a/n: guess what this is
thats right folks another fill for the kink meme that completely lacks any kink at all wow go me
warning for implied intimacies i guess
Ever since Sweden left things between them had been shattered. Bits of glass and themselves that littered the snow, accumulating with each meeting. It'd been so long ago, both an eternity and a blink of the eye. So much suffering stuffed into the tight knit spaces of their chests. The fact they could meet each other with some form of decency now seemed a miracle, a breath of relief exhaled from the other nations around them. Decency seemed to be all they could produce, a once close bond withered away into a string pulled so taught it threatened to clip under any pressure.
They had once been so close. Long, aching nights on the battle field - on swaying ships - pressed to the cold ground - the splintered wood - where they learned to map out each other in their entirety. Losing something like that was a hard blow to the both of them and even as things leveled out between them they had stubbornly refused to touch the issue. Distance remained between them, so long and drawn out it was practically tangible. Not once did they allow interaction between themselves, more comfortable with at least one other person there to mediate. To provide some sense of balance and something they could pour their focus into. It wasn't a perfect set up, not by any means, but they weren't at each other's throats and that was about as much hope for them as anyone had.
Somewhere along the line, somehow, things needed to change.
It was Sweden who took the initiative, after months - years - of thinking it over. After an empty home left an ache deep in his chest, after an accidental brush of their arms during a meeting that meant more than it should have. Denmark was too proud anyways, or maybe too hesitant, too afraid. Too many things he'd never admit and Sweden would ignore, for his sake. He had lingered in the room that they'd all five met in, provided a simple request for Denmark to stay, and hadn't missed the looks the other nation gave him. The burning concern and hesitance, though the nation in question expressed mostly confusion. With a harsh, intentional look they had complied, milling out to do their things, while Sweden proposed his offer. It was clumsy, words coming out awkward and stunted. He'd never been one to handle his emotions well, especially not with so many things bearing down on them, things that they pointedly refused to acknowledge but showed so clearly in their eyes.
They knew how it would play out should news be spread around. All the accusations and, admittedly reasonable, worrying. It's always there when they interact, silent waves sent towards them from their their closest companions. Neither nation was oblivious to it, though for the other's sake they pretended to be. Just as they pretended that the distance between them is still firmly in place. Otherwise they'd all jump to their conclusions, fret over war, how they couldn't ever get along without having it looming over them.
Meeting up was the hardest part, even without anyone in their homes moving about inconspicuously would always be an issue. Especially for them, two nations with such noticeable presences, but they found ways around it. Sweden, selfishly, enjoyed it more when Denmark came to him. There were so many bad memories harbored in the floorboards of Denmark's home. Pressed into the mattress where he'd been pressed into so often an indentation still lingered. Denmark knew this and while he misses those times when he could truly call Sweden his he'd been learning something about patience. About forgiveness and personal growth.
He wanted to gloat about Sweden's empty home, rub salt in wounds that were long past. Parts of him would never recover from his bitterness or the heartache that had come with the nation's separation from him. Small parts that he reasoned were alright because Sweden had those as well. They'd both done such terrible things to each other, Denmark played the loud victim better, but he couldn't pretend he hadn't wronged Sweden in so many ways. Time and time again. It'd grown from something supportive to a back and forth between them, pulling opposite ends that splintered things down the middle. No one saw how either could give forgiveness and force away old habits that were ingrained in their very being, themselves included in that thought for far too long.
Denmark sighed and nursed the beer that had been passed his way. It was lukewarm and he doubted Sweden was any better. The atmosphere was still tense between them, but comfort had manged to spill through at the edges, reminiscent of them side by side weary with their victories earned together. He raised a hand, walked his fingers to where Sweden's lay, and grazed against them. Sweden didn't protest as Denmark took his hand and scooted his chair a little closer. His thumb grazed along long fingers, age worn and weary with callouses, but still so strong. Almost graceful, with nails more manicured than Denmark's own - whose hands seemed stumpy and rough in comparison. The touch brought back memories of rowing until their palms were bloody, gripping weapons too tightly, tearing open knuckles on each other's faces. He wanted to bring that pale, memory soaked hand up to his lips, lavish it in kisses that moved to his exposed wrist and lingered at the slope of his neck. Up to those lips he had once claimed so often and knew so well - but such things weren't within reach yet and Denmark knew that.
He settled for leaving things as they were for now, because their process was a slow one, and being brash about things got him nowhere with Sweden in the past. Mistakes were made to be learned from, and that was something Denmark was only just starting to get.
"Man, how bad do you think they'd flip if they saw us right now?" Denmark can't keep his mouth shut for extended periods of time and it's likely he never will, but Sweden doesn't mind. Not now. Without that Denmark wouldn't be himself, and he's not grasping for a stranger with the slow rekindling of their relationship. What he wants is Denmark, his wild, reckless companion who always had words when Sweden didn't. Not to say he didn't appreciate how he seemed to settle with the modern age, how they both settled. Bring brutal was tiring and Sweden wanted nothing more than to take an easy pace through his days, to spend them without conflict, in the company of those he cared about most.
He gave Demark's hand a subtle squeeze that conveyed miles of unspoken words. Denmark took it as an open invitation and brought Sweden's knuckles up to his mouth, pressed a kiss to one of the scars that stood out against the skin, and maybe it was wishful thinking, but he could almost see Sweden smile.