Author's note: Tumblr prompt (the magnificent ducere) "a very, very blushed Norway in public". SuNor then because this is us after all.

Called Out

It was shaping up to be an off day, to say the least.

First Lukas woke before Berwald. Lukas never woke before Berwald, always woke up after him to the sound of the shower, hiding under the sheets until the smell of coffee drifted upstairs.

Then there was his morning routine. Normally Lukas spent an unnecessarily long amount of time in the shower, and then even longer in front of the mirror while the Swede got dressed. Today he was in and out of the shower, indifferent at his reflection, and done in the bathroom in under a half hour, a record for him. Even Berwald noticed, looking up shocked and muttering under his breath, "Damn."

The drive to the airport was relatively normal: Berwald drove, Lukas stared out the window. They checked their one bag upon arriving; for carry-ons Lukas had just his briefcase, Berwald a briefcase and spare bag in case their luggage got lost. They were through security quickly, their tickets (and special passports) giving them priority treatment.

It's sitting in the first-class lounge where normally everyone keeps to themselves that Lukas finds himself really in trouble. The Norwegian is sitting with his legs curled up, arms wrapped around them, eyes glued to Berwald's back as he got them two coffees and second breakfast. The woman behind the counter is batting her eyelashes, the one behind him trying to strike up a conversation. Judging from these women, you'd think he was the first Swede to ever fly out of Oslo!

"Aw," someone sighs behind Lukas, leaning into his personal space, and immediately the nation tenses at that. Human, female, emotional, everything that made Lukas uncomfortable. He didn't understand those nations incarnate who interacted with humans when it wasn't necessary; he also didn't understand how anyone could find boobs attractive.

Berwald looks over his shoulder but is distracted by the woman behind him.

"Is that your boyfriend?" the young woman leaning over Lukas asks, smiling and giggling and being the kind of happy he's often tried to have made illegal in the Kingdom of Norway.

Part of Lukas wants to tell this girl to fuck off. Part of him wants to stand up, march over to Berwald, throw him against the counter, and ravage him as a sign for everyone else in the airport to back off, this was his property.

The part of him that wins though is the part that blushes profusely, his cheeks burning and his throat tight, causing the Norwegian nation to cast his eyes down. No one had ever noticed them enough before to ask; no one ever notices Lukas when he has beautiful, tall, manly Berwald next to him.

"He really likes you," the woman continues and looking up Lukas catches a sea green gaze, Berwald giving that small, one-sided smile as his face becomes serene: the Swede's look of love.

"Ja, he does." Satisfied the woman slides back into her seat, Berwald sitting across from Lukas and placing their food and drinks down.

"So I wasn't sure–" the man starts before looking up and, seeing Lukas's flushed face, drawing his eyebrows together and quirking his head to the side. "You ok?"

"Fine," Lukas says in a pitch higher than usual, pulling something to him and unwrapping it. "Just fine."

Berwald keeps on eyeing him suspiciously all throughout the meal, women continuing to stare at the Swede as they pass by.

Looking at his watch it was only ten in the morning; fuck, Lukas wanted this day done and over with.

"I haven't seen you blush in public," Berwald whispers happily, clearly reminiscing on some fond memory, "since we were–"

"I will kill you," Lukas says dangerously. His boyfriend's calm response is to take his hand and kiss it. The Norwegian can swear the woman behind him sighs.