong hand.
"Salute with your right hand," he scolded, but saluted him back.
"Sorry," he giggled, and then glanced at Berwald again before drawing himself up. "But, uh, I think I heard Kiku calling me, I'll see you later, Ludwig!"
Ludwig didn't even have time to get himself to say goodbye before the mad Italian was gone again, the door shut solidly behind him. Silence enclosed the room once again, and once again, it now felt foreign.
"You, didn't want him to know?" Berwald phrased it as a question, but it sounded like an observation.
Ludwig sighed and looked down, his panic slowly subsiding. He was never good with emotions, showing them or hiding them. He so decided he would strive to be as direct as Sweden was, even though he didn't want to ask the question ready on his lips.
"This can't work, can it?" his voice was little more than a whisper as they slowly faced each other.
Berwald stared at him with initial surprise. Those brightly colored eyes looked him over as though he were laid bare before him, and all of his thoughts were there for him to see. Slowly, in the oppressive silence of his home, the tall Swede appeared to begin to piece things together. As he did so, however, his eyes saddened further and further. Eventually, he sighed, and looked away for a moment, as if deciding, before he looked back to him.
"…No. It can't." and yet, those eyes still didn't regain their sense of distance. "But even as nations, we can have our secrets."
Ludwig frowned. "What do you mean?"
He took a small step forward, taking Ludwig's hands in his own, whispering quietly although they were alone. "You are also a man, Ludwig."
Berwald was not a man of many words, but he always chose them carefully. These few words somehow reached him.
Their reason for living was dedicated to their countries, no amount of lies could change that, but there was more to them. Ludwig wasn't only the nation of Germany, he was also a man, and because of this, then he had the right to give his heart to whomever he chose. As his mind put this together, he looked up at the tall Swede for assurance, and after a moment, he received a small, if not patronizing smile.
A secret, then…but a secret was different than a lie. A secret was real. Before, he had hidden behind the idea of a false reality, but this, would mean it wasn't false, just, clandestine. His pulse began to quicken. A secret would mean that what he felt, what he was still feeling, could be real. He could keep these feelings; keep them in a way that wouldn't affect his nation, or his responsibilities. They wouldn't be a normal couple. They couldn't have a normal romance. Ludwig wouldn't wake up beside his Swede every morning and they couldn't exchange kisses while they mumbled sleepy greetings, but they could have something. If he could be both a nation and a man, then he could have both his responsibilities to his state and his private love.
Berwald looked like he was about to laugh. So that's what he had known. Ludwig felt like he wanted to hit himself over the head with a brick for being so stupid, confusing matters that seemed to be so clear to everyone else, but Berwald was looking at him like he was the most endearing thing in the world.
He tried to glare at him, but the Swede smiled wider, causing him to do the same. That smug fucking smile.
It forced a laugh out of him, which Berwald echoed, and they both chuckled at his stupidity before he roughly grabbed the Swede's collar and pulled him close.
"Then…we are a secret," he tried to say it firmly, but it sounded like a question.
Berwald's beautiful eyes were shining with amusement, and he nodded at him, leaning in for a kiss. Ludwig went to him willingly, their lips meeting and sealing fast like some kind of symbolic closing to a deal. An unbreakable contract. If Ludwig thought he had been fucked before, he was certain of it now. At least his Swede was a good kisser.
"So, you'd best get out there and stop your friend from telling everyone your secret." Berwald muttered against his lips before pulling back.
For a moment, his words didn't compute in his mind, but then his eyes widened, as the horrifyingly embarrassing image of Feliciano telling a horrified Kiku some very unexpected news jolted him violently. He turned and ran up the stairs and into his bedroom, changing into his close and yanking on his boots while he was certain he could hear Berwald still chuckling near the door. Surely Feliciano would know better than to tell everyone, right? That thought wasn't met with much hope, and as soon as his feet were booted, he grabbed his hat and ran back downstairs, pausing when Berwald caught him around the waist, demanding another kiss before letting him free.
"Better hurry," he teased him.
"Verdammt!" he snarled before leaving his house, hoping to catch Feliciano before he made it to Kiku's house.
.
Behind him, Berwald shook his head, quietly laughing to himself, wondering if he could in fact catch the smaller man. The small Italian seemed to be able to run rather quickly when he wanted to…
Feliciano entered the large building alongside Ludwig and Kiku, and although he was still tired and wishing to be back in bed, his eyes lit up a little at seeing so many nations gathered together. It was time for another world meeting, and Ludwig wasn't paying attention to anything other than the large stack of papers in his hands. That was, until a cool gaze from across the room where the Nordic nations were speaking together won the German's attention. Ludwig and Berwald looked at each other before Ludwig broke and looked awake, his cheeks tinted red.
Italy almost laughed out loud. Love certainly did come in all different kinds.
The meeting itself was as boring as ever, Ludwig refused to call on him, even when he raised his hand, and he wasn't allowed any breaks to go eat or to nap. Afterwards, however, as everyone exited the conference room, he overheard the other Scandinavian countries speaking to each other, and he realized Berwald wasn't among them.
"They've been talking a lot lately, is that where you think he went?" Denmark was asking no one in particular.
"Perhaps their countries are becoming closer," Finland chimed in.
Norway happened to glance at Feliciano as he walked by, and it made him smile a little. It was just as clear to the Norwegian. And those two thought they were being so sneaky…
As he continued on his way, he caught up with Kiku.
The shorter nation bowed as he approached, but then looked around when he saw Ludwig wasn't with him. "I fear we have left Mr. Germany behind. Do you think we should wait for him?"
Feliciano was unable to contain a short giggle, but he shook his head. "No, no. He, uh, told me not to wait for him. He's going to stay and talk to the other nations."
"Oh. I see." was all Kiku said as they continued on their way, but Feliciano couldn't stop smiling.
His German ally was strange when it came to love, but he knew that already. He also knew that love was not impossible for anyone, even strict Ludwig. The trick was just finding someone who could give him what he needed in the way he needed it. He didn't always understand Ludwig, but perhaps Berwald did, and maybe that was all he needed.