"Gå din väg vänd inte om" means "go your way and don't turn back" (or something like that) and comes from the song Slukk Min Tørst by Vidar Johnsen and Peter Nordberg, which are a Swede and a Norwegian... so, guess what, this is a SuNor, one of the many I wrote, but the first I want to translate, just to spread the love.
This was originally written by me in Italian and the translation may be wrong, so, please, if you find something very wrong tell me, as English is not my first language and the only way to use it, at the moment, is translating this and reading :) I owe a huge thanks to my friend Lulu for tracking all the lost "s" in the third person singular.
I use the following human names for the characters:
Norway is Lukas, Denmark is Mattæus and Iceland is Eirik.
Hope you enjoy it!
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Sometimes Lukas thinks that Fate has a lot of fun in teasing him. Or maybe it's more likely that he warns him of a danger. What danger?
Like letting down his defences and being torn to pieces, like a toy left into the not so loving hands of a cruel child.
Or maybe discovering that he can't block his own feelings any more, that he has to let them flow, like a dam finally breaking, instead of bottling them up like he did for centuries.
It hurts to trust. To love, to care for someone who will never be a true property, someone he can't put under a protective glass in his heart... it's foolish to trust and care. Even just leaving his brother alone, without bothering him with questions, it's heartbreaking.
It's not an overstatement. It's a truth, a memory of wars that the youngest seems not to remember, moments spent awake at night, worrying about him, trying to reach out to him, wanting to jump headlong in the battle just to take his hand for a moment alone.
He can have a mask, he can fake an apathy in front of suffering that nobody else can possess, but he knows he is not cold like he looks like. He knows that the armour and the mask are always spotless, even when he feels a claw around his chest.
He is not indifferent to the sadness of the Danish man in front of him. Even his brother, that usually spends his after-dinner reading, ignoring the pressure of Peter's requests for games or a story, has his book in his lap, eyes locked to Mattæus.
The Dane is silent, he doesn't joke with Tino, he doesn't bicker with Berwald, he doesn't annoy him to death. He just sits, not watching anyone in particular, looking at his fingers playing with each other, like a child would do.
Peter stares at him for a couple of second, then happily waddles to the Norwegian, a giant smile on his face. Sometimes he thinks that he is the kind of child that Tino and Matt could have, always smiling and lively, ambitious and...
"Why you and uncle Matt are not married yet? Papa and Mama are!" he almost shout, enthusiast.
...indiscreet.
Mattæus stares at him like he had just asked if he wants to eat Hanatamago at breakfast. Of course, he seems only mildly surprised, not shocked and hurt like Norway knows he is. He can't look into his eyes, because shame and confusion makes him shake his head.
"Your parents are in love, kid." he answers, surprising the Norwegian. Iceland doesn't miss the occasion to look at him with a frown, like he wanted to read his mind. It is probably his personal way to reprimand his brother.
He can't help but feeling a twinge of jealousy and envy for the Dane. It looks like the island is always ready to protect and defend him, anything he does. Yes, of course he doesn't waste an occasion of accusing him of everything that goes wrong, from global warming to sadistic English chefs that capture Puffins and eat their roasted heart, like a modern Evil Queen, but he adores him.
Maybe because he saw how broken he can be, when no one is around lifting him up with a creative loving insult or a hand on his head, commenting on how small he is, when the Dane thought they hated him, after years spent always together, in the good and bad times, like a big and complicated marriage. They can't forget the time spent under the covers, listening to his stories like children scared of everything, Mattæus acting as a big brother or a foster father.
"Perhaps we should marry too... With a real ceremony?" asks the Finn, a little shy like always, when it comes to marriages. At least he doesn't freak out like he did before.
There is silence, like every single person in the room had stopped breathing.
Norway looks down on his hand, circling the empty ring finger with the thumb and index and rubbing the sign that the wedding ring left when he took it out. Two weeks. Yet, on the skin there is still a slight crease, even though he massages and tortures it , wanting the finger to come back to normal and forget.
There was the ring the Dane tormented him to buy. He had long time hesitated, because he knew that it meant a lot to him. After that, he did not became harder to get into another man's bed, he just took it off every time. The feeling of guilt for the betrayal was strong, but not as strong as the passion and affection for the lover. Not before nor after the ring was in place he has really stopped from longing the perfection of the moments spent with a man not rightfully his.
Lover, that's the name he can think of for both of them, heart breaking when he left the Dane. Heart breaking now, he can feel it beating faster and hurting and leaving him breathless and hopeless.
Is that the sign, then? Is that his fate? Being loveless, because he rejected love and was not able to turn lust and affection into something else.
"It's getting late." the Norwegian whispers, feeling like in a dream, breaking the silence and getting up under the questioning gaze of his brother. It seems that Tino realizes what he just said, blushing.
But Lukas stares the Swede's back, unmoving, as he was waiting for something.
How many times he was put in front of the same scene? With the same desire to reach out and grab the fabric of the shirt, stopping him, saying something that would change everything. But it's just a silly fantasy.
It's getting late and he doesn't belong here.
"Good night." He adds, before retrieving his car key and turn his back.
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Warm. It's warm, suddenly, almost hot. How could he not notice before? His chest, his throat, his legs... everything hurts, but it also feels like he came back to life, after a long sleep.
He feels a hand on his cheek, gentle and caring. It's too intimate, it means things he doesn't want to think about, things he can't think of himself, but he stays still, like he was in shock for what it just happened.
"Did I hurt you?"
These are not the kind of questions he wants to hear. Not when sex is usually brutal, made of scratches, bites, desire.
It's something completely different from that incredible warm sensation. It's snowing outside, how is it even possible? The house is poorly heated, in the middle of nowhere, yet it is warm and he feels fine.
The Norwegian shakes his head, his mouth and throat dry, too much to make a rational response. There are no words for it, not yet.
His eyes are closed. He realizes it when he notices the complete darkness, but he refuses to open them. He is terrified. He doesn't know how he went to that cabin in the woods, laying on a unknown bed, next to someone he... he can't even think it. He can't believe it, so he shuts all thoughts, like it was even possible, shaking his head.
Too many kisses. Too many caresses. The pain is dull and distant. All that kindness wipes it out like a magic eraser.
How... How did he get there?
He opens his eyes, but he can't remember that ceiling. It's grey from the soft light from outside, but all he can remember is an aquamarine that is stuck in his memory like it was everything meaningful in the Norwegian's world.
He fumbles, but the arms around him become even more gentle and the awareness of what he just did struck him.
He just had sex with Berwald.
No, this is not the worst. No, not this. It's the way, not the person. Or maybe the way is linked to the person?
They made love.
No scratches, no bites or vulgarities. No dirty talking, just silence.
There are other kisses again, delicate and shy, in spite of everything. He raises his head, defeated, leaving the neck at his mercy and, once again, he can't complain.
"Berwald."
The Swede leans on one arm to look at him, but he doesn't stop touching the other man. He brushes his temple and cheek with two fingers, looking at him as if he was the most important and precious thing in the world.
He doesn't want to believe it. He cannot believe they ended up in that bed, not after months in which he struggled with himself to return to normality, saying that nothing good would be born from that seeing each other continuously, always making up different excuses, just for the sake of staying silent while reading the same book.
Ah, but if they are in that bed, this has not to be the only motivation, right?
He tries to think of the possibility of Berwald making up excuses just to have sex, but the hypothesis is too distant from what he thinks of the Swede. Not with that gaze straight in Lukas', not when fingers caress him like he was the most delicate and precious being in the world.
"I don't want this."
Berwald looks at him with all the seriousness he can have, but can not help but reach out to his lips and kiss him for a long time, a silent thank you for the warmth he feels.
"I know."
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Matt doesn't seem to want to speak with him and the same goes with himself. He ignores everybody. He just has a little chat with Iceland, because he seems worried, but the boy accuses him of the Dane sadness and receives a silent answer, that ends with the unmistakable sound of the phone hung up.
Tino seems embarrassed to look at him, smiling shyly, like he knew everything. Sometimes he wonders if he really cares.
Lukas acts like he didn't mind, like nothing happened, he is used to it. He ignores the accusing stares, he stays apart from the rest of the family, he works and try to act like he always did, uncaring and cold, ignoring the voice in his head screaming and accusing him for the destruction of the delicate harmony of the family.
He feels someone hugging him from behind, taking him by surprise, and he tries to free himself, without moving a lot the assailant. He stands still when he sees who it is.
"Got you."
Denmark smiles, but that is so different from the one he is used to, so sad, it resembles more to a clown's grin. That image disturbs him and he tries to wear his best mask to look at him without seeming tense.
"Do you want to eat together?" he asks, rocking a little. He doesn't know what to say, his expression is so uncommon, so different and distant from what he learned to read, that it only confuses him.
What does he want, after all this weeks? To rebuild a broken relationship? To try to convince him to stay again by his side?
And Lukas? Does he really want to be that couple he loathed, once again? Just for looking into Iceland's eyes once again without feeling ashamed and accused?
Without even noticing it, he finds himself on a balcony, hidden from the rest of the world, where a chequered tablecloth and a wicker basket wait for them. The picnic stereotype, minus the ants.
Dan lets him go to sit down and pats the place next to him, telling him to do the same. He doesn't even hesitate, just watching the other man placing a lot of food on the tablecloth, enough for ten grown men. Does he wait for someone? Or maybe he really thinks that they can eat all that?
The Dane put his head on his shoulder, the nose in his hair, like a puppy trying to recognize its mother, searching for someone that could take care of it.
"You always smell like sweets, Lukas." he whispers, almost casually, like he just said the most normal thing in the world, before starting to eat.
Lukas is not hungry. He feels like a Nisse just decided to sit on his stomach as a punishment and just wait for a sign of anger from the usually bouncy Nordic.
He starts to think, once more, that he has to forget Berwald. The Swede will marry Tino. Tino, who ended up remembering that the tall and apparently scary man exists and has feelings for him.
The man that, not so long time ago, would have done everything for him.
Not so long ago? Does he really think something has changed? Does Lukas think that he is that important?
"You look sad. I can't stand it. Perhaps you don't want to tell me what is wrong, but I thought that... some sweets and good food... would have..." the Dane confesses, trying not to look at him in the eyes.
That's it? He doesn't want him back. He doesn't want a revenge. Just...
He shouldn't be that surprised. He always does the mistake of forgetting that he changed, since the Kalmar Union. That Denmark is different.
He cares. Matt cares about Lukas. Mattæus is the one bringing him warm biscuits, milk and coffee on Sunday mornings, he is the one giving him rabbit plushes he makes by himself. Mattæus is the one that isn't embarrassed at all when he goes to a toy shop and asks if there's a new Miffy plush to buy for the Norwegian.
For almost two years he tried to find in him all the possible character defects, from the mess in his apartment to the way they made love, hoping to find a way to forgive himself for having an affair, hating all the things he used to love, not so long ago.
I am sorry.
He wants to say it, but he can't. It's difficult to think it, too. It's not in his DNA, he guesses, to admit to be wrong. He doesn't have the words to admit how much less logic he is than he thought.
He just can hope that Matt will forgive him and forget, as time goes by, everything they had.
"It never made sense, isn't it? Us together."
Denmark interrupts his thoughts with that sad statement, but it seems that he had an answer already.
"Don't be stupid, Matt."
And this is it. It's what he needed to say to make the Dane smile and reach out to him, holding the smaller Norwegian in his embrace.
And there Lukas stays, unmoving, but glad.
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"You should say Tino that you are in love with him." he whispers, eyes locked on the grey ceiling. There is always a little light and the whole room is tinted in an interesting shades of grey. He likes that ceiling, there is always something interesting in it. It has to be for the particularities of it, the knots of the wood, the little veins that go from a wall to the other, disappearing behind the rustic furniture that Berwald made.
He envy him for that ability. He spends a lot of time watching him working with raw wood, in the calm atmosphere of that house.
Lukas thinks about his abilities every time he catches him working on some new piece of furniture. He speaks with fantastic creatures, that nobody else is aware of. He reads a lot faster than the others. He plays the violin. To his eyes, creating something beautiful with such a raw material is extraordinary.
Berwald leaves his work and embraces him, without a word, making him let go of his mug of coffee.
He kisses his neck, makes him shiver and this is the best and worse answer he could give Lukas.
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When did that sounded like a good idea? Leaving early from a business dinner, catching the last plane and driving in the darkness to the house they shared all those years, when they wanted to escape from their families and worries.
He doesn't want to enter, he tells himself that he can be better just looking at it and remembering, but knowing where the spare key is it's enough to convince him that it won't be a tragedy if he enters and take a look around.
Of course this is stupid.
But he wants to see the places he remembers, because he is scared that nothing ever happened, that everything was just nostalgia and a trick of his mind.
But here they are: the bed they used to share for making the cold go away, the sofa where they used to read together, in silence, but exchanging glances that were worth a lot more than words of love.
It's over now, but it happened and Lukas can't be glad enough for it.
"Lukas."
He is not really surprised, even if Berwald's voice is so near to him, a warm presence right into his ear. He nearly sighs, refusing to move -or maybe unable to- even when he is encircled by his arms, a possessive hug, something he wasn't expecting.
Please, don't look at me.
Like he was reading his thoughts, the Swede lets him free to go and makes him turn around, searching for his gaze. He doesn't comply, Norway, afraid of what he could read in that deep aquamarine.
His lips on the forehead are unexpected, but it's natural, normal, a good habit. He closes his eyes, so grateful he didn't loose this, as if all those months spent apart didn't mean a thing.
Then, he pulls apart and wears a mask of indifference, that, here and now, seems contrary to all nature, even his own.
He can see in Berwald disappointment and fear.
"You will marry Tino."
The Swede shakes his head and it looks like he is sighing, resigned, but with a faint smile.
His gaze, under the frown, is one of the thing he adores. It expresses so much more than the words, the kisses, the gentle touch of his hands.
It's what hurts the most, now that he knows that he is no longer entitled to the tenderness that he has always pretended to hate.
"I don't have to marry anyone." he answers, frowning again. "Tino wasn't serious. Do you really think he can be, on the topic?"
What, in that question, is not right? It's not the way he asked it, although it's resigned, more than wounded... Nor is the ease with which Sweden has just said that he will not marry the love of his life, that they can still have all those elusive moments, bound to disappear behind the door of a wooden house that is always too cold, yet cosy like no other.
He won't marry anyone. He won't marry Tino.
Why does this feels like it's not enough? What does he want more?
"I ... I told him about us. "
He takes a step back, really surprised, torn between the instinct of punching him and kissing him and killing him in the process. The second thought surprises him.
Berwald puts a finger on his lips and smiles. A real, rare but genuine smile.
"He told me he was happy. That's stupid, uh? Years spent thinking that he would have hated me for this, and now he... is happy for me, because ... "speaking is not easy for the Swede, so he freezes for a moment, searching for the right words and then continues. Calm, sincere. "You are my soul mate."
What?
"Do not say things you will..."
"Why?" Berwald interrupts, fingers on his cheek, with a care that almost hurts him. He doesn't want this. No tenderness, no love. They said this at the beginning. It was in their deal.
"With whom can I speak or stay in silence and feel this way? Isn't the same, for you"he asks, turning the light touch into a caress.
He doesn't answer. He is trying to tame a storm of conflicting thoughts and the furious beat of his heart. It's exploding, right?
How can he answer to something that intense? How can he even just elaborate a rational thought?
He remains helpless, but Berwald is quick to embrace him, he never waits for a lot words, knowing the Norwegian too well.
"Stay with me. Here. Or out of here. Stay. " he begs.
Norway nods and raises his arms to return the hug.
There is an answer. It's simple, but terribly important. Two letters only. The difference between wandering between feelings that he does not accept and being happy.
"Yes."