Christmas Spirit

25 Days of Spamano

A/N: back on track hopefully... and I've never written from Germany's point of view, so sorry if it's not the best.

Ludwig had never been a fan of Christmas parties. It wasn't that he hated being around people, he just wasn't a naturally loud person. It seemed, though, that God was possibly toying with his life, because the only people he was ever around were the obscenely loud, whether it was for good reason or not. Feliciano didn't have any other pitches other than loud or sobbing, his brother was just as bad, and now, surrounded by all of these Spanish speakers- and of course, the Portuguese colonies as well, now, Ludwig was wondering if he was the only quiet country there.

There were, of course, perks to being quiet. He wasn't usually targeted for some ridiculous revenge prank unless his brother was behind it, but currently Gilbert was trapped underneath Spain's oldest son, being forced to drink vodka against his will. He knew the drink brought back bad memories for his brother, but after the stunt he pulled and with how drunk he'd soon be, Gilbert both deserved and wouldn't remember it.

Another perk to being quiet was observing the world around him without any questions. Except when a certain ill-tempered Italian returned from whatever he was doing in the kitchen to sit with his brother. Ludwig knew parties were never Lovino's strong suit, especially if they were loud like this, but there was something different about him. He was smiling and laughing and joining in on the festivities around him. He was acting much less like a drunk Lovino and more like what the German assumed a happy Lovino looked like, and Ludwig wondered if that was due to the familiar atmosphere or his Spanish boyfriend or even the time of year it was.

No, that last part couldn't be true. Lovino hated this time of year. He hated the cold and the decorating (though from what he had been told, the older Italian had been the one to make the house look so stunning in the first place), and he couldn't stand the cheery attitudes and caroling. But there had to be something that brought about this change. It couldn't be Antonio, although maybe he was the catalyst to this new Lovino.

Speaking of the Spaniard, he was soon back out in the living room, a disapproving look adorning his face at the wrestling match now taking hold in the center of the room. In his hands were two glasses of rich, red wine, and one was handed to Lovino before Toni sat on the floor in front of him. Ludwig offered to move- well, to have Feliciano and himself both move, but the brunette simply waved him off and smiled.

What was this infectious feeling? The blonde had often been told that he needed to think less and feel more, but he didn't see how that would really help in this case. He felt an overpowering urge pulling him to just shut up (metaphorically) and drink, but another force pulling him towards understanding. Maybe they were the same thing?

"Hey, potato fucker number one," unintentionally, Ludwig turned. His musings had lowered his defenses, for usually he never would turn to such a name- "stop looking like you want to kill yourself and enjoy the party. You're bringing down the joyful mood or... whatever the hell it is." Lovino waved his hand, turning his head to look away from the other. No, this was definitely a sober Italian talking to him, not the usual violent drunk he had been so gracious to meet more than once.

"I don't look like-"

"Look, bastard, if you don't want to bask in the Spanish joy that's floating around your ass, be my guest and continue sulking. You're just not being very festive, and I worked hard to make this house look fucking festive!" Antonio said something in quick Spanish to the Italian, causing a blush to rise to his face. Lovino smacked the other in the back of the head before leaning over to kiss the others forehead. The display of affection shocked the German, as Lovino usually didn't even want to be touched by anyone in public.

A grunt and almost audible blush had him look toward the muttering Italian again, and Ludwig could have died from the words that came from the aubrunette's mouth. He wasn't embarrassed or angered, but rather flattered that Lovino would bother even saying something as kind as "Merry Christmas" to him, even if there was an attached "potato freak" at the end. A smile fell over Ludwig's face and he nodded, taking a sip of his beer.

"Ja, Merry Christmas to you too, Lovino," maybe that's what this infectious feeling was. The Christmas Spirit... even if it was a little more Spanish then he was used to.