During my holiday-camping-trip, I thought of the Danish song "Drømmer jeg?" (Am I dreaming?). It's sung by a Dane and a Swede, to each other. I got inspired to write something concerning that, and this is the outcome. Not beta-read.

Disclaimer: I don't Hetalia or the song "Drømmer jeg?". I do this only for the fandom and my sake.

The night was quiet. A mild breeze made the leaves rattle and the grass whisper, gently brushing against each other to create a sweet, albeit nearly inaudible song. This mild breeze was also the reason for a tall man's blond hair's vague wavering in the late autumn night, as if it was dancing a dance unknown to anyone but whom he hoped to find on the other side of the water. Over there was a man who had known him from he was a child, and to now. This man had seen his hair's dance before, and he had laughed, commented that it looked nice, and then asked him if he would like to re-enact it, just with them instead? A young and almost blushing Berwald had given a stiff nod, then put his hands in Matthias', vaguely noting how Matthias tried not to pull away again, and had let Matthias lead. Not because he saw himself as a woman, of course not, but because he had no idea how to dance. He just didn't know how to move your feet in that elegant way that got girls to swoon and boys to whistle lowly, or laugh.

Either way, that was how Berwald had learnt to dance like he could today. Because of Matthias, because of his hair that decided to dance in a mild breeze late in an autumn night, just like now.

Like now, where he was standing by the banks of the wide, wide ocean that kept them apart. Cold water, too. However, only so rarely cold enough that it froze and you could walk across it. An old Danish law, that nobody had bothered to nullify, said that if a Swede walked over the frozen Øresund, the Danes were allowed to beat that Swede with sticks. Of course, this rule went all the way back from the years with constant fights and wars between the two nations, but now, it was just something you laughed at.

Who would be stupid enough to walk across the ice?

. . .

Yeah. Who would?

Berwald's hair might waver, but his gaze did not. He was focusing intently on the coast far, far away, the coast that was lined by many and bright lights. They didn't quite illuminate the surrounding darkness, though. Even with his reduced eyesight, he could see the outline of ships and boats, and he wondered if one of them might be having him on board. Could Matthias have taken his boat and decided to sail across the water, to find him? Berwald hoped.

They had spent a lot of time together when they were younger. For quite a long time, Matthias had lived in Sweden with his step-parents. One time they had been out playing on a nearby playground, swinging and talking about various things. Matthias had asked which superhero Berwald liked the most to which Berwald said that he didn't have one. A shocked Matthias nearly fell off the swing, staring at the other in complete disbelief.

"What? Why don't you have a favourite superhero?" he asked, his voice a little bit offended, as if it was him personally you insulted if you didn't have a favourite hero. Berwald merely shrugged and jumped off the swing, landing not so elegantly in the grass. Already at a young age, Berwald was a big and muscular boy. He didn't even try hard. He barely tried at all.

"I just don't see the point in favouring one person over another," he said and turned to face the other who also jumped off his swing, but landing much more elegantly. He wasn't as big or bulky as Berwald. "I mean… they're all pretty cool, so what's the deal with saying one is better than the other?"

Present Berwald snorted at himself. He had been young and stupid back then, oh how he had been stupid. Not favouring one person over another, yeah, what a load of crap. If he had known that he would be like this when he grew up, giving one more person more room in his heart, in his mind, would his answer have been any different? He saw everyone as a human – they weren't American, Danish, Finnish, Russian or any other nationality. They were humans living in a country with a certain name, and they all had equal rights; everyone should have the same living conditions. It was the same with sexual orientation. No one was more important than the other.

Some would say it was because Berwald was gay but it wasn't. Even before Berwald found out that he preferred men over women, he had always believed that homosexuals were just as right as heterosexuals, or bisexuals, or asexuals, or whichever sexual orientation one had. It was none of his business, so why should others worry about it? It didn't make sense to him how people could treat each other badly just because they had sex with the same gender, or didn't have it at all.

It was, however, something he grew used to, something he had to accept as he didn't have the power to stop it. He was but a human with no influence.

But as they grew up and it was time to start in school, Matthias had to go back to Denmark. Berwald was really sad about this, since Matthias was a great friend and had a lot of the same views on things as Berwald, and even when he hadn't, they could argue without being annoyed with each other. They were discussing various things at a nearly frighteningly early age, but as with any child with about average intelligence, the level wasn't that high and their arguments were often childish and without any real thought.

But one thing was for sure – Berwald and Matthias agreed that everyone should be treated equally, no matter their skin colour, nationality, sexual orientation, gender or whatever. Anything else was simply idiotic.

School time came, and Berwald got weird looks when he didn't mind playing with the girls and their 'stupid' toys, which often included dolls and tea parties. The classical girly stuff that boys didn't want to get near, but that he didn't have a problem with.

However, even he grew tired of pretending that the skinny, long-haired dolls could talk and have arguments. Then he wanted to play with the boys, who were either playing some form of sport or playing with cars or action men. But here, he was not allowed.

"You either play with the girls or the boys, wiener-boy!" they said to him and left. Berwald had no idea what 'wiener-boy' was supposed to mean. All boys had a wiener, right? And if they didn't, then they weren't boys. Simple as that.

So for the next many years, Berwald grew used to nicknames being thrown after him, growing meaner and meaner as he and his 'friends' grew older. It wasn't until he was around fourteen years or so that he found out what they actually meant. That they actually knew more about him than he did, at least concerning this.

During a holiday in Denmark, spent at Matthias' house, Berwald began feeling odd around him. To be honest, it had lasted some time. Whenever they spoke on the phone, Berwald found his heart thumping a little bit harder and he was always afraid that his voice would reveal that. He felt, sometimes, as if he was running out of breath, even though he was standing completely still by the phone, looking out the window. Around Matthias, he felt giddy and stupid, and he was nervous to touch the other, even if it was just fingers brushing over his hand. It was stupid and idiotic, but Berwald couldn't stop it.

He hadn't given it much thought. 'Maybe,' he thought, 'it's just because we're such good friends?' Because they really were good friends. They could talk about everything together – even though kids at their age barely had anything super-important or private to talk about – and there was always time, too. Matthias was often the one who had it the hardest. His parents were abusive. That was the reason he had been living with another family for quite some time.

When he told Berwald, he was unconsciously brushing his upper arm, rubbing it lightly. Berwald gently took his hand away, so used to the shiver that he barely noticed it this time, and grabbed the sleeve of the shirt, tugging it lightly upwards. Matthias didn't do anything to stop him but his lips were pressed tightly together, his eyes not meeting Berwald's. Seeing as he wasn't stopped, Berwald rolled up the sleeve.

Berwald had rarely had reason to be angry, but he found it quite reasonable now. Matthias' arms were littered with bruises, and the further up the sleeve was rolled, the worse they got. The shoulder itself looked like it had been hit with something really, really heavy, like a ball bat. It even looked deformed.

He could feel Matthias tremble and gently whispered a few soothing words to him in Swedish, brushing his head.

"Matthias, this is not all, is it?"

It took a long time for Matthias to answer and he only did so with a curt shake of his head, his eyes closed tightly.

"Can I see the rest?"

This time, there came no answer. Matthias was clenching one hand with the other, and it was impossible to tell if the shaking of his head was intentional or not. In doubt of what to do, and what he was allowed, Berwald hesitated to reach for the hem of the shirt. The sleeve was rolled down again.

Matthias' body twitched when Berwald's hand accidentally brushed his stomach. He could practically feel the breath hitch in the other's throat, and how the muscles in the stomach contracted, as if fearing his touch. But of course he would.

Berwald felt more and more anger rise to his chest and he grabbed the hem a bit tighter, making it clear that he was going to lift and remove it from Matthias. He met no resistance at all. Matthias only whimpered when Berwald lifted it and a strangled sound left his throat when the shirt was removed. He did nothing to cover himself up or hide the bruises and the marks. His eyes were still firmly pressed together and the head turned away from Berwald, as if ashamed.

But ashamed of what? What part could he possibly have in these blue, black and yellow bruises that covered his body, the scar stretching from one side of his torso and stomach to the other, or the countless, undeniable marks of thick leather across his back and shoulders? Or… or…

A mark in the neck caught his attention. It looked particularly much like the burn from a cigarette.

"Matt… they haven't burnt you, have they?"

This time, he was entirely sure that the nod was on purpose.

Immense anger build up in his chest, making his hands shake and the very moment Berwald touched Matthias' back, Matthias wailed, as if he had anticipated pain. Berwald not as much as batted an eye. He had expected that kind of reaction. The other was not crying but his breathing was hard, fast and rugged, clearly telling that it wasn't far away.

"Can you turn around?" And he instantly turned around, facing Berwald with glistening eyes and teeth that bit his bottom lip to keep the tears at bay. He had reacted like a dog to its master.

It was sickening.

Berwald searched the other's eyes and as expected, he found fear and regret, but the more he searched, the more he found. There were other things hidden in the deep, blue pools – mischief, angst, happiness and, most misplaced, relief. Relief that he hadn't been hit yet. Angst that it had yet to come.

"Not from me," Berwald mumbled and glanced down the other's body once more before he tryingly cupped Matthias' cheeks. The shivering turned a bit more violent, and his head dropped.

"Matt, can you look at me? Please?" he added when Matthias shook his head. He waited for the other to respond but it never came.

Berwald was infuriated.. He often got annoyed, maybe even angry, at the idiots in the news, but this was something else. Matthias was… well, Matthias was Matthias! He was a good guy, he wasn't someone you hurt! Especially not as his parents…

He felt an irrational need to show those parents a thing or two. An irrational need to lecture them on child-raising, a subject he really had no knowledge of. And more so, he was feeling something rather… odd and also inappropriate.

Of course, he had read about it, but never between a man and a man. He had learnt that was wrong and not fitting for this society, had learnt that love was only allowed between a man and a woman. He had heard of this for all his years in school, up until now, when he was in seventh grade.

Berwald didn't know what it was about Matthias in this moment that made him realize it, but he now understood that his hammering heart and short breath hadn't been just because they were good friends. The way he always thought about Matthias and things to do with him, things to discuss with him, and places to take him, now made sense.

Without thought for what he would be called in school if this was found out, he put a hand under Matthias' chin and – surprisingly gently for a teenager his size – tipped it upward. Matthias cracked one eye open, filled with fear, then opened both widely when he felt the bigger and much warmer man's arms wrap around his quivering body and then the lips of the very same man that were put against his. Clumsily and nervously, Berwald kissed Matthias.

He had no idea how to do this. He had never kissed anyone before, had always been nervous it would feel gross or weird or anything. He had had so many expectations and had maybe also feared that his first kiss wouldn't live up to them.

But all of these worries were rid from his mind the very moment he saw Matthias close his eyes again and felt the man relax again. The warmth that surged through his veins and between their connected lips assured him that this was okay. This was how it was supposed to be.

Then Matthias pushed him away. Pretty harshly. Berwald looked at him, wondering what he had done wrong. Matthias had seemed to like it at first. What went wrong, and when?

"I-I'm sorry," he mumbled and reached out for his shirt. A particularly long scar was stretched out and turned snow white before the boy sat back down, shirt in hand. "But this is… this is weird. I can't… I can't do this. Not with you. We're… we're friends, you know?"

He quickly slipped on his shirt and made sure to stare in every direction but Berwald's. The thick shirt easily covered up the evidence of what happened in the seemingly happy home. Berwald just looked at him, not knowing what was worst; the pain in his chest, or the numbness.

Even if he had only just realized that he loved the Dane, it already hurt to know that Matthias didn't reciprocate it.

"It's… I'm sorry, Ber, but it's just too weird for me. I'm…"

There was a long silence in which Matthias looked down at the floor, once more rubbing his upper arm. He was searching for the words, for what to say in this situation. He had no idea.

"You're not heterosexual. Is it me? Is there something wrong with me?"

"No!" Matthias instantly said, much too quickly. He blushed profusely. "I just mean… No, I'm not straight but I just don't feel that way about you, Ber. I-I'm sorry…"

And now, Berwald also looked down.

"I can't blame you."

The pain. That was the worst.

Matthias lifted his head, not sure he had caught that right.

"I mean… I'm not extraordinary in any way. I'm stronger than most boys our age but that's about it. I can't write particularly well, nor read. I'm no good at drawing, either. The only instrument I can play without making the younger kids cry is the piano, and only when I play 'Twinkle Twinkle Little Star'. I'm not special. I understand why you wouldn't like me that way."

Astounded by this speech and how pained it sounded, Matthias didn't know what to say.

Berwald got up from the floor they were sitting on. Matthias followed him with the eyes. Berwald felt as if his heart was crumbling in his chest, the pieces falling down, down, down, puncturing whatever they met on their way.

"I'm sorry for… for having made you show that." He gestured at the other's body. "I didn't know it was that bad…. I hope we can still remain friends, this little… incident… in spite?"

"Of course," Matthias said and got up from the floor as well. "Of course. I don't want to lose you as a friend. You're an amazing person, Ber. And don't… don't apologize for anything that has happened today."

Berwald nodded slowly and tryingly embraced Matthias who, much to his relief, returned the hug, even though weakly.

After a long time standing like that, they let go of each other, and Berwald left. He had to go home. Berwald felt like a monster when he let the Dane alone with the parents, knowing that he would probably be beaten again the same evening. They had been together for fifteen minutes longer than planned. That was not acceptable in Matthias' parents' eyes.

Life went on. Some months passed and the two boys hadn't seen each other during that time, much to their regret. They wanted to see each other, despite what had happened. However, it didn't take long before Berwald got worse odds in school.

Someone from Berwald's school – one of the bigger boys from the higher grades – had somehow heard of Berwald's kiss with Matthias – another boy. Someone from another country. And quickly, the rumour was not only that they had kissed. They had gone all the way; they had fucked. Where other boys could bask in honour and respect from other students if they had sex, Berwald was treated like a joke.

In just a week, he was being shunned from the class' society. He was called degrading names, people played "pranks" on him – most of them physical – and they asked him demeaning questions.

And though Berwald had never been one to let bullying get to him, it was different now. He was older and more emotional, but they were only older. They weren't as afraid or innocent as small kids, and they didn't hold back from beating him, even if he was two heads taller than them. They just ganged up on him and caught him. He hated to use violence, so it was rather easy. One of their favourite things was to take his glasses and either hide them or trample them to pieces.

Once, Berwald told the teachers about the bullying and showed them the sad remains of his glasses. He was promised that this would stop instantly but as with most public schools, the kids were just given a scolding, and then that was that.

Nothing more was done. And the bullies didn't let a scolding stop them. If anything, it only spurred them on. It showed them that strong little Berwald wasn't so strong, in spite of everything.

Berwald was bullied the rest of his time in that public school, and it was enough that he stopped talking. He quickly learnt that it was only fun to beat him when he made noises, or when he asked them to stop. If he was silent and just looked at or away from them while it happened, it would be over much sooner. So Berwald forced himself to remain silent and never say a word.

A thing he had not foreseen, though, was that the silence regarded everything. He suddenly didn't say anything in class. Even when he knew the answer, he wouldn't put his hand up anymore. It would give the kids reason to bully him again, saying things like "Oh, a whole hand? I thought it was only fingers!" or "Isn't that a bit much to put into an ass, Ber-Ber?"

And he would have to talk. He didn't like to talk anymore. It reminded him of what kids could be evil enough to do, to say. How horrible they could treat each other.

One might now think, 'But what about his parents?' Say that they would have to notice the change. Yes. They ought to have. But it so happened that Berwald's mother was an alcoholic, and his father was dead. Had been so way before Berwald was born. Died of an overdose.

His mother didn't notice much, but was sure to scold Berwald if he hadn't bought all the ingredients from the supermarket.

"Can't you do anything right, kid? Even your grades are getting worse!" she would often yell at him, her breath reeking of vodka and beer. Berwald nodded and ate in silence. His mother never questioned his sudden silence. It was as if she hadn't even noticed. Berwald did not doubt that was the reason.

But even as this happened, and even when Berwald's mother died, he did not fall into depression. Berwald maintained a stable and healthy mind, and he was soon moved to live with his great-great brother in North-western Sweden, relatively close to the Norwegian border. The only thing that was changed was that he didn't talk anymore. This, though, was bad enough. No one he knew bothered to ask what was going on. Since technology had evolved, he rarely talked to Matthias over the phone anymore. It was all done via text.

Matthias did not know that Berwald was being bullied. Berwald never told him. Matthias had his own problems to deal with; he didn't need to know what was happening to him. He always made sure to ask how he was doing, though. And the Dane said that everything was fine. His parents had been arrested by the police and he now lived with his grandparents because he was still too young to live by himself.

Berwald nodded to himself as he thought back. That was a good thing. If he had been telling the truth, of course. Matthias was the type of person who would lie to make his friends happy or make them stop worry about him.

But time passed, and it was suddenly a year since primary school ended. A year had gone, with its events and its ups and downs but all in all, Berwald was the same boy - young man, if you please - as he had always been. More or less. He had met a new kid in the new school, one who didn't bully him but instead seemed oddly afraid of him since he never talked but just stared a lot.

However, it quickly turned out that this kid was very kind and very friendly. He had a bright smile and always sat beside Berwald during lunch breaks. In the beginning, Berwald was afraid on his behalf – what would the other kids do to him when they saw this? Even though this was a new school, the kids knew him. This was a small town – rumours spread fast between kids.

This boy – his name was Tino, and he was from Finland – was no baby, though. He could defend himself, and he could most certainly defend Berwald. One time, when a group of kids came over to them and began their usual series of jokes on Berwald, who had learnt to ignore them until they beat him, Tino had patiently waited. Having put his homemade sandwich with fish and mayo down when the biggest of the kids was done, Tino slowly got up from his chair and then, without a warning, lashed out and gave the brat a solid fist square in the face.

The nose broke and the kid stumbled backwards, roaring like a hurt animal. Berwald stared, shocked. Tino was such a small fellow, only just tall enough to rest his head on Berwald's chest. Yet he had just smacked one of the biggest kids at school, like he held no fear at all.

"What the fuck, man?" the kid's friends yelled, some of them drawing back to help the leader of the gang get back up again.

"About that," Tino said, and his voice was oddly rough, "you haven't had a nice fuck in a long time, have you? You can always try my fist, it's always eager to meet new assholes." And with that, Tino rolled up the sleeves of his shirt but just as he was about to punch the first kid again, another, much bigger boy stepped in front of him and he made ready to hit Tino.

Before he got his far, though, Berwald had also gotten up and grabbed that kid's wrist, bending his arm in a way that forced him to his knees if he wanted to keep his shoulder in place. He screamed. Berwald didn't as much as bat an eye.

It took nothing more than a few curses and promises from the small Tino – in his horrifying native tongue – before the bullies were on their way. Everybody in the canteen had watched the scenery, but when Tino turned around to look at them with the classical 'Does anyone else have a problem with Berwald?'-look, they quickly returned to their lunch. With a satisfied smile, Tino sat back down beside Berwald and picked up their conversation exactly where it had been broken off, like nothing had happened.

Tino and Berwald quickly became good friends, despite Berwald's talking handicap. Tino talked a lot, anyway, and could easily talk for both of them. Not a problem! They gained a reputation as scary, and people whispered to each other when they walked down the hallways together. They could always be seen together, and a new rumour quickly spread – something was going on between them.

The first time they heard this, Tino blushed furiously and blabbered away for almost a full minute, apparently under the illusion that he explained the case, before he realized that Berwald was staring at him. Intently. Then he instead looked insecure, laughed nervously, and awkwardly patted Berwald's back with the words "Aaahaaha, n-no, we're not dating or anything!" Truth be told, Berwald felt pretty sure that he could have loved Tino, if he hadn't had Matthias. Tino didn't need to know this, though.

Yet, even with his new friend – who was the first after Matthias – Berwald still missed the Dane on the other side of the ocean.

Even now, so many, many years later, when they were all adults, Berwald still missed him. That was the reason he was standing here now, in the late autumn night, with his little dog barking and jumping around. He had kept in touch with Matthias, of course he had, and also Tino. Also Matthias' other friend, Lukas, and his little brother, Emil, after he had met them randomly some years ago.

But it was only Matthias he had had planned events with. The others had more or less just been there as well. Berwald didn't mind. They were nice people and they didn't seem to have anything against homosexuals. In fact, they all seemed a little to that side. Matthias had several times told that Lukas and Emil were secretly doing 'it'. Not that Berwald cared. What those two did or did not do was their case. Berwald just wanted to know if Matthias was seeing someone; he just couldn't get himself to ask.

He assumed that Matthias still remembered the kissing scene, and he did not doubt Matthias' feelings were unchanged, even after so many years. Another thing that made it so unbearably hard that he could not ask. For what if he was wrong? What if Matthias had changed?

Berwald stepped slightly wrong and found his foot wet the same instant. He wasn't wearing any shoes; wanted to feel the earth and the small rocks. Occasionally the water, too, when he walked out in it. With the cold water gripping his ankle, he looked over the ocean, wondering what Matthias was doing right now. If he was thinking of him. If he ever dreamt of him. Berwald often dreamt of Matthias; that was no secret.

Once in a while, he woke up because he screamed. Most often, it was because of a dream in which Matthias was being beaten anew, or Matthias had died. Every time, he frantically called the man, not caring for the time, and only when he had heard the sleepy Dane's "Hvem fanden er det?" could he go back to sleep in peace.

Matthias often used his native tongue; Berwald had asked him to. He liked the foreign language that was so close to his own and to Lukas', yet so different. He barely understood what he said but he liked how it sounded when Danish rolled over his tongue so unhindered, so easily, without any form of thought or need for finding the correct word. It came so easily to him and it amazed Berwald.

In turn, Matthias occasionally asked Berwald to speak Swedish to him. Berwald had refused – he didn't talk anymore. Talking only made you vulnerable, and talking could be used against you. He had given up that long time ago. Of course, Matthias didn't know the reason for this. Neither did Tino. Or anyone else that Berwald knew. Which were few.

However, he gladly texted in Swedish. He was happy to use his native tongue since that was easier and he didn't need to think about it – he did it automatically.

He whistled to his dog, calling her back to his side. She gladly complied, barking happily and rushed back to him. A vague smile crossed his features and he began walking back to his home. It was far away from everything and everyone but that was how he liked it.

It ensured him total peace. From looks, words, and everything else.

Everything else… but the dreams. And his longing. There was no denying it:

He could never forget Matthias.

Okay, so let's have a bit of a serious talk - I'm sorry if anyone feels offended/traumatized/the like by this. Also, I have a feeling something is completely off with the way I've written this. I'm putting it up already because I want it out of my system and don't feel like waiting for it to be beta-read. So, please, leave a review and tell me what you think of this - negative as well as positive! Just... don't kill me meanwhile, okay?

Translation:

Hvem fanden er det? = Who the hell is this? (Danish)