The over played and easily recognizable Christmas songs wafted from America's speakers, the mood set in hues of dancing oranges, brilliant gold, and subtle silvers and reds. Accents of greens fitted their way in, being illuminated by the fresh-cut Douglass Fir America had produced only a few hours ago.
The drinks had been served long ago and the countries mingled. America really did a fine job, Hungary thought.
His home was built for accommodation, as each country easily found their niche. Three rooms were dressed in ornaments, garland, and apple-pie and cinnamon scented candles. The large Christmas tree decorated splendidly by all countries, displayed in the main room, an ornament brought from each person's home country.
She stood, perfectly positioned to people watch, and uphold a rather sophisticated conversation between Austria and Switzerland, with Lichtenstein to her side, sipping apple cider because 'big brother' told her not to drink the champagne.
The glasses from which they sipped their champagne, and real champagne as it was, were made of fine Austrian crystal, the food cooked by world-renowned chefs from France, Italy and several other countries. Everything seemed to ooze refinement, sophistication, and a classic ambiance.
There was one thing, however, that Hungary thought was out of place. One thing she suspected America of putting up last minute, as the colors didn't perfectly coincide with the rest of America's lavish décor.
The mistletoe. Hung by the frame of a passageway, there was no doubt in Hungary's mind that she was standing in the perfect spot to not miss one single second of kissing between any two nations who realize that they were under the mistletoe. It was small, she mused, probably kept that way because maybe America planted it to not be noticed, maybe he put it there as just a custom, but whatever the reason he had behind it, Hungary was glad for it.
So far, or so she believed, nobody had noticed it, nobody that is except for Sweden. Sweden, who she could see through the frame and off to the side a little, standing next to the crisp, white linen draped table, topped with the fine Austrian crystal glasses, the authentic French champagne, and other beverages. Sweden, who was standing with Denmark and Norway. His face expressionless and lacking all telltale signs of enjoyment in the conversation that Denmark was having rather one-sidedly. Aside from a few nods of the head, a few polite hellos and handshakes to countries looking to refill their glass, Sweden seemed to be looking for only one thing- or person, rather.
Finland, of course. Hungary recalled the fact that they were no longer living together, that Finland had claimed 'independence' as he called it, 'divorce' as she referred to it, from Sweden over ninety years ago, and that Sweden had been even more somber since. She quietly mused and imagined what a kiss between the two might reignite, might rekindle.
Hungary smiled knowingly to herself, catching the eye of Lichtenstein and earning a polite brow-quirk. Silently waving off the interpreted question, Hungary began skimming her eyes over the rooms, looking for Finland. She was going to keep tabs on the two of them all night if she had to, there was no way that their kiss was going to be missed by her eyes.
Aptly, she found him, standing not too far away from where she was, actually. Considering that Finland was standing out of the view of Sweden, she imagined that there would be no way for Sweden to know when Finland was planning on coming through that archway, but she was certain that the reason he was hovering over the drinks was in an effort to be able to at least interact with Finland.
It saddened Hungary to witness the rift that has formed between the two. Sweden was obviously still in love with Finland, and Finland was trying his best to manage himself, wanting to seem strong, seem independent. Maybe, Hungary mused, Finland was still just as much in love with Sweden, and this was a test of Sweden's love for Finland. Or possibly, and more likely than not, Finland was simply terrified of Sweden the whole time they were together, and only reciprocated the man's feelings due to a slight 'Stockholm syndrome.' Either way, Hungary felt a nearly tangible longing in her heart- she desperately wanted to see these two reconcile, or speak to one another, as they rarely did anymore.
Her attention was drawn back to the conversation between Austria and Switzerland briefly, and not wanting to seem disinterested, she smiled and pretended to be listening, eyeing Finland, who was now more easily in her sights.
He stood between Estonia and Latvia, laughing his jolly laugh and simply emanating good cheer. It was his time of year after all, the reason that their Christmas parties are hosted a week early and probably the reason each host is sure to have at least one bottle of vodka, for Finland's delight. Even Russia would not touch the vodka unless invited to do so by Finland. It was sort of understood; this was a party to celebrate good cheer, and also to thank Finland, for being Santa, for spreading joy and bringing hope.
After a few moments of just blatantly watching Finland, Hungary switched her attention to Sweden, who was now communicating telepathically, or so it seemed, with Norway. Their mouths would move, in the slightest bit, and Hungary wondered how they could communicate and understand each other with the music and roaring chatter atop of that.
Hungary watched as Norway placed a hand on Sweden's shoulder, lips slightly moving, and Sweden staring at him with apparent disbelief. He looked shocked, but started moving in Hungary's direction regardless of how distraught his face looked.
Quickly glancing over to Finland, she noticed the other man was no longer between Estonia and Latvia, but that he was walking backwards, in the direction of the mistletoe, two empty glasses in hand. Through the commotion, Hungary could hear Estonia's voice, asking for more champagne - as it was too early for vodka, apparently. Finland just laughed, saying it was never too early for vodka.
Hungary's eyes darted back to Sweden, and biting her lower lip she calculated and understood that at the speed and direction they were both traveling, they would end up running into each other under the mistletoe, without either of them knowing it until they bumped together. Her heartbeat matched their strides and her eyes went wide with anticipation, would they kiss?
Would they finally kiss and make up?
Would Sweden be able to put aside his feelings? Would Finland be able to restrain his pride?
Then the moment came- Finland, probably a bit tipsy, spun around on his heel, probably because he didn't know where he was going, and Sweden, casually taking a sip of champagne, both of them unwittingly bumping into the other, right, smack-dab under the mistletoe.
Excitedly, Hungary glanced around the room, and was disappointed to note that nobody, not even Estonia and Latvia had taken note of the current state of affairs at this Christmas party. As if on queue, Sweden wrapped a knowing, balance-stabilizing arm around Finland, not even spilling a single drop from his glass. The couple really had so much harmony; it was a shame that they were no longer 'together.'
Unable to hear their words, she pictured them, imagining what they were saying based solely off of body language.
"Sve." Finland giggled, lightly. His cheeks tinting healthily, his breath slightly shaken.
"Fin." Sweden would say, and Hungary could all but feel the shock and relief coursing through his veins. She sees him subtly glance up at the mistletoe, and now she knows that he knows.
"Merry Christmas." Is what Finland would say next, finally regaining his balance. Finland took a slight step back, establishing his personal space, and Sweden, his arm still resting round Finland's waist, glass of sparkling champagne in that same hand, holds on. Not because he doesn't trust Finland's stability, but because Finland is so close to him, so near, so real and so warm. Hungary can feel her heart aching at the way Sweden furrows his brows, and she can't help but hope he points out the mistletoe, but somewhere deep, deep inside her, she knows when it's time to give up, and she senses that Sweden has accepted this fate.
Lessening his hold around Finland's waist, Finland slips both of the empty flutes in his right hand, and presses his left gently against Sweden's cheek. Cupping it with the care and delicacy that one normally only affords to those whom are most precious to them, Finland smiles, and Hungary imagines him gently caressing Sweden's cheek with his thumb.
"Merry Christmas, Fin." Sweden would reply, his words next to perfect, as he's rehearsed saying them for hundreds of years. And because he's saying them to Finland.
"You look well." Hungary pictures Finland speaking this, his words flawless and enchanting and terrible reminders of how eloquent Finland truly is, how capable, and independent he has become. She watches as he brings his other hand, with both glasses in it, to rest in the center of Sweden's chest, as he shuffles his feet forward slightly, as his eyes glance above them, noting the mistletoe.
She notes Sweden's blush, the way he dryly swallows and tries not to read too much into Finland's actions, but also desperately wants to. She sees his other arm bend and rise, coming up beside Finland's head, and with all the delicacy that Finland was still affording him, Sweden lovingly brushed his index and middle finger over Finland's cheekbone, tucking away some hair behind his ear, and finally resting his hand on the edge of Finland's shoulder.
Though Sweden's lips did not move, she felt in his heart, probably in their special way, that he was telling Finland he looked strong, healthy, handsome.
Slowly, and with agonizing heartbreak, she watched as Sweden allowed his hand to slide down Finland's arm, as he began to break his arm away from Finland's waist. She couldn't believe her eyes. Sweden was letting him go.
Sweden was letting him go.
Had she not witnessed his actions herself, she would have never believed it. Unable to tear her eyes away, she gripped her glass tighter, forcing all her emotions into her grip, willing her mouth to stay shut, mentally pleading for Finland to please, please, please not let go.
When he said it, she wasn't imagining the dialogue; she could read his lips, clearly.
"Wait." Finland's left hand slid down, to where she could see his thumb tracing smooth lines over Sweden's jaw. Sweden's grip on Finland's arm reflexed, stopping in the middle of its motion. He replaced his other arm and glass behind Finland's back, and looked down at Finland, sighing in relief or despair. Sweden looked as if he wanted nothing more than to taste Finland's lips, feel that pressure on his own, and Hungary was sure that if he was given the chance, he would put every ounce of feeling, every tear and laugh and smile and memory into that kiss, in a last attempt to tell Finland everything he probably longed to say at this very moment.
Hungary was torn between closing her eyes and imagining the scene she hoped would play out in her mind, or to stay watching. Unable to take her eyes off the scene, she watched, as Sweden wordlessly, but full of complex emotion and desire, tilted his head airily to the side.
She watched as he lowered his shoulders, arced his back and gripped slightly tighter onto Finland's arm, as if believing that the Christmas spirit was going to disappear in a flurry of ornate snowflakes, only to return again in fleeting memories and phantom whispers in the dead of night.
"Fin," he whispered, Finland's eyes fluttered closed as he tilted his jaw up, silently accepting Sweden's actions, "I'd do anything…" Sweden's nose ghosts over Finland's, and he pauses, willing time to stop and give him only a few more moments, just to be. Just to breathe and admire Finland.
Opening his eyes, just briefly, Hungary tries to imagine what Sweden is thinking. She tries to picture how he feels, how he sees Finland's face, but finds herself at a loss for words. Sighing knowingly, she resigns Sweden's brief pause to the only thing that comes to mind, wishful thinking. If she were to place an emotion on Sweden's face, at this very moment, it would be wishful thinking- like some part of him is desperately unable to let go of a life without Finland; that he wishes this kiss will be the cure to all of his ailments of not having Finland by his side.
Briefly, she glances around the room and notes that Norway has a hand over Denmark's mouth, that they're both watching Finland and Sweden wide-eyed, hopeful. She witnesses Estonia, who is supportive of Finland's independence, clutch his glass close to his chest, holding his breath and waiting in heavy anticipation for the kiss to be sealed.
Returning her gaze to the two men, her lips fall open and no sound escapes her lungs as Sweden cautiously allows his lips to meet Finland's. It's tender, chaste at first, before Finland returns with a hesitant stretch, pushing his lips further against Sweden's. The kiss deepens, with lips still sealed but molding together in such familiar, secure, passionate ways, Hungary feels as if she's the one receiving it. She feels Sweden's emotions, Finland's heartbeat, their harmony all in one blow, and it's all she can do to clutch her glass tighter, pulling it to her breast, praying that their near-century separation would now draw to a close.
Slowly, the chatter dies down, and the nations, one by one, take notice of Sweden and Finland's long over-due kiss. Hushed whispers of the kiss, of their names, flood the rooms in several languages, and all that's left is the sound of America's jolly music in the background.
Sweden reluctantly pulls back from Finland, their noses and foreheads pressed lovingly together. As much as Hungary tried to see Finland's reaction, to try and comprehend how Finland felt after such a beautiful display of affection, she can only manage to view Sweden's face.
Hi jaw is clenched tightly, his hold on Finland strong, as if he was still trying to silently communicate that he never wants to let go of Finland ever again. He opens his eyes, pulling away slightly from Finland's face, and raising the hand that was gripping his arm to curve around Finland's jaw. He bends slightly, and kisses Finland on the cheek, and Hungary imagines Sweden whispering a small 'thank you' into Finland's ear.
As if he's given up. As if he's saying 'thank you for giving me this moment.'
Hungary is about to protest, to march forward and tell them that they have something special and they shouldn't so easily let that go, when tiny, frail, fingers grip her wrist, and large, green eyes look up at her. Hungary stays put.
"I'd do anything…" Sweden says, audibly, in the silence and to their audience, or maybe he doesn't notice the silence, maybe he only sees Finland, maybe all he can hear are the thoughts swimming through his head and possibly the beating of his own heart, "anything, Fin."
Finally, Hungary places her sights on Finland, and only now does she witness the man's weakened face, his lips pressed warily into a half smile, his eyes scrunched closed, his brows lowered and his forehead free of wrinkles. She spots his raised chin, dimpled with emotion and the struggle of having to do things on his own for so long, characterized by a single tear running down his cheek.
"Sve?" Finland nearly whimpers, bringing his arms around Sweden's neck and pulling him to a tight embrace, their chests and abdomens touching for the first time since 1917, their hearts reunited, "Can we go home now?"
A/N: Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!
The inspiration for this story comes from the similarly titled "Mistletoe" by Hubedihubbe. She can be found on dA and Tumblr under that username, and here is the link, hubedihubbe . dA . c o m (forwardslash) #/d5lnjwy
Just remove the spaces and change what's in parenthesis to a forward slash or /, and change dA to deviantArt and you're all set! As another note, I would like to thank my friend, missbunks0613, for proofreading and helping me with some sentence structure and stuffs. ;D Anyway, reviews are love, and at this rate I will probably be writing some more Christmasy-oneshots until I no longer feel Christmasy. Thank you again for reading and have a wonderful evening!
Xoxo, OurGloryDays