Ludwig's legs pumped hard and his breath came out in pants as he ran, kicking up dust along the quiet dirt road. His heart beat fast and his head spun, but not from the exercise. It was from something else entirely.
Just a few hours ago, Ludwig had been sitting awkwardly in his living room as a certain brown-haired Italian had rambled on with an inane story. His best friend Feliciano had come to visit. Ludwig enjoyed his friend's company, he really did, but it was so hard. It was so hard to just sit there and pretend like he didn't feel anything but the mildest brotherly affection for the other man. Like his heart didn't flutter with excitement when he heard that smooth voice. Like his skin didn't tingle when their hands accidentally brushed together. Like he didn't feel a rush go through him when those soft brown eyes gazed at him so sweetly. Like when Feli was talking, he wouldn't like to just close the space between them and--
Nein! The German shoved those thoughts away desperately as he began to run faster. I can't be feeling that way about Feliciano! He's my friend, nothing more! Not to mention he's a man! I can't love a man, it's wrong! All my life I've been told that homosexuality is wrong. I've heard it from everyone. I can't be...
Ludwig's lungs burned as he ran faster and harder, pushing all thoughts aside to focus on his breathing and footsteps.
Inhale, exhale.
Inhale, exhale.
Left, right.
Left, right.
Just keep going.
This was what Ludwig loved about exercise. He loved the way it blocked out all other thoughts, the way he could ignore the rest of the world and just focus on the tightness in his body and the sound of his own labored breathing and the blood and adrenaline rushing through him. He loved the sense of peace it gave him. He even enjoyed the pain-- the burn in his lungs and the dull throb in his body the morning after a good workout. He always made his best decisions exercising because it allowed him to clear his head.
He had never understood why Feliciano always complained when they went jogging. The Italian always pouted in the most adorable way and whined about being tired or hungry or sore and Ludwig would end up having to carry him home. Not that Ludwig minded. He loved every second he shared with Feliciano, even if it was spent taking care of him. Especially if it was spent taking care of him.
There he went again, thinking about Feliciano again. It was like the Italian was stuck inside his head, rendering him incapable of thinking about anything else.
But as Ludwig slowed to a halt in front of a familiar house, he thought, Maybe being in love with Feliciano isn't so wrong after all...