Fishing for Lunch and Memories
Denmark x Norway
Quick drabble for a friend; A bit rough, but kind of fun to write.
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The cold morning air bit against his cheeks as Norway set out onto the ice. Alone, he dragged a sled loaded with fishing gear – long poles, buckets, tins of bait, and a knife. The dim autumnal sunrise was only just peeking above the horizon, casting long shadows across the bare white planes, the snow falling in soft flurries – it was a good morning for fishing; perhaps a little late in the day, but he had not meant to oversleep, talking to Iceland deep into the night about the state of one thing or another.
As he neared the area where the ice was thin yet sturdy, where it was easiest to break through to make the small fishing-hole, he frowned.
A figure silhouetted against the horizon was waving; he felt the dull throb of a headache, preemptively anticipating the shout of "Nooorway!" across the dull expanse. Nevertheless, he kept walking. He had been spotted. To back away now would be –
"Hey! Fishing for lunch, Norway?"
The Dane was crouched by a roughly hewn hole in the ice, fishing rod in hand, with a small basket of fish by his side. His mop of tousled hair jammed in place under a perky little cap. Norway sighed, setting his load down on the ice. "Yes, Denmark".
"Heh, want to make it a contest?"
"No, Denmark."
"I made a hole already."
"Shut up. I can see that."
Denmark placed a gloved hand on his shoulder amiably, tilting his head and leaning in, trying to catch Norway's averted gaze.
"Still don't like me, Norway?"
"Of course not."
"I've already caught some fish – more than I need for lunch."
"So?"
He chuckled to himself, bringing his face closer. Norway could feel the warmth of his breath as he looked upwards to challenge the light blue-eyed stare. As he opened his mouth to make another short statement, Denmark's lips locked over his.
Norway struggled at the sudden assault – pushing him away, attempting to resist the memory of their old but unforgotten union as it took over to dictate his response. The heat and the cold mingled, and he sank to the ground as Denmark laughed and broke away, leaving Norway sitting in the snow; the searing warmth of the kiss against the cold air still on his lips and tongue.
"Guess that doesn't change anything, does it?"
Denmark just smiled, moving carefully out of sight as he packed the rod and bait away, his basket of fish carried gently under his arm as he receded into the distance, whistling.
When the notes had faded away and Norway turned, Denmark had disappeared. Yet wrapped hastily in a plastic bag and tucked among his other belongings on the sled were two large tuna in their primes – bigger than anything he had ever caught in these waters, and bigger than the other he had seen left in Denmark's basket.
He sighed and as the tears fell, he shook his head slowly.
"That doesn't change anything at all."
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A/N: BTW I don't know anything about ice fishing, or what species of fish there are, or how you even make the damn hole, so... uh.. if there are technical difficulties with the logistics, I apologise. xD
