"What about a kiss?" (I)
The first time Denmark had ever asked Norway for a kiss was on one of Finland's birthdays. Iceland, who was still at a tender age, Norway and Denmark had been tasked to set up a picnic under a gnarled sycamore tree that stood alone on a hilltop just beyond a field teeming with wild corn.
Finland loves the tree like how he loves Sweden. It looked slightly lonely, but strong and independent. "Just like you, Sve!" Finland had said. Thus, every year, they made it a point to celebrate Fin's birthday under the shade of the huge broad leaves that belonged to the towering power tree.
Sweden had stayed behind in the house with Finland. They always performed the same ritual. Sweden would blindfold Finland, and taking Finland's hand ever so gently, Sweden would lead the birthday boy to the great sycamore.
The other three were trudging past the long corn stalks that populated the field. The sight was lovely. The corn, that is. They shone golden in the bright sunlight and they stretched out for miles in all directions. It was like a field of riches; a field of gold. A breeze made the corn stems bow and sway gently. Iceland, who was trailing at Norway's feet, was in awe of the sunny cobs that arched over his head. As Norway pushed past the kernels, the leaves and fronds would part and bend slightly, forming an arched shelter, showing the path Norway had taken.
Suddenly, a strong breeze had picked up from the south, and it sent Norway's sailors hat afloat. Norway reached for it a little too late, and the wind set the hat sailing over the heads of the corn stalks. Then there was a flash as Denmark ran after it with blinding agility.
Denmark ran and jumped and laughed as he pushed his way through the stalks. A trail of broken stalks outlined the Dane's route. When Denmark had finally caught the hat, he was breathless but still smiling nonetheless. Laughter danced in his azure eyes.
"Hey Norge!" Denmark called. " Got it for ya! How about a kiss? You know, as a thank you?"
Denmark laughed airily as he waved the hat like a trophy. He was using it as ransom. But Norway only marched on, ignoring Denmark. His fringe fell over his face, hiding his features – no, hiding his smile.
A/N: This will be done in the same way as i have done Las Palabras De Amor though the story flows in very chopped up sequence unlike the other. I love DenNor, don't you? (: R&R please (: