Just mindless fluff, enjoy!
Germany, my Germany. Ever since I met him I have been captivated by his eyes, his smile, him. While he may not be the most romantic man; he doesn't sweep me off my feet or sing to me from the balcony, he shows his love in other, better ways.
I can see it in his eyes, bright blue as if a little piece of sky was trapped in them. When he is angry they swirl like wildfire, or like a storm, raging like the wind. However, when he is happy the are calm, serene, loving. Germany has the most beautiful and honest eyes I have ever seen. To me they are safety, they are happiness.
I can see it in his smile; my stoic German rarely smiles but when he does the world stops. His mouth curves and his eyes crinkle slightly, when he smiles my world lights up. Sometimes he even laughs, a deep yet beautiful sound. My favourite sound in the world.
But most of all I can see it in his actions. He does little things. When I'm sad he often makes me pasta, my favourite kind using the sauce that took him over a year to perfect. When I'm tired after training he carries me with all the gentleness in the world. Like I'm precious, delicate even. He puts up with Romano, no matter how much he is insulted or berated. He does it for me and I love him for it. So much. But my favourite thing is when he kisses me: Every night he kisses my forehead when he thinks I'm asleep, whispering promises of love and eternity in his own language. If he found out I knew he would probably be embarrassed, flustered but it's one of the quirks I love about him.
I love him after all, despite all his quirks, his obsessive cleaning included. For he is Germany, Ludwig. My Ludwig.