The Norwegian walked through the long hall lit by torches set in the walls, his footsteps reverberating around him. He held a candle set in a brass candle holder in his left hand, the flame dancing in the night air. Beams of moonlight illuminated the ground through the latticed windows, the sky clear of all clouds.
He pushed open the heavy oaken door at the end of the corridor, the musky scent of old books hitting him. He shut the door behind him, setting down the candle on the writing desk in the room's centre. He ran his long, pale fingers along the leather bound spines of the many books lining the shelves, dull eyes scanning the letters printed on them, stopping at a familiar worn book. Pulling it out, he ran his fingers over the title of gold letters on the front. He sat down in the chair, opening it's browned, crinckled pages, engulfed once more by the story it contained.
The moon had long crossed the middle of the sky by the time he heard the doors of the library open. His eyes left the page, meeting a pair of azure ones which held the sky. The Dane stood in the door, a light, tired smile on his lips, his features soft. "Good evening, Nor," he said, softly, too softly for him.
"Are you weary?" Norway asked, setting his book aside. "You sound very unlike yourself, Denmark."
The blonde man nodded, his smile widdening slightly, eyes glinting in the dim light. "You could say that I am. Although sleep doesn't come easy right now." He meandered towards the bookshelves, eyes running down the shelves upon shelves, the smile on his lips never fading. The candle dwindled on the desk.
"What keeps you, Denmark?" Norway asked slowly, quietly. He had known this man for centuries, known that nothing kept him from two things; one was breaking the fast and the other resting once twilight fell upon the land, shrouding it in the colours of midnight. His ultramarine eyes bore into the taller man's back, his face concealed for the moment. He observed the slope of his shoulders, the unnatural droop in them. Something was the matter, but he could not place a cause.
"Denmark," he said again, rising to his feet. His footsteps echoed against the library walls, impressing upon them its grandness; its emptiness. He rested a hand on the man's shoulder, earning a sideways glance. No smile lined the creases of Denmark's face; no sign he had ever smiled to begin with. "Den, whatever is the matter?" His attempt at empathy had been a disaster to his own ears. He cursed his monotonous voice and demeanour. His thoughts drifted to Finland for the slightest of fleeting moments before he chased it away. Finland was gone, as was Sweden. It was just them, and the young nation asleep in his room, lulled to sleep by Norwegian lullabies. And yet, a coy smile spread on the other nation's lips. He would have never admitted it, not to save his life, but Denmark's simper was the most beautiful, heart-warming smile he had laid eyes upon. But it did not match to his cocky smirks, or joyous beams. They had, for a reason the Norwegian did not understand, caught his heart.
"Look around, Nor," Denmark said then, drawing him back, his voice catching in his throat. "Look at this place. It feels as though there is something missing; a desolation of a sort. It's quite melancholic, do you not think?" Norway looked; at the walls, the tapestries peeling; at the chandelier, the edges covered in spiderwebs; at the shelves, the tops of which were covered in a layer of dust. A draught filtered through the large latticed windows. He shivered.
"It is still home," Denmark continued after a short pause, a hesitation, "But for how much longer?"
Their eyes connected, azure on navy, lips in firm lines.
"I suppose," Norway began, looking at the ground, the boards of which looked more broken than usual, "As long as we let it be."
That was all he said, and yet the Dane's mouth gaped if ever so slightly. He chuckled then, low and long.
"You are right, as usual, Nor," he said, the smile on his lips once more. "What would I do without you?"
"You'd do marvelously," Norway returned to his seat, taking the book into his hold again. "You have held up this long afterall." From his peripheral vision he saw Denmark shake his head, running his fingers through his hair. He approached him, drawing up a chair to sit beside him, their eyes connecting once more.
"Do you recall the Yule Ball of 1518?"
Norway cocked a brow. "I do. Although why now, after so many years, so many centuries, you bring it up I do not know."
Denmark's smile widened. "You see, it was one of the last we... We shared as a family." Denmark folded his hands on his lap. "There were were many beautiful ladies there, were there not? Do you ever wish we could have that sort of family. To live like normal people?" Norway took in a short breath.
"No, Denmark. Because it cannot be. We will never have that, for it is not our fate. Anything of the sort could only lead to dismay and heartbreak. So for your own sake forget about it." Annoyed, his eyes returned to the book, leaving the other looking at his interlocked fingers.
"But Nor... What if it was with another like us; a country. Do you reckon it would be possible then?" Norway had to think for a moment, making Denmark think he had ignored his question.
"It could be," he answered briskly, "But things do not always work out. Not for us. We live too long."
"We've worked out." Norway's eyes widened, landing on the other, his cheeks flushed a bright pink. "Have we not?"
"Do not even imply such things, Dane. I do not love you, and could never love you as anything but a brother. It is wrong."
Denmark looked at his shoes, finding a hole in the sole. "But what if it isn't? There is a reason behind everything in this world so why would anyone commit the act of sodomy if it was wrong? Why are people like that if they shouldn't be?"
"Quiet," the Norwegian slammed the book on the desk, startling the other. "I do not wish to speak of this topic Denmark. There is nothing that can make me change my mind. Countries make unions, yes, but they are not always about love. And ours most definitely is not. Now if you excuse me, I wish to retire. Good night, Denmark." With feverish movement, he shot up from his seat, desiring only to get away. His chest and shoulders felt heavy, more so than ever before, and he wanted to scream into the night, and to vanish completely afterwards.
A firm grip tugged at the sleeve of his shirt. He turned in a fit of fury on the Dane who refused to let him go, let him escape.
"Let me go, Denmark, you idiot," he muttered through gritted teeth. The Dane's face was not hurt, relaying only confusion. His brows were furrowed, eyes glinting uncertainly. Before Norway could put in another complaint he was pulled back, back against the other's chest, his arms circling Norway's torso, and as much as he wanted to struggle, he couldn't. He felt breathless. A hundred needles pricked his skin, his chest falling unevenly. He could feel the other's breath warm on his pale neck, the hairs on which stood on end. His muscles tensed, eyes widened. He couldn't move.
"Denmark..."
"Stay like this," he whispered, "Just for a while." Norway stayed quiet, not answering the other's words. After a while, just as he felt the Dane's grip loosen, he couldn't stand it any longer. Shaking, he let his hand travel to the material on his back, gripping to it, his other tangling with his hair, pushing his face into his shoulder. He could feel the other smiling.
"No one hears about this," he whispered, letting his pride speak. He felt Denmark's fingers run across his own, making him look up at him in shock, meeting his sure gaze. His other hand was on Norway's waist, a blazing heat in the pale man's cheeks. Outraged, he asked,
"Denmark, what on Earth are you doing?"
He hushed him, pulling him closer, their fingers interlocked, Norway frowning at him, a grimace on his features. The taller man closed his eyes, an amused smile painted on his face, and before Norway knew what was happening he was being swayed, softly, gently, from side-to-side, looking up in shock. Denmark opened one eye to look back at him.
"Just this one time, all right?" He asked, stepping back, leading the Norwegian along with him; he huffed but nodded curtly, breaking eye contact. The Dane chuckled, bemused. They danced silently by the candle light, the only sounds their footsteps and breathing. Although he daren't meet his eyes, Norway could feel the other's gaze upon his features, wondering why he was paying so much attention to him. A fleeting glance at the other confirmed his thoughts; they looked at eachother for that moment and it was like everything else around them disappeared. Once again a rush of blood surged to his face, one he could not explain; dared not explain. But for that moment he wondered if it had been just a trick of the light that Denmark looked more handsome than usual.
Hey guys! So it's not "Someone to Appreciate Me" but... I just thought I should share this with you guys! Please review I love reading everyone's lovely comments ^^