Author's Note:
I've got really bad writer's block, so I haven't been able to write anything new. ;w; Here's another oldie-but-a-goodie to tide you folks over till I can put up something new.
After a rough night, Ludwig says "good morning" to Gilbert without saying a word at all.
Letting his nose lead him along the path of an utterly delicious scent, Gilbert enters the kitchen just in time to see Ludwig set a tall stack of pancakes on the table. The sight makes him so happy that he practically skips to his seat, plopping down with a huge smile on his face. It only gets better when he sees the large bottle of maple syrup and the dish of strawberries. Then his eyes go to the dish of whipped cream, and it's all he can do to keep from squealing in joy. Whipped cream! Ludwig never lets him have whipped cream. He wrote his name on the wall in whipped cream once and was never allowed to live it down.
At last, Ludwig sits down at his seat across from Gilbert, serving himself three pancakes in quick succession, for it's important to grab food before it all disappears down Gilbert's gullet. "Enjoy," he says with a slight smile.
With absolutely no hesitation, Gilbert does so. His stomach growls a low note of wanting, and he wastes no time in obliging it. Three pancakes (just to start with; he'll definitely take more after them) are drowned in maple syrup with a little whipped cream on top for good measure, and then he digs in, savoring the sweet, maple-slathered heaven and occasionally stopping for a strawberry break.
Gilbert must have slipped into a trance, because it feels like it's infinitely too soon when his belly nudges him to stop stuffing it. He looks down and quirks an eyebrow. He certainly didn't have a belly bump before. Well, it doesn't matter much to the satisfied glutton. With a contented sigh, he rests his hands on the new roundness. Today he gorges not to fill any empty spaces, but to take in all the love and care that Ludwig pours into his cooking for him. His hands are resting on a belly bulging with good feelings and warm fuzzies.
Ludwig's eyes dart from the plate where the pancakes (now significantly diminished) were stacked to Gilbert's plate, then to the emptied dishes of strawberries and whipped cream, then back to Gilbert's empty plate. "How many pancakes did you eat?" His tone betrays how he expects it to be an answer far larger than he'd like, and his expectations are not betrayed.
"I have no idea," Gilbert replies, his eyes going to the remains of the original pancake stack. "But I think I'd like one more. Or two."
Even if Ludwig's eyes seem to be glaring, that might just be a smirk on his lips. Even he can be a mischievous little brother sometimes. "You'll get fat. Again." Apparently, he hasn't looked to see how much Gilbert seems to have expanded. If he could see how swollen Gilbert is, he'd rectify that statement to "you look fat."
Two pancakes are already sitting neatly on Gilbert's plate by the time he responds. "I'd rather be fat with a big ol' belly full of awesome than be skinny and miserable. Besides, your cooking just has that special something to it that makes it sooooo good! I can't just let that kind of thing go to waste, you know?" There's almost no delay between the end of the sentence and when he chows down.
Seeing Gilbert in this mood is enough to bring the rare smile to Ludwig's face that seems to soften his entire demeanor. "I'm glad to see you happy like this, brother," he says when Gilbert is done eating at last.
"Mmh, that was good," Gilbert mumbles, patting the belly full of awesome for emphasis. Finally, he is sated (way too much so, if the extent to which his stomach has distended is any indication, but he doesn't care), and there isn't a single negative thought anywhere inside him. Ludwig's words catch his attention, however, and seeing that smile compels him to return the gesture with a grin so wide and happy that it could have come from the Prussian days when Ludwig was small.
"I love you too, West."