This story takes place after Finland proclaimed its independence and also after the following civil war. I believe that these are the reasonable reasons for Timo to act in a certain way.
For those who don't know: the Finnish civil war was the conflict between two parties: the Reds supported by Russia and the Whites supported by Germany. There was also a significant input of the Swedish volunteers.
Well, I hope you'll enjoy the story of sadness, suffering and misunderstandings!
They don't talk much now.
When Sweden comes here, he is not sure what to expect. Of course, they were seeing each other before. Not only just after Finland gained his independence but also in the previous years. But those were brief, usually very official meetings. Everything held tight by the frame of conveyances and one-meaning words.
Bernhard isn't even sure if Timo wants to see him in person when he stands at the front door of his flat in Helsinki, hesitating to knock. The time has been… hard. Air still has this characteristic, heavy feeling and when Sweden finally sees Finland: he's sure his hair and skin would smell like smoke and blood. He doesn't dare to check it though.
Timo has shorter hair than he used to. He looks almost like a different person, especially when his whole face is thinner and features sharpened. But he welcomes Sweden with a smile which feels almost the same if Bernhard didn't pay attention to the other details. But he certainly does that. How would he not?
''I was thinking about you,'' Timo says but Bernhard is not sure if he means something good or bad. They get inside, they sit and drink bitter coffee. Everything feels so unreal: the room is full of light and so peaceful, the warm air floats in through the open window Sweden can smell the scent of the sea. After all these years, after the wars, the ideas rising and falling, they finally sit in front of each other. And they actually do speak but not that much. There are more words to be said and they remain unspoken.
Still Timo doesn't want him to go away. At least not verbally and not on the very first day. Afterwards it all just kind of… keeps lasting, keeps happening. Slowly, lazily, aimlessly. It's not that they don't talk, it's just the words seem not to have meaning at all. Like if all of the sounds became the same noise, dry and dead as the fallen leaves.
Bernhard notices some things.
The first is of them is that Timo's eyes are quite different right now, he thinks. There has always been something unspeakable in them, something that grows under cold, dark skies but it used to be more in the background. Somewhere, barely there. Now it is different. Sweden doesn't address this observation directly. He doesn't feel like he should. (Not now when everything is still so fresh.)
But there are other things. In Timo's flat there are books Bernhard doesn't know and can't even read. Their covers enigmatic, their pages full of Finnish. Some of the words Bernhard does recognize but out of the context they make little sense. Once when he was looking through one of the books, a black-and-white photography of a woman fell out from between pages. Sweden didn't recognize her either. He took the photo and put it back where it belonged to. He has never brought it up.
And there were many other things which are not as they used to be. Same as Bernhard hasn't asked about the books or the photograph, he also hasn't questioned Timo's short hair or the expression visible on his face when he gets up too rapidly. It is not that Sweden doesn't want to know those things: he has just never had to ask and now he is not so sure if he knows how to do it.
If anyone questioned Sweden if he's patient, he would certainly say that yes, he is. However, this situation started to itch him quite early. The mixture of anger, worry and sadness has begun growing in him, strong and heated. There are moments he desperately wants to snap at Finland, allow himself an outburst as if it would make anything better. Usually he thinks it is the least best idea he's ever had. None of this is Timo's personal fault. Neither the one hundred-years separation, nor the bloody civil war that followed soon. Sometimes it is just like that and nothing can be done.
On the second day there is a brief visit of some stranger. At least, of a person Sweden doesn't know because Finland speaks with them as if they have already done it before. The visitor is quite official, a little bit nervous, he's also dressed up nicely and the smell of cologne lingers on him strongly enough for remaining there for a moment after he leaves. He speaks with Timo in the doorway and even if Bernhard cannot understand them, it is obvious that the stranger asks about the Swede when he glances up the Finland's arm and sees him observing from the inside of the flat.
Sweden cannot tell which of said words is referring to him and what does it mean. Maybe he's called an old friend, maybe a grumpy prick but probably just an ex-coworker or something equally bland. All he can actually see is this strange look on the visitor's face, almost a relief.
The person eventually gets inside of the flat and Timo disappears in the room, presumably searching for something, judging from the noises he makes. Sweden is wondering who actually feels more awkward at the moment: the visitor or him? However, he notes how the other person is avoiding his gaze and looking carefully around instead. He tries to be discreet about it but there is no way it would work if the Bernhard is there. But what interesting can this person possibly see in a short, poorly-lighted corridor? There's nothing besides the line of shoes by the wall, some cloths on the hangers and a slightly-faded reproduction of some painting Sweden does not recognize on the wall.
Timo comes back and hands the visitor some files. The other man seems to be visibly relieved when he leaves the flat, his steps echoing loudly on the empty staircase.
"He came here to check on me,'' Timo says to Bernhard later that day. "If I haven't turned all red again or something.'' His laughter is dry and forced and Sweden finds no response to it. The mental image of Finland tearing himself apart from the inside again and again is not a welcomed one but this is certainly what must have taken place.
On the third night Finland comes to Sweden. His steps silent, his movements careful, his silhouette black in the room lit by the moonlight coming through the window. Finland leans on the back of the sofa on which Sweden is resting and he can hear the springs protesting.
"Are you leaving soon?'' Timo asks, whispering, his voice oddly alien to Bernhard. Sweden understands this question as a half-dunning. No wonder, he thinks, these last few days were like the space-in-between. Dull and grey. Now the decision should be made. Once and for all.
Yet he hesitates and remains silent. He can hear Timo's breath, almost feel it on his cheek.
"I was writing letters." He doesn't need to elaborate on it. Sweden knows that he refers to their more than one hundred years lasting separation.
"Never received any.''
"Never sent any,'' Timo clarifies, his voice almost playful. "Why are you here?"
Sweden waits for a moment, thinking about the answer. It is easier for him to speak when the night covers their faces like a dark veil. It feels safer.
"Isn't it too late to ask?" He feels that Finland is shifting a little bit. The pressure on the sofa has slightly changed.
"You are still there so I think… well. I thought you'd leave after a day.'' He states it as if he's surprised. Sweden can easily imagine Timo's frowning face.
"You didn't ask for it."
"I didn't ask for you coming as well but here we are.'' This stings Sweden a little bit and he falls silent again.
Finland sights.
"It's nice that you've came. I'm just… you know, it's been a while and I had… some difficult time.'' Sweden notices that Timo doesn't say that he's happy to see him. Maybe he doesn't know how he feels about his former… master? Friend? Person he once was actively helping to dominate the Baltic Sea with? His former somebody, that's for sure.
"I wanted to talk to you,'' Bernhard finally says, his throat tight.
And suddenly there is a hand on his head, in his hair, caressing him. Not his hand, for sure. He freezes, there is some part of him which welcomes it after years of unspoken, unnamed yearning, the other is full of confusion because he's seen none signs it all has been leading to this moment. Or maybe he's not the brightest interpreter of Finland's behavior.
"Yes?"
Bernhard cannot imagine how his mouth can be so dry.
"…I don't know what to say.'' He means it. He used to know Timo well, they were synchronized, they almost knew each other thoughts, they could act like a one being. Or, at least, that was what Bernhard felt. Yet now he's speaking with a person both painfully similar to the one he knew but also desperately distant.
"And I cannot do it for you.'' There is unspoken "this time'' in Finland's words.
The hand moves on Sweden's cheek and he hesitantly touches it with his fingers. He's been thinking about it for such a long time and when it actually happens – he doesn't know what to do. There are things which are not clear enough, words not spoken, too many days spent apart.
This simple touch Finland must interpret as a sign of discomfort or refusal because he backs off. Bernhard finds himself missing it immediately.
"How… how are you?" Bernhard finally asks, as he remembers that Timo still smells of smoke and blood, Sweden just has gotten used to it by this point.
"Everything is so different. I'm… still, well, you know, I haven't felt it, the land, I mean, all on my own for such a long time. Not through you or Russia but… It is overwhelming, I feel half-drunk all the time,'' Finland says and Sweden is amused how he speaks about the positives and doesn't even mention the dramatic bloodshed that followed the independence he gained. This approach is something Bernhard immediately recognizes.
"Do you need help?"
This is not the right question. Sweden can almost feel the air tense. The silence that falls is firm.
"Me? I'll manage,'' these long winters Bernhard saw in Timo's eyes now sing in his voice. He's heard it before but never this exact way. Finland has always been all soft and nice until he's not. "Was it your goal also? To check on me if I'm behaving?''
Sweden can hear Finland shifting, he's not leaning against the sofa's back anymore.
"Timo…" Bernhard is surprised how weak his own voice suddenly is. He sits down, listening to the other one's frantic steps. Sweden feels trapped. There are no good words to say, no right gestures to make. He desperately wishes to do something for Timo, personally. But he knows that Timo and Finland are inseparable and Finland has just suffered through the traumatic experience it will take years to recover from. Also, despite everything, the decades of separation have pushed them apart so far that maybe Sweden is not anymore the person close enough-
And they both have changed. Timo doesn't realize that the fire that Bernhard once had, the one which was constantly pushing him further and further until it all collapsed, that this fire has almost died and transformed in something different.
"So, Sweden, you can tell them I didn't bite of your head or something so it is probably all going to be better.'' The steps have finally stopped, probably Timo didn't want to wake the neighbors up with his walking in circle. "But I would kindly advice you to leave soon to avoid such an incident. Who knows what I am capable of?'' He's formal but the words fall out of his mouth too quickly.
"Timo, I'm not afraid of you and…''
"Well, so brave of you, indeed. Especially that till this point all I've done was to myself so,'' he doesn't finish but laughs shortly and horribly. Sweden doesn't want to listen to it anymore. "You were just… pushing the way you wanted it to be, you, I mean Germany and Russia, mostly, but you also. But you've won so you should be content with the output.''
"Did you want the other way?'' Bernhard finally asks sharply. Comparing him to Russian is what is the last straw. "Which side did you want to win?''
Timo falls silent and Bernhard regrets opening his mouth in the first place.
"I was both sides, I was both,'' Finland says, his voice both broken and amused, and Sweden, well, Sweden understands in some way.
The steps can be heard, the door opening and closing softly. Sweden lies down again, his cheeks hot, his heart racing, his mind so awake it almost hurts. What was he even thinking? That his mere presence would help? His? After everything has changed and they have became almost strangers with a common past?
It seems that it was better when they didn't actually talk with each other.