Gilbert was sitting at the table, watching the one he believed to be his brother closely. This person looked and sounded like Ludwig, but he didn't act right. First and foremost, he had just made pasta for breakfast.
Pasta. For breakfast.
Three plates of steaming noodles were placed around the table, one for Gilbert, who stared at his plate as if it would bite, one for Ludwig, and one for Feliciano.
Ludwig, the real Ludwig, had just entered the room seconds before. He sat down at the table, looking anxious about something. Gilbert was just about to ask him what was wrong when Feliciano gave a longing sigh, staring down at his plate. He also looked anxious, but it was an entirely different expression for him. He seemed upset, and this became obvious when Ludwig began picking at his spaghetti.
"What's with you two?" murmured the Prussian, watching them both with concern.
Somehow, Ludwig was able to ease up, and he ate a bit more quickly, genuinely savoring the taste. When had pasta started tasting so good? This disturbed Feliciano even further as he lifted a bite to his lips, then spit it out in a napkin and set the fork down. "…Why can't I eat pasta?"
This question made both Germans pause. Since when did West give two shits about pasta?
The younger of the three snapped his head up from his meal. Gilbert observed as the Italian gave the one he thought was his brother a long, disapproving stare. Then, as Ludwig returned to his meal, finding it surprisingly enjoyable, Feliciano slumped forward on the table, causing it to lean towards him a bit.
Ludwig managed to clean his plate. However, when he stood up, he didn't go back for seconds, as Feliciano would have, he went directly to the sink to wash his plate off. This struck Gilbert as odd. As did the fact that, for once, "Feliciano's" shoelaces were perfectly, painstakingly tied. A glance under the table confirmed that "Ludwig's" boots were not properly laced, let alone tied.
His hand shot out and rested over Feliciano's, prompting a nervous jump from the Italian as he sat up quickly. Gilbert gazed into his eyes intently.
This did not do much for the startled Italian, for despite being in Ludwig's larger, stronger body, he began to feel very small under the Prussian's gaze. Very, very small. His palms began to sweat. "What do you want from me?"
"You are not Ludwig." Gilbert pulled away, sitting back in his chair. Now that he thought of it, he did feel a bit dumb for not catching it earlier.
"I am so!" insisted Feliciano, only proving this further. "I slicked my hair back and everything!"
From the kitchen, Ludwig groaned. "Please. Just stop. Gilbert was just a test, and you failed miserably. How are we supposed to go anywhere like this if we can't even fool him? I can't cancel this meeting—I'm the host!"
After the German finished his mini-tyrade, there was a pregnant silence in the room. None of them dared to speak now.
Finally, Gilbert broke into loud, raucous laughter, shattering the silence. Ludwig's face turned beet red as the Prussian stood, approaching him. He couldn't help it. It was just too amazingly funny.
"Jesus Christ, how do you do these things to yourself?" Gilbert cackled, grinning down at his little brother.
"I-I don't know…" Ludwig could only glance to the side, shrinking away. "I didn't do anything."
The Prussian raised his hand, snorting as he did so. He rugged at the curl attached to the side of Ludwig's head. "Ja? Did you ever figure this out, then?"
"Ohh-oh Gott, Bruder, stop that!" Ludwig was beginning to hate that thing. He felt faint, and his knees threatened to buckle under him at any moment. A shaky hand moved to push Gilbert away, but it was a very weak attempt. "Bitte…let go!"
When Gilbert made no motion to do so, Feliciano decided now was a good time to intervene.
In the German's body, he could have done any number of things to get him to stop. Out of all of them, instead, he ran his fingers lightly up and down the Prussian's side, tickling him gently.
Gilbert didn't laugh. He wasn't particularly ticklish. He did, however, release the long strand of hair, and whip around to correct this behavior. "What the hell? What was that for?"
"Don't touch that," murmured Feliciano, for once coming off as entirely certain. He was all too aware of what that felt like. Watching his lover writhe like that stirred something in him, as well. It was almost as if he could feel it himself. He couldn't, of course, but he almost anticipated it.
"Uh… fine." Gilbert looked more confused than anything else. "Whatever." He still wasn't sure what happened.
Ludwig sank to the floor, burying his face in his hands. "I hate it, I hate it, I hate it…"
Feliciano bit his lip and smiled a little, trying not to seem awkward. "No that Gil knows, can I take my clothes off again?"
"Nein!" Both brothers had spoken at once. The thought of an Italian wandering around naked was bad enough, but considering this Italian looked an awful lot like himself, it was worse. Besides, the idea unsettled Gilbert greatly. Ick.
Feliciano looked a bit taken aback by the overwhelming response, but he nodded, accepting this. "Ludi, what time is the meeting?"
"There's a meeting today?" asked Gilbert, as if this was the absolute first he had ever heard of it. "I think I'll tag along with you two losers for today. You need all the help you can get."
"It starts at one," the German grumbled in irritation. As Gilbert was technically the representation of the Eastern parts of Germany, he was technically allowed to attend. He rarely did, except on days when he was either feeling particularly useless, or he knew something interesting was about to happen. It wasn't hard to guess which one. "You can come… but if you say one word, I'll tell Roderich that you've been urinating in his flower garden. He's bound to figure it out eventually, if the plants keep ending up dead."
At this, Gilbert's face reddened considerably. "Why do you know about that? Have you been stalking me?"
Ludwig shook his head and sighed, rolling his eyes. "I always did wonder if you even hear half of the things you say. You told me yourself."
This seemed to shut the proud Prussian up for a while, and he went silent.
"Oh, yeah! Ludi, um…" the Italian fidgeted, looking nervous as his mind wandered back to something else. "Do you want my pasta…?"
"You didn't eat it?" Ludwig looked alarmed. "Well, I guess it makes sense… You're in my body right now… Why would I want your pasta?"
"Because, you ate all of yours," smiled Feliciano, shoving the plate over to his lover happily. "You like my pasta."
"Feliciano, we need to get ready for the meeting. I don't have time for your nonsense."
Italy nodded and followed Germany to his room. He began humming a light tune to himself as he did so, excited that Ludwig had finally enjoyed something that he cooked. Well, it wasn't that Ludwig didn't enjoy it, but he was never too excited for pasta. He loved the Italian's cooking otherwise. "Pasta~"