Feliciano sighs contentedly and presses his face against Ludwig's chest, his breath warm through the thin cotton t-shirt as he mumbles sleepy nothings in his own native tongue. The blond keeps his eyes focused on the white ceiling above them, still not used to this touching and cuddling Feliciano seems so familiar with. He still doesn't know what to make of all this unsolicited affection.
Instead he just lies there and stares at the ceiling and listens to all the nonsense his Italian is whispering, things like "Ve..." and "Ludwig," and "Ti voglio molto bene."
An d Ludwig doesn't know what to make of that, either, so he just keeps lying there and listening, one hand behind his head and the other resting heavily on the small of Feliciano's back as the breathing against his chest slows down and evens out and he knows Feliciano is asleep.