This has been bugging me for a while. So I decided to take a crack at it. I'm not really sure how well it worked out...
But I guess I'll let you be the judge of that :)
Disclaimer: "Hetalia" doesn't belong to me... Even though I keep asking for Prussia...
Ludwig was a creature of habit. He liked his routine, and became flustered and upset if any part of his day was off balance.
In the mornings, he woke up five minutes before his alarm was set to go off at six, and turned it off before the obnoxious sound went off. He then promptly got up, slipped into his slippers and trudged to the bathroom to take a shower. First he lathered himself up, then shampooed, rinsed, and repeated. Ten minutes later, he exited the bath, wrapped a towel around his waist, and brushed his teeth. He then got dressed, gelled his hair, and went downstairs for breakfast.
In the kitchen, while the coffee was brewing, he fed the dogs and walked outside to get the newspaper. When he returned, the coffee was done, and he poured himself a huge cup, sitting down at the table with a bowl of cereal to read the paper. Berlitz would come over and lay her head on his lap while he read, content with the hand that absently scratched behind her ears.
At seven, Ludwig put his dishes in the dishwasher and quickly made some pancakes for his brother when he woke up, writing a list of chores for the older man to do while he was at work, even though he knew that they wouldn't get done. He put the finished plate of pancakes in the oven to keep warm, placed the list on the table at his brother's place, and put the dirty cookware in the sink to soak.
At seven twenty-five, he made his way down the basement steps to peek in at his brother. When he opened the door to the left of the bottom of the stairs, Gilbert was sprawled out on his queen-sized bed, facedown and hugged his pillow tightly. Ludwig would frown until the albino shifted in his sleep slightly; at least then he knew his brother was still alive. The blonde would then quietly shut the door and make his way back upstairs, slipping on his shoes and shrugging on his suit jacket before heading out the door, briefcase in hand.
The drive to work would be uneventful, and when he arrives at the office, he would park his car in his normal parking spot, and head inside the building. He would clock in, go to his office, and finish up some paperwork. At ten fifteen, his boss would come and they would discuss any economic problems, as well as other issues that Germany was having. The next World Meeting date would be decided, and at eleven o'clock, Ludwig's cell phone would ring. His boss would dismiss himself, and the blonde would answer the call. Feliciano would be on the other line, and the happy Italian would talk for an hour before Ludwig politely (finally) excused himself to get some lunch. He would head to the cafeteria and pick out some wurst and a bottle of water.
When it hit twelve thirty, Ludwig trudged back to his office, answering his cell phone once more. Gilbert would be on the other end, asking where his pancakes were, did he really have to do those chores, and when was he going to be home? Ludwig would answer all his questions patiently, sliding into his desk chair and booting up his computer once more. He would tell his brother that he'd be home around six, and they would have dinner together, and to try not to annoy Roderich too much. He didn't want to have to pick him up from the hospital after Elizabeta beat him senseless with her frying pan.
For the next four hours, Ludwig actually got some work done, and at four forty-five, his assistant would bring in another stack of paper for him to fill out. He'd thank her, go through them and sort out which ones he would take home for the night.
Five fifteen found Ludwig back in his car, heading home. When he pulled into his driveway at exactly five fifty-eight, the dogs would bound up to him, and he would greet each with an affectionate pat to the head. Gilbert would be leaning against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face.
Ludwig would greet his brother with a nod and brush past him, untying his shoes and setting them inside the closet. The other man would shut the door, complaining about how he was hungry, and would follow Ludwig to the kitchen.
Of course, the dishes from the morning would still be in the sink, and Ludwig and Gilbert would bicker about the chores as Ludwig cooked, Gilbert sitting on one of the stools at the counter.
At six fifty, Ludwig set the table, and five minutes later, the two brothers sat down to eat. Gilbert would ask how his day was, and then launch into his own tale about he spent his day. Ludwig would cringe and scowl at his brother's behavior.
At seven twenty, Gilbert would wander to the living room to watch T.V. and Ludwig would clean up the kitchen. He'd finish the other chores that Gilbert hadn't done, and then head to his room to change into his pajamas. He'd then grab his briefcase and sit on the couch next to his brother, pulling out the forms to get some work done.
Eight o'clock had Gilbert's phone ringing, and the older man hungrily grabbed for it, answering it. It would be either Antonio or Francis, sometimes Mathias, and Gilbert would walk into the other room to talk.
When the clock turned to eight sixteen, Ludwig could be certain that Gilbert would begin to yell. The one on the other end of the phone had obviously made an insensitive remark, and Gilbert took offense. Eight twenty-eight, Gilbert slammed his phone shut and walked back to the living room, plopping down next to his brother, grumbling under his breath.
Eight thirty had Ludwig asking if Gilbert was okay, who would scoff and nod. A minute later, the albino would ask what he was doing.
The answer had two scenarios, depending on how Gilbert was feeling. One: he would ask to help, and Ludwig would tell him no. Two: he would scowl and snort. Both ended the same way, though. Gilbert would get mad and go on a rant about how he couldn't do anything. Ludwig would get mad – he often blamed his exhaustion – and the two would have a yelling match. Ludwig would argue that he had left a list of things for the other to do, and he had simply ignored them. Gilbert would scream that it wasn't what he was talking about.
At nine o'nine, Gilbert would storm downstairs, slamming his bedroom door. Ludwig would sigh and sink back into the couch, running a hand over his face. Five minutes would pass before he would try to do his papers again, only to realize that he couldn't concentrate. He'd sit there, staring at the television, until nine forty, when he would sigh, gather his papers and stack them in his briefcase once more. He'd stand up, shut the T.V. off, and lock all the doors and windows. He'd get the dogs settled for the night and turn on the alarm system, biting the inside of his lip before slipping downstairs, barely making a sound.
He'd stop outside his brother's bedroom door, which was crack open, light seeping into the dark of the rest of the basement, and stand there, listening.
At ten o'clock, Ludwig's heart would constrict as his brother's soft sobs reached his ears, and he'd stand rooted to the spot.
For the next hour, the young German would stand and listen, unknown to the single occupant in the room. Ludwig knew that, behind all the bravado and smiles and arrogance, Gilbert was hurt that he was no longer a country. He couldn't stand the rest of the world continued to move on, and he was stuck living in his brother's basement until time decided that he should finally die.
At eleven thirteen, long after Gilbert had cried himself to sleep, Ludwig allowed his own tears to fall. And as they flowed down his face silently, Ludwig made his way to his own bed, climbing in and hugging his knees to his chest.
As much as he loved his daily routine, he really wished that he could skip this part.
At eleven thirty-one, Ludwig would sigh, rubbing his wet cheeks dry, and close his tired eyes. At eleven thirty-two, he'd take a deep breath to steady his nerves, telling himself to settle down so that he could get some sleep.
At eleven forty-three, Ludwig would finally drift off to sleep.
In the morning, five minutes before his alarm would go off, he'd awaken. He'd lie in bed for four minutes, silently praying that his daily routine would be the same as it had been the day before.
Because even though he hated the second half of his day, even though Gilbert was in so much emotional pain, Ludwig was too selfish to grant his brother the peace that the other so badly wanted.
He didn't think he'd be able to handle it if Gilbert were leave.
His entire routine would be screwed up ten ways to Sunday.
I'm not very good at writing stories without dialogue...
Anyways, the scene with Ludwig standing outside Gil's door, listening to him cry himself to sleep, has been in my mind for a long while. I'm very much like Ludwig, where if something gets off schedule, I kinda freak out, so I tried to incorporate a little of that in this story. I'm so precise on what time I do everything, my friends and family know my schedule exactly.
Anyways, like I said, I'm not sure how well this worked out. Reviews are greatly appreciated, while flames shall be used to burn my school bills to ash. A title is still needed as well...