/ Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, Himaruya does.~
/ Warnings: BL/shounen-ai.
He was in a field: the scent of warmth and honeysuckle lilted on the breeze that swirled around him, tousling the ends of his cobalt military jacket. The yellow grass crunched quietly under his boots, the blades dehydrated from the cloudless summer sunlight. It was sunset now, though, the sky fading to a pleasant lavender.
Like the eyes of the man standing in front of him, his back turned.
"Finland," Sweden called, but his voice didn't echo around him like he expected it to. The scenery was beautiful but everything was too silent – the grass didn't breathe, he couldn't pinpoint the honeysuckle that he smelled so clearly – for him to believe that it was real.
But somehow Finland knew he had called his name. The shorter blonde nation turned, his face blissfully alight as always, the skin around his eyes crinkling slightly from the brilliant smile that broke across his face. "Oh, hi Mister Sweden! I didn't see you there!"
Maybe the narrow-framed Fin didn't jump in fright like he usually would whenever he spotted Sweden because the tall Swedish man wasn't standing very close to him? Sweden couldn't tell.
He tried to speak again, but he couldn't hear his voice. "I don't know how long I've been standin' here. S'good to see you."
Finland's eyes widened, and his light brows furrowed. "What do you mean? I've been with you this whole time! You talk like you haven't seen me in years."
"Oh, do I? Sorry about that, then."
The crunch from the grass under Sweden's feet could've been bombs going off with every step he took toward Finland. Why's it so loud all of a sudden?
He didn't seem to get closer to Finland, no matter how many steps he took or how fast he paced. Finland just stood there, out of reach, his hands clasped behind his back, wearing an expectant expression. "Why are you moving so slow, Mister Sweden?"
"Not moving slow. 'M not moving at all, am I?"
Sweden reached out and Finland mirrored his movement, both grasping toward each other, but all that met their fingertips was the air that separated them. Distance.
"I can't reach you, Finland…"
"M-Mister Sweden? You've got a scary look on your face… M-Maybe we should go, yeah? We need to get back to Mister Denmark's place for work, don't we?"
"Do we? Thought I ran away from that bastard…"
Finland shook his head, and something about his expression changed. His arms returned to his sides and a different sort of grin broke across his face, but this time it didn't touch his eyes. "No, Mister Sweden, you didn't. You can never escape."
Sweden stopped walking. His hands had unintentionally balled into fists. "Yes, I can. I did, and you came with me."
"No. I wouldn't go anywhere with you. Your face is really scary."
The colour faded out of the scenery, out of Finland's flaxen hair, his amethyst eyes, everything replaced by black. Darkness.
Sweden bolted upright in bed, automatically glancing toward the fuzzy LED of his alarm clock as he regained his bearings. He wasn't in a field… no. He had been in bed all this time. It was three twenty-five in the morning.
"A dream…"
He lie back against his pillows and turned toward the other side of his large bed. He reached out, expecting to feel the curve of Finland's shoulder underneath his touch, but instead was met with the tautly pulled covers of his bedspread.
"It was all a dream."
