NonSexual Acts of Intimacy
â :Your muse adjusting their jewelry/neck tie/ etc.
Ludwig Beilschmidt was a man who was usually so well put together. He wasnât entirely sure when it all started falling apart.Â
No, he was sure. He could pinpoint perhaps the exact moment when things began to fray at the seams. Itâd been a slow, terrifying build, that led to a downward spiral into sheer, and unadulterated chaos that left his country in shambles, separated from his brother, and every time he stooped to pick up the pieces, the glue refused to set. And now there was a wall, a towering, physical manifestation of the divide enforced by four opposing ideals and only three of which could remotely tolerate each other, was being erected, running right through the middle of his capital. And the moment they broke ground was the very moment any shred of hope he had left had been buried.
Thatâs when things started to show. Little ticks and nuances that betrayed the fact, no matter how he tried to outwardly appear otherwise, that Ludwig Beilschmidt was not okay. Sometimes heâd miss a button on his shirt. Or his socks werenât matched on the first try. A hair was out of place and he wouldnât fuss with it. Paperwork sorted in the wrong tray in haphazard piles. And there were three pens on his desk instead of two, because good god he just couldnât keep up with one of them.
Through it all, there was Alfred. The only one of the four nations who made an effort to regularly check up on him outside of necessary political affairs. The only one of the four who would routinely show up unannounced, and extend his hand in some semblance of friendship and camaraderie. It wasnât that he couldnât blame the rest of them. He really couldnât. Wounds were still too fresh, and heâd still been licking his own. And he really wasnât sure if it was for the United Statesâ own public image, or if the act was genuine. Either way, Ludwig was appreciative. Heaven knew he was so lonely, anymore.
There, at the end of the hall, the American stood, in some pale, slate blue monstrosity that had the nerve to call itself a suit, with a grin plastered on his face, blue eyes sparkling behind his glasses. Despite how hideous his attire was (and he had to pair it with brown shoes. What was wrong with him?), the man was a sight for sore eyes.Â
His smile didnât falter as he reached up and straightened the tie around Ludwigâs neck, an accessory he didnât even realize was askew. But he supposed at least someone was making sure he had his shoes on the right foot, even if he wasnât aware of it at first.
Alfred gave his shoulder a hearty clap, and a laugh with a corny joke to lighten the mood, before guiding Ludwig to their first meeting of the day. And for just a moment he thought he might actually keep everything in line, if at least for a day.
vaporwave
theartofmadeline
stormborns
areudirty
ellievsbear
2087
izzy806
