This is for the DenIce Fest on Tumblr. My prompt was "Magnet."
You could cut the tension in the room with a knife, Iceland thinks, looking across at him. Denmark is doing his damnedest to pretend he doesn't see the newly independent nation, but playing it cool has never been his strong point. Iceland feels like he's on top of the world and has to suppress a smirk when he sees the older nation's eyes flick towards him for the third time in the past ten minutes.
Norway elbows him in the ribs, nearly making him spill his champagne. Iceland sends him a glare when he takes the drink out of the younger's hand. "You're too young for this stuff," he says with a smirk. "You oughta go talk to him."
"Like hell am I going to apologize to him," Iceland says through gritted teeth, snatching his glass back.
"You don't need to mean it."
"I made the best out of a bad situation. He would have done the same. Any of you would have."
Norway assesses him with a cool gaze. "You're probably right, but you should still go talk to him."
"I don't need to, he'll come to me first." Iceland says this with full confidence, and Denmark's next furtive glance assures him even more. Norway shrugs and leaves to go talk to Sweden. Tonight is a night when they temporarily forget all that happened in the past five years, and Norway is too good at pretending Sweden didn't deny asylum to his royal family.
Denmark, on the other hand, cannot forget that Iceland declared independence when he was occupied. A genius plan, really, when he thought about it. Iceland was stranded in the middle of the Atlantic with no communication from his caretaker, and America and England were worried that he too would be occupied. So he got out from under Denmark when the latter couldn't protest. It was cold and ruthless, and Denmark didn't have to wonder where he learned that from.
He shouldn't be mad, but he really is. He had already recognized Iceland as an independent nation, but he still feels hurt from the betrayal. And yet, he can't stop his eyes from wandering over towards the new republic. Iceland is practically glowing, and Denmark feels drawn to him. Maybe he should go talk to him, tell him how angry he is. But now Norway he chatting with him, and they're both looking over towards him. He busies himself by talking to America. He has to thank him for taking such good care of his ward, er, former ward, but he can't find the proper words. Against his will, he finds himself glancing towards Iceland again. He thinks of the last 150 years they've spent together. Not that long, compared to the 400 years of Kalmar, but they've developed a bond. There is heavy tension in the air, a kind of pulling that forces the Dane to follow every move of Iceland's. So when the young nation suddenly leaves the room, he finds himself discreetly following.
Iceland leaves to get some fresh air after finishing his champagne. Denmark aside, the fake politeness in the room is exhausting. Leaning out over the balcony, he feels more than hears Denmark follow him out. He turns around and meets his gaze, and it's like a magnet pulling them together. Suddenly they're embracing, and suddenly they're kissing, and Iceland feels like he can finally breathe again for the first time since the war began.
"I'm still mad at you," Denmark says breathlessly when they pull apart.
"I know," is all Iceland says in response, and then they're kissing again. Maybe tomorrow they'll work things out between themselves, or maybe they'll go back to ignoring each other. But tonight they'll give in to the pull.