Ludwig could feel the muscle under his left eye beginning to twitch; his grip on the screw driver tightened as he let out a sigh. Funny, it didn't seem to help him as much as Japan had claimed it would.
He jumped and cracked his head on the table. "Italien!" He snapped while absently rubbing the sore spot.
"Sorry, Luddy." Feliciano murmured; he gently checked the spot his roommate/friend/he-wasn't-sure-what-he-was-anymore was rubbing. When he found nothing, he voiced his query. "What are you doing, anyway?"
"Trying to fix this verdammt…machine." The twitch, which had subsided, started up again.
"Maybe you could continue after lunch?" Feliciano suggested. "I made sausages and pasta and there's plenty for you and Gilbert too!"
"…danke." The blonde mumbled. "I'll be in after I'm done." He turned back to his task and missed Feliciano's slight frown.
"Veren't you going in to eat?"
The auburn haired nation winced; there was iron control in that tone, and while he trusted that his friend-or-something-he-didn't-know-anymore wouldn't hurt him, he didn't want to irritate him.
"I'm sure mein bruder is messing up your wurst." Ludwig supplied in an attempt to distract him as he began to unscrew one of the compartments.
He felt shocked, not only by the fact that Italien had used his full name, but by the numb sensation creeping up his arm. The muscles in his hand contracted and as he realized that he was being electrocuted, he was abruptly yanked away from the infernal contraption.
Feliciano carefully knocked the screwdriver from his hand, blinking back tears.
Ludwig stared at his hand; it was still slightly numb. "You vere…trying to varn me?"
The auburn haired nation nodded before helping the blonde to his feet; the two headed to the kitchen, where Ludwig took a seat at the table. He slowly closed and opened his hand; it was sore, but it moved. Feliciano returned with a cup of milk and the container of ibuprofen. Ludwig quietly took the pills; only then could he actually look at his…friend-or-maybe-more. A moment later, his arms were full of a quietly crying Italien, who was babbling a combination of apologies and how he didn't want 'his Luddy' to get hurt again.
Gilbert took this scene in from the doorway before he turned around and quietly crept away. He enjoyed being a general pain in the ass and popping up when he was least expected, but there were some things even he wouldn't interrupt. That, and he had a feeling that if he interrupted them they would a) never get their heads out of their asses and realize that they were more than friends and had been for a while and b) Elizaveta would kill him. Painfully. With her frying pan.
After Feliciano had calmed down, the two ate lunch quietly. The silence was not only unusual, but awkward. The dishes were done in the same manner, though both somehow ended up on the couch when they were done.
"It should have been unplugged." Ludwig supplied in lieu of the awkward silence.
Feliciano said nothing; his mournful gaze was focused on his…roommate's…hand. The blonde nation smothered a sigh and reluctantly held the hand out. Feliciano's smooth and gentle fingers lightly brushed it as he examined the offered limb.
He knew blue eyes were closely observing his every move and that the fact that he had to look at all injuries himself before he would be completely consoled nonplussed the German.
"Is it still numb?"
He couldn't contain his sigh of relief. When he looked up to meet said scrutinizing eyes, he found said German looking away, though his arms were spread in a sort-of 'hug?'-like gesture. A small smile found its way to his face as he wrapped his arms around his…roommate?...whose arms, in turn, encircled him.
"So I'm your Luddy?"
The quiet question caused him to flush, but he nodded, then looked up to find that there was a hint of a smile on the blonde's usually scowling face. He shifted so Ludwig's injured hand—though by now it was probably healed—rested on his lap before he cuddled a bit closer and closed his eyes.
Ludwig knew by the change in Feliciano's breathing pattern that he was asleep. He also knew that if by some miracle he managed to get Feliciano into the guest bedroom…or his own, for that matter…that he would just be awoken by a panicky, sobbing Italien a few hours later. It was always like this when was injured.
The last time it had been an accident in the kitchen; he'd sliced his finger open and he'd thought the Italian was going to pass out. This didn't happen often, but over the years, he'd learned…from that incident and a few others. It made him glad that Italien had surrendered to the Allies instead of sticking it out with him and Japan.
He didn't want to think about how Feliciano would have reacted to how he had looked right after the war, let alone the injuries he had acquired during it. His reaction to small things like cuts were part of the reason why he was so careful about not letting him catch him with less clothing than he wore to bed or while he was changing. Thanks to the wars, his skin, on his back especially, was a tapestry of scars.
"Ve…Luddy?" The sleepy Italian peered up at him.
"I'm fine, Italien. Go back to sleep."
He wasn't surprised when Italien refused to comply until he had located his injured hand, gently checked it over and then linked their fingers together.
A small sigh escaped him as he watched Italian shift in his sleep. He dreaded the day he would discover the scars, but for now…
Feliciano's grip on his hand tightened slightly.
For now, things were fine as they were.