A/N: I have another account, x6y2. I'm just moving this fanfic over for a rewrite and for any of my readers who might be interested in Hetalia fanfics. Feel free to check out my other stories on that other account I made on a whim.
Sorry that there's practically nothing new. I haven't had a lot of inspiration for this.
Prologue
Dagen som er gått, får ein ikkje igjen.
The day that is gone, you will not get one more time.
"It would be a lie. To say that I don't resent you, that is."
Norway talks quietly, eyes on the floor for a moment before trailing to observe Denmark, waiting for a reaction of some sort.
Denmark doesn't appear surprised at all, and he shows an expression akin to resignation and understanding. He most likely expected this. He had to be, if he asked Norway a question of whether he hated him or not.
The rain pours outside, the loud sound drowning out all other noises. It should be almost noon, but the sun is nowhere to be seen, with only a gray sky and dark clouds as its replacement. It all makes the empty hallway the two of them are standing in feel more dull and uncomfortable, despite how ornate it looks.
At least the place is quiet. Nothing but the sound of the rain.
The servants have their businesses to tend to, and Iceland, if Norway recalls correctly, should be in his room, playing with Puffin. That leaves just Denmark and himself here now.
He wonders how all of this will turn out.
A decision or the other might change things. This conversation might end in glares and bitter words, maybe even a physical confrontation. Or perhaps it will become a tearful reconciliation instead.
None of them seem very desirable, to be honest...
Perhaps Norway should've left with Sweden and Finland on that day. But one needs to know that the should'ves, would'ves, and could'ves of life only come to your mind when you are unsatisfied with something, but cannot change it. What's in the past is the past, and Norway will take responsibility for the choices he made.
He'll have to make some more choices today.
"You can leave if you want to," Denmark mutters quickly, words clearly said on a whim. Norway doubts that he means it, only gives him another glance, slightly tempted but not really. His mixed emotions cannot give him a clear direction for what to think.
The man—youth, really—in front of him has been with Norway for such a long time. They started out as inseparable childhood friends, roaming the country and spending all their time together. And then there was the Viking Ages, when they met Sweden and all three of them sailed together. Those times were wild and exhilarating, something that Norway always misses.
And now, they're friends-maybe-lovers trapped in what remains of a broken union.
Was all of them living under one roof really a good idea? Obviously not.
But still, Norway doesn't have a clear idea of what he feels, or wants to feel. Hate? Love? Their relationship, and their existence, really, is too complicated for such things. Affection and hatred stem from a wide range of things. From their history to their own personal feelings.
But no matter how much Norway ponders and thinks, this has to have a conclusion. Whether it be reconciliation or further dissention between them…
"Denmark." There's no reply, and Denmark seems to be troubled, not paying attention to Norway. Or maybe he's just daydreaming, like he sometimes does.
"Bror. Den." Norway shakes Denmark's shoulder gently, and finds himself positively melting inside when their gazes meet and Denmark smiles slightly.
What a hopeless, hopeless fool I am.
There's no telling if Denmark is just as attached as Norway is. Even if they act as lovers do, Denmark has never confirmed anything, making their relationship more of an affair, a fling, than anything that feels real.
But even so, Norway feels that there's something which ties them together. Something that binds their paths, which seem destined to cross.
He's sinking deeper and deeper into this. Whatever it is. Norway already knows his own answer, what he will choose.
Between freedom and faith, however misplaced the latter may be.
And even if he might drown, it's far too late to turn back.
(Because...he made his choice long, long ago.)