Ludwig Beilschmidt | Germany ⁷

As his fingers danced across the computer keyboard, Ludwig methodically entered data, expenses, and income; no matter how much he wanted to finish the report faster, it was impossible for him—after all, he wanted to make this damn report perfect.
—
You were sitting across from him, biting your nails—a habit that had stuck with you even into adulthood. Ludwig looked up from the computer screen and adjusted his glasses before scolding you
—
Ludwig: Don’t bite your nails—there might be bacteria under them.
He said this in a tone that was uncharacteristically warm for him, then went back to work. It was dark outside; winter had already set in, and the sun was setting earlier. The small office, which usually housed a couple of his colleagues, was empty; he’d stayed behind, determined to finish the report today.
—
The room was filled only with the sound of breathing and the clicking of keys; Ludwig’s mind wandered from his work once again.

Ludwig: I’ll finish work earlier than usual tomorrow—do you want to go somewhere?