There was something to be said for Feliciano's innate ability to sense when someone wasn't feeling well. Perhaps it was brought to light during that god-awful span of time where the bubonic plague ran rampant in Europe, and Feliciano had told Lovino several times that he was looking a little pale and should try to rest up, but did Lovino believe him? Nooo, and guess who ended up suffering through the illness and was really gross and nasty looking for like, weeks? Yes, that's right. Lovino. The poor soul. If only he had listened.

Now, perhaps this wasn't the closest comparison, considering Feliciano was very certain this was not "Black Death Round Two," that he was witnessing on Ludwig's face, but it was something else, that's for sure. Ludwig was pale to begin with, yet the pale on his face now was that ugly, blotchy pale, and Feliciano could have sworn he noticed a sniffle here and there as Ludwig worked. And of course, Ludwig was working. Of course. It would take some sort of apocalypse to stop that, apparently. Feliciano wasn't bitter, if that's what you're thinking. Not in the slightest.

He was, however, concerned. So, he brought it upon himself to bring a few cold pills and a cool glass of water to Ludwig's desk, placing them discreetly next to the papers Ludwig was jotting on.

"Lud, you look sort of…" Feliciano stopped himself from saying "utterly disgusting and in need of medical attention" and continued, "Under the weather. Take some medicine, would ya?"

Ludwig paused his writing and sat stiffly for a moment, as if remembering where he was. He glanced over at the pills on the desk in bemusement, only to be interrupted by a coughing fit. "Yeah, see, that's…that's what I'm talking about," Feliciano said, taking the pen from his hand as if it was a dead rat, "Take your," A cough, "Take your pills."

As if on cue, Ludwig slumped and burrowed his face into Feliciano's shirt, letting out a muffled groan, and attempted at forming a sentence. Feliciano sighed, and stroked the top of Ludwig's hair, "I have no idea what you just said, but good job for trying!"

At that, Ludwig must have thought that was means to try again, and whined out something that sounded a bit like "I hate this," and, "I'm so sick." To Feliciano's amusement, this also raised Ludwig's voice an octave higher as he whimpered against him. This was a supremely good showcasing of the fact that Ludwig spent far too much time around his dogs as well, Feliciano thought, realizing that the grown man in front of him was in fact whining and nuzzling against him like a rejected puppy. If only the other nations could see big, tough Deutschland now. Ooh. So scary. Tsk.

"Okay, uhm, Lud, how about we take this medicine and then we settle down on the couch with a nice blanket for a nap?" Feliciano asked, struggling to lift Ludwig off of him as Ludwig clung to Feliciano's waist.

"Lud," Feliciano said, "Lud, really. Ludwig. No. Come on. I'll make you soup just…Ludwig, please let go of me. Ludwig, I'm being the responsible one here for once and I don't like it!"

Ludwig mumbled something that sounded vaguely like "Carry me," but there was no way in Hell that was happening. Had he seen Feliciano's arms lately? Had he seen his own arms lately? Feliciano sighed, "I can't carry you, but you can lean on me! That's all right, isn't it? It's just to the couch…"

Apparently this was enough to cajole him, as Ludwig rose from his seat with a bit of effort from Feliciano, who hoisted Ludwig's arm around his shoulder, and supported his back. "You shoulda listened to me when I told you that you were getting sick, Lud," Feliciano chided, "You shoulda listened."

Ludwig merely grumbled in response, and leaned his head on Feliciano's shoulders. Feliciano rolled his eyes, albeit in what Ludwig had coined as a "lovingly appreciative eye-roll," and softly nudged him back.

When they had made it to the couch, and Feliciano had managed to pry Ludwig off of him after a good five minutes of trying, Ludwig sat quietly, wrapped in a blanket and sitting in what looked liked complete concentration, as if he was trying to battle dozing off. "Do you want me to make you soup, or some hot tea? Or would you rather just get some rest?"

Ludwig mumbled, and snuggled closer into the couch. "That…uh," Feliciano said, kicking himself for finding Ludwig's ailing to be a bit endearing, "That's not really the answer I was looking for. I'll just make both, and you can rest there for a minute."

After making sure Ludwig did not need anything else, Feliciano scampered into the kitchen and began boiling water for tea as he waited for the soup to heat up. Every few seconds, he would peer around the corner at Ludwig, making sure the dogs hadn't found an easy prey to jump on in his absence. So far, the only dog to make an appearance was Berlitz, and he stood at attention next to the couch, staring up at his master forlornly. Aster was with Feliciano, asleep in the warm corner of the kitchen, and Blackie was most likely out in the backyard, keeping himself entertained. There was nothing to worry about, Feliciano thought.

As he poured the water for the tea, however, Feliciano heard a whimper. Assuming it was Aster, wanting to taste the soup that had begun to permeate the room, he glanced down. Aster was still asleep in the corner, nowhere near Feliciano's spoiling hands that snuck him food.

"Feliciano…"

In hearing his name, and realizing that the whimper must have been from Ludwig himself, he rushed into the living room. "What's wrong?"

Ludwig had apparently flopped over onto his side, and was staring up at him from the couch, sniffling. Berlitz had curled up at his feet, and was resting his head on Ludwig's legs that were tangled in the blanket. "It's too hot."

Feliciano cocked his head, "Then take off the blanket?"

"Can't," Ludwig whined, "Help."

"You can't take—Oh for…" Feliciano stopped himself, "…I'll help you."

Ludwig's mutterings were assumed to be that of appreciation, otherwise he was looking forward to a soup ladle to the head. Feliciano folded the blanket back up, and set it on top of the couch. "I'm almost done in the kitchen, okay? Let me know if you need anything."

As he went to walk away, something tugged at his pant leg. He glanced down, only to find Ludwig's hand grasping weakly at the fabric. "Do you need something?"

Ludwig nodded, and pulled Feliciano's leg closer, forcing it to kneel on the couch. He brought another hand up and tugged at Feliciano's shirt, pulling him near. This was, Feliciano thought, obviously the Ludwig version of asking for a hug. Feliciano smiled, and wrapped his arms around Ludwig's neck, nestling against his cheek. "Geez, you big lug," Feliciano chuckled, "I'll be back in a second."

He pulled away. Well, at least, he attempted to pull away. He suddenly found himself in a death grip against Ludwig, who was not about to let him budge. Feliciano wiggled against him. "Hey," Feliciano said, "Hey, the soup is probably boiling right now, you know. Uh, and as much as I like you being affectionate, I really need to…"

Ludwig cut him off with a sloppy, what Feliciano perceived as grateful, kiss to the cheek. "Eeeew," Feliciano griped, "Lud, you're sick! Come on, I'll come back and sit with you! Just let go for a second!"

Ludwig complied, despite his clear reluctance, and dramatically flipped over onto his stomach, pressing his face into the couch and letting out a low groan. "Wow," Feliciano said, looking on at Ludwig in a cross between amazement and annoyance, with just a bit of affection, "You're acting sorta pathetic right now."

There was no response, unless you counted Ludwig grinding his face into the cushion after a small round of coughs as a reply. Feliciano took this as a sign to take his leave, and shortly came back with a bowl of soup and a hot mug of tea. He placed it on the coffee table beside the couch, and sat down beside Ludwig, carefully rubbing his back. "Do you want to sit up and eat for a little bit? There's mint tea too. Your favorite," Feliciano said.

Ludwig took in a deep breath, and used what looked to be all his effort to sit up and lean against Feliciano on the couch. He stared forlornly at the bowl of soup, but did not reach for it. Feliciano sighed, and in an effort to get back at him, ruffled Ludwig's hair. "I can feed you," he said, leaning for the bowl, "If that's what you're trying to say."

Apparently this was the wrong answer, because Ludwig slumped back down onto the couch and grunted. "Do you not want to eat?" Feliciano asked, setting the soup bowl back down.

Ludwig shook his head and held out his arms. Feliciano heaved a sigh, but grinned, and complied. "You know," Feliciano said, wrapping the blanket around them as he settled on the couch, "You could have just said this was all you wanted."

Ludwig mumbled out, "Throat hurts."

"Oh. Right. Tea?"

Feliciano waited for a reply, but received none. Not even a grunt or a shake of the head. He glanced back at Ludwig, who had, apparently, managed to fall asleep within those few seconds, and was breathing gently against Feliciano's neck.

He turned to Berlitz, who was still nestled on the couch contentedly. "I worry about your master sometimes, Ber," he said, "But, if he's going to initiate a nap, then I'm not going to refuse it!"

And, with that, Feliciano yawned and settled in against Ludwig, giving in to the fate of catching his cold.