It was one of those nights that make you wonder. One of those nights when it is incredibly humid, and you feel the need to throw open the windows to coax in even the smallest breeze to move the hot, sticky air. Crickets chirp loudly, frogs croak, and lightning bugs float up and meld with stars in a twinkling cacophony of lights.
Moonlight shone down on a small cottage resting in a large field of grass spattered with sparks of light given off by lightening bugs. The dry vegetation was high enough to brush the small window of the bedroom. A few silver beams of light shone through the glass to rest upon the bare chests of two blondes lying peacefully in the oversized bed.
The smaller one was stretched out with his face turned away from the other; the tips of his feet barely brushed the quilt that was carelessly thrown back at the foot of the bed. The sheet covered to about halfway up his chest, where the light blue cotton gave way to milky smooth skin. One of his elegant arms was folded up to cover his eyes, and the other rested on top of the sheets next to his body. Norway appeared to be sleeping, breathing deep and even.
The larger one was curled up on his side, sheets bunching at his hips. Both of his arms lay near Norway's, fingers only inches apart. His half-lidded sky blue eyes traced over his fellow Nordic's outline, admiring the shadows and planes of his skin. His eyes trailed down Norway's arm, until they reached the inside of his wrist, where they caught on something.
A small dip in the pale skin; a scar. He made a face, then brought one hand over to the smaller one and began tracing it absentmindedly with his thumb. He let his eyes wander some more, noting that there were several more of these scars, ranging from tiny to at least two inches in diameter, all over Norway's body. In his stupor of sleepy curiosity, he didn't even notice that Norway's eyes fluttered open.
"What are you doing?" the stoic nation asked, moving his hand away from his face and blinking slowly.
"Mmmm," was all that Denmark replied with.
"What're these?" the "King of the North" asked, rubbing his thumb over the scar on Norway's wrist again. His deep blue eyes flickered down to see what Denmark was asking about.
"My fjords?" he questioned, finally turning to face the wild-haired country.
"Your fee-yords?" Denmark sounded out the word, sounding puzzled. Norway let out an exasperated sigh, fluttering the bangs that were usually pinned back with the air from his nose and mouth.
"Fjords. They're landforms on my country's coastlines that were formed by glacier movement. They took a long time to show up, and they're never going away," he explained. Denmark wrinkled his nose.
"How did they form? Like, what did the glaciers do?" Denmark asked, rubbing at one with his eyes never leaving Norway's face. The smaller blonde closed his eyes and sighed through his nose, forehead wrinkling a bit as he made a face.
"I- they-," he whispered after a moment, losing his barrier of constant composure for but a second. He cleared his throat and opened his eyes, fixing them to a knot in the wood of the ceiling.
"They carved down the mountains over hundreds of years… thousands of years. They were wounds that never closed… Until the glaciers melted, of course." Norway stared at the natural curves of the wood, trying to pretend that there weren't strains of pain standing stark in his eyes.
Denmark was, for once, silent. He continued tracing the marred tissue with his forefinger, appearing deep in thought.
"There are a few that are still open…" the smaller Nordic continued, taking hold of Denmark's wrist and guiding it to the crook of his elbow. The wild-haired man lightly set his fingers upon Norway's skin, and immediately found what he had been talking about.
An open cut, gauged deep on one side and getting shallower as it went along. Certain parts of it were almost scabbed over, while some glistened with blood deep within the cut. Norway inhaled sharply when Denmark's finger pressed a bit too heavily, and the Dane whispered quiet words of consolation.
"They seem worse," Denmark said thoughtfully after a few minutes.
"Worse than what?" asked Norway, looking away from the ceiling and blinking at the taller Nordic.
"Battle scars," he said. He bit the inside of his cheek thoughtfully, as if wondering how to word what was on his mind. Norway remained silent, inwardly enjoying this new side of Denmark.
"They… you said that they are open for a really long time. Battle scars… they take a while to heal, but they eventually do. These… they're open for even longer…" Magnus trailed off. Lukas looked at him for a moment.
"I've not been through anything different." He said quietly. Magnus opened his mouth with a confused look, and Lukas continued before the Dane could say anything.
"All of us- the nations- have been through so much. We've got our nation problems, and we've got our own, personal problems." He said, looking straight at Mangus.
"But these," he continued, glancing down at his scarred arm and then back up at the taller nation, "they're just part of the job description. I can't imagine being without them, simply because they've always been there. I'm no different than any other nation."
"But… you're different. We're all different." Denmark protested lightly, wrapping his arms around the smaller nation's body and bringing him a bit closer.
"But we all have problems. That's what I'm trying to say." Norway said, shifting about and reluctantly placing his arms around Denmark's waist. The taller nation hummed and adjusted his head so that it was snug against Norway's. They were silent for many moments, listening to the sounds of nature.
"Well…" Denmark began quietly, his lips moving against Norway's forehead, "I'm sleepy."
The smaller male chuckled slightly, and then shut his eyes and ignored the surge of warmth that ignited in his heart when he felt Denmark whisper, "I love you."
[A/N: …Thiiiis didn't really turn out the way that I wanted… Ah, well. I hope you enjoyed it.]