I'm very happy that you all enjoyed reading about Ludwig's character development, and all of your reviews make me smile. Thank you so much! I hope you continue to enjoy this story.
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia Axis Powers
Age Twelve
Bravest Face
Ludwig had started to ponder why he even needed a soulmate in the first place. Why did anyone need a soulmate? It was just another person to let you down. Just another person to disappoint you. If anyone asked, he didn't want a soulmate anyway.
At least, that's what he said.
Of course, in the retreat of his own bedroom, the blond would fiddle with the plain skin of his wrist and stare out the window at all the passing couples. That was his hobby. People watching. Or more specifically, couple watching.
Just watching the people walk hand-in-hand with their soulmate, or that little smile someone would get on their face as they stared at the phone screen and you just knew that it was because they were texting a special someone. Ludwig watched all these couples, all these lovers, knowing he would never have one of his own.
He lived out his fantasy of having a soulmate by watching everyone else have one.
Hell, he didn't want a soulmate anyway.
Ludwig had grown up learning that the most important thing in the world was having a soulmate. He had taken mandatory classes in school on how to properly treat a soulmate, the type of lifestyle you would lead after meeting your soulmate. He couldn't even remember the amount of assignments he had been forced to complete about the history of soulmates, or famous pairs of soulmates. The blond was getting really sick and tired of hearing the word 'soulmate'. Soulmate, soulmate, soulmate. That's all they ever said. It was repetitive like a broken record and frustrating like a mosquito biting your skin that you couldn't ever catch.
Today, they had had a class just to talk about this one woman hundreds of years ago who never met her soulmate, although she had words on her wrist, and the miserable existence she lived.
The children had laughed at her. All his peers poked fun at this woman, saying how it was worthless of her to do that, and the girls whined about why would she ever want to pass up on meeting her true love and the boys made jokes about how she was a crazy lady for trying to live life without a soulmate. Of course, all during their laughter and jests about this woman, they did not know that there was a boy sitting silently in their class, alone at his desk, without any words at all.
The German boy sat at his desk for the remainder of that class as the other students used the free time to continue to tease the woman whom had died hundreds of years ago, and Ludwig lifted up his sleeve just a tiny bit, just enough to see a sliver of pale flesh. He already knew there wouldn't be words, that wasn't what he was checking. Putting his other hand on his wrist, he began rubbing at the skin, deep and slow.
Back and forth, back and forth, he dragged his short nails across his skin. Twisting, pinching, scratching, he felt stress leave him as he watched his skin turn an irritated deep pink color. Tweaking, pulling, wringing the skin of his wrist until it was no longer close to its original pale color. Yanking his sleeve back down, Ludwig sat quietly for the rest of class, trying not to hear the words spoken loudly from his peers about the so-called "crazy lady."
Ludwig didn't speak much, to anyone, after that class. He nodded and answered when called on, but had stopped greeting people in the morning and telling his teacher to have a nice day after he left their class. He convinced himself that it was pointless anyway.
On that same afternoon after hearing his teacher gush about her oldest daughter finally meeting her soulmate, he put on a brave face during all the classes as people gossiped about the newest couple or their newest fantasy about their soulmate, and all during that time he knew. He knew he was different, no matter what Gilbert said.
And so that afternoon at school, he wore his bravest face, and he did his best to look strong in front of everyone. When a teacher said hello, he would greet them back, but quietly, softly, barely moving his lips at all. Ludwig did his best to make sure no one knew what he was thinking. He wore that mask like a professional, instead of a twelve-year-old kid.
He wore his bravest face, and he tried his hardest. But still, he knew. He knew he wasn't actually strong. And the more he tried to hide it, the more ashamed he felt. The more he began to feel the pit in his heart deepening, and the more he began to look in the mirror and hate what he saw. The more he wore that brave face, the more he began to fear that everyone else would hate him more if they knew.
If they all knew how scared he was of being alone. If they all knew how scared he was that he really would be unloved forever. Maybe that was the reason that on that same afternoon in mid-April, he stepped into his bedroom and shoved his face into his hands and cried for all he was worth.
Ludwig shed tears he didn't know he could possibly have, he sobbed until there was no water left inside of him to escape. And when Gilbert came knocking on his door after having arrived home from hanging out with his friends, he croaked out a hoarse 'I'm fine' and Gilbert didn't question it.
Instead of watching the couples walk down the street from his window, he slammed his head into the soft pillow on his bed and let the tears fall down his face, fat and salty. The blond could taste the salt on his tongue, could feel the weight of the world on his shoulders. He could feel the fabric of his pillow become damp and cold with his tears, and he could feel the shuddering of his heart.
Inside of him, something had changed. Before he had never cried like this, had never cried so hard that words failed him, had never cried so hard that he found it hard to breathe. Inside of him, he could feel the mass gut-wrenching ball of sorrow and despair grow larger. Inside he could hear the sound of his heart breaking just a little bit more, could feel his hope leaving. Inside of him, all of this changed. But on the outside, nothing did. That night, little Ludwig Beilschmidt cried himself to sleep.
The next morning, little Ludwig Beilschmidt wiped the stray tears off of his cheeks and once again put on his bravest face.
To be continued
Coming next: Age 13