Summary: (Part 1 of the Warm Hearts series) Germany loves Italy, and Italy loves Germany. Why? There were so many reasons...
NOTE: This is part 1 in a series of oneshots about various Hetalia pairings. If you like this one, be on the look out for other parts of the series!
I love Ludwig.
I know there are many people, like my brother, who look at us and wonder why we're together. What could I possibly want in a strict and controlled German like him?
But they don't know everything. They don't know that he always welcomes me with a smile – however small – when he sees me at the door. Or that he always has room for me in his bed when I get scared by a nightmare or the loud noises of a storm.
Even though he always has that stern demeanor around others, when it's just us he never tries to hide his smiles from me. No matter how small they are I always know he is just happy to spend this time with me, as I am with him. I smile enough for the both of us anyway.
His strong arms are my heaven. When I'm worried or scared or just want to relax, his arms are open before I even ask, sometimes before I even know I need them. They surround me with their warmth and strength, and I forget that anything else exists for a minute. Or an hour. Or a day. I just burrow my head into his chest and listen to the steady beating of his heart, and everything else seems much less significant.
He's always there when I need him, waiting with a small, absolutely beautiful smile and open arms.
His food isn't as good as mine, and he can be overbearing and overprotective at times. He has an obsession with keeping his house clean and tidy, and it takes a long time for him to get comfortable with new people. But he never complains when I get tear stains or pasta sauce on his clothes. He is not above smearing my cheek with flour when we make pasta together. He just sighs and hands me the soap when I sneak into his shower almost every morning, offering to do my hair as I melt into the pleasant heat of his body. He makes love to me like I'm the single most precious thing in the world.
The others don't see this and wonder how on Earth we even got together, much less lasted so many years.
But I know. And I love him for it.
I love Veneziano with everything I have.
Even though some scoff at us, or look at us like we're a curious exhibit that just shouldn't be possible, I do. And I know he does, too.
Veneziano is everything I'm not. He's loud, always smiling, and always running away from a fight. He's absolutely obsessed with pasta. He would strip in public if I let him.
They all look at us and think, "they're too different," or "how does he deal with it?"
But what they don't know is that I love that about him. I love how he's so comfortable in his own skin. How happy you can make him by giving him a plate of pasta. How he always makes sure to smile enough for the both of us, and how he's always running to me when he's fleeing from a fight or frightened.
I love that odd verbal tic he has, and that adorable curl that never obeys the laws of gravity like it's supposed to. I love how adorable he looks when he's prancing about the house, dusting with an apron and a kerchief to keep his hair back. I love waking up and feeling every one of his limbs curled around mine. I love the red flush he gets when I pull him into bed.
I'm a workaholic, and he's lazy. But he always greets me with a kiss and a delicious dinner after a long day at work. He always seems to know exactly what I need when I need it, sometimes pulling it seemingly out of thin air before any sound even comes out of my mouth. He grabs my hand and forces me to dance with him, but we both know I'm not really being forced.
Some see him flirting with every pretty woman that walks by and shake their heads in pity, but I know that it's just a game to him and he always comes home to me and me alone. Some give us odd looks when they see us together, Feliciano always doing something that is just... Feliciano.
He's everything I didn't know I needed until I met him.
And I'll be forever grateful that I stopped and took the time to open that box of tomatoes in the woods.
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