Another multi-chapter story, this time featuring the Nordics. I have not forgotten about my other projects, but this came to me one day and refused to leave until it was written down in all of it's shabby, inconsistent glory. Apologies for any spelling/grammar errors, and I hope you enjoy! Title comes courtesy of Damien Rice's beautiful song.
Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia: Axis Powers, Audi, Microsoft, Oreos or Hobnobs. But I really wish I did.
At first, Berwald only sees him at doors.
It's a cold, crisp Friday, the kind of day where the sky is so bright that it hurts to look at it. Berwald leans against his car and watches the students hurry past, bundled up in scarves and coats, with rucksacks and PE kits and eager faces, excited at the prospect of a weekend. By the time Tino appears, Berwald's fingers are numb. He has to breathe warm, moist air onto them before he can unlock his car.
Tino waves at him, then leans to whisper something to his companion, a serious-faced pale-haired boy whom Berwald recognises but couldn't name. He pushes himself away from his car as the two approach. "Hello, you," Tino says, his smooth face curved into a smile that makes his light blue eyes shine. Berwald bends down to give him the kiss that his upturned mouth and slightly-too-close position say that he wants. It's short, chaste, because although Berwald can't think of anything he wouldn't do for his boyfriend, he is intensely uncomfortable with such public displays of affection.
When Berwald pulls back, Tino gestures to his friend. "You remember Emil, right?" he says, and Berwald nods, because he does, sort of. "Well, we're supposed to be doing this presentation for psychology, but his computer is ancient and you know what mine's like, it doesn't even have Microsoft PowerPoint – so I was thinking, could we maybe use your laptop?" Berwald glances at Emil, whose hands are shoved into the pockets of his dark red padded coat. He looks back, his pale grey eyes uncommonly intense.
"Sure," Berwald murmurs, and Tino makes a happy noise like a little child. He usually travels in the passenger seat of Berwald's Audi, but today he grabs Emil by the arm and they both pile into the back. Berwald slips into his place behind the wheel and watches them for a moment in the rear-view mirror. When Tino leans forward and says, "Aren't you going to drive?" he finally takes the handbrake off.
Berwald's house is cold and empty, but as soon as Tino and Emil enter, tugging off their scarves and talking (Tino in his loud, enthusiastic voice and Emil in his softer, unhurried one) about the physiological method and dream psychology and Sperry – which just makes Berwald think of skerry – the place feels alive.
They abandon their bags in the hall and rush off towards the living room, where Tino knows his boyfriend keeps his laptop. Berwald follows at a slower pace, carefully removing his boots and hanging his coat in the cupboard before heading through himself. They're sitting on the sofa, the computer balanced on Tino's knees. "Is your password still the same?" he asks as Berwald bends at the fireplace.
"Yes," the older one says, and there's the sound of clacking keys as Tino types it in. Berwald lights the fire and straightens up too abruptly, wincing as something in his back cricks. He stands there for a moment, letting the heat seep into his bones. "Do your parents know you're here?" he asks as he turns around to face the boys. Emil fumbles in his pocket and pulls out a slim black phone.
"I'll text my brother," he says. He smiles, then, and it completely changes his flat, serious face. It becomes animated, becomes attractive. "Thanks for letting me come over," he tells Berwald, who thinks that he might start to like him. He wasn't sure, at first.
He takes an order for hot chocolates and goes off to make them, as well as a mug of strong coffee for himself. Tino's is loaded with the cream and marshmallows that Berwald only buys because he likes them, whereas Emil's is dark, almost bitter, just the way he asked for it. When he carries them through on a tray with Oreos and Hobnobs, they both grin, and Berwald feels more like a father than a boyfriend as the others grab cookies and blow on their drinks to cool them.
They spend a warm, comfortable afternoon like that, with the firelight dancing on the walls and Emil curled up on the sofa with his socked feet tucked underneath him. Berwald sits in the leather armchair with his economics textbook, half reading and half listening to Tino's cheerful voice. When the doorbell rings it sounds like an alarm, shattering the cosy haven that they have created. Berwald runs a hand over his face – he was almost asleep – and rises unsteadily to his feet. The boys barely look up as he goes past.
The door is old, made of heavy oak, and it takes a little effort to open. When Berwald yanks it towards himself he is hit by a gust of icy wind that makes him recoil slightly. Then he focuses on the person waiting on his doorstep, and without even realising it he moves forward again.
There's something of Emil in him, in his wide-set eyes and high cheekbones, but the pointed nose, the full lips, the soft blonde hair that sticks to his forehead and curls over the edge of the dark blue scarf pulled up to his chin – these things are different. "I'm here for Emil," he says. His voice has a curiously flat quality to it.
"Come in," Berwald says. The stranger's noise and cheeks are tinged pink from the cold. He's sharply, painfully handsome. He hesitates, though, as if he's nervous despite the blank expression on his face.
"Are you Tino?" he asks. Berwald shakes his head, fingers digging into the wood of the door that he is still clutching.
"I'm Berwald. His boyfriend." He steps back, a clear invitation, and the one who must be Emil's brother shuffled inside. Berwald has a mirror on the wall, propped above a low chest, and he sees the guy catch a glimpse of his reflection in it. He quickly looks away, thin fingers moving to tug the scarf a little further over his jaw. Emil's brother glances up suddenly and catches Berwald watching him. They stare at one another for a minute, blue eyes into green.
"Lukas!" Emil's voice is more excited than Berwald has heard it so far, and it makes his head jerk around. The pale boy is standing at the entrance to the lounge, smiling.
"Emil. We have to go," his brother – Lukas, Berwald reminds himself, his name is Lukas – says. Emil nods, comes out into the hall and reaches down to collect his school shoes.
Lukas touches his arm, whispers something to his brother that makes Emil flush. The younger boy turns to Berwald and says somewhat stiffly, "Thankyou for letting me stay."
Berwald nods at him. "It's fine. You're welcome here again." He's a little surprised to find that he actually means it.
"See you on Monday," Tino says. Berwald didn't even noticed him leave the living room, but he must have, because he's leaning against his boyfriend's side now. Berwald feels a shudder of guilt when he smiles at him, as though by merely noticing another man's looks he has committed infidelity.
Lukas picks up Emil's rucksack as the younger boy shrugs into his coat. "Thankyou for your hospitality," he says, but before Berwald has time to reply he's gone, crunching across the gravel towards his car with Emil hurrying after him.
"Emil's brother's a bit odd, isn't he?" Tino says cheerfully when the door has been closed.
"I didn't notice," Berwald lies. Tino chuckles, pokes him in the side.
"I've completely abused my privileges today, haven't I?" he says, and presses himself against the taller boy, "I think the presentation's good, though. So thanks." He runs his tongue over his mouth. "Do you want a reward?"
Berwald looks down into light blue eyes and sees another, darker pair. He swallows. "I have to make dinner," he says, "My father will be home in an hour."
Tino pulls away, pulls a face. "You're no fun," he says.
Berwald runs his fingers through the smaller one's soft hair. "Maybe not," he tells him, "But I do make a perfect hot chocolate."
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