Hey! I'm finally writing again but I deleted all my shitty old fics they sucked. Okay, so this isnt very good that I'm already back in the habit of writing shitty ANs at the beginning but whatever
I have no ownership over Hetalia, but the plot is mine.
Sigurd is Norway, Magnus is Denmark, Erikur is Iceland
Sigurd's love was quiet, all tiny gestures and muttered comments, little things all the time building up.
For example, a coat thrown over his shoulders in the freezing cold when he forgot his, and a muttered, "You'll catch a cold, idiot." He pulls it on. It's exactly his size, two larger than the owner's.
Sometimes it was seen as abusive, the way he would yank 'roughly' on his necktie. Between the two of them, it was a joke- and a reminder to watch himself, to remind him of social boundaries- and he would pretend to choke in good humor. But it was a balance, found after years upon years of friendship and something more, and it worked well. In a way, it was a way to show he cared, and he would stop in an instant if he thought he hurt the dane or if he protested in the least.
His love was maybe a dinner when Magnus came home late, slumping onto the couch with a sigh, shrugging off his coat and trying to loosen the tie that Sigurd had tied for him in the morning, knotted so he wouldn't end up accidentally untying it and having it hanging improperly- he would always fiddle with it.
And even for others, it was hardly noticeable unless you looked. Sure, with Eirikur he would mock, trying to get him to call him 'big brother', but when someone mocked him, calling him stupid, telling him asexuality wasn't real, Sigurd would defend him. He had always wondered why bullies would stop after a day or two, switching from harassing him to avoiding him, a small glint of fear when they got too close. When he would tell his brother, he would deny involvement, but a hint of satisfaction would touch his expression.
Things like a microscopic smile of support from across the room, not enough to be noticed but more than enough to reassure those he knew, or a rough pat on the back and a quick, "Good job. You did well."
Things added up, and people he didn't know saw him as cold, withholding all emotion, even, but the ones he loved knew better. He cared a lot, perhaps even too much, and had become good at hiding it, because something in him had learned not to care, to pretend you don't, and he couldn't revert back to showing his strong emotions anymore. Yet, he still felt emotions clear as day, and loved with a deep and ferocious intensity.
Magnus' love was loud, firey. It was constant, though, hugs and encouragement and often repeated "Love ya!".
It was morning cuddles and kisses, after letting him sleep in, getting a few more hours before they had to face the world.
Sometimes it took the form of coming home to a kitchen full of sweets when he weaseled out of work and rushed home, making butter cookies he knew Sigurd liked best and the dough for danishes in the fridge, waiting for the morning, when he would get up early to finish them. Sweet little cakes sitting on a platter, waiting for someone to either eat one or to be brought to the neighbors, whose kids were getting paid in sweets to mow the lawn in summer or clear the drive in winter. Of course, they were 6 and 9, so Magnus and Sigurd helped them.
Magnus would always leave notes lying around- maybe not where they should be(Sigurd yelled at him for 20 minutes when he went into the locked magic room off the basement- "There's dangerous and delicate stuff in there! You'll break everything you klutz!")- but they were always in neat, if blocky, penmanship (He had never quite unlearned runes and that reflected in his writing) telling funny things about his day or just a little sweet message or compliment.
Even to friends, he would casually buy lunch or bring them trinkets that reminded him of them or he thought they'd appreciate- Tino and Berwald would never forget the time he got them a goat that was trained to balance things on it's head (even though the goat was returned quickly). And like Sigurd, he defended the little icelander vehemently, going as far as threatening a particularly nasty guy who had spit abuse at Eirikur with his ax.
Things like being embarrassing, yelling encouragement at an event or jumping up and clapping enthusiastically, even if the situation doesn't call for it. Embarrassing, sure, but reassuring none the less.
People tended to get used to it, but it was still nice, for sure. The ones he loved knew the limitless generosity and enthusiasm even better, though, with his random things and constant reassurance that he loved them. He loved loudly and clearly, because one two many people had thought he didn't care enough and left him- he never felt it was enough anymore so he made it as clear as crystal. He didn't fake it, though. He loved gently but deeply, letting his emotions carry though easily to his actions.
The two seemed at odds to an outsider, Sigurd quiet and snarky and mature, while Magnus was loud and childish and couldn't understand sarcasm or rude comments half the time (maybe he just chose to ignore them?). Yet the two understood each other better than themselves, and worked in tandem easily, two sides to the same coin.
One loved few, with an almost scary intensity, while the other loved many, although none quite as much as his family, with a gentle and strong passion. Both had very different ways of expressing love, one shouting his affections to the heavens, the other chastising and scolding.
Few would have guessed the norwegian could put up with the dane, and that the dane could handle the scathing comments the norwegian casually whipped out with sharp wit. But the two balanced each other out, letting the other see them at their best and their worst. It might not have worked for others, but it sure as hell worked for them.