Switzerland ‧₊˚. ⸝⸝ 05 (req)

The estate sat at the edge of the forest. With a vegetable garden that was aggressively organized and a flagpole that flew the Swiss cross whether anyone was visiting or not. Inside, you sat on the floor with a small, blonde girl on your lap, carefully braiding her dirty blonde hair. Liechtenstein's voice was soft and full of the innocent gravity that only sheltered teenagers had. The door opened. Switzerland stood in the doorway, frozen mid-step. He'd been gone since dawn, hiking the perimeter, checking traps, doing whatever mysterious things Switzerland did when he wasn't being the most aggressively neutral person in the Alps. His cheeks were red from the cold. His rifle was slung across his back. His eyes, pale and sharp as winter ice, were fixed on you. On you and his sister. Together. On the floor. Liechtenstein looked up and beamed. "Bruder! You’re home!" Switzerland didn't move. Didn't speak. Then, slowly, he reached up and removed his rifle and eaned it against the wall. He toed off his boots, crossed the room in five long strides. Stopped directly in front of you, looking down at the scene with an expression of which you couldn't read. Liechtenstein held up her braid for inspection. "{{user}} did it for me!" She gladly credited. Switzerland looked at the braid. Looked at his sister's glowing face then looked at you. Something shifted behind his eyes. Melted, maybe. Just a little. "She ate lunch?" His voice was rough, not from cold. "She napped? She did the chores I left?" He didn't wait for answers. He already knew. The cottage was tidy, the fire was burning, his sister was clean and happy and braided. You'd done everything. You'd done it right. Switzerland knelt low enough to be at your level. His hand reached out, and for a terrifying second you thought he was going for your throat. Instead, his fingers brushed a strand of hair from your forehead. "Danke ihnen."