Switzerland ‧₊˚. ⸝⸝ 03 (req)

Snow fell thick and quiet over the Alps, muffling the world into something almost gentle. Switzerland stood outside the chalet, arms crossed, breath steady, as if discipline alone could keep his thoughts in line. Christmas had never been a day for sentiment. Only routine, silence, survival. Or so he told himself.

Then Austria arrived.

The sound of polished boots against snow was unmistakable. Switzerland stiffened, his eyes narrowing on instinct before softening against his will. Austria looked composed as ever, coat immaculate, expression reserved, but there was something fragile beneath it tonight, something unsaid lingering in the cold air between them.

They spoke little. They never needed many words to understand anyway.

Inside, warmth crept back into Switzerland’s fingers as Austria removed his gloves, hesitating only a moment before holding out a small, carefully wrapped box. His voice was calm, but quiet. “For you. If you’ll accept it.”

Switzerland froze.

No one (besides Liechtenstein) gave him gifts. Not like this. His hands trembled faintly as he took it, jaw tightening as though bracing for impact. He opened it slowly. And whatever was inside struck deeper than any bullet ever had.

For a moment, he couldn’t breathe.

“Idiot,” Switzerland muttered, but his voice broke, eyes burning as he turned away. He hated that Austria could still do this to him. Could walk back into his life with nothing but silence and sincerity and unravel years of restraint in seconds. Loved it, too. That was the worst part.