The world had changed a lot since that day, and now Tarmac spanned the fields in long, curved meanders, piles of brick forming houses along the sides, mankind forcing nature into squares of fences and hedges.

'Nor', now completely grown up, was standing outside one of these houses, one with a large garden, long drive and a rather bright front. Not in the brickwork or design itself, but in what had been done to the actual house and the trimmings. Reaching out, he took hold of the brass knocker - which shone golden in the centre of the crimson door, and rapped on the wood three sharp times. There was a pause, then the door opened to reveal 'Dane'. He took a soft breath.

The Dane's eyes, although from a brief glance not looking any different to normal, lacked the characteristic spark of energy and enthusiasm that was so common to see, and his lips trembled slightly as they were carefully schooled into a parody of his normal grin. A grin that, this time, didn't reach his eyes.

"Hej, Nor..." Stepping back, he allowed the other entrance, shuffling off towards the living room. "... D'ya want coffee? 'Ve got some..."

The Norwegian stayed still for a moment, before shedding his shoes and coat and marching straight after the Dane, a hard knot of anger tight in his chest directed at anyone who had dared to make his - no, not his. He would never be his - Dane look like this.

He caught up with him just as he had reached the sofa, pushing him down and sitting down right next to him, eyes that showed concern in their deep cobalt searching his face for a reason, a cause for this mood that didn't suit him in the slightest.

"What's happened?" The Dane shook his head. "Mathias..." The word trailed off as 'Nor' continued to look at him, waiting for a response. A moment later, Mathias stirred, drawing a deep breath not unlike one that someone would take after almost drowning.

"There's a guy..." A guy. Was this a response to a particularly harsh jibe? Or... Was it something much more personal? "... He's absolutely perfect in every way..." More personal. He tried to repress the sharp, hurt pang in his chest, resigning himself once again to being the best friend, the one who was there to talk, to snap him out of any self-decrepitating moods, to drag him home from the pub at one in the morning. The best friend... and nothing more. Another long, shuddering breath. "... I love him, Lukas... I love him so much... But whenever I try ta tell him, he tells me to go away, or ta stop bein' so stupid, an' I never actually get ta say it..." Lukas blinked as Mathias looked up, a serious look in his eyes. "I tried ta say it earlier, but he hung up before I could..." ... Wait. He had been on the phone to him earlier. But they had finished their conversation. He was sure of that. "See, the thing is... I've loved him fer years... But I don't know how ta tell him an' have him believe me... An'... 'N' it hurts..." His eyes were boring into his, serious and with a flicker of something that he had never dared to hope might be there for him floating on the aquamarine surface. Lukas drew a small breath, unconsciously wetting his lips and forcing himself to keep the impassive expression.

"... What do you want me ta do about that, Mathias? I don't know enough about this man to tell ya how to go about it. Surely you'd be better off talking to France?" The Dane took a deep, almost calming breath, eyes never leaving his as his lips formed the next words.

"... Kiss it better?" He blinked, eyes widening slightly. Kiss it better? But where...? How...? Was this...? Is this...?

"Idiot, how am I supposed to kiss it better? There's no way I can-" He was cut off by a finger, which then moved to point to the Dane's lips.

"Kiss it better there." ... This was happening. He took a short breath, pressing his lips quickly together, suddenly noticing that his breathing rate had increased, as had his heart rate, and that he was now hypersensitive to every little motion of his, or Mathias', body. He leant forwards slowly, hesitantly, unable to look away.

Then, their lips were touching, electricity shooting through him from the contact. He tried to reluctantly pull away after a moment, but was prevented by doing so by Mathias' hands, which had at some point moved to his waist and the back of his head. He tightened his own grip on his shoulders - how his hands got there, he didn't remember - and pulled him closer as well, letting himself melt into the kiss that had been too long in coming for both of them.